Chapter 47
47
Victoria
One snowflake.
Then another.
Next thing I know, it’s handfuls swirling in the darkness.
It hardly looks real.
It almost feels like I’m in a movie. Where giant fake flakes float down from the sky, blanketing the ground with artificial fluff.
But this is real.
I stand at the living room window with my arms wrapped around myself, watching the world turn white in a matter of minutes. The driveway disappears first, then the stone steps.
It’s almost insane how fast it’s coming down now.
But at least it’s beautiful.
Behind me, the fireplace pops, sending orange light across the hardwood floor.
Despite how big Lorenzo’s place is, right now it reminds me of a Christmas cottage in a movie. The air even smells like pine trees and burning leaves. I love it. Not that I’d let him know it.
“Enjoying the apocalypse?” Speak of the devil.
I don’t turn right away. Nope.
I plan to play it cool, so I make myself count to three first.
When I finally pivot, he’s leaning against the archway with a calm look on his face.
Damn, this man is handsome.
It’s actually infuriating.
Everything about him is perfect, even when he doesn’t try.
Right now, his hair is slightly damp, like he’s been outside, yet he looks dashing. I’d look like a hot mess. It’s not fair.
Rafe stands farther back in the hall, half his body in the shadows. Even though I can’t see all of him, I can see that his coat is on and that he has a phone pressed to his ear.
His eyes flick over me once before he turns away again, muttering into the call.
Lorenzo tilts his glass toward the window, eyes glinting in the firelight. “How’s this for a honeymoon? A little late, but better late than never p>
My laugh comes out sharp and bitter. “I wouldn’t call this anything p>
The wind howls outside.
Rafe’s voice drifts in from the hall, strained. “Road’s closed. County says we are getting a shit ton of snow, but the plows won’t come up until morning p>
Lorenzo doesn’t even look at him. He lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, then lets the silence stretch.
Rafe clears his throat. “Power’s stable for now. Generator’s full. We’ve got food for… plenty p>
“Plenty,” I echo, forcing a smile. “Wonderful. I’m thrilled to be trapped in a snow globe with my husband p>
Lorenzo’s eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. “Try not to sound too excited p>
Rafe shifts, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’ll check the perimeter,” he tells Lorenzo before disappearing down the hall.
I lift my chin, meeting Lorenzo’s gaze head-on. “This was planned p>
His brow arches. “You think I control the weather now p>
“I think you control everything you can,” I shoot back, stepping around the coffee table like I’m circling a predator. “And when you can’t control something, you pretend it’s a coincidence p>
He watches me move with slow interest. “You’re giving me a lot of credit p>
“You like getting credit for things.” I stop near the mantel. “Must be your love language p>
His eyes glint. “You’re still talking. That must be yours p>
I inhale slowly, forcing my body to unclench.
He sets his glass down on the sideboard, then rolls his shoulders. “Drink p>
I stare at the second glass he’s already poured… red wine, dark enough that it almost looks like blood.
“I’m not drinking with you,” I hiss.
His head tilts. “Scared you’ll start enjoying it p>
“Scared you’ll poison me,” I retort.
A low sound vibrates out of him. A laugh, and it’s a genuine one, and I hate that I like the sound. “There she is p>
I don’t move toward the wine. Instead, I move to leave because I need space.
Distance will do me some good right now. If I stay, I might forget why I don’t like him.
I take one step, but my feet halt when I see something that looks like pain flicker across Lorenzo’s face.
I watch him for a beat as he shifts his weight. I wonder what’s bothering him, but then his hand goes to his side, and it looks like he winces.
“Are you—?” The words catch in my throat, unwanted. “Are you hurt p>
His eyes lift, sharp. “No p>
My gaze continues to look at his hand, eyes narrowing. Something is on his sweater. It almost looks like a faint stain near his rib. It’s dark…
Blood.
My pulse jumps, and he catches me noticing.
His jaw tightens. “It’s nothing p>
“It’s bleeding,” I snap.
He takes a slow breath. “It’s handled p>
I point at the stain. “Handled by what? Or better question, by who? Your ego p>
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Have you always talked so much p>
“Yep. What about you? Have you always been this dumb?” I fire back, taking a step closer despite myself. “Where’s Rafe p>
“Checking the perimeter,” he responds.
“And you’re just… bleeding out for fun p>
His gaze holds mine for a beat before he turns away without answering and walks toward the hallway.
For some reason, I find myself following him… I hate my body.
After a few more seconds, he stops and pushes open a door. It’s dim inside, and I can’t see much before he shuts the door behind us, making it even darker.
A shiver runs up my spine.
Lorenzo moves to a cabinet, opens it, and pulls out a clean cloth, antiseptic, and gauze. He acts like it’s just another day, but what kind of man stores this stuff in a cabinet in a study?
A bad man who needs to…
I try to swallow down that thought as he moves.
“I can—” I start and then stop. Do I offer to help or not? I’m at a loss. “You don’t have to.. p>
Lorenzo’s eyes flick up. “Don’t start p>
“I wasn’t starting,” I lie, stepping closer anyway. “I was.. p>
His mouth twitches. “You were what?” He peels his sweater up and off his head, and all words die on my tongue.
I suck in a breath.
A shallow slice sits alongside his ribs. It’s angry and red and stitched poorly. A bruise is blossoming around it.
My stomach turns, and my mind does something traitorous.
It imagines my hands there.
Bandaging.
Touching.
Helping.
I clamp down on the thought so hard it feels like biting my own tongue.
Lorenzo presses the cloth to the wound, jaw flexing. He doesn’t flinch and doesn’t even make a sound. But of course, he doesn’t. The man is barely human.
“You’re going to reopen it,” I mutter, voice tight.
“Are you offering medical advice p>
“I’m offering basic logic.” I step closer, then stop, because closing the distance feels dangerous in a way I can’t name.
He reaches for the antiseptic. His fingers are steady, but there’s a faint tension in his wrist. Maybe it does hurt… and he’s just refusing to admit it.
My throat tightens around something I don’t want to feel. “Who did this?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His gaze goes flat. “Business p>
“That’s not an answer,” I snap, the same line I’ve used on him before. It tastes familiar. Bitter.
Lorenzo’s mouth curves faintly. “It’s the only one you get p>
I exhale sharply. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re very annoying p>
He drags the gauze across his skin, then tapes it down, movements precise. “A few times. But not for long.. p>
I ignore his comment, knowing very well that he’s trying to bait me into a conversation I don’t want to get into right now.
Instead, I continue watching him take care of himself. Something about his movements makes my chest ache.
I don’t want to know this version of him. Knowing will make me vulnerable, and I can’t afford vulnerability.
Lorenzo finishes taping the gauze, then places his sweater back on and straightens it.
For a second, he just stands there, breathing slowly, eyes locked on mine. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to say something stupid. Which, in all fairness, will probably happen. I keep my mouth shut despite my heart banging against my ribs.
I force a laugh that comes out too thin. “Congratulations. You’re not dying p>
“Disappointed p>
I huff out a bitter laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself p>
He takes a step closer, but I don’t move. I hold my ground. It feels like heat rolls off him. My skin pricks at his proximity.
“You look shaken.” His voice is low.
My chin lifts. “You wish p>
His gaze flickers with amusement. “I don’t need to wish. If I want something, I can just take it p>
My breath hitches, and I swear the room feels smaller. Warmer.
“This is… ridiculous,” I whisper, backing up half a step.
Lorenzo follows that movement like a predator following his prey. “What is p>
“This.” I gesture vaguely between us, my hand trembling. “Me… standing here. Caring. Wondering if you’re hurt. Wondering if this means something p>
His eyes soften, and it scares me more than his wound did.
“It does mean something p>
My throat tightens. “It shouldn’t p>
His hand lifts slowly, like he’s going to touch my cheek.
I freeze.
The distance between his fingertips and my skin feels too close. Is he going to touch me? Do I want him to?
“You still remember?” His voice is low and hoarse.
“Remember what?” My voice cracks. I hate that it does.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “How it feels when we were together p>
I do remember.
I remember everything… The boathouse. The summer air. The way his hands used to hold me like he was afraid I’d vanish.
I should be disgusted by him now. But for some reason, I’m not.
I swallow hard. “Of course, I do,” I whisper, forcing the words out. “But that means nothing now p>
He leans closer, head tilting, as he watches me with those eyes… those relentless, knowing eyes.
“I was seventeen. I’m not the same girl p>
“Yeah, you are.” Lorenzo’s gaze sharpens. “You’re still you p>
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. “I’m not p>
He steps closer again, leaving no space. His hand finally cups my jaw. His fingers are warm, firm, and not at all gentle.
I go still.
My entire body vibrates with a yes that I don’t want to feel.
His thumb drags lightly along my cheekbone, slow and possessive.
“You pull away like you’re scared of me p>
“I am scared,” I admit, hating myself for it. “Because you’re the boy I once loved and now.. p>
His jaw flexes. “And now that boy is dead.” The words are blunt. Final.
My throat tightens. “Is he p>
Lorenzo’s eyes flash. Something raw pushes up behind them, then gets shoved back down.
His voice comes out rough. “Don’t p>
“Why?” I ask, the question spilling out. “Why do you look at me like I ruined you when you’re the one p>
His hand tightens slightly on my jaw, not hurting but a warning. “Because you left p>
The words hit.
Again.
Always that.
My voice cracks. “You don’t know what I—what they did—what they told me—I thought p>
“I don’t care what they told you. I care what you did p>
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. He’s so close I can feel his breath. His mouth hovers near mine, just a fraction away. I can’t tell if he’s going to kiss me or devour me.
My body leans in without permission.
My mind screams… no.
I jerk back like I’ve touched a live wire, and his hand falls from my face.
There is a beat of silence.
I wrap my arms around myself.
“I can’t,” I whisper, voice shaking. “I can’t let my head get messed up. Not here. Not with you. Not when—when everything is a lie, and you’re p>
Lorenzo’s jaw flexes. “You think this is your head being messed up p>
I glare at him through heavy lashes. “Yes p>
He steps closer again, but stops himself. His hands clench at his sides.
“It’s not Stockholm, Little Bird p>
My pulse accelerates. “What is it, then?” I ask.
His gaze pins me. “It’s you p>
The simplicity of his answer guts me.
My throat tightens. “You don’t get to p>
“I don’t get to what?” His voice rises, sharp for the first time. He catches himself, breathes once, then lowers it again. “Tell you the truth you’re choking on p>
My eyes sting.
I hate that.
I hate that he can still do this, make me feel things I don’t want.
I back toward the door, fingers fumbling for the handle without looking. “I need to go p>
Lorenzo’s gaze follows the movement like a knife tracking skin. “Run to your room p>
“It’s not running,” I snap, voice breaking. “It’s… choosing not to drown p>
His mouth curves, but it’s humorless. “You were always dramatic p>
“And you were always selfish,” I retort, yanking the door open.
Cold air from the hallway hits my face like a slap. I step out, then pause just long enough to look back at him.
He’s standing in the study, eyes dark. Hands clenched.
He acts as if nothing can hurt him, but that’s a lie. The proof was just shown to me.
I slam the door before I do something stupid, then head down the hall.
I reach my room and shut the door, pressing my back against it like it can hold the world out.
My hands tremble.
My chest aches.
I hate him.
I hate this house.
I hate the part of me that still remembers what it felt like to love him.
I close my eyes, swallowing down the panic.
“It’s just this house, this space…” I whisper to myself, like a mantra. “It’s survival. It’s nothing p>
Sure, it is…
Or it’s something. Something that won’t change even if a million miles separates us.