Page 122 of When She Unravels
I’ve come here often over the last few days to stare at the glittering water and think about what Damiano said to me when we returned to the house the night Lazaro died.
He wants me to stay here. To marry me and make me his queen. He said he loved me, but I didn’t say it back. The memory sends a rush of warmth through me, but it’s chased away by a breeze. I place my forearms on the railing and exhale a breath.
I woke up before him this morning—a rarity—and I studied his body and the contours of his face. He’s so handsome that sometimes it hurts to look at him. He has a little birthmark just above his right hip, and when I pressed my lips to it this morning, he stirred awake and made a sound I’ll never forget. A happy sigh, mixed with a sleepy moan. I wanted to box that sound up and hide it away. A piece of him only I would get to keep.
I thought he’d pressure me to make a decision, but he hasn’t brought it up again. He comes and keeps me company. We watch movies, share meals, and talk about his day. More often, we have lengthy make-out sessions that leave me feeling hazy with arousal. He insists he won’t do anything else with me until I’m back to one hundred percent. When I ask him questions about Sal or anything clan related, he gives me honest answers without holding anything back.
All of this plants ideas inside my head, which I’m sure is his intention. He’s showing me what it could be like if I say yes. And honestly? He’s starting to win me over.
It’s all crazy. I’ve only just escaped a toxic marriage to a made man, and now I’m seriously considering saying yes to another.
But Damiano isn’t Lazaro, and I’m no longer compelled to act on anyone’s wishes but my own. If I agree to do this, it will be my choice. It will be a marriage of equals. There won’t be any secrets or lies or wool pulled over my eyes.
When the door creaks open, I know it’s him. The sound of his leather shoes on the hard wood floor is familiar by now. He steps onto the balcony and places a warm hand on the small of my back.
I turn to him. There are subtle changes to his face. The hard lines I remember so clearly that first night we met have softened. His eyes are no longer so dark. His lips quirk with a hint of a smile, and a hoard of butterflies comes alive inside my gut.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks in his deep voice.
I smile. “You.”
His brow furrows, and he flicks his gaze away, seeming nervous for what must be the first time. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe,” I tease.
“I have something to show you that should score a few points in my favor.”
“I’ve already seen your penis.”
He snorts a laugh. “Not that.” His arm snakes around my waist. “C’mon.”
I’m eager to leave the confines of his room after spending three days in it, so I follow him zealously. His hand stays on my hip as we make it down the hall and descend the stairs.
When the living room comes into sight, my mouth falls open. I grip his forearm for support. “Gemma?”
My sister’s sitting on the couch across from a glowering Ras, but when she hears me, she jumps to her feet and whirls around. “Vale!”
I can’t believe my eyes. How is it possible that she’s here? How did my father allow her to come?
My gaze finds Damiano’s. He’s looking very pleased with himself.
“You did this?” I ask him in an awed voice.
He doesn’t answer, just smiles and nudges me forward.
That’s when I know.
I’m going to marry this man.
* * *
Around dusk, we all go outside to have dinner on the patio. The table is set for five. I settle in between Damiano and Gemma and take in the magnificent spread prepared by the cook. A board of Iberian ham, tomato spread, and bread, leafy salad with grilled goat cheese, sardines in olive oil, and shrimp ceviche. It all looks so good it makes my mouth water.
While Gemma argues with Ras over what wine we should drink—I don’t recall her ever having strong opinions on the topic—Damiano takes it upon himself to fill my plate with food.
“I hope you’re not planning on feeding me this time.”
He shoots me a wicked look. “I’d need to get the rope first.”
