Chapter 54
54
Lorenzo
I’ve tried to keep away. But shit, it’s much fucking harder than I anticipated.
It’s been three days since I slept in her room for the first time. Yep, I’ve camped out there every night since.
I’m fucking pathetic.
But in my defense… there is no defense. I just can’t keep away.
Even now, as I’m halfway down the hall, I can hear her, a soft, muffled gasp filtering past the closed door to her room.
Then another.
I take a deep breath.
Don’t check on her.
She’s okay.
Another sound. This time, it sounds like a cough.
Shit.
My hand stops on the banister, fingers tightening.
She’s been sick for days, but she no longer has a fever, so she’s recovering.
Yet something about the sound of her in pain has me wanting to turn around and go to her.
I should keep walking, but my feet move before I can stop them. I’m at her bedroom door in three strides, and I’m pushing it open before I can stop myself.
Her room is dim, but I can still see her. She’s twisted in the sheets, hair fanned across the pillow. Her face is pinched with lips parted.
“No,” she whispers.
The word isn’t loud, but my jaw still tightens.
I step closer.
Her body jerks again, a tremor running through her body. “I didn’t—” she breathes, voice cracking. “I didn’t… I’m sorry… I’m sorry.. p>
My throat goes tight. She might not say it, but deep in my gut, I know exactly who she’s apologizing to.
And that someone is me.
I stop at the edge of her bed, staring down at her.
She chokes on a breath. “Please p>
I don’t think. I just sit on the edge of the mattress and gently grab her wrist.
“Victoria. Wake up p>
Her eyes snap open, and for a split second, it’s like she doesn’t see me.
She looks like she did when she was seventeen, and her father caught her sneaking out.
Like the world is about to hurt her, and she knows it.
Then her gaze locks onto mine, and she freezes.
“Lorenzo,” she whispers.
I let my hand stay on her wrist.
“You’re having a nightmare p>
Her eyes search my face. The expression on her face looks like she expects me to vanish.
“I—” Her voice breaks. “I thought p>
“I know.” My mouth twists. “You always think too much p>
She makes a sound that might be a laugh. Her hand tightens around mine suddenly, fingers cold. And that’s when I realize… she’s reaching for me.
My chest aches in a way I don’t have a name for.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grit out.
Her eyes flash. “Like what p>
“Like you’re relieved I’m here.” The words come out sharper than I mean.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She just stares at me. Her gaze is raw and confused.
Her mouth trembles again, and her gaze drops to our hands like it’s the first time she’s realizing she’s holding me. She’s going to let go. She doesn’t.
Instead, her fingers slide up, touching my knuckles. My freshly scarred knuckles.
She notices.
Of course, she notices.
“There’s more.” Her brows pinch. “What happened to your hand p>
I pull away automatically. “Nothing p>
She follows the motion, sitting up farther, hair falling over her shoulder. She looks smaller now, wrapped in white sheets, face still flushed.
“You have new scars p>
“It’s fine.” I flex my hand, as if proving it’s nothing.
Her lips twitch faintly, and tears fill her eyes. And they are real.
Her jaw tightens. Then a tear slips down her cheek, and she turns her face away from me like she’s ashamed of her feelings.
Something inside me snaps. Not in a violent way. In the other way.
The way I hate.
I reach out and cup her jaw, forcing her face back toward mine.
Her breath catches, and her eyes flare. “Don’t p>
“Don’t cry,” I correct softly, thumb brushing the tear off her skin with a slow stroke. “Not for me p>
A small laugh escapes her, but her chin still trembles.
She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide what to do.
Then she reaches up, and her fingers slide into my hair.
I go still. “Victoria,” I warn.
Her hand trembles in my hair. “I can’t—” she whispers, voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore p>
“Do what p>
“Hate you.” The words sound pained, and I feel the pang in my own chest. “I don’t—I don’t hate p>
“Stop.” My voice comes out harsh, and I regret the tone immediately when she flinches.
I lean in closer, lowering my voice, forcing control back into my bones. “Stop. You don’t have to speak. Just breathe p>
She leans forward, lips parting. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, her lips find mine. She kisses me.
Slow.
A surrender.
And my mind blanks.
For one stunned second, I don’t move. I don’t respond. Hell, I don’t even breathe.
Because I’ve imagined this a thousand times.
But in every version, I’m the one taking.
But this isn’t me…
This is her.
All her.
Thank fuck.
My hands lift slowly, hovering near her face, until I gradually grab her behind the neck, deepening the kiss.
She trembles as our mouths collide. Her fingers tighten in my hair like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
I hear her breathe, a shaky exhale against my mouth, and something in me breaks open.
Soon, the kiss grows hotter, less gentle.
I’m a starved man, desperate for her.
It feels like I’ve been held underwater for too long and can finally breathe.
She makes a soft and surprised sound, then after one more swipe of our tongues, she breaks the kiss.
I peer down at her.
Her eyes are wide, her lips swollen, and her breathing ragged.
Her fingers press to my chest, but she’s not pushing me away. She’s just touching me.
“This is…” Her voice shakes. “This is wrong?” It raises a question. I shake my head.
“Almost everything in my life is wrong.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “But this isn’t p>
I pull back slightly.
My voice comes out softer. “Tell me to stop, and I will p>
Her breath catches, and her eyes search mine.
She didn’t object… so I kiss her again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
My hands slide down her back, feeling every shiver, every tremble. She arches into me.
This isn’t just a kiss. Nor is it lust. It’s so much more.
It’s grief.
It’s history.
It’s years of longing for each other despite never admitting it.
I move her back, guiding her into the pillows, my body hovering over hers, careful not to crush.
This time, she pulls me down until her lips find mine again. She kisses me urgently.
Needy.
“Lorenzo.” My name on her lips, like a prayer… It wrecks me.
“Don’t say my name like that,” I brush my mouth over hers. “I’ll start believing I deserve it p>
“You don’t,” she whispers.
I smile against her lips. “I know p>
This moment feels inevitable.
Like we’ve been moving toward this since the day she walked back into my life… or I stormed into hers.
I keep my mouth on hers, keeping my hands steady.
Victoria lies beside me, curled toward my chest as her body moves there without asking her permission. Her hair is a mess across the pillow.
“I hate you,” she whispers, voice barely there.
I kiss her forehead. “I know p>
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “But I don’t…” She chokes. “Not really p>
I hold her tighter, my jaw clenched, throat burning. “Neither do I,” I admit quietly.
She just buries her face in my chest and breathes me in. Eventually, her fingers loosen on my shirt, and her head sinks into the hollow of my shoulder.
She’s asleep, and I stay awake.
Staring at the ceiling. Listening to the storm outside.
Feeling the weight of her in my arms.
I should feel triumphant.
Maybe even satisfied.
I should feel like I won.
Instead, I feel terrified.
Because I wanted her to suffer.
And now I’ve tasted something that feels dangerously like forgiveness.
Or worse—love.
I press my mouth to her hair, breathing her in. “Sleep, Little Bird, I’ve got you p>
And the most horrifying part?
I mean it.