“I do, but they’re hard to look at.”
Haven smiled softly. “I bet she’s beautiful.”
“Of course she is,” he said playfully. “She made me.”
* * *
Vincent sat in the silent office for a moment before opening his top desk drawer again. He pushed a few things around and grabbed the small photograph from the bottom. It had been there for years, the edges worn and image faded although it rarely saw the light of day.
He gazed at the picture of his wife, his chest aching. He desperately wished she were there because, out of everyone, she’d be able to tell him what to do. She would know what to say, how to make it right again. Maura always had the answers, even if they were ones Vincent hadn’t liked to hear.
Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out the chain that hung around his neck and absentmindedly fiddled with the small gold band. It matched the one he still wore on his finger. He never had the nerve to take it off.
* * *
Carmine pulled out a chair for Haven in the dining room and sat across from her. Tess and Dia stayed for dinner, sitting on the side with Haven, while Dominic and Celia sat near Carmine. Vincent took the chair at the head of the table and bowed his head, saying his usual prayer.
They told stories about past holidays, and Haven listened intently, absorbing every word. Her eyes twinkled, a smile on her lips. It was an odd moment, but as Carmine glanced around the table, it felt right, like they were supposed to be there. That she belonged with him, with all of them, and some twist of fate had led her there.
He didn’t care what she said—happiness was more than good health and a poor memory. Happiness was this. It was her, and him, and that moment. Fuck Albert Schweitzer. He could kiss his ass. Happiness was real.
* * *
After dinner, Haven and Carmine headed upstairs to his room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers lacing through his hair as she pulled him to her, kissing him passionately. He resisted at first, caught off guard, but caved and walked her back to the bed. Pulling off his shirt, he tossed it to the floor before lying down on top of her. She rocked her hips, pressing into him. Carmine hissed as the unexpected friction sent shivers through him.
He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything. He wanted to consume her, to taste her flesh and explore her body. And he wanted to fuck her, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t a girl to be fucked. She was a girl to be made love to, and as much as he wished he could, he didn’t know how.
He pulled from her lips, his strong voice contradicting the yearn in his body. “We need to stop.”
“Stop?”
“Yes, stop.” He hesitated—when the hell had he become the voice of abstinence? “We just, you know . . .”
He didn’t know, but she nodded. “Okay, Romeo.”
“Romeo?”
“Like in Romeo and Juliet. They come from different sides but meet in the middle. We have the forbidden love part, right?”
“Yeah, but we’re not killing ourselves, Haven, so that’s about as similar as it gets. Besides, Romeo’s an idiot. Pick someone else.”
“How about Shrek?”
His brow furrowed. “Shrek? Really? He’s an ogre.”
“Shrek and Fiona thought they were different when they weren’t.”
He contemplated that until he realized he was comparing his life to a cartoon. “Pick another.”
“Titanic? Rose and Jack weren’t supposed to be together.”
“Seriously? He dies. I’m not gonna jinx myself here.”
She was quiet, running her fingers across his abs and tracing his scar with her fingertips. “How about we just be Haven and Carmine? We don’t know the ending, but we can always hope for the best.”
“I like that,” he said. “Besides, there’s a reason we don’t know how the story ends.”
“Why?”