66. Nero #2
“After you left me on the balcony,” she continues, shattering me bit by bit, “it hit me. How I wasn’t really angry with you any longer.
What happened didn’t matter. I was following you, trying to cut across the yard to reach you.
” Water lines her eyes at a brief pause, her next words choked out in a whisper so cutting, it slices at my knees. “I didn’t even see them in the hedges.”
I bring her hand to my mouth again, this time kissing her palm.
“I’ll have to live with the fact that I didn’t hear you, that I never glanced behind me.
If I had, you wouldn’t have been taken. You wouldn’t be here.
” The beeps of the machines, the wires connected to her hands, the bandages all over her body have me biting down on the emotions.
“I don’t blame you. I blame myself for not telling you sooner. If I had stopped being so angry—”
“I broke your trust.” I cut her off, my tone not welcoming further argument.
“You begged me not to when we slept together. I promised, yet I did it, so the fault is entirely mine. Your reaction was justified. Trauma altered your perception of men, and though I did everything to make you trust me, I became another one of them. Losing your trust after earning it—something you certainly didn’t have to give me—is a mistake I’ll live with forever, and what I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to win back.
If you ever let me have it again, I make a vow here and now”—I press her hand onto my rapidly beating heart, shuffling to the edge of the chair so her limb doesn’t stretch—“that if I break your trust again, you will kill me. I mean it, Petrov. I’m holding this vow in the highest regard, even above the ones I once spoke to Zeno. ”
“You’re dramatic.” A smirk tilts the corner of her mouth up. “You always are.”
“Dramatic but truthful.”
The smirk grows until she readjusts herself farther up the bed with a low, pained hiss that has me reacting, standing but not touching.
“You came to my show, hid flowers in my dressing room, and matched the sales of that day for the donation. You found the records of all the men Papa sent me after who still live. You hunted one of them to make a point. You would have been part of a prisoner swap so I didn’t sit in prison.
You kept your promise and left me alone until the wedding. ”
“None of it was enough.”
“It was perfect, but I wasn’t done. You saved me eleven years ago because you’re a good person, Nero.
It’s not my place to speak on the situation with Zeno’s father, but I’m so sorry you felt at fault.
Personally, I don’t feel it’d make a difference, but that isn’t my past, nor my pain.
I’ll only help you shoulder it from here on out.
After you returned to my life, you became a friend who proved how men can be good when you find the right one.
You did everything right. You say you regret breaking my trust, but I hardly realized I was feeling that towards you until you did.
Thank you for showing me there’s life beyond what I lived through. ”
“That sounds final, Petrov.” It’s said as a joke to mask the splintering inside me that it’s my reality.
“On the contrary.” She grasps my hand and tugs on it, requesting I stand, so I do.
“It took me a while to realize it, but I love you, Nero Amato, faults and all. I think I have for a while, even before my father’s death.
I don’t know what the emotion feels like romantically, so it took me a while to figure out what my heart was attempting to tell me.
While you’ve been showing me, I’ve been running.
But I’m done running. That’s why I was following you the night of the wedding.
You left, and I was tired of being angry—tired of missing you. Just…tired.”
I cup her face, lowering so she can see for herself how she’s sucked my soul out, yanked my heart from my chest, and kept it for herself.
Still, pressing her hand over the cavity, I admit, “This has always been yours. Since we were teenagers and didn’t understand what the world would do to us, it’s been yours.
It’ll only stop being yours when you shoot me yourself.
You changed the trajectory of my life then, and you saved me now.
I gave up the drinking. Gave up everything to be healthy enough for you because you deserve it.
You deserve someone good, someone to stand beside you no matter what, and I promise to be that person… if you’ll have me.”
She tilts her head, her lips brushing lightly against mine and lighting a fire that’ll never be extinguished after today because I’m too possessive to allow it. “Only if you’ll have my bitchy self.”
“I love your bitchy self, Ana.”
“Anastasia.”
I draw back slightly. “Still?”
“Da. We’re not friends, Amato.” Her smile is a slow climb, begging me to keep up.
My head drops against hers, conscious of the injuries. “Because we’re more. I’ll take it, cara mia.”
The fire lit from the barely-there kiss moves to her gaze, brightening it alongside her grin that stretches the cut, bruised parts. “That’s better.”
Better is having you here.
Instead, I brush a thumb to her lower lip. “How much does it hurt? Can I kiss you for real?”
“I’m not exactly in a kissable state.”
“You’re alive and in my arms. There’s nothing more beautiful than that.”
She rolls her lips together, testing. “Be gentle.”
My lips lightly brush over hers, letting her deepen the kiss to what she’s comfortable with. Mouth on mine, I make her silent promises as to what our future will be. I kiss her until the machines’ beeps speed up and a nurse bolts into the room, admonishing me to keep her patient calm.
Anastasia laughs, pulling back to catch her breath. She apologizes to the nurse, who fusses for a few minutes, but I’m not at all sorry. Not when, beneath the dark bruises, she’s glowing. She giggles again when the nurse throws a glare in my direction before leaving.
I’ve finally made Anastasia Petrov mine. As if I’d allow anyone to dictate that.
Except Ana herself, of course.