Chapter 55
55
Victoria
I blink at the ceiling.
Is it warm in here?
I turn my head toward the window. The curtains are half drawn, and bright morning light streams in through the gaps in the blinds.
Clips of last night filter through my brain.
His mouth.
His hands.
His voice.
The moment I kissed him…
I sit up too fast; the sheets slipping down my shoulder. Cold air bites my skin, and I suck in a breath, scanning the room.
Empty.
Unlike when I was sick, he’s not propped in the chair, fighting for rest.
I wrap the blanket around myself and swing my legs over the side of the bed, toes touching the rug. The necklace drawer flashes through my mind—diamonds like a collar, glittering proof that even his gifts are threats.
My stomach turns.
I feel… strange.
It’s almost like my heart got shocked back to life. My ribs ache with it.
I stand from the bed and then stumble into the bathroom.
Once the faucet is on, I splash cold water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror.
Did yesterday really happen?
Yes, idiot. I’ve already established it wasn’t a dream.
I touch my damp fingers to my lips, which still feel swollen. Is this what it looks like to be kissed until you barely know your name? Forget my name; I look like a woman who got kissed until she forgot how to breathe.
Once my hands are dry and my teeth are brushed, I head back into the bedroom and grab a change of clothes.
I change quickly into leggings and a thick sweater.
Once I’m ready, I open the bedroom door.
The hallway is quiet.
Guards stand at a distance, pretending not to watch me.
I take a step. Then another. As I walk, I realize something unsettling… no one is looking at me.
Well, that’s not true, but they’re looking at me like I’m supposed to be here. Like I’m not a prisoner.
I reach the staircase and start down, each step echoing as I descend. I’m almost at the bottom when I smell something baking.
I follow the smell like I’m starving, until I step into the kitchen.
Lorenzo.
He stands at the stove wearing black sweatpants and a dark Henley, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, with hair still damp, like he showered.
He’s concentrating on the stove, a pan in one hand, a spatula in the other. Something sizzles in the background. I cock my head and take a peek. He’s making eggs and bacon.
My brain short-circuits at the sight before me. There is something so sexy about Lorenzo being domestic. I swear my ovaries just exploded on the spot.
Get a grip, Victoria.
The chance of my being able to control my thoughts is lost the moment he turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder and looking right at me.
For a second, his eyes go unreadable. Then his gaze drops—to my mouth. My entire body reacts before I can stop myself.
My whole body is warm. Shit, do I have a fever again? It’s not my fault, really…
The man is practically undressing me with his eyes.
My pulse flutters as my face is now officially on fire, or at least it feels like it is.
And to pour salt in my wounds, his mouth curves. Damn. He’s not playing fair. Being this sexy should be illegal. And the way he’s enjoying my reaction? Also not fair.
“You’re alive.” He flips something in the pan with effortless skill.
I blink once, trying to right my thoughts, and not think of last night’s kiss. “Morning.” I step farther into the kitchen, arms crossing over my chest. “What are you doing p>
He slides food onto a plate, then sets it on the island like he’s presenting something sacred. “Cooking p>
“I can see that.” I eye the eggs as if they might bite. “Why p>
His brows lift slightly, like he expected me to ask a different question. “Because you’ve barely eaten the past few days p>
My pulse jumps, and I clear my throat in a half-assed attempt not to seem so affected by his concern. “You have staff p>
“I do,” he agrees, grabbing another plate. “But I wanted to do this for you p>
“You did?” I stare at him, then look at the eggs, then back at him.
His mouth twitches. “I did p>
He sets his plate down, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just shake my world. Sure, we kissed last night, but a part of me thought that was a fluke.
But now, in the bright morning light of a new day, while Lorenzo strolls to the coffeepot to pour me a cup, I don’t even know how to react, because it’s obvious something has changed between us, and I can’t help the butterflies flying in my stomach at the idea.
I take a seat at the table, in front of the breakfast he cooked me, as he slides over a hot mug. Then he leans his hip against the counter, watching me. “Eat, Victoria p>
My brows lift. “Is that an order p>
“Yep. Don’t ruin it.” His voice is light and playful, reminding me of the Lorenzo I once knew.
I blink again, and then I stare at the eggs, not knowing what to do with myself. I guess I’ll eat.
I take a bite, and it’s good. Of course, it is. Because Lorenzo excels at everything he does.
I take another bite, then stare at him as I watch him watch me.
His mouth tilts. “Like what you see p>
“You’re the one staring,” I retort.
“Or maybe it’s you, and I’m just following suit p>
“What else am I supposed to do? You’re acting all husbandly p>
He arches a brow. “Because I cooked you breakfast p>
“Yes p>
“Careful… I’ll buy a minivan next p>
A laugh bubbles out of my mouth, and his eyes lock onto the movement. His face shifts, his features softening as he watches me.
“So…” He taps his fingers lightly against the counter. “I want to take you somewhere p>
My fork pauses midair. “Where?” I ask.
His gaze comes back to mine, steady. “Outside p>
I blink. “I thought I wasn’t allowed outside…” The moment the words slip out, I regret it. He just offered me something I want, pissing him off by being snippy isn’t a smart idea. I don’t want Lorenzo to go back to being an asshole.
“That’s a rule I made.” His voice softens. “I can change it p>
“Why would you do that p>
“Because you’ve been staring out the windows like a caged animal, and I don’t like it p>
My mouth opens and shuts, and he smiles at the movement.
He leans forward slightly. “Finish eating, Little Bird p>
My stomach flips at the nickname, but I shrug it off and still, for some reason, try to pretend I’m not affected by it.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not your Little Bird anymore p>
He watches me for a beat too long. “That’s where you’re wrong. You always were. And nothing will change that p>
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know what to do with that. The kitchen goes quiet again, but it isn’t hostile for the first time since I’ve moved into this house, it’s… something else.
When I finish eating, Lorenzo stands, walks to the pantry, and returns with a thick coat, handing it to me with a smile.
It’s heavy black wool, warm.
I look down at it, then up at him. “You planned this p>
His eyes gleam. “I plan everything p>
My heart rate picks up again. Damn my treacherous body. And if it weren’t bad enough that I’m losing a war within myself to not be affected by this man, he grabs the gloves off the counter and pulls them on with slow precision.
The sight is obscene.
A man shouldn’t look so hot putting on damn gloves.
I have it bad for my husband.
This isn’t good.
Together, we move through the hallway until we are at the door to leave the house.
Lorenzo pauses, his gaze flickering to the nearest guard. The guard straightens.
“Stay where you are,” Lorenzo orders, voice low, controlled.
He opens the door then, and together we step outside. No security, just us.
Cold air slams into my face, crisp and sharp.
Lorenzo walks beside me, hands in his pockets, coat collar turned up. His expression is unreadable, eyes scanning the property like he’s watching for threats I can’t see.
We walk down a path lined with snow-covered hedges. My breath clouds in front of me.
We go farther than I expected.
The house falls behind us, shrinking through the trees. The path curves toward the back edge of the property, where the land slopes gently downward.
I can hear something.
Not the guards. Not Lorenzo. Something rhythmic. A hush, then a low crash.
My steps slow, and then my breath catches. Because as soon as the trees thin, I see it…
Water.
A wide, sprawling view of the ocean.
I stop walking, and my heart thuds in my chest because across the water is a familiar shape on the opposite shoreline.
A massive estate.
With a small building set against the shoreline…
A boathouse.
My boathouse.
“That…” My voice comes out thin. “That’s.. p>
Lorenzo’s gaze stays fixed on the horizon. His hands remain in his pockets, and his posture is too still.
“Yes. It is p>
I turn sharply toward him. “That’s my parents’ house. Why p>
He looks at me with those dark eyes.
“Why?” I ask again. “Why would you p>
“Because I could.” His mouth twitches. “And because I wanted to p>
His words hang in the air. The meaning of them, though, is a bit more complex…
My head spins with what it could mean, but no matter how much my brain circles around the words, it always comes back to the same thought: he wanted me close.
He wasn’t over me.
He’s still not.
My heart beats rapidly in my chest.
I gesture wildly at the view. “You bought an estate across from my parents just to—what? Stare at them? Torture yourself p>
His eyes flicker. Something dark passes behind them. He looks out at the water again.
“I bought this place with my father’s inheritance.” Lorenzo’s voice is softer than I expected. “The one my uncle gave me when my father died p>
My throat tightens.
“I’d been saving for years,” he adds, looking down at the snow under his boots. “Every paycheck. Every scrap. Every dime. I didn’t buy much. Didn’t go out. Didn’t waste money p>
I stare at him, stunned.
He glances back at me. “Don’t look at me like I’m noble. I’m not. I’m obsessive p>
My voice cracks. “You were… here p>
His jaw flexes once as the question hits him somewhere unpleasant.
“Yes. I was… always here p>
My chest feels too tight. I swallow. “That’s insane p>
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Yes p>
I stare at the estate across the water. The boathouse is visible from here. A small structure, white and gray. A speck at this distance.
But my brain fills in the details anyway. I turn back to him. “You watched me p>
His gaze locks on mine.
It’s dark.
Unflinching.
“I watched the house,” he corrects, voice low. “I watched the shoreline. I watched the world that took you away from me p>
My throat burns.
“And you didn’t—” I choke, trying to force the words out. “You didn’t come back p>
His eyes narrow, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. “I did. In every way that mattered p>
My breath catches in my chest, and suddenly I feel like I’m standing on unstable ground.
And it terrifies me.
“I don’t understand p>
His gaze drags down my face, slow. “You never did.” He steps closer. Close enough that his presence fills my air.
“Last night,” he says, voice low, and rough, “you kissed me p>
My pulse spikes, and I swallow hard. He watches my throat move like he’s cataloging it.
“Do you regret it?” he asks, quietly.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my teeth. I lift my chin, defiance instinctive. “I don’t know p>
His mouth curves faintly. “Honest p>
My breath shakes. “No. I don’t regret it.” I look out at the water again, then back at him.
“You’re… not who you were,” I whisper.
“Neither are you p>
Silence stretches.
Wind whips around us as his hands touch my shoulder and then turn me to face him. Then he brushes a strand of hair off my cheek.
My skin tingles where he touches.
“Come here,” he orders.
I don’t move. Because if I move, I might fall. He steps closer anyway, closing the distance.
Lorenzo wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
I whisper, “This is insane p>
“Yes,” he agrees, and then he kisses me.
Not devouring.
Not punishing.
Not taking.
This kiss is slow.
Careful.
Almost timid, like he’s afraid the wrong pressure will shatter whatever fragile truce exists between us.
My hands lift, trembling. They rest against his chest, and I feel his heart beneath my touch. Steady. Strong.
He deepens the kiss gradually, mouth warm, breath steady, and I respond.
And for a second, it feels like we’re back in the summer when everything still felt possible. When we were stupid enough to believe we could outrun our families.
He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against mine, breath mingling with mine.
“It was always you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Always p>