Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Maybe I don’t need a reason.”
“Lucy—”
“We don’t have to do this.” I gently place an old 1988 Phillies World Series mug into one of the boxes. “I get it, you’re busy. You’re fighting a war. You’re running an empire. I’m fine.”
He seems bothered by that. “You don’t have to be. You can be angry.”
“Do you want me to yell at you?”
“Maybe a little bit.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, bud. Not happening.”
“Bud?” His eyes narrow. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“Too bad, pal.” I cross my arms. “Buddy. Chief. Bro.”
He licks his lips, and I catch a glimmer of the old Adriano, the man I first married. The one with the wicked mouth and the darkness. The man who slipped out of his mask and showed me glimpses of who he really is beneath the bespoke suits and the brutality.
But he turns back to the mess. “We should get to work,” he says softly.
I don’t argue. Side by side, we go through everything. The movers are getting closer and closer, and we only just finish by the time they make it back into the bedroom. Adriano insists on helping carry out the last few boxes. I drift after them, watching from a distance as he tips the men generously. Their enormous moving truck rumbles down the street, and my husband comes back to me, sun drifting through his hair.
He walks up the steps, and I expect him to slip past again. He’ll disappear into his office, and the last hour we spent in companionable silence will fade along with him. I’ll go back to feeling abandoned and worthless.
But instead, he holds out his hand.
I stare at that callused palm. Symbols are tattooed on his knuckles: a cross, a skull, a five-pointed star.
I reach out and awkwardly grip him like we’re old work colleagues.
He pulls me forward. I yelp in surprise as I run into his muscular body. His arms wrap around me, and I tilt my head back to look into his eyes, and that’s when he buries my mouth with his.
Fuck, it’s unexpected. It’s soft and wet and tastes like gum.
And it’s good; it’s so good. It’s the kiss I’ve been craving for months. The kiss I’ve needed so badly all this time. I push into that kiss, open my mouth for his tongue, let him invade me, take me, as his arms tighten their grip on my body. I whimper into him, feeling pathetic and weak and soft, but not caring. Because this is all I’ve wanted. Him, my husband, back in my arms. Back in my life. Treating me like I’m a woman worth keeping.
The kiss holds and holds, and he finally breaks it off with a deep breath in through his nose.
“Thank you,” he says.
“I know I’m a great kisser, but no thanks are necessary.”
He squeezes my ass hard. “You know what I mean.”
I lightly brush him away. My cheeks are burning, and my head’s a dizzy mess of lust, but I do have standards. He can’t just disappear for months and suddenly start fondling me again.
A girl needs a little foreplay first.
“I’m here for you, that’s all.”
“I don’t know why.”
I gesture around us. “Because… because I’m your wife. And you need someone to be there for you.”
“You don’t owe me that.” He seems genuinely confused. “This was supposed to be an arrangement.”
My stomach falls. I turn away, wrapping my arms around myself. “I know that. You don’t have to remind me.”
“Wait,” he says, stepping toward me. He grabs my wrist before I can duck inside. “Don’t pull away.”
“I’m the one pulling away?”
“Right now, yes.”
“Hilarious coming from my husband the ghost.”
His jaw flexes. “I know I haven’t been very present for you lately.”
“Understatement.”
“I haven’t been a good man.” His grip on my wrist tightens. I look down at the line on his jaw. It’s healed now, but there’s still a light white scar left behind. “The war’s been hard, and being here hasn’t made it easier. I lost my mother in this house. I lost my father too. But that’s not a good excuse.”
“You really don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.” He moves closer, tugging me into him. I press my hands to his chest, trying to put space between us, but he doesn’t let me go. A cool breeze blows in across the front porch, and a nearby wind chime rattles. “You’ve been patient. You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Neither did you.” I stare into his dark eyes. A storm’s brewing in him. “My grandmother pushed you into this war.”
“She’s not the reason I’m fighting it.” He leans closer. His mouth brushes my neck. “I could give you up. That would end things.”
A chill runs down my spine. Just from the wind? “You could do that.”
“We both know I can’t.”
“Adriano—”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disappeared on you these last few months.”