Page 163 of Alessio

“Weren’t you the one who said we put too much weight into those words?”

“I did.”

“And yet,” Corrado hedged.

“The impact is still unlike anything,” Alessio said. “And doesn’t it sound so fucking good coming out of her, though?”

“It does.”

Ginevra passed a soft smile back to Alessio. “You are something.”

He winked. “And you love it.”

“Lucky for you.”

“It is,” Corrado said, “lucky for him, I mean … for both of us.”

Ginevra’s laughter colored up the space, but just as quickly, it was drowned out by Corrado closing the distance between them to kiss her. A few steps had separated them, then she moved around the edge of the couch to stand in front of Alessio, when Corrado caught her. Alessio had the privilege of being able to see it when the two let down the rest of those walls.

He understood Corrado’s need—that undeniable urge to just kiss Ginevra and have her close—because he sensed it, too. He’d felt it when he first saw her in her New York apartment, and it had taken everything in him to wait long enough for her sisters to be gone before he closed the distance one fucking step at a time to get what he wanted.

Hell, Corrado had lasted longer.

Props to him.

There was something stirring to Alessio to watch the two—it didn’t matter if they were cooking side by side, kissing like they were now, or waking up to see them fucking next to him in the bed. It all brought on the same hurricane of emotions. It still thundered deep in his chest, something that went beyond his heartbeat.

Love.

Lust.

Need.

Want.

Amazement.

Terror.

Appreciative.

Selfishness.

Because that was all his—both people. And that thing between them they shared. It was his, too. Individually, with each of them on a one-to-one basis, and them together as a unit with him.

People who are lucky get one great love in their life. Many more never even get the chance to meet theirs.

Alessio?

He was given two.

Two.

The hand Corrado had tucked clasped onto Ginevra’s side drifted away from her to reach for Alessio. He didn’t question the want for touch, simply answered it by reaching back, his fingers threading with Corrado’s before he leaned forward enough to press his forehead against the side of their clasped hands.

For a single second before this moment turned into something else—he figured it would; they needed the physical side, too, with each other—he soaked that in, refusing to let anything seep into his mind so he wouldn’t forget it.

That feeling.