Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

“I don’t know.” I wrap her against me, holding tight so she feels like I’ve got her. “Why’d you marry him?” I choke, my mouth against her hair.

“He needed me to. What does it matter since I can’t be with you?” Now she’s crying, and I feel so fucking sick for her, for all the things we can’t undo.

I lean against some shelving in the closet, rub her back and kiss her forehead. “You can’t be with me…that’s true. You did what was smart. That’s good.”

She’s trying to get her breath, to slow her breathing. Then she drops down to her knees in front of me and wraps an arm around my leg.

“Pull down your pants,” her voice rasps.

“What?”

“Take your pants down, Luca. I want to do this one last time.”

When I don’t—I can’t—she does it herself, finding my erection with her warm hands and her even warmer mouth.

I can’t help a loud groan as she sucks me between her cheeks and tightens her grip on my base.

This is wrong, though; I can’t let myself come when she’s like this. I sink to the carpeted floor, holding her as she pushes her face against my shoulder, rubbing her hair, whispering, “Andrà bene…andrà bene. Andrà bene, la mia rosa…” till she’s still and quiet and only mine. For just this moment, she’s no one’s but mine, and so I hold her like I’ll never let go.

When she looks up at me with her brown eyes, when she kisses my chin and cheek, I lay her down and use my mouth and hands to make it better.

She’s moaning loudly, I keep covering her mouth with mine, and then we’re laughing between gasps. She’s right on the verge of crying, her chest and shoulders shaking. I don’t want her going there again, so I push her gown up and duck my head beneath the heavy green silk. I make my way through the layers to her thong—green, just like the dress—and tuck it aside, so my tongue can lave her where she’s slick and swollen.

“This is all you need. I’ll give it to you, rosa. Let me make you feel good.”

She grips my head through her gown and writhes around the closet’s floor like she’s gone mad. And I push. On and on and on until she’s weeping from her need and I’m so hard I feel each heartbeat in the head of my cock.

She says, “Inside.” She lifts her hips, rubbing herself on my face. “I need to feel you, cuore. Just one more time…”

We’re too frantic to be careful. I shove her dress aside and rip her panties away, stuffing the thong in my pocket. I press myself against her, and she lifts her hips. Her hands are rubbing my arms and her face is rapt with need.

“Make it hurt,” she says in a voice that shakes.

That’s where I fail. It feels like heaven. We’re both shuddering and panting, clinging to each other like we’re shipwrecked and we’re both going to drown.

“Remember me,” she whispers.

“Forever,” I say in Italian.

And Jace opens the door.24EliseThey read Romeo and Juliet in high school classes. The story’s sad, but it’s not real. You close the book and leave your desk and walk into the hall, where everyone you know is talking, smiling, planning for the weekend. You think life—your life—will turn out fine. Even if a part of it goes wrong, you think the course will right itself. No one expects to live a tragedy. And so it’s strange to find you’re doing just that.

I don’t feel like a victim…but I think maybe I am. They say you have choices in life—that you can chart your course—but that’s not true. I never realized before. I suppose it could be considered a blessing that I’m just now learning this, at thirty-six years old. I’ve lived a lucky life, despite the loss of Becca. Now I’m seeing how the world can wreck you, and not for any reason other than because that’s just…what happens.

Lots of variables are pre-set. You can’t choose what they are, and sometimes they line up in such a way so as to ruin your entire life. And you can’t fix it. People say, “Well, fix your attitude”—but I can’t lie to myself.

The only person I try lying to is Jace. I care so much about his feelings, I try to put on a brave face for him, and that’s ironic because Jace is one of the few people who see right through me. I don’t think he ever believes I’m okay. No more than he is.

Thirteen days after we wed, his grandfather formally selects someone else to take over the company. Jace resigns, comes home to me, and watches Stranger Things in silence on the couch beside me, before telling me he’s flying to Italy the next morning.