Chapter 46 Renato
I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and birds singing outside.
For a moment, I'm disoriented. I never sleep past dawn. Years of survival instinct trained that habit into me permanently. Then I feel the weight against my side and everything comes rushing back.
Camilla.
She’s still here.
She's curled against me, her head on my chest, one arm draped across my stomach. My left arm is wrapped around her shoulders, completely numb from supporting her weight all night.
I don't move. Don't even breathe too deeply for fear of waking her.
Because she's still here.
She didn't leave before dawn. Didn't slip away into darkness like every other night. Fell asleep in my arms and stayed.
Her face is unguarded in sleep, stripped of the armor she wears for the world. Peace looks foreign on her—but God, it’s beautiful. She looks younger like this. Softer. Like the girl she might have been before men like me destroyed her innocence.
My arm is screaming in protest, pins and needles radiating from shoulder to fingertips. I ignore it. Would let it fall off completely before I'd risk waking her and ending this moment.
Because this might be it.
The only time she lets herself be this vulnerable with me in daylight. The only morning I wake to find her still in my bed.
I need to memorize it. Every detail. The weight of her against me. The silk of her hair under my chin. The warmth of her breath against my chest. The way her fingers curl loosely against my ribs.
What does it mean that she stayed?
Last night was different. We both felt it. The way she came to me in the study, the kiss that tasted like choice rather than healing, the desperate passion between us that had nothing to do with replacing bad memories and everything to do with us.
Only us.
But staying past dawn? That's trust. Vulnerability. A statement that maybe, possibly, she's ready to stop pretending the nights don't exist.
Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe she was just exhausted. Maybe she'll wake up and regret it.
She stirs against me, and my thoughts cut off sharply.
Her fingers flex against my ribs. She makes a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. Then she goes still, and I know the moment she realizes where she is.
That she stayed with me the whole night.
I feel her tense slightly, her breathing changing as she wakes fully. But she doesn't pull away. Doesn't bolt from the bed. She lies there against me, processing.
"I stayed," she says finally, her voice rough with sleep. “I broke my own rule.”
I lean down to kiss her hair. “Yes, you did."
She lifts her head to look at me, and her eyes are searching my face for something I hope she finds. "Are you going to ask me why?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I don't know." She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. The sheet slips, and I force myself to keep my eyes on her face. "I think I'm still figuring it out myself."
"Last night was different," I say carefully. “You came to me. Not because you needed to heal, but because you wanted to be here."
"Yes." She traces a pattern on my chest with one finger. "I saw you in your study, and I... I couldn't leave you there alone. Couldn't stand the thought of you sitting in the dark thinking I didn't want you."
"Do you?" The question is out before I can stop it.
She meets my eyes. "Would I be here if I didn't?"
"I need to tell you something," I say. "Don't say anything until I'm done, because if you interrupt, I might lose my nerve."
She nods slowly, wariness creeping back into her expression.
“I used to think power was taking. Then you looked at me like I was worth saving, and I realized power is giving. I love you."
Her eyes widen, but she doesn't speak.
"I'm in love with you, Camilla. Completely.
In a way that terrifies me because I've never felt anything like this before.
" The words are coming faster now, desperate to get them all out.
"I've loved exactly one person—my mother—and I don't know how to do this properly.
Don't know how to be the man you deserve or how to love someone without destroying them. "
"Renato—"
I reach over to push the hair back from her face. "I'm broken. I know that. I kidnapped you, put you through hell. I lied to you about the auction being fake, and I know you might never forgive me for that. I understand if you can't. If you shouldn't."
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears now.
"But I'm sorry. God, Camilla, I'm so fucking sorry for all of it.
For taking you, for hurting you, for being the reason you had to kill a man.
For every moment of fear and pain I caused you.
For putting a scar on your soul." My thumb brushes across her cheekbone.
"And I know I don't deserve you. I have no right to ask for anything from you after what I've done. "
"Then why are you telling me this?" She barely whispers.
"Because I need you to know. Need you to understand this isn't just physical for me.
Isn't just about healing or redemption or any of the complicated reasons we've been using to justify what's happening between us.
" I hold her gaze. "I love you. And I'm not telling you this because I expect you to love me back.
Believe me, I'm not looking for that. I know I haven't earned it. I know that."
"What are you looking for then?"
"Time," I say simply. "A chance. Permission to spend every day of my life fighting for you, proving to you that I can be better than what I was.
That I can be the man who deserves your trust, maybe eventually your affection.
" I pause. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm just asking for today. One day at a time. I’ll work to earn it one day at a time. That’s all I ask. "
A tear slides down her cheek. "You're really not expecting me to say it back?"
"Love isn't a transaction, Camilla. It's not something you owe me because I feel it for you.
" I catch her tear with my thumb. "What I feel is my problem.
My choice. I'm telling you because I'm done pretending.
Done hiding behind rules about day and night and what we do or don't acknowledge.
I love you. That's my honest truth. You get to have your own. Whatever it is."
She's quiet for a long moment, more tears tracking down her face. I wipe them away as they fall, waiting for her response. Prepared for rejection. For her to tell me that love doesn't fix what I did, doesn't make us possible.
"You're an idiot," she says finally.
Not what I expected.
"No argument," I agree.
"You think I stayed here by accident? That I came to you last night because I felt sorry for you?" She shifts, moving so she's straddling me, her hands on my chest. "You think I'm still here because I'm confused or making bad decisions?"
"I think you're healing. I think you're trying to reclaim what was taken from you. I think—"
"You think too much." She leans down until our foreheads are touching. "I stayed because I wanted to wake up next to you. Because I'm tired of pretending the nights don't mean anything. Because when I saw you broken in your study, it broke something in me too."
She leans down to softly kiss me.
"I'm not ready to say I love you back," she continues, her voice soft but steady.
"Not because I don't think I could get there, but because I need to be sure.
Need to know it's real and not just trauma bonding or Stockholm syndrome or any of the hundred complicated reasons people might mistake for love in a situation like ours. "
"I understand."
"But I'm falling. Hard. And I think you know that." She pulls back to look at me. "You asked for time and a chance, and my answer is yes. To both."
The relief is so intense it's almost painful.
"But I need something from you too," she says.
"Anything. Tell me."
"No more lying. Ever. About anything. I don't care how ugly the truth is or how much you think you're protecting me.
No more manipulation, no more half-truths, no more 'I was going to tell you later.
'" Her eyes are fierce now. "If we're doing this, if we're trying to build something real, it has to be built on honesty. Complete honesty."
"Done."
"I mean it, Renato. One lie, one manipulation, and I'm gone. I don't care how much I care about you or how good this feels. I won't stay with someone I can't trust."
"I understand." I reach up to thread my fingers through her hair. "Complete honesty. No matter what. I promise."
She studies my face for a long moment, weighing my words. Then she nods. "Okay, we'll try this. Whatever this is. We'll figure it out together." She leans down to kiss me softly. "Day and night. No more pretending they're separate."
She kisses me again, deeper this time, and I pour everything I'm feeling into it. Love and relief that she's willing to give me this chance.
When we break apart, she stays close, her face inches from mine.
"I need you to know something too," she says quietly.
"What?"
"You're not as fucked up as you think you are.
You're trying. Changing. Becoming someone different than the man who took me from that cathedral.
" Her hand cups my face. "I see it. Every day.
In the way you make me coffee and give me space and swim in pools you never used before.
In the way you drove me through the mountains just to hear me laugh.
In the way you sat alone in your study last night because you thought I didn't want you. "
"Camilla—"
She smiles slightly. "You said you don't know how to love properly.
But you're wrong. You love fiercely and completely and with everything you have.
You loved your mother enough to build an empire so she'd never struggle again.
You love me enough to let me set all the rules, to give me all the power. "
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what it is. And maybe it's not traditional or healthy or what the relationship books would recommend. But it's real. And it's yours. And I think..." She pauses, considering. "I think maybe that's the kind of love I need."
We lie there together as the morning sun grows stronger, tangled in sheets and each other, finally acknowledging what we've both known for weeks.
This is real.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe we can build something good from the wreckage of how we started.
Maybe love doesn't have to be simple or easy or make sense to anyone else.
Maybe it just has to be true.