31. Clara
Chapter Thirty-One
CLARA
I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed right after Marco leaves. I don’t know how much time passes, but I remain sitting here, still wearing the same clothes. I can’t bring myself to change, as if moving will bring forth the reality of it all.
It all feels like a nightmare.
My body is exhausted, but my mind can’t seem to shut off, so sleep is unlikely to come. Besides, I’m too scared to close my eyes because I know what’s waiting for me when I do.
The car ride where Andre almost bled out. The bedroom where I told the man I love it was okay to kill my brother…
It’s been hours now, and Marco is still not back.
I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together as I watch the sun slowly set through the bedroom window.
Even knowing what he’s doing right now, I can’t bring myself to feel anything.
My body is numb, but at some point, the dam is going to break, and I’m going to feel every single thing I’ve been repressing over the past few hours.
It’s going to hurt like hell, but I know it was the right call.
Ben tried to kill Marco and Andre. To kill my baby before they had the chance to even meet the world out here. This is the second time since he escaped prison that he has chosen to hurt me. That he showed me my life is worthless to him.
There can’t be a third time.
He needs to be stopped. He has to pay for what he’s done.
I need to do something. I can’t just sit here any longer. Hiding, waiting.
I sneak next door to check on Zoe. I fed her only an hour ago, so she’s fast asleep, her tiny fists curled near her face.
I watch her chest rise and fall with every sleepy exhale, envying how completely unaware she is of the blood that has been shed to keep her safe.
I press a hand to my belly, knowing the little one inside is being rocked by the slow rhythmic thump of my heartbeat. I already love the little life growing inside me, this whole other heartbeat depending on me to be strong.
If I ever doubt my decision, I need to remember that they are the reason I made this call.
My children deserve to feel safe, and a world where my brother is still living is not a safe one.
After looking in on Rosa and Holly, I head downstairs to make a cup of tea just to keep my hands busy.
I take it through to the living room and settle on the couch, throwing a blanket over my legs as I stare at the wall of family photographs.
I think of my own version of these pictures, with Ben and me running through sprinklers during the summer or standing on the front porch on his first day of middle school. My mind keeps trying to pull me backward through the years, but that version of us no longer exists.
Ben made sure to destroy any chance of us ever being family again. He chose this path over and over again, and yet I kept letting him back in. I clung to hope because he was the only family I had left, until Marco and Zoe.
They gave me something much greater to fight for.
I sit there, waiting, and as the tea goes cold, I listen for the sound of Marco’s car.
What if taking my brother’s life changes him? What if he comes back, and I can’t look at him the same way even though I was the one to tell him it was okay to do it?
The moment the front door opens, my heart starts hammering in my chest.
I stand slowly and walk out of the living room.
I don’t speak. Instead, I just stand there in the hallway, barefoot, with my arms folded tightly around myself as Marco steps inside.
He closes the door gently behind him so as not to wake the rest of the house, and when finally, he turns to me, I find his expression is unreadable.
My eyes roam over him, lingering on the dried blood on his knuckles.
When I look back at his face, his eyes lock with mine and for a second, neither of us moves.
The space between us fills with everything we didn’t say before he left, until finally I take one step forward in a silent question.
Marco still doesn’t speak. He just holds out a hand, and that’s all it takes for me to wrap myself in his arms.
His touch is hesitant at first, as if he can’t quite believe I’m real, that I’m still here at his side.
That I’m his.
“I took care of it,” he murmurs against my hair.
I nod, my throat thickening with emotion.
It’s over.
I feel everything but also nothing at all. It’s as if grief and guilt are fighting for a place in my heart but neither can hold on.
Marco’s arms tighten around me.
“Come with me.” He laces his fingers through mine.
He leads me upstairs and into our bedroom, but he doesn’t stop there. He takes me into the private bathroom, where the soft orange light glow from the single light above the mirror illuminates the space.
Marco doesn’t drop my hand once, even when he reaches into the shower to turn the water on. Only when the steam starts to fog the glass does he let me go, but his eyes never leave mine.
He takes the hem of my blood-soaked shirt and lifts it over my head.
His hands move with such tenderness that each brush of his calloused fingers against my skin has tears brimming in my eyes.
My bra is next, and then Marco is on his knees before me, slowly tugging down my leggings and underwear until I’m completely bare before him.
I return the gesture, unzipping his hoodie and tugging his blood-splattered shirt over his head.
I pause when I see his split knuckles, covered in dark purple bruises and dried blood. He goes to pull away, but I take his hand and gently lift it to my lips, kissing each knuckle individually.
“I love you,” I whisper over and over between kisses.
Only when we’re both bare does Marco take my hand again, and he leads me into the shower.
The water cascades over my shoulders, and I turn my face up into it and close my eyes.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I take a deep breath.
Marco’s arms are around me, and I lean back against his chest, letting the water wash away the bad memories, leaving only the one I wish to keep from tonight.
The one of Marco on his knees before me, asking me to be his wife.
When I eventually reach for the soap, Marco takes hold of my hand and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, making my breath catch.
“Let me.” His voice is gruff.
Marco grabs the soap and lathers his hands. He takes his time, washing my arms and then my back before kneeling down and running his hands over my thighs and legs.
It’s more intimate than sexual, as if he’s recommitting my body to memory.
I do the same for him, letting my fingers glide over his chest, feeling the ridges of his abs beneath them.
I scrub the blood from his knuckles last, and I can feel Marco’s eyes on me the entire time.
The weight of it all hangs heavy between us, of what he had to do, what I allowed him to do. For me. For us.
When the water finally runs clear, I reach up onto my tip toes and press my forehead to his.
“No more ghosts.”
His eyes close as he leans into me. “No more ghosts.”
I’m in his arms in an instant, with my mouth on his.
The kiss is searing and desperate as I part my lips, wanting him to claim my mouth and every inch of my body.
I barely register the water shutting off or Marco reaching down to lift me by the backs of my thighs. All I feel is him.
The heat from his damp skin, the way his hands never stop moving over my body like he’s trying to memorize me all over again.
Marco carries me through to the bedroom, and I cling to him as my body starts to ache with the need to be filled.
When he lays me down on the bed, there’s no urgency to his movements as he slowly climbs over me, his cock already hard and leaking, before settling between my thighs.
The weight of him on top of me feels grounding, and I gasp as his cock presses against my entrance.
Marco shifts his weight onto one arm as his dark eyes lock onto mine.
Neither one of us speaks.
All I do is arch into him, and that’s all the permission he needs.
He sinks into me in one slow thrust, inch by delicious inch, until I’m completely filled by him.
“Well done, love.” He presses his forehead to mine.
His breath fans my face, shaky and uneven, as he holds himself still, giving me the time I need to adjust to the size of him.
My eyes flutter closed, my mouth falling open in a breathless moan as the ache starts to build.
“Fuck, Clara. You feel so good. So tight around me.”
I thread my fingers into his damp hair and pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him deep and slow as he begins to move inside me.
His hips roll into mine with slow, controlled thrusts, each one hitting deeper than the last and drawing a soft cry from the back of my throat.
His cock brushes against my sensitive inner walls, and I grip him hard.
“Marco…”
“I’m right here, love.” He kisses along my neck and jaw as he claims me.
There’s nothing rushed about the way we move together, as if we have all the time in the world.
His hands roam over my body, cupping my sensitive breasts before sliding down my waist to finally grip my thighs.
He fucks me with slow, powerful strokes that have my toes curling and my whole body shivering as my pleasure builds.
I sink my nails into the muscles of his shoulders, trying to steady myself as my legs start to tremble. “Oh, god, you feel so good,”
Marco’s answering grunts send a wave of pleasure through me, and my pussy becomes even slicker.
“Fuck, Clara.” His cock slides in and out of my wetness.
“Don’t stop.” I arch against him so that his chest rubs against my hard nipples, giving me even more pleasure. “Please.”
He leans down to kiss me again, and I swallow a moan as his tongue slides against mine. Even just the taste of him is enough to get me hovering near the edge.
“Look at me,” he murmurs against my lips.
I do as he says, and when our eyes meet, a sob builds in my throat.
There’s such tenderness in his eyes as he looks at me, and a part of me still can’t quite believe that this man is mine.
“My beautiful girl.” He strokes my cheek.
“Marco…”