Page 127 of Ricardo

The question threatens that same anger again, but this time, I keep it firmly away. There's been enough of that tonight.

I settle for honesty.

“No.”

She stiffens.

I cup her cheek before she can misunderstand me. “It was more.”

Her eyes soften.

Her fingers curl against my ribs. “Yeah?”

“Much more,” I assure her.

I bend and kiss her softly. There is no urgency in it now, only the deep, lingering taste of what has already been given and what has not yet been said.

When I pull back, she is watching me in a way that makes me feel exposed.

“What?” I ask.

She studies my face. “You look different.”

“I am not typically naked on a rug.”

Her mouth twitches. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

She waits for the rest.

I should deflect. I should give her a safer answer. I should remember every reason this is complicated.

Instead, I touch her hair, letting the strands slide through my fingers.

“I feel different,” I say.

Her eyes search mine.

I do not explain more than that. I am not ready to put a name to the thing opening in me. I am old enough to know that some truths become more dangerous once spoken, and this one is already dangerous enough.

Julia seems to understand anyway.

She lowers her head back to my chest, and her hand settles over my heart again.

“Me too,” she whispers.

I close my arms around her.

Outside, the storm keeps moving away. Inside, the house is quiet around us. Somewhere beyond this room, there will be consequences. Morning. Work. Mario. Dante. Every reason we should have been sensible and stayed far away from each other.

None of it touches us tonight.

Here, there is only the fire, the rain, and Julia in my arms.

For tonight, that is enough.

More than enough.