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I have a feeling that’s how we ended up the way we did in the library. With the threats that Igor has hung over her, there’s not much that she would want control of more than her own body. Her own choice of who to give it to.
I want to be the one she gives it to. My entire body tightens at the thought, my cock instantly pressing against the fly of my jeans as I try to focus on Bella’s driving, and not the insistent need that keeps thrumming through me every time she’s close. In the warm interior of the car, I can smell her shampoo and soap, the sweet scent of her skin, and I want to bury my face in her hair, in the corner of her neck, in her breasts, breathing her in. I want my bed to smell like her, sweet and fragrant, and in an instant, my erection has gone from frustrating to nearly painful.
The car lurches, jolting me out of the fantasy, and I hear Bella swear under her breath. Somehow that fucking turns me on, too, because I can’t remember hearing her swear outside of the bedroom, or when we’re alone. I think she’s careful about it, so that she doesn’t accidentally curse in front of the kids.
She lets out a long breath, pressing her hands against the steering wheel. I can see that small line between her brows that tells me she’s frustrated.
“It takes time to learn,” I tell her gently. “We’ll limp this car the whole way back if that’s what it takes, until you get used to it. It’s harder here than it would have been in a parking lot, or on a back road, too.”
Bella nods, her lips thinning into a focused line. This time, she makes it a little further before she accidentally presses down on the gas too hard, and then reacts by slamming her foot against the brake.
I’m pretty sure I might have the beginnings of whiplash by the time we get back to the house. I could use a good massage for the jolting in my shoulders and back, but with each try, she gets a little further before something happens. She makes it a good fifty or so yards without incident, before abruptly stopping the car near the house and killing the engine.
She looks at me, her cheeks flushed. “Better, right?”
I nod. “Better. You’re already getting the hang of it.”
She laughs, and the sound warms me from the inside out. It makes me want to reach out and pull her to me, to kiss her, but not just out of desire.
I feel more than lust for her. I like her. I look forward to every moment I get to spend with her. Every conversation. I look forward to seeing her in the morning when she comes down for breakfast, and when she goes to bed at night, I wish she were in my bed instead. Not just because my entire body aches for her with a desire that I’d forgotten was possible, but because I want her close. Her warmth, her scent, the solidness of her body in bed next to mine. The comfort of it.
There’s a name for all of those feelings, for what they mean, all wrapped up together, all lodged in my chest, a painful weight behind my ribs. A word that I can’t say out loud, because it would change everything between Bella and me in a way that we’ve agreed to not let happen.
She slides out of the car, and I follow. On the deck behind the house, I see that Agnes has started to set out dinner, and I see a grin spread over Bella’s face.
“It looks like we’re having dinner outside tonight,” she says delightedly, as she sees Agnes carrying a platter of what looks like burgers out to the long wooden table, handing me back the keys and hurrying up to the deck.
It’s a perfect night for it, warm but not overly so, the sky blazing with color, a slight breeze cooling the air. Outside, it smells of flowers and sun-warmed grass and the fresh, clean air of the Italian countryside, and as we all take our seats at the table, I’m once again struck with that feeling of wanting to preserve this moment forever. To stay here, and never let it go.
What if I didn’t have to?
It’s a pretty fantasy, one that’s difficult not to linger over as we eat. Dinner is burgers on soft homemade buns, with grilled peaches, burrata, pesto, arugula, and a balsamic reduction. Agnes made thin, crispy homemade onion rings as a side, along with a salad, and a truffle aioli for dipping. The wine is from the estate, a crisp, dry white, and I watch Bella as we eat—the animated way that she talks to Cecelia and Danny about their riding lessons, telling them self-deprecatingly about her driving on the way home, her compliments to Agnes on dinner. There’s a crème brûlée with berries on top for dessert, and as the sun sinks and the stars start to come out, Bella looks up and catches my gaze.
Whatever she sees in my face, she goes suddenly quiet. She taps her teaspoon against her dessert, taking small bites, finishing the last of her wine, and then she glances over at Agnes.
“Do you need help cleaning up?” she asks. “I’m tired, and I have a little bit of a headache. All the dust from cleaning the library today, I think. I’m going to go upstairs once we’re done.”
Agnes shakes her head, giving Bella a concerned look that’s almost motherly. The sight of it startles me, and makes me realize that everyone has come to care for Bella as much as I and the children do, that she’s become a part of this family for all of us. “Go on upstairs,” she says, shooing a hand at Bella. “I’ll clean up. Gabriel can help me.” She pinpoints me with a look, and I laugh.
“Of course.”
Bella nods, putting her napkin on the table and getting up. As I watch her go, I don’t think it’s a headache that’s making her go upstairs early. I think it’s something else—something to do with the way her face fell when she saw the expression on mine.
I want to follow her up, to make her tell me what she’s thinking, but I know that won’t help. If anything, it will make things blow up, make the tension between us worse, cause other problems that neither of us wants. It takes all of my self-control to stay downstairs, helping Agnes clean up from dinner until it’s finally all finished, and she retreats with the children to take them upstairs to bed.
Hanging up the dishtowel on the iron hook by the sink, I take a glass and an opened bottle of wine left from dinner, and walk back out to the deck. The night has cooled, the sky clear of clouds, and full of brilliant stars. As I pour wine into the glass, leaning on the edge of the deck as I look out over the quiet estate, the only thing I can think is that I want Bella here next to me.
I want her sharing this with me. All of it. Everything I have, all of my life. She’s already so much a part of it that the loss of her would feel like surgery. The removal of something vital. It’s part of why we’ve danced around this thing between us so constantly, because if it all fell apart, I—and everyone else here who cares about and needs her—would lose her.
I can’t justify giving in to what I feel for her when it risks so much.
I take another long gulp of the wine, wondering if I should have brought something stronger out here instead, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s hardly a surprise, given the time difference and the fact that it’s afternoon back in New York. It’s also not a surprise to find that Gio is the one calling me.
“Hello?” I answer the phone, setting my glass down.
“Gabriel.” The tone in Gio’s voice makes me go instantly still, my blood chilling. Gio has been my only security for a long time, back when I didn’t need more than just him, and I’ve known him for so long that I know very well what the tone of his voice means.
The calm is over, and the storm is about to hit.
