Death Between Your Lips

Selfish

I should have run. I should have turned and walked away and pretended I heard nothing.

Instead, like a fool, I stood there, the tray barely dangling on my fingers, my eyes holding his. It felt like the opulence of this mansion, the presence of Don Luciano, hell, even the bloody tray I was holding, all of it melted into oblivion.

Like it was just he and I across a sandvial through to a time where I meant everything to him.

I watched the ice take over his eyes again, his jaw tightening.

Don Luciano said something, but I could hardly hear it above the rapid beating of my own heart.

Slowly, he let his eyes drop from mine. A second was all it took, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze running down my body before he met my eyes again.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I turned away, something twisting in my stomach.

It felt like an endless push and pull. Like I knew he would make good his threat of revenge, but only... only if his gaze doesn't ruin me first.

I walked upstairs absent mindedly, my mind wandering. The marriage, in the end, wouldn't help me or my family. Quite the opposite.

The Ginevra from yesterday, hell, even this morning, would have run home.

But the Ginevra that walked this empty hallways back to Leone's room like a marionette wanted to see how well the pain would hurt.

Does it make me just as twisted as Leone? Maybe.

"Oh, Ma'am. I was just about to come and clean it up."

I nodded absentmindedly as she collected the tray from me, then walked away.

I headed back into the dark room, then slipped into the bed, pulling the sheets to my nose. I was surrounded by his presence in the very core of his absence, and Leone... I don't know which torture is greater than this.

I wasn't sure how long I lay there, my mind reeling. What do I do? What about dad? What about Leone? Would I be stupid to watch it happen?

Time seemed to pass, and maybe it was an hour, or a day, or an eternity later, when the door slowly cracked open. My heart sank, and my fingers tightened around the sheets.

He had said he would sleep in his room. How the hell am I supposed to survive the night?

The door closed, and I closed my eyes too, my teeth clenched hard together.

I heard his footsteps as he walked past me. The shower came on, and my eyes slowly opened.

I got my answer. I was being foolish. I was lying here in the den of my very own enemy, waiting for him to hurt me. I was lying here, saddled with the guilt of a decade, like a f*****g i***t.

I slowly stood up.

My eyes scanned the room. The shower was still on, and Leone's shirt was lying on the floor right next to the bed.

I bit down on my lips. I had nowhere to go, but hell, being here was suicide, in every sense of the word.

I stood up, uncertainty making me hesitate. Where do I go? What do I do?

The mansion was heavily guarded. I couldn't just leave. But it was just as dangerous as sharing a bed with him.

I pushed the thoughts away, then turned to the door. I would figure all of that out once I am out. Maybe I could sleep on the couch. Hell, I could sleep on the patio. Just not this bed.

I started to walk to the door. I tried my best to be noiseless, especially as few distance was much larger than any normal room. I had just narrowed down the distance between me and the door when the shower suddenly went off.

I gasped, my eyes turning to the bed. I couldn't let him catch me trying to leave.

Fuck it.

I broke into a run towards the door, my hand pushing in front of me to try and reach the door knob.

Just before I could touch the cold metal, a warm, damp hand wrapped around my mouth, and an arm wrapped around my stomach, pulling me back a little roughly.

I gasped, but it was barely a sound, as my back hit his bare chest, the wetness seeping right through my skin, my heart pounding crazily in my chest.

My legs were slightly lifted off the floor, and I knew he was doing it on purpose. It was putting me in this humiliating, helpless position, one that I would need to beg him to get out of.

"Where do you think you are going?"

His voice was low, his breath caressing my earlobe.

Against my better judgement, I turned, and he was watching me, his head slightly tilted to the right, his eyes narrow.

I hated how all of the emotions filled my chest, and all of the courage I had gathered just a minute ago seemed to evaporate.

I hated that when I looked into his eyes, I saw a bandage covering them, and I wondered how he had coped with the darkness.

"Did you really go blind?" It was the first thing that came out of my mouth, and I knew I couldn't take it back.

My lips quivered hard, my body shook in his, and I hated how his head enveloped me like home. How his body seemed like it was made to cover me.

"Did you really... have to learn to walk again? To talk?"

His eyes darted across my face for a long minute, his brows furrowed.

It felt like his grip on me tightened a little, but I might have been imagining things.

"Is it that scary?" He asked instead, his eyes now holding mine. "Does it make you want to flee?"

I swallowed hard, tears running down my cheeks fast. "You should hate me."

"I do," he answered, firm enough for me to know he meant it. "I do hate you, Ginevra. More than you will ever know."

But here he was, holding me tight as I broke down hard, crumbling like a hastily made-up pack of cards.

I was being selfish again, breaking down in front of him when he was my victim.