Page 135 of Promised to the Don of Naples
He started again. Deeper now, slower still, his forehead against mine, and I wrapped both legs around him and held on to his back, to the muscles of his back, to the family tattoo rising and falling under my hands.
I came first.
It was long, and it was silent, and it was with my face buried in his neck to smother the sound. My legs trembled, the air went out of me all at once, and I held him with everything I had as the wave passed.
He waited for me to breathe. Then he went harder, finally, his mouth on my collarbone, and came right after—his whole body locking once, in silence, the way he did, with a rough sound swallowed against my skin.
Then he stayed on top of me.
He didn't pull out. He stayed there, all his weight, his breathing fast against my neck, and I didn't ask him to move. Iran my hand through the wet hair at the nape of his neck, slowly, and we stayed like that—without words, just the two hearts beating, coming down in rhythm little by little, in the corner room of the Hotel Lucia with the gulf of Salerno dark outside.
His hand stayed open on my belly.
"You feel different," he murmured, again, against my hair. "Since Capri."
"I know."
"You still won't tell me what happened."
I swallowed hard.
"The day after tomorrow I'll tell you."
The day after tomorrow, I thought. If there is a day after tomorrow.
He raised himself on his elbow, looked at me in the half-light. His hand moved up from my belly to my face, brushed the wet hair off my forehead.
"You're afraid," he said.
"I am."
"Of tomorrow?"
"Of losing you tomorrow."
He was quiet for a while, then kissed my forehead.
"Me too," he murmured. "For the first time in forty-four years, I'm afraid to die." He rested his forehead against mine again. "Because before you there was nothing on the other side of the fear. Now there is."
I felt a knot in my throat.
"Luca. Promise me that if it goes wrong, you get out."
"No."
"Luca…"
"I'm not going to promise that, bella mia." He pulled me up onto his chest, finally coming off of me, settling me with my head over the Latin tattoo. "If it goes wrong tomorrow, I don't leave without you. Not even dead."
I closed my eyes against his chest. I didn't argue anymore; I knew I wouldn't win that one.
I woke at three.
Luca was asleep on his stomach, the tattoo on his back showing in the faint light coming through the gap in the curtain.
I took the phone, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom, closing the door and sitting on the edge of the tub.
I called Capri.
