Page 89 of A Dangerous Bargain

There are dozens and dozens of sketches, in all stages of completion. One for every day of the year, one for every time I scolded Leonardo for not getting his work done. One for every time I thought I’d never be happy again.

His voice is as soft and steady as a heartbeat. “Every time I kissed someone, I wished they were you. When I couldn’t force myself to draw anything else, your face was the only thing I could finish.” He laughs, the sound like the flash of gold leaf in the candlelight. “I always wanted to draw you during our morning exercises, but I was afraid you’d notice.”

The words shift and crackle through me like a fire. All the sketches of other people I found in his room. All these of me lying just underneath. I was so close, but I didn’t see them.

We’ve ended up back at the first sketch, the precise lines now blurred. “Why didn’t you ever ask? I would’ve sat for you.” Then maybe we would’ve realized sooner what we meant to each other. Then maybe we would’ve had more time together.

He brushes the dampness from my face. “I was terrified you’d say no. I dreamed of you for too long to let you go, even if it was only in my head.” He traces my cheekbones, like he’s putting the final touch on a masterpiece. “That’s why I asked you to open a workshop with me. It was never about the sodding work. I wanted a life with you.” He draws in a long, shuddering breath that I feel everywhere. “Whether we have months or years together doesn’t matter. It won’t change how I feel. Any time I have with you is worth it.” He brackets my face like it’s something holy, something cherished. His dark eyes burn. “You’re wrong if you think you’re giving me what I want by sacrificing yourself. I never wanted anything until I wanted you. I’m not letting you go now.”

It sinks into my soul: not the words, but their meaning. What he’s tried to tell me before and what I couldn’t understand.

“I love you too.” I press my face into the divot where his neck meets his shoulders. Melt against him so there’s no space left between us.

He shudders, like there’s a crack in the earth, a fissure in the sky. “Truly?”

He was too afraid to say it first. I’ll say it over and over again so he knows, so he believes that I finally figured out what I should’ve known for ages. “So much, I can barely stand it. I’ve loved you for years.”

And it’s too late.

I’ve found the love of my life when there’s no more life left to live.

For once, I don’t quail away from the pain. I let every bit of grief and regret hail against my heart. I grit my teeth at the ache, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He can’t just hear this: He needs to feel the truth in every part of his body. “I really wish we could’ve had that workshop together.”

The most agonizing thing is I can see it. A room overflowing with paper and paintbrushes, wisteria climbing over the front windows to dye the light purple in the late spring. There’d be two painters’ stations downstairs but only one bed upstairs. Each day I’d be up before him, lay out the bread and jam for us both, my entire body waiting for the telltale creak above that means he’s finally up too. I’d stop working, and we’d eat together. Perhaps we’d even lock the door, return upstairs. We’d get nothing done; we’d get everything done that mattered. It could’ve been ours. A perfectly imperfect life.

He tilts my chin up, his mouth a whisper from mine. “You see it too, don’t you?”

Each heartbeat of mine feels like a too-big breath, so deep it hurts, but I like it. I want to remember everything about this for as long as I can. “It’s incredible.”

He smirks—that irresistible little smirk that’s gotten under my skin for ages. “Of course. Anything we create together would be, tesoro.”

He kisses me. Soft and sweet, but soon it turns hungry and hard. I push him onto the pallet the way he pushed me, and from the way his pupils flare wide, he likes it even more. Then we’re kissing columns down each other’s body, fumbling with laces with warm-honey smiles that melt away all the bad feelings. We try to stay quiet in case anyone’s guarding the doors, but ’tis impossible to stop whispering, a stream of yes and all right? and I love you, I love you so goddamn much.

His face lies against my chest when we’re done. I feel my heart pounding, and I know he can hear it too. I trace patterns on his skin, imagining a golden line linking all his freckles together. A map into his heart.

“It was nice to do this again without Lupa hovering over us,” he says. “She told me she wasn’t there, but unlike you, I do think she can lie.”

I poke him and groan. “I do not want to think about her now.”

“Too bad.”

“Always need the last word, do you?”

“I love having the last word. It’s my second favorite thing in the world.”

Because I’m his first. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling too broadly.

The sky grows dark through the ceiling window. Soon Leonardo’s breath slows. His fingers go slack with sleep in mine. I hold him to me, wishing I could join him in slumber but watching the moonlight scythe across the floor instead.

My eyes flick over to the vial on the table.

I’ll see you on the other side. That’s what Lupa said right before she vanished.

What odd final words. And she was smiling as she said them.

Almost like she was happy about being torn from the body she possessed.

Almost as if she was trying to tell me something.