Tangled In Strings

Chapter Eighteen

I turn onto my side, rising onto an elbow, admiring him in all his glory as he lights a match.

"Think we got enough to last the rest of the night? It doesn't look like this storm's letting up anytime soon."

I smile. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

I can finally see his smirk when the candle is lit. He stares down at me.

"Yes, but I want to see you."

My heart thumps irregularly. "All night?"

"Mhm."

"Think we can make it?"

He pours the remaining white wine from dinner into our glasses. He lowers down to hand me one of them. "I'm game if you are."

"I don't want to waste one minute," I whisper, almost to myself, as he walks around the makeshift bed, gloriously nude as he scans over the furniture.

"What is this place? He hasn't updated it in years."

I swallow the wine, my mouth frowning at the taste. It didn't matter that I found out I wasn't blood-related to an alcoholic. I still fear the idea of enjoying all types of liquor. They will always remind me of him.

"This was their place," I confess as Giovanni picks up a book, glancing at the front cover. "My mother... and Norman's."

Giovanni looks at me, shocked by the admission. I point with my glass to the ledge where the picture rests. He walks to it, lifting it towards the light. He blinks repeatedly.

"Wow. You look just like her."

"I know."

"Did you know when you came--?"

"No. I had no clue. I think he was trying to make me see it."

He nods slowly, setting the picture down. "Gotta give him points for effort."

I watch the wine swirl in my glass. "I told him we are engaged."

He's staring at me wordlessly when I garner the courage to look at him, and I lick my lips, biting down. "Should I not have? Did I make a mistake?"

He shakes his head slowly. I wait for him to speak. Instead, he looks down.

"I know. I didn't think. I shouldn't have—"

"You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that."

I exhale with relief at the sight of his smile. "It's getting easier... to imagine."

"We're gonna have it all, baby. Just gotta work for it."

I nod, refusing to sink into my emotions. I want to remain positive.

I raise the glass to my lips with a grin. "Tell me about work, dear."

...

My fingers tighten against his hand, laced between his slender bones. My eyes scan over his features bathed in candlelight. His eyes are closed, but his mouth begins to turn up just as I thought he had fallen asleep.

"Fuck, I'm tired."

"Sleep, then."

My gaze drifts to the mantle clock, which reads 4 am. He has to leave in three hours.

And my chest hurts at the thought. I have to look away from him as my throat tightens, so I turn onto my back, pulling my hands gently from his.

I don't want him to go.

I hate this... and I love this.

I want to pour out my heart now because I'm fearful something will happen when he's not around. But I can't, knowing I'd only scare him.