Chapter 14
1126 Words
Stormy Nights
The storm came in like a verdict.
By late afternoon the sky over Manhattan had turned the color of a bruise, and the first thunderclap rattled the penthouse windows hard enough to make the crystal decanters sing. Within an hour the city was drowning, lightning forked across the skyline, wind screamed between the towers and the power grid gave up with a final, exhausted flicker.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Ava stood at the glass wall, watching the storm tear the city apart, arms wrapped around herself. She hadn’t spoken to Lucian in three days, not since she’d walked out of his office with the truth burning between them like acid. They moved around each other like ghosts: separate bedrooms, separate meals, separate lives under the same roof. The silence had teeth.
Now the silence was broken only by thunder and the drumming rain.
She heard him behind her before she saw him, the soft scrape of a match, the sudden bloom of candlelight. One flame, then another. He moved through the living room setting tall ivory candles into holders, until the penthouse glowed warm and medieval. The sharp shadows, golden edges, no harsh fluorescents to hide behind.
He stopped a few feet away, two glasses and a bottle of something dark in his hands.
Generator’s down, he said quietly. The whole grid’s out south of 59th. Could be hours.
She didn’t turn. I noticed.
He set the glasses on the coffee table, poured. The liquid caught the candlelight like liquid garnet. Armagnac. 1973. My father’s favorite. A humorless laugh. Thought we could use something older than our mistakes tonight.
She finally faced him. He looked exhausted, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone. The candle flames painted gold across the sharp bones of his face and the hollows beneath his eyes.
He held out a glass. She took it, fingers brushing his. Neither flinched.
They drank in silence, watching the storm.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a heartbeat. In that white glare she saw the strain on his face, the way his hand trembled almost imperceptibly around the crystal.
Another boom of thunder. The building groaned.
Ava spoke first. I keep waiting to stop feeling it, she said, voice barely above the rain. The anger. The betrayal. I keep waiting to wake up and not ache.
Lucian’s eyes closed. I know the feeling.
She laughed, soft and bitter. Do you? Because you built this cage, Lucian. You locked the door.
I know. He set his glass down, stepped closer until the candlelight danced between them. I know exactly what I did. And I’d do it again. That’s what scares me most.
She stared at him. You’d trap me again?
In a heartbeat. His voice was raw. If it was the only way to keep you from disappearing. I’m that selfish. I’m that broken.
Thunder rolled, long and low.
Ava’s throat worked. I was going to leave that night, she whispered. After I found the folder. I had a bag packed. I stood at the elevator and I pressed the button. But it wouldn’t come. You’d disabled it.
He didn’t deny it.
I stood there for an hour and she went on. Waiting for the doors to open. Waiting for the courage to walk down seventy-seven flights of stairs and never look back. And I couldn’t do it. Because even hating you, I couldn’t leave you.
Lucian’s breath left him in a shudder.
She stepped into his space, close enough to feel his heat. That’s what you did to us. You made it impossible to leave without ripping my own heart out.
His hands rose, hovered, then settled gently on her waist, as if she were made of glass. I’m sorry, he said, the words rough. I’m sorry for every lie, every lock, every time I made you feel small. I thought if I controlled the leaving, I could survive it. I was wrong.
Tears slipped free, hot on her cold cheeks. Then let me go.
He made a broken sound and pulled her into him instead, arms banding tight, face buried in her hair. I can’t, he rasped against her temple. God help me, I can’t.
She should have pushed him away. Instead her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on.
Lightning flashed again, bleaching the room white. In that instant she saw them reflected in the dark glass, two people clinging in a storm, terrified of the calm.
He kissed her then, slow and desperate, tasting salt and storm and five years of grief. She kissed him back like forgiveness she wasn’t ready to give. Clothes fell away in whispers of fabric and candle smoke. No rush, no punishment; just skin seeking skin, mouths learning apologies words couldn’t carry.
He laid her down on the thick rug in front of the fireplace he’d never lit before tonight. Flames crackled to life under his hands, casting gold over her body as he followed her down, covering her with reverent touches.
Every kiss was a confession.
His mouth on her throat, I was afraid.
His tongue tracing her breast, I was lost.
His fingers sliding between her thighs, slow and worshipful, I still am.
When he entered her, it was with a broken groan that sounded like her name and mercy all at once. They moved together like the storm itself deep, rolling, inevitable. No power plays, no ledger. Just two people trying to crawl back inside each other’s ribs where it was safe.
She came with his name on her lips and tears on her lashes. He followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, whispering I love you, I love you, I love you like a prayer against her skin.
After, they lay tangled under a cashmere throw, watching the firelight dance across the ceiling. The storm raged on, but inside and out.
Lucian traced idle circles on her shoulder. “I’ll have the locks removed tomorrow, he said quietly. The elevator code changed to whatever you want. You can leave anytime. No tricks.
She turned to look at him. And if I stay?
His eyes searched hers, terrified and hopeful. Then we burn the ledger. Start over. No debts. Just us.
Outside, thunder rumbled its approval.
Ava pressed her palm over his heart, feeling it race beneath her hand.
I’m not ready to forgive you, she whispered.
I know.
But I’m not leaving tonight.
He exhaled like a man given a stay of execution and pulled her closer.
The storm kept raging, but inside the circle of candlelight and fireglow, something fragile and fierce took root, the first green shot of forgiveness neither of them had earned yet, but both were suddenly willing to bleed for.
- Writer
