“They seemed okay when I was there.”
“That’s because Marco always seems like he’s okay. He’ll never talk back to him, he’ll never tell him how he really feels. I know a few times when he’s been drunk he’s confided in me, wishing that his father would leave him alone, stop trying to always pull the strings.”
I don’t know how to tell Luciano that even if his stepfather has changed his feelings toward his stepson, he hasn’t changed his feelings about me.
The contempt in his eyes was as visible as it was back on that day.
“He doesn’t like me, Luciano,” I say softly.
“Perhaps he’s remembering when you threw a beer or two in his face.”
God, I hope that’s it. I hope the contempt is just based on that, and it’s not strong enough to fuck up what Luciano and I have together now.
“I’m scared,” I tell him. “I’m really scared.”
His expression crumbles. “No. Don’t be.”
He puts his arms around me and we fall down onto the couch and he’s holding me tight.
“You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
I brush my hand over his beard, up to his hair, running my fingers through it. God, he has such beautiful hair. If we ever have kids, they’re going to have the best hair in fucking Spain.
That thought gives me a jolt, like voltage to my heart.
I’d never thought about the future that far. It was always some far-off haze, a place I’d get to when I got to it. But now, with this man, I know he’s my future. And I want to share his dreams with him. I want to marry him, I want to have his babies, I want to live happy and barefoot on an island somewhere, just the two of us.
I want all of that.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper.
“You’ll never lose me. You never did.”
He kisses me. His lips are so sweet and soft as they brush against mine. I melt into him, melt into his kiss because it feels as easy and important as breathing.
This is surrendering.
“I love you,” I murmur against his lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” he whispers back, licking and sucking along my chin, my jaw. “Always have, always will.”
He moves his body over mine and I run my hands down the taut, muscled planes of his back. I love him like this, the feel of his large, strong body above mine, love how it makes me feel so protected and safe. He’s so perfect, sometimes it feels like I’m dreaming.
His hands slip down my side and I reach for his towel, tugging it off of him until he’s naked. I rather like this, him completely nude on top of me, while I’m fully clothed.
“Hey, this isn’t fair,” he jokes, pulling back to look at me.
But my eyes go to the space over his shoulder.
Where Tomás appears.
His face red with rage.
I open my mouth to scream and Luciano sees the terror on my face, turns his head to look.
But it’s too late.
With a snarl, Tomás is grabbing Luciano by the neck and pulling him off of me, then turns him around, slamming him into the wall. A painting crashes to the floor.
“Stop!” I scream, scrambling to my feet, watching in horror as Luciano tries to turn around, still completely naked, while Tomás winds up and strikes him with a punch to his temple.
Luciano crumbles to the ground.
I scream again.
Twenty-Three
Luciano
I see nothing but stars. Bright hot stars that snake through the blackness.
I crumble to the floor, my hands going to my head because it feels like I don’t have a head anymore, it’s just black and blinding pain.
Think, Luciano, think.
But I can’t.
My stepfather is here.
For a moment I wonder how he got in. I saw Ruby lock the door.
But he probably got the spare key from Marco.
And he probably came straight here, knowing he’d find Ruby.
At the bottom of this realization is that he’s never stopped hating me.
His hate was a patient predator, just lying and waiting.
I open my eyes, wincing hard, just in time to see my stepfather’s leg pull back, ready to kick me right in the stomach. Kick me when I’m down, that’s the kind of man he is. That’s the way he was when I was a kid, when he used to spit on me, slap me, punch me to teach me a lesson. I know my mother saw, I know when my brother was older that he saw too, and yet it was okay for Luciano to get beat up over and over again, beat up by the person who was supposed to love him.
It’s not okay anymore.
With reflexes fueled by adrenaline, I reach out and grab his shoe, my palm taking the impact, then curve my hand around, grabbing hold of his foot and twisting it.
My stepfather cries out in surprise, falling to the side on the other knee, bent over.
I’ve never felt this kind of anger before, like a lifetime of abandonment and scorn has funneled into a firestorm of rage.
The fact that I’m naked makes it feel even more raw and primal.
I bend over and grab my stepfather by the collar, hauling him up to his feet. He’s bigger and taller than me, but I’m younger and angrier and I’ve dreamed about this for years. I nearly lift him off the ground as I shove him backward against the wall on the opposite side of the room, the back of his head banging against it.
My fingers curl into his collar, my knuckles growing white, wishing I could choke him right here. I want to choke him, hurt him…
Fuck. Why does he want to hurt me?
“Why are you doing this?!” I scream at him, my spittle flying into his face. “Why do you hate me so much?!”
I’m shaking so hard, my chest closing up so tight, I fear I might die from anger
