by S. Massery
I nod curtly and pull free, continuing on. “Shouldn’t you be in France by now?”
She scoffs. “As if Cris would let me within three miles of Wilder DeSantis.”
She shivers, and I glance over at her. It isn’t cold—not for her. Her expression is peculiar.
“What?” she snaps.
“Do you still—?” I shake my head, unable to finish the thought.
I don’t understand women. After spending time with Amelie, I’m even more certain of it. Especially since Mariella seems… hopeful. In her dream world, maybe her brothers find Wilder, beat him, and then she nurses him back to health.
I snort.
“Do not judge me,” she says stiffly. “You don’t know me.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
“Did my brother do that to your face?”
“One of your relatives,” I reply. “Matteo said I shouldn’t arrive in your city without calling ahead. Can’t imagine he’ll be saying much for a while.”
“Hm.” She grimaces. “He’s in surgery, in case you were wondering. Since you used to be friends.”
“I wasn’t wondering.”
She stops walking, and I keep going another few feet before curiosity gets the better of me. I turn around, only to find she’s staring at a headstone.
Loathing sweeps through me. How is it that I couldn’t remember where Mom is, but she can? She’s spent time here. She grew up in this town, except for her brief exile while she recovered from her parents’ anger.
I stay back, and Mariella scowls at the headstone. My mother was a fierce woman, but she didn’t put up much fight against Jameson. I wonder how well the girl knew my mother. Better than me?
That side of my heritage is slipping through my fingers. I wanted to heed its call. To stay here, build a life, learn my family. Not just Paloma, but the extended family. Travel Italy. Meet cousins I’d never heard of before.
The longing hits me square in the chest.
Amelie has steered my future off course.
“Did you know your mother was arranged to marry a Costa?”
I flinch.
Mariella glances and me and frowns. “No, then. Interesting. Everyone always leaves that part out. She was beautiful when she was younger. She showed me pictures, and my parents mentioned it a few times. They went to school with her. She was dragged away by Jameson and came back pregnant with you, so that… that ended things. But then he only came back for you, and not her.” The hurt is evident in her voice.
Her empathy for my mom is surprisingly strong.
“Why hasn’t anyone said?” I ask. “Why keep secrets?”
Shock colors my voice, but it takes a moment for the deeper ramifications to trickle down. I’m sure Amelie would put the pieces together quickly, if she were here. She’s got a knack for such things.
It’s the fact that Wilder and Mariella aren’t the first instance of a DeSantis ruining something good. Jameson ruined my mother’s prospects for happiness. And look what happened: she died alone.
“It’s like water,” she says. She hops up and winds away, through the headstones.
I gnash my teeth. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she calls. Then laughs. “You better leave, Luca, lest my brothers have the same thought I did. And I believe your wife promised us you would leave the city.” Softer, she adds, “You can talk to your mother anywhere.”
Fucking hell. My anger for the Costas loops in Amelie, and I take a moment to rage at them all. She did what she had to do—but leaving here seems final.
It’s like water. I’m going to have a hell of a time figuring that one out. But she’s right—I’ve dallied long enough.
“Sorry, Mom,” I murmur, touching my fingers to my lips, then the cool stone. “I’ll be back someday.”
15
Amelie
The lights flicker on, and Smith ducks out of the cockpit to open the stairs. I didn’t manage to get any sleep, but I think I dozed in the dark while Luca was gone. Hushed voices drift toward me, and finally Luca appears.
He glances around the cabin, at the front chairs where we originally sat, then farther back to the two couches.
I sit up slowly, keeping the blanket tucked around me.
“Let’s get going,” Luca says to Smith. “And can we get the temperature up in here?”
The pilot nods and closes his cockpit door.
Luca crosses the space and sinks to his knees in front of me. He brushes my hair off my face. “Are you okay?”
“Besides battling the feeling of total abandonment?” I try to be funny, but it falls flat. Neither of us smile. “I’m… okay.”
He sighs. “You have blood on your face.”
My eyes widen, and I throw the blanket off. He blocks my escape to the bathroom, gently catching my hands.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
I sit with my hands in my lap, and Luca goes to the bathroom in the back. He returns with a stack of paper towels and resumes his position in front of me. He dabs at my face, then puts a damp one in my hand.
“I cleaned off your hands,” he says quietly. “Do you remember?”
I close my eyes and lean into his touch. “I… don’t. Everything is a blur.”
“You had blood on your hands from saving Ricardo’s life.”
Grabbing the hilt of the knife before he ripped it out, holding my hands over his. And the awful scream that tore out of Matteo… I’d covered my ears. I must look crazy with two bloody partial handprints on my face.
My eyes fill with tears. “Is he okay?”
He nods. “He just got out of surgery. It only nicked his stomach, and keeping the blade in saved his life. Please don’t cry.”
I scrub my fingers, then wipe my face.
“Where did you go?” The question has been burning through me, but I don’t know if he’s going to answer me. I don’t know if I can take another rejection.
“I went to see Paloma… and my mother.” He lifts his shoulder. “Just thought I should say goodbye.”
The intercom crackles, and then our pilot says, “We’re next up on the runway. Please take your seats.”
Luca offers his hand, and we go to the seats in the front. I pull the blanket along with me, although the cabin is already heating up. My jacket stays forgotten behind me.
Have you ever tried to sleep in a leather jacket? Not the most comfortable thing.
I tip my head back and exhale. “What’s it going to be like in New York? You don’t live on the estate with your father.”
“I don’t.” He hasn’t released my hand, and his thumb rubs circles over my knuckles. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn. I could’ve lived in downtown Manhattan, but I like the separation. Aiden lives in the tower, but he’s not there much. It wouldn’t be as suffocating.”
I close my eyes. “I got ready in his apartment, I think. With Mom and Lucy. It was nice.” And lifeless. It was very clear that Aiden spent little time there. “What’s your place like?”
He contemplates that. “Quiet. Warm.”
I shiver. “Warm sounds good.”
“Are you still cold?”
We’re in the air now, the plane leveling off above the clouds.
I nod.
He reaches over and unbuckles me, lifting me easily into his lap. He wraps my blanket around both of us, tucking my limbs in and shifting our weight. I loop my arm around his neck.
Don’t kiss him, Amelie.
He has other ideas. His lips touch my temple, and my heart skips. It’s a traitor.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
I grip the front of his shirt. “I can’t.”
“Close your eyes and I’ll tell you what I did to Matteo.”
I shudder, but… a dark part of me needs to know. I didn’t see him after that scream—all I know is that he’s alive. So I meet his gaze, then slowly let my eyes shut. I rest my cheek on his shoulder, my nose brushing his throat.
&nbs
p; He smells sweet, like honey and sweat. I want to bury my nose in his collar.
“Twice he threatened you, and once he touched you without permission.” He speaks softly, a tone more suited for telling a child a bedtime story than this. “We grew up together. He has a fear of being forgotten—it’s a middle-child symptom, I think. Of half a dozen kids, he was smack in the middle, and that meant he went to extremes to stay relevant. As a bastard son, myself, I empathized with him.
“Our friendship fractured once we got into more and more trouble, and then it shattered completely after Wilder’s actions against Mariella.” He goes quiet.
He acknowledges that what happened wasn’t Mariella’s fault, I suppose? And the blame rests on Wilder’s shoulders.
“He most likely had a cracked rib from our encounter earlier this afternoon. A bullet in his leg. He obviously got medical attention earlier that day, and they must’ve dosed him up on painkillers. They can cause brain fog, slower reaction time…”
“I remember. I had my wisdom teeth taken out a few years ago.”
He hums and tightens his grip on me. I have a feeling his story will take a turn for the worse, and my anticipation soars. He traces my arm under the blanket, ending at my fingers.
“I broke his fingers,” he said. “They still held the smell of you. I crushed his hand under my heel, and then I broke his jaw. It wasn’t even hard. He was on the floor, and I kicked his face. The crunch of bone… That’s when he screamed.
“I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep going until his whole face was a bloody mess.”
“But you did,” I whisper. My eyes are heavy now. Instead of Matteo forcing his hand into my pants, it’s Luca’s touch on my arm that I can focus on.
“I did. You needed me.” He kisses the top of my head. “Sleep, if you can. We have a long flight ahead of us.”
To my surprise, I do sleep.
Later, I wake up to him setting me on the couch.
“Do you feel better?”
I nod, suddenly shy. He just let me sleep on him. I probably drooled.
Oh god.
I try to wipe at my mouth discretely, but I catch his smirk. I scan his shirt for wet spots, my mortification growing. I don’t like people watching me sleep, and he’s seen me unconscious twice now. Three times if we include my hazy memory of directly after the shooting.
“Tell me,” he says.
I tip my head to the side. “Tell you what?”
He puts his hands on my knees. “That you’re okay. That I can do what I’ve wanted to do since we left the restaurant.”
A thrill shoots up my back. I want more than anything for the memories of what happened tonight—and yesterday—to be erased. By Luca. Because what happened between us has shifted my heart. He saved me. Proved he’d protect me. And… well, the darkness in him calls to me.
I didn’t know I could be dark, but I think we’re all capable of it to some degree. For the briefest of moments, I picture Matteo’s pleading eyes as I laid down his sentencing. I decided his fate.
“I’m not okay,” I admit. “I don’t know what to do with my guilt. And, with the exception of the sleep I just got, I haven’t been able to stop reliving—” What’s wrong with me that I can’t even say it? I swallow. “I need you to erase that. So I remember you.”
He doesn’t move.
I glance away. “I’m not telling you this so you think I’m broken. I’m not—”
“You’re not. I know.” He holds out his hands.
I take them, and he helps me to my feet.
He stands so close, our chests almost touch. But we don’t cross that distance. He just unbuttons my pants and drags them off my hips. I hold on to his shoulder and step out of the jeans, flinging them away.
He leans forward and presses a kiss over the top of my panties.
I suck in a breath and tighten my grip on him.
“This is mine,” he says, sliding the fabric down.
I kick that away, too.
He walks me backward, and I hit the edge of the couch. I fall onto it, releasing a little yelp.
Luca grins. “Scared?”
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
He parts my legs and runs his finger down my center. Hot sparks travel through me, and I gasp. I let my head tip back and close my eyes. When he pushes one finger into me, I’m right back at the restaurant. I tense.
“Amelie, look at me,” he orders.
I crack my eyes just as Luca descends. His mouth lands on my clit, sucking hard.
I jolt at the suddenness of it, but oh my god. I can’t tear my gaze away from him. He crooks his finger, teasing a spot inside me.
A second finger joins his first, and his pace quickens. He’s playing with my body as if he owns me, and I can’t tell whether I love or hate it.
Either way, this is going to be the fastest orgasm of my life.
“Luca, oh my god—”
It crests and breaks through me, over and over.
He doesn’t pull out of me, but he sits back on his heels and watches his fingers. The sensation is light, but my thighs tremble.
“Stop,” I moan. “Luca.”
“Remember what I promised you?”
What? No.
“Lies, Amelie.” He kisses the inside of my thigh. “How many did we stack up today?”
Oh god. And the fact that I only get wetter is proof that I’m into his games. I’m about to tell him screw it, I need to kiss him, but the words clog.
I don’t want to get attached to him.
He doesn’t slow—the pace he keeps is relentless, even as the waves of my orgasm ease. I shift, pushing at his hand, and he slaps my pussy. The pain of it, holy hell. I almost come on the spot.
“You like that, wife?”
“I don’t—”
Smack.
He thrusts his fingers into me, and it doesn’t just push me over the ledge—I fly off it. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and I clench around his fingers. Damn it. I moan, unable to stop the sound from escaping.
I reach for him—to push him away—but he just catches my wrists. He lifts my tank top, over the front over my head. He slides it down behind me, to my elbows, and ties off the material. I try not to think about how close he is. His face right next to mine, his arms looped around me.
My pulse quickens.
But all too fast—or maybe not fast enough—he sits back and admires his handiwork. My arms are slightly behind me, my tank top knotted at my elbows. It isn’t uncomfortable. It thrusts my chest into his face, though, and that’s exactly where his gaze goes next. My forearms and hands are free, but I can’t really go anywhere. Can’t stop him.
And my god, I think I do like it.
He just gave me two orgasms, but lust rushes straight to my core. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
“What do you want?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “I want to see what you’re going to do next.”
Surprise flits across his face.
“Okay,” he answers. He stands and backs away. “Kneel.”
I slip from the couch to my knees.
“Can you reach your clit?”
“Yes,” I say.
He takes his shirt off, then his pants. “I’m going to fuck your mouth while you touch yourself. Don’t hold back, Amelie.”
I shudder, but I widen my knees and lean back slightly, pressing my finger to my clit. I’m already sensitive from what he did to me earlier. I let out a shaky exhale.
He raises my chin. “Open.”
I do, gaze on his cock. I get the same thrill I did earlier. Was it only this morning we had sex for the first time? It feels like a week ago, at least.
I never expected things to move so quickly. Not physically.
Not emotionally.
He grasps my hair and tugs my head back farther. The tip of his cock slides against my lips, my tongue. “You don’t have control. Do you understand?”
I try to nod, but his g
rip in my hair tightens. “Yes,” I manage.
“Tap my thigh if it’s unbearable.”
It’s my only out before he slides into my mouth.
And he’s right: I don’t have control. He fucks my mouth hard. He hits the back of my throat, and I choke around him. I don’t tell him to stop, though. I just take deep inhales through my nose when I’m able.
I push my finger into myself.
There’s something dirty about it, but impossibly hot. I’m used, bound, but whether Luca likes it or not, I am in control. Of this moment. Of my orgasm.
He grunts and pistons into me faster. Tears stream down my face.
Ah, fuck.
I rub myself harder, matching his tempo. He sets a brutal speed, and I cry out when I come again. He pulls out of my mouth, his dick wet with my saliva. It bobs in front of me.
He drags me to my feet. I can barely stand—not after that. He supports most of my weight and wipes my face, then ducks down to kiss me.
I can’t.
I turn my head away at the last moment, and his lips land on my cheek.
He doesn’t say anything about it. Maybe he thinks I’m weird about kissing after oral. He sits and tugs me down. My knees go on either side of his thighs.
I stare into his dark eyes and try to see my future.
“Luca,” I say hoarsely. “What’s going to happen to us?”
He lifts me slightly, aligning with my entrance. He’s right there, but now it’s my decision to lower myself. I wait for his answer. My muscles tremble. I don’t know how I’m still upright.
He cups my face. “We’ll find a normal.”
It’s not the answer I want. I want to go back to school. To see my friends and my sister. To hunt down my demons and shoot them in the face. What I don’t want is his idea of normal, which could be anything from keeping me locked at home, raising eight babies, to harboring me as a wife in name only.
That’s a vicious fear.
But isn’t it true?
The boys I dated in high school moved on to find their true loves, leaving me behind. The man I had thought I was going to marry was shot. Luca… he probably hates my guts. We’re married, but that doesn’t mean loyalty. It doesn’t mean love.
It’s just a license provided by the fucking state of New York.