Chapter Thirteen
“THEY’RE COMING BACK,” Fred says.
I turn back to face the monitors and fight against the urge to start biting my nails. I ditched that habit in my middle school, but now seems a really good time to—
No, strike that.
I’m a mature woman in my forties, and I can definitely handle watching my apartment from six angles, all in grayscale. He hurt me, I hurt him back, so he doesn’t do it again. That’s the plan.
So why can’t I just stop feeling bad about it?
I force myself to look back at the monitors. The lamp in the corner. The throw blanket folded the way I fold it. My coffee cup in the sink. My keys in the bowl.
Everything is where it should be except for the owner of said apartment, a.k.a. me.
The door opens earlier and later than I want it to, and I only realize I’ve been holding my breath this entire time when I finally see Rollo coming back, and my husband right behind him.
He looks...he doesn’t look like he always does, back then as Nate or now as Nicolo.
His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it a million times.
His jacket is missing, and he’s already yanking on his tie as he slowly turns in a circle, taking it all in. His jaw clenches, and so does my chest.
Because even if he’s not saying anything, I can see what he’s thinking, and he’s thinking all the wrong things. He’s looking for evidence of a crime that never took place, of clues that he’ll never find because I’m not the victim.
He is.
And I’m okay with that.
Because he deserves this.
He does.
If I tell myself often enough, I know I’ll believe it. Eventually.
But right now, while watching Nicolo finally start speaking, and Rollo nodding like he’s just making a mental list of who he needs to torture on his boss’s behalf—
I watch his lips move, and I know it’s just me, but it’s like watching something unfold in slow motion. Lip reading’s never been my thing, but it’s like guilt, heartbreak, and loss have suddenly made me an expert—
I don’t care what it costs us.
She’s my life, Rollo.
I cannot lose her again.
Nicolo takes his phone out and starts making calls.
I have no idea who he’s calling, but I know that look on his face.
It reminds me of that evening—it was the night after we had our first kiss in the basement parking elevator.
That evening, he took me out for dinner, and it was a really fancy place, and it was the most romantic thing ever.
I honestly thought he was proposing, and in a way, he did—
‘I want you in my life forever, Juniper. But for that to happen, there’s a favor I’d like to ask.’
That favor turned out to be Nicolo taking over my daily schedule, asking me to quit my job as he signed me up for karate and self-defense.
Shooting lessons. A crash course for every type of vehicle there is (I even have a license to drive eight-wheelers, thanks to him!).
I went along with it because at that time, I was really thinking we’d be moving to a war-torn country or something.
But now...
As I stare at the ravaged expression on Nicolo’s face—
I realize that the reason he left me, and the reason I hated him, and I’m making him pay now—
All he wanted then...
And all he wants now...
He just wants to keep me alive, and the moment this becomes clear—
“I’m s-sorry, I c-can’t do this, I h-have to go.”
I’m already backing away from the monitor, my heart bleeding from the pain I shouldn’t have inflicted—
Oh.
I bump into something just as hands settle over my shoulders, and it’s Elliot turning me around. “It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” I choke out. “It’s not okay, I have to go to him—”
“I know, Juniper—”
“Then let me go!” I try going around him, but he keeps blocking my way. “Elliot, please—”
“I just want you to understand that I need to go with you!” Elliot’s tone is taut. It’s not his attorney voice, and it’s certainly not his flirtatious tone he uses at work. This is just Elliot—
“I need to explain to him that I made you do it. I took advantage of your pain—”
And I finally realize that he’s saying all these things because he got everything wrong.
“He needs to know that you’re not at fault—”
“It’s okay.” It’s my turn to say this, my turn to cut him off with a smile that wobbles hard because I’m this close to breaking down. “It’s okay, Elliot. He’s never going to hurt me.” I didn’t know that before, but I know that now, and that’s why—
“Thank you, Elliot,” I say shakily, “for everything. But I really have to go.”
He slowly nods...before stepping to the side, and then I’m running out of Fred’s apartment—
Running past Rollo who looks at me like I’m a ghost—
And running into my apartment until—
Bam!
Nicolo is holding me in his arms, and he’s just like Rollo. He’s staring at me like I’m a ghost—
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry, I was never...I was n-never in danger—”
He cups my face with shaking hands, his dark eyes looking into mine as if he’s reading everything else that I don’t have the words to say—
“Juniper...”
The rawness of his voice has me choking back a sob.
“I’m s-so sorry, Nicolo—”
A powerful jerk rocks his frame, and I thought he was rejecting my apology until—
“My name,” he says hoarsely. “It’s the first time you’ve ever said my name—”
He’s saying it like his name on my lips is a gift, when it’s him...
It’s him...
Oh, Nicolo.
I don’t even think, I’m just rising up, standing on my toes as I press my lips against his.
I love him. I love him. I love him.
Tears are falling faster on my cheeks as I pull away and whisper, “Am I...am I r-really still your wife?”
“Yes, Juniper.” His voice is ragged. “You still are, you never stopped—”
“T-Then make me yours. P-Please?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked him to...
I don’t have the words to describe it.
All I know is that I don’t even have time to draw another breath, with Nicolo sweeping me up into his arms, and the next thing I know, he’s taken me to my bedroom. He lowers me to my feet, and as our gazes collide, he slowly reaches for me—
W-Wait!
I suddenly remember that I’ve gotten older. Like twenties-to-forties older, and of course that means my body’s changed, and what if he doesn’t realize that—
Nicolo cups my face, and it’s just like before. It’s like he hears my thoughts. Or maybe he just knows me...because he loves me.
“Stop thinking, moglie mia.”
His voice is rougher than I've ever heard it, and the accent he's spent eighteen years hiding is in every word now, and my toes are curling at the sound of him.
“It makes me feel I am doing a bad job at driving you crazy.”
His words catch me off guard, I didn’t..
.I never thought it that way, but when I open my mouth to apologize, I don’t get the chance to speak.
The moment my lips part, Nicolo takes advantage, and his tongue slips in, tasting and claiming me, and all my thoughts finally fade, passion sweeping me up like a tidal wave.
Even breathing becomes a challenge as he finds—
RIIIP.
I have my answer, I think dazedly. He's a ripper, since he's just torn the sweater off me.
“Never ever wear something again that's from another man,” he grits out against my mouth, “or you will really not like the consequences.”
How does he know?!
I want to ask him. I intend to. But when his mouth leaves mine, I end up whimpering instead of speaking, because he turns out to be both. A ripper and an unbuttoner. His fingers have found the buttons of my blouse, and he's undoing them so, so slowly.
He's taking his sweet time.
Like he really wants me to lose my mind.
One...button...at...a...a...aaah!
The blouse falls to the floor. I don't even have time to cover myself, because he's already unclipping the front clasp of my bra, and he's...he's really good at this.
I can't guess when he's going to be slow or fast. Ripper or unbuttoner. All I know is that one moment, I'm still covered. And the next moment, I'm completely exposed to my husband's gaze.
And I just start crying.
Because the way he's looking at me...
The eighteen years were harder for him.
Because he did what he did, I really was able to just walk away. Never look back. Move on with my life.
But it wasn't the same for him.
Because he knew the truth. He waited for me all those eighteen years. Loved me all those eighteen years. And the moment the danger was over, the danger he refused to let reach me even if it meant turning himself into a bad guy in my eyes—
Oh, my love.
The hunger, the reverence in his eyes...
I feel like I don't deserve this at all. But I have no chance to tell him that, because he's kissing me again, this time with all the hunger that's grown in all those eighteen years.
I don't know if he's taking me or I'm giving myself to him.
It feels like both.
Like he's surrendering all of himself to me and I'm taking everything because he's mine, too.
When he starts moving, I stop thinking completely.
When he moves even faster, I can only cling harder.
It's like being on a ride that just goes up, up, up, while my body tightens more and more and more. I know I'm going to fall, fast and hard. I just don't know when. And it's the not knowing that makes me sob.
That makes him grit my name out against my mouth.
His arms tightening around me like he's afraid this is the moment he loses me.
His voice doing something I've never heard a man's voice do before—saying my name like it's the only word he's ever wanted to know.
And when it finally does happen, it's not a fall.
It's the opposite.
Like everything I've been holding for eighteen years is finally being held by someone else.
Like my body remembers, before I do, that there's such a thing as being safe.
“Mine,” he murmurs against my throat.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
His. Mine. His.
Sei mia.
Sono tua. I'm yours.
He says my name in Italian. Then in English. Then in a language I don't think anyone speaks but him.
And every time he says it, I'm a little more his. A little less alone. A little less the woman who's been living with the silence of Como.
Later.
I don't know how much later.
The light at the windows has gone soft. My head is on his chest. His heartbeat's under my ear.
His hand is moving in my hair. Very slowly. Like he's afraid that if he stops, this'll turn out to be a dream.
He's not stopping.
I'm not sleeping, but I might.
I turn my face into his chest. His skin is the warmest thing I've felt in eighteen years.
I never want to move.
I open my mouth, against the place where I can feel his pulse moving.
“I love you, Mr. Sestini.”
His arms tighten.
I feel his lips at the top of my head before I hear his voice.
“Ti amo, signora Sestini.”