He bent to kiss her neck in a spot that he knew tickled and she laughed as she pulled away from him. A shiver ran through her as the sensation lingered and she glared at him. “That was just wrong.”
She picked up the glass to take a drink, but before she could pull it up all the way, he spoke.
“It made you smile though,” he grinned at her but then the smile disappeared.
The glass shook in her hand. Her left hand. The hand that didn’t have a tremor. The juice splashed out of the glass until she put it down. There. That.
That was what really scared her, that was the elephant in the room they’d danced around all this time today. Would she need a doctor? Would she be able to travel? She looked at him, fear in her eyes, reflected back in his.
“That’s the wrong hand.” His voice was low as if he didn’t want to say it too loud.
“I know.” She stared at him, then looked at her hand, flat against the counter. “It’s the wrong hand.”
“Fuck.” He took her in his arms again and she let the sob out that she’d been trying to strangle down. “Fuck baby, I’m here for you. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”
“I can’t do it, Matteo, I can’t go through that. Not what Mom went through. I just can’t.” She clung to him, her lifeline in this storm. “Please, make it go away.”
“I would if I could, baby, you know that.”
There were tears in his voice, but she was clinging tightly to him, her head pressed into his neck, and she couldn’t see his face. The world, the real world, had just settled back over them, and it had destroyed all of the happiness she’d had all day. It was the wrong hand.
17
Dinner was over with and the dishes washed. Anton had gone back upstairs, his face troubled, but he hadn’t said much. They’d talked while Marie cooked dinner, and they’d both agreed it was time to go back to New York. Anton would call in the morning and arrange a plane for later tomorrow night; he hadn’t told her yet. He wanted to make sure she was calm, that she wasn’t a mess because that tremor in her other hand had all but wrecked them both.
She’d put a smile on her face after she’d cried herself out and he’d taken her into the living room. She’d put her head in his lap and fallen asleep. It had been one of the sweetest moments of his life, stroking her hair as she slept peacefully, at last. He hadn’t wanted to move and wake her, so he watched some sappy romantic comedy that came on the television, with the closed captioning on to keep quiet. It was a trick he’d learned from her. One of the many things he’d learned from her.
He loved her, he loved her more than anything else on this planet, and nothing would ever change that. He just wished he could tell her. He’d almost told her a dozen times, maybe a thousand times, but something always held it back. It sounded like Celeste’s voice, that something, telling him not to be so fucking weak. Only the poor were weak, according to her.
From what he’d seen, it was the poor that were the toughest of all; those that were rich had it easy. He’d been the spoiled nephew of a mafia queen his entire life, but that didn’t mean he’d been protected from the worst things people could do to each other. He’d watched as men were beaten for information, he’d seen the things his aunt had ordered, so much worse than anything he’d ever ordered. Although, he’d done his fair share of dirty deeds, things he’d never tell Marie about.
Things he tried not to think about.
“What are you thinking about?” The sweet sound of her soft voice broke into his thoughts and he turned his head towards her.
They’d made a pallet on the floor, in front of the fire, with pillows for their heads, and a bottle of wine to ease their thirst.
He squinted into the orange flames for a moment, the heat cast off by the burning wood a nice warmth that wasn’t too hot. He rolled over, tucked his left arm behind his head, and stared up at the bare beams of the ceiling. “You.”
“Me? But you were frowning.” She sat up and looked down at him. “What have I done?”
“You haven’t done anything.” He looked up at her brown eyes, a shade he’d come to love, and smile. “Not yet anyway.”
He sat up and pulled her down to tickle her ribs. She laughed loudly and tried to get away, but he held her down with a kiss that soon turned her quiet, except for a gasp here and there. Then she moaned and that sound went straight through him. “Fuck, I can’t believe how much I need you, Marie.”
“Crazy isn’t it? Aren’t we supposed to be sick of each other by now, and getting on with life?” She smiled up at him, now on her back.
“It is. I never thought I’d have anything like this. I never dared dream I would find someone to, ahem, someone like you. I didn’t know you were down there in the bayou waiting on me, though.”
“I was, even if I didn’t know it. But my momma did tell me to stay away from Mafia boys, that you were all the same.” She pushed a lock of hair behind his ear and sighed happily. “I’m so glad I ignored her.”
“Are you? Even with my crazy aunt?” He hadn’t necessarily meant to bring the woman up again, but he did wonder.
“Even with your crazy aunt.” She looped her arms behind his head and pushed her chin up a little. “Maybe even because of your crazy aunt. She made you who you are, but despite all of that, you’re still your own man. Aunt or not.”
“What do you mean?” A peck on the nose accompanied the question.
“You are a strong, independent, fiercely loyal man, Matteo. You’re a good man. You’ve lived your life, and you’ve come to a point where you know what you want from the rest of your life. Instead of throwing that away, you’re choosing to live for yourself now. Not anyone else. Except for me, maybe.” The brightness of her smile made her eyes shine and he couldn’t help but love her a little more.
He pulled the blankets back up over them and pulled her close to his chest. He needed to deflect from the emotions her confidence in him caused. He wasn’t a good man, he hadn’t been, at least, not until her. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She pecked his nose this time and smiled. “You’re perfect for me.”
“And you are all that matters. The only person’s opinion that matters is yours.” He brushed the hair away from her face, looked down at her, so beautiful and full of something he wanted to say was love.
Could it be that she did? Or did she just think she was in love? He wondered sometimes. He was her first kiss, her first lover, her first in so many things. At first, that had fascinated him, but now he wondered if she’d ever wonder what life, sex, kissing even, would be like with someone else? Maybe it was unfair.
Fuck it.
He didn’t care if it was fair, not when she looked up at him like that, with desire mixed with happiness. She loved him and that was all that mattered. Fucking someone else was the furthest thing from her mind, and as long as he kept her happy, didn’t act like a dick and fuck this all up, he’d keep her that way.
Marie wasn’t the kind of woman you could push away forever, he knew that she wasn’t the kind that would be able to handle a man that was constantly a jerk to her either. She wanted a man to be a man, and act like one. To be responsible, to help her, and be her mate. Not a man that walked all over her, she’d had enough of that shit to last her a lifetime.