“Can I have a sip of your port?” she asked.
He handed her his glass, his fingers brushing hers. She felt a frisson of pleasure all the way through her.
She sipped the warm rich sweet liquor, and then again, welcoming the burst of flavor on her tongue and then the heat that followed, down her throat to seep through her limbs.
She handed the glass back, and then immediately wished she hadn’t.
“Come here,” he said, gesturing for her. “You’re so far away.”
“Not that far.” Rachel’s heart did another painful little beat. “And I think it’s safer here.”
“There’s no canal to fall in. Nothing to hurt you should you lose your balance.”
She tried to smile but her throat constricted, her hands balling at her sides, hidden by the gleaming folds of her gorgeous gown. If she let him, he would be her first. And if they married, her first and her last. He would be everything.
“You could hurt me,” she said, the words popping out before she could stop them.
He looked relaxed, sitting on the arm of the chair, and yet there was something watchful in his manner. “Why would I do that?”
“We’re so different.” Her mouth felt dry. “And our dreams are so different.”
“I don’t know if we are that different. We both value family. We work hard, and try to think of others. We want Michael to be safe, and loved. And we both want to be happy, as well.” He smiled a little, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. If anything it emphasized the shadows in the blue depths, the shadows a testament to his grief over losing Antonio.
“Have I missed anything?” he asked quietly.
The fact that he was still grieving for his brother rendered him human, and vulnerable. Yes, he was still impossibly beautiful but he was a man, and he’d hurt, just as she’d hurt. She wanted to comfort him now, but wasn’t sure how.
She drew a shallow breath. “Can we both be happy?”
“You mean, together?” he asked.
She nodded.
“If we can move forward together and let the past go.”
“It’s not easy to let it go, though,” she said, nails pressing into her tender palms. “Because you couldn’t have saved Antonio, but I could have saved Juliet—” She broke off, chest squeezing, throat tightening, the air trapped in her lungs. She blinked, trying to clear the sting of tears.
“How?” Gio asked, covering her clenched hands with one of his.
“If I’d found all the pills ahead of time. If I’d known she was stockpiling them. If I’d known she was suffering from depression…”
“But you didn’t. How could you?”
Rachel’s shoulders twisted. “I should have realized she wasn’t coping well. In the weeks leading up to her death, she needed more and more help from me, and near the end I had become an almost full-time caregiver.” She chewed her lower lip. “I wasn’t happy about it. I told her so, too.”
“Ah.” His hand squeezed hers. “That’s why you feel guilty.”
“I wish I could go back and do it differently. You have no idea how much I regret those pep talks and lectures. I was trying to help, but I am quite certain they just made her feel worse…they just isolated her further. Rather than giving her tough love, I should have driven her to a doctor.”
He tugged her from her chair and pulled her toward him, settling her on his lap. “Hindsight is always clearer,” he said gruffly, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes. “But at the time, you didn’t know, and you were doing your best.”
Rachel bit harder into her lip, fighting to hold back the tears. She hated remembering, and most of all she hated remembering that last night, because every time she thought about that final evening, she thought of everything she should have said or done. “I’m not disappointed in Juliet,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m disappointed in me.”
He kissed her then, his mouth covering hers, his tongue stroking the seam of her lips, until her mouth opened for him. He kissed her with hunger and need and something else she couldn’t articulate, and her hands came up to press against his warm, bare chest. He felt good, his skin like satin over dense, hard muscle, and she was torn between pushing him away to preserve her sanity and pulling him closer.
She was sick and tired of fighting herself. Sick and tired of fighting him, and her desire for him. Everything had been so difficult for so long, and she was ready for something else, something new. Could they be happy together? Was it possible that out of all the terrible loss and grief they could create something new?