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“Tell me,” I demand.
She glances down at the weapon in her hands. “They just weren’t happy when I was born,” she answers, her tone sounding strained. “I wasn’t planned.”
She shrugs, then emotions tighten her features, and she tries to smile. “I got my first hug two weeks ago. From Mrs. Accardi. It was really nice.”
First hug?
My blood turns to ice in my veins. “Your parents never showed you any form of affection?”
“No.” She faces the target and lifts her arms to fire a shot.
“Put down the gun,” I order.
Letting out a sigh, she places the weapon on a counter near the wall, then she mutters, “I really don’t want to talk about my parents.”
“Come here.”
Her eyes lift to my face, and she moves closer to me.
Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck before pulling her against my chest. I lean down and lock my other arm around her, holding her tight to me.
I feel a tremor shudder through her body, and lifting her from the floor, I mutter, “Wrap your legs around me.”
Gabriella does as I say, her arms circling my neck. I walk to a seating area, and as I sit down, I order, “Straddle me.”
Once again, she does as I say, and when I’m comfortable, I hold her even tighter while pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re just going to hug me?” she whispers, her tone tight with emotion.
“Yes.” I begin to brush my hand up and down her back, then say, “Relax, principessa. Lean into me.”
Pulling her arms away from my neck, she snuggles against my chest, and it has the corner of my mouth lifting.
I begin to feel the heat from her body, and her scent drifts around me.
Closing my eyes, I focus on how it feels to hold her.
It’s comfortable, and she fits perfectly on my lap and in my arms.
She flattens one of her hands over my side, and I feel the tension drain from her body.
After a few minutes, she admits, “This feels really nice. I like it.”
“Good,” I murmur.
I hold her for a while longer before she lifts her head and sits upright on my lap.
I bring my hand to her face and brush my fingers along the curve of her jaw. “You’re beautiful, Gabriella.”
“Thank you.”
When I remain quiet, just staring at her, she asks, “Should I climb off your lap?”
I shake my head.
When she begins to look awkward because I’m just staring at her, I say, “I like silence. It helps me recharge.”
“I’ll remember that,” she whispers before she leans into my chest again.
