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I’m so startled that I almost laugh.
He mistakes the look on my face.
“I know I’ve got an awful history and honestly, I’m not much better now. My temper is shit. I want to kill any man that looks at you. I’m not . . . good with words, or feelings,” he takes a deep breath and I realize that Nero is nervous—almost as nervous as I am. “But I love you, Camille. I’ll never hurt you. You can trust me for that, if nothing else.”
I’m speechless. Desperate to answer him, yet totally unable to make a sound.
All I can do is grab him and kiss him. I kiss him like the very first time, hungry and aching. Then I kiss him like we kissed in my tiny little glassed-in room—as if the whole universe has passed away, and he and I are the only two things in existence.
When our lips part, I can finally speak.
“I love you so much it hurts. I’m scared to tell you, scared to even let myself feel it. But I love you, and I have for a while.”
“Good,” he says, with infinite relief.
He kisses me again, crushing me against his body.
When he lets me go, he grins and says, “Now take me for a drive.”
He hands me the keys. Even the fob is original to the car, made of old silver polished bright again.
I slide into the driver’s seat, inhaling the fresh leather and paint. The dash is all round dials, with the huge steering wheel in the center.
I turn the key, listening to the engine turn over with a roar, subsiding into a patient purr.
“When did you know you were going to give this to me?” I asked Nero.
“The moment you touched it, and I saw the look on your face,” Nero says.
I pull out of the parking garage, my heart soaring with every turn of the wheel. The car operates flawlessly. Nero truly is a magician.
He looks perfect in the passenger seat—stylish, haughty, and outrageously handsome.
As if reading my thoughts, Nero says the same thing to me: “It suits you. It was made for you.”
I take us east to Lake Shore Drive, so we can drive along the water. A cool breeze is blowing. The maples are turning red. It’s finally fall.
We stop at Montrose Point, parking the car so it faces the city. Chicago is lit up, the skyscrapers reflecting on the water.
I climb over onto Nero’s lap, straddling him. He reclines his seat so he can look up at me.
The moonlight illuminates one side of his face, the other deeply shadowed.
He’s always going to have two sides of him: the side that’s dark and vengeful. But also a side unearthly in its beauty.
I can feel Nero’s cock, already raging hard, pressing against me with too many layers of clothes between us.
I see myself reflected in his eyes. I see the longing radiating out of his face.
And finally, for the first time, I accept that Nero wants me as badly as I want him. He loves me like I love him.
I never realized how deeply certain insults had buried under my skin. I told myself I didn’t care what people said. But it was the compliments I deflected, while inside myself I clung to the belief that I was ugly, undesirable, and pathetic.
Now the most beautiful man in the world is looking at me with love and desire. And I realize it’s impossible that he could feel those things for me if I were truly undeserving.
If Nero and I are a perfect match—and I feel certain that we are—then I’m his equal. His analog.
It’s a strange realization to have, after all this time, but I finally believe it. I’m beautiful. I’m intelligent. I’m worthy of love.
