Page 84 of Contempt

She hadn’t been surprised to see him standing there, and if she hadn’t wanted someone to see her washing the tears from her face, then she could have closed the door.

Instead, she didn’t.

“I spent a lot of time being angry,” Lucia whispered.

“I still am,” Renzo replied.

“Me, too. A lot of the time.”

Yeah, he knew that life.

“Do you want to talk about it—your dad, or whatever?”

He figured he should offer, despite the fact he wasn’t even one-hundred percent sure on his own feelings regarding Lucian Marcello. It was kind of amusing, in a sick way. He still felt anger over the things that had happened years ago, yet he found himself respecting and liking Lucian more and more as time went on.

He was sure that wasn’t supposed to happen.

It still was.

Renzo bet it was even more confusing for Lucia, in some ways. The man was her father. So, yeah, of course, she was always going to love him. She would always have that love in her heart for him no matter what. Through the bad times, and the good times. That was the thing about love—it never left. Not this kind of love, anyway.

Lucia shook her head, and let out a slow and steady stream of air as she watched herself in the mirror. “No, not right now.”

“Okay, whenever you want, then.”

She passed him a look. “Does that mean you’re going to stick around more? What, do you plan to just walk right back into everybody’s life like nothing ever happened?”

“Something happened, but yeah, I’m still walking back in, Lucia. Are you going to let me in, or keep pushing me away?”

He saw the way her throat jumped when she swallowed. He bet if he got his lips pressed against her neck where he could feel her pulse, that beat would be racing out of control right now. He loved this woman like crazy.

It didn’t have to make sense.

“I don’t want to push you away,” she admitted.

Then, don’t.

Renzo didn’t say that out loud.

Lucia was allowed her feelings.

She could have them.

He’d still be waiting at the end.

“You okay?” he asked. “Do you want to go back out to the table, or …?”

Lucia used her damp hands to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks, and took the hand towel he pulled off the rack when he offered it to her. She used it to dry her face, and then check her reflection one more time in the mirror.

“You look perfect,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a lie.

Crying, or with makeup done all up … natural, or a beautifully painted siren, she was always going to be perfect to him.

He didn’t miss the way her lips quirked upward. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to. Besides, if I don’t tell you, who is, baby?”