18. Giada
Giada
“You think I don’t want you?”
Luca stands in front of the conservatory bench. Damp heat beads along his hairline. The silver tardigrade remains fixed to his lapel.
“I think you wanted sex with me,” I say. “That is different.”
“Giada—”
“Your Don ordered you to marry me. You obeyed. You called our marriage strategic. We had sex. The next morning, after I asked you to leave, you stopped touching me.”
“You asked me to leave.”
“I wanted you to kiss me and ask me to stay in your bed. I said the opposite. I was afraid of the answer.”
His shoulders lower. “I wanted to keep you there until you believed you were mine. Instead, I gave you distance. I was afraid you regretted choosing me.”
“Then we were both cowards.”
“Yes.” He sits beside me but leaves space between our coats. “The order at the altar wasn’t mine. I won’t lie about that. Everything after it was my choice.”
My gaze drops to the pin above his heart.
“I gave you your own room to make you safe,” he says. “I stopped when you offered me your body without wanting sex. I changed my house for you. I wear this inaccurate creature. You chose it for me.”
“It has eight legs, but the claws lack detail.”
“You have mentioned that.”
“Twice.”
His mouth curves. “May I hold your hand?”
I place mine in his. His fingers close with firm pressure.
“I listen because you fascinate me. I want your facts, your corrections, and your socks in my bed. I want you beside me when I work, when I eat, and when I sleep.”
The running water fills the pause between us. “Why did you stay away?”
“I thought distance was respect.” His thumb moves along the side of my hand. “Part of it was cowardice. I couldn’t bear to ask whether you wished I had never touched you.”
“I did not regret it. My body was sore. I wanted you again anyway.”
“Giada.” My name breaks on his tongue.
“I wanted you to tell me I mattered more than the strategy.”
“You do.” His fingers lock around mine. “Going home means going to you now. Before you, it was a building where I slept. When you’re there, I want to return.”
His jaw pulls tight.
“I love you.”
Pain presses beneath my ribs, but it is not the same pain as before.
“I should have told you before you had reason to doubt it,” he says. “I am controlling. I turn conversations into negotiations. I make plans before asking what you want, and I call fear strategy.”
“You are also very good at threatening men.”
“One of my better qualities.” His mouth curves, then flattens. “I will make mistakes with you. I’m asking you to accept those parts of me while I learn to do better. You owe me nothing. I’m asking my wife to choose me.”
My family taught me that acceptance moved in one direction. I changed myself, and they tolerated whatever remained.
Luca names the parts of himself that can hurt us. He does not require me to call them virtues.
“You accept all of me?”
“I do more than accept you. I love your honesty, your routines, your corrections, your blue shirt, your mind, and your body.” He touches the pin. “I love my tardigrade.”
My shoulders pull toward my ears. “Are you mocking me?”
“Never.” He kneels on the stone path in front of me. Moisture darkens his trousers. “You are tiny, stubborn, and extraordinarily resilient. Your family tried to crush what they did not value. They failed.”
“Tardigrades are not indestructible. They can die from heat, dehydration, radiation, chemicals, or physical damage.”
“Neither are you.” His gaze holds mine. “You can be hurt. Resilient doesn’t mean nothing reaches you. It means they failed to destroy you.”
The damp room blurs. Water slips down both cheeks. Luca remains on his knees. He does not wipe my face or ask me to stop.
“You left their house with one suitcase and brought more courage into mine than it had ever held,” he says. “You are my tardigrade. You will remain my wife only if you choose me.”
He found me because he listened. He asks for my flaws while placing his own between us.
“I choose you, Luca.”
His shoulders drop. He bows over our joined hands and presses his forehead to my knuckles.
“May I touch you?”
“Yes. Firmly.”
He rises and gathers me against him. One arm locks around my waist while the other holds my shoulders to his body. Pressure surrounds me from collarbone to hips.
“I love you,” I say against his collar.
His body goes rigid.
I lift my face. “You stopped moving.”
“I need to listen to you say it again.”
“I love you.” I move close enough for my mouth to brush his.
His mouth covers mine. The kiss has none of his usual restraint. His palm cups the base of my skull while his other arm keeps me against him. Heat returns to every place the January air reached.
When he lifts his head, his forehead rests against mine. “You came here to release me.”
“I had incomplete information.”
“Do you have enough now?”
“Yes.” I touch the damp hair at his temple. “Take me home and prove again that you want your wife.”