THIRTY-TWO |

"Arturo, stop." I had to cover my mouth with a shaking hand, pulling away from his touch. He stared at me with confusion written all over his face.

Then, I watched as Arturo collected himself, straightening his tie and folding his hands on the counter. He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off with a silencing gesture.

"I know what you're about to say." Though I couldn't quite believe it. "And I know exactly why."

"Florence –"

"No." I gritted my teeth. "I want to know who Cecelia is."

I watched as Arturo's composure slipped. He said, barely moving his lips he was so tense, "how do you know about that?"

"You mean how do I know about the woman being used as leverage to make you hand me over to my father? The woman from Italy, the same age as you, the one you failed to tell me about?"

His hands visibly clenched on the table top. "Cecelia is a complication."

"You can say that again," I scoffed. "A complication you didn't tell me about. I mean, were you, Arturo? Were you going to tell me?"

"Of course I was," he snapped.

"Or were you just going to keep me in the dark about the whole situation? The woman you're supposed to love, the woman you just almost proposed to, for god's sake. You just almost asked me to be your wife! You barely tell me even the most basic things and yet you think you're ready to be married? You think we are ready to be married?" I was working myself up into a fury but I knew I couldn't stop. "It's almost as bad as asking for my hand to make up for getting me pregnant! You almost ruined everything! Once you say something like that you can't take it back, you can't pretend it didn't happen."

"I would never take it back. Never."

"You only said it so that Viktor couldn't marry me first!"

"I was trying to solve the problem without directly involving you. I didn't want you to worry unnecessarily," he said calmly.

"So let me get this straight a second, Arturo, because I'm confused. You want me to be your wife but you still hide most of your life from me, is that what you're suggesting? God, do you even know what it means to be married?" I laughed humourlessly and Arturo suddenly sat forward, his dark eyes painfully intense.

"I know exactly what being married means," he hissed. "Being your husband means protecting you with every beat of my heart, loving you with every breath I take and more. It means standing by your side every second, seeing every smile, catching every tear. It means keeping you safe, Florence. What it really means is that I value your life above mine, I would die for you because I live for you." His clenched hands flattened on the counter and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He was visibly breathless, hair falling across his forehead causing him to look more dishevelled than he would ever normally allow. "It's as simple as that," he concluded.

"I..." I could barely bring my tear-filled eyes to meet his. "I can't marry you. Not like this."

He reached for my hands. "You need more reasons? I have ten thousand -"

"I don't need reasons, Art. I love you, I do, and I know I always will. But you can't just fix our problems with marriage. We're a ship lost at sea and water is coming in faster than we can bale it out. Covering the holes up with paper isn't going to stop us from drowning."

For a second hurt flashed in his eyes. "You think we're drowning?"

"We're not floating," I admitted, looking down.

"So we fix our problems. That's what people who love each other do, is it not?"

"It's not as simple as that, though!" I jerked my chin away when he moved to tilt my head up. "You think that you can just throw money or violence at a problem and it will go away, but relationships aren't like that. You have to work at them, and it's hard, and sometimes it feels like you're getting nowhere or going backwards. It takes time and patience, there's no instant fix, you being my husband isn't going to make all of the bad things go away." I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea of calling Arturo my husband. I desperately longed for our fairytale ending, I wanted more than anything to be able to say yes, but not when the question was posed for all of the wrong reasons.

Arturo was quiet for a moment, his eyes never losing their intensity as he watched me. I could feel my cheeks heating up every second his gaze lasted until finally he spoke. "You running away from me isn't going to solve our problems, either," he said evenly.

"I...I know."

He caught a strand of my hair between his fingers and twirled it aimlessly. He seemed lost in thought. "Yet every time we hit a bump in the road you flee."

When I couldn't answer for the lump in my throat, he continued, "am I really that terrible? That I make you run away?"

"It's not that..." But I didn't know what it was, either. "Sometimes you're just so...impossible. It's like nothing I say computes with you, none of it matters."

Arturo's hand moved from my hair to cup my cheek. "Everything you say to me computes. Understand? Everything. But sometimes I have to make decisions based on the dangers of my career instead of what you'd like me to do."

"Like asking me to marry you just to stop the Russians getting hold of me," I said sourly.

"Would it honestly be so terrible to be my wife?"

"You know it isn't that." Here we were again going around in circles. "You haven't even told me who Cecelia is yet."

Arturo's hand slid down my cheek until his palm curved around my jaw and he began rubbing his thumb across my bottom lip. I wanted to move away but he was so close I could feel his breath. "Cecelia is an old friend from Italy. Her, Marco and I grew up together. She's practically family. Does that make you feel better?"

I bit my lip. "Sort of."

"Florence, there is no woman in the world who comes close to you. The fact that you think there might be is ludicrous."

"My family seem to think she matters to you."

"Of course she matters to me. I would never let them harm her." I felt my heart sink slightly in my chest, only to pick up double time when Arturo stood and walked around the counter. "But look at you," he said, staring down at me with both hands cupping my cheeks. "You really think I would ever let you leave my side if I had any other choice?"

My eyes instantly flickered down to the ground as I chewed on my lip in thought. As much as I wanted to melt against Arturo's touch, we needed to have a real, honest conversation. He needed to know how I felt as much as I needed to know how he did.

"Florence, look at me," he commanded.

I took a second to gather my thoughts before I shifted my gaze. "When I first heard what Lucas told me, I didn't doubt it," I admitted. "I tried to deny it, to reason my way out of it, but in my head I knew it was true. And I think...I think me believing what he said is just as much the problem as it really being true."

"This wasn't your fault."

"I know it wasn't. But if we were in..." I trailed off.

"If we were in what?"

I swallowed back the lump in my throat and continued despite the look of worry on Arturo's face. "If we were in a good place I would never have believed it. I would have trusted you implicitly, and my trust wouldn't have been misplaced."

His hands slipped from my cheeks to my shoulders. "I know trust isn't our strong point."

"And that's my fault, too. We started out on the wrong foot and now it feels like we're constantly out of step with one another, no matter how hard we try we can never find a rhythm."

Finally he removed his hands from me altogether and let them hang at his sides. At first I thought he was donning the mask of cold disinterest he so often wore, but when he couldn't meet my gaze I realised he was actually hurt. "If that's how you feel, I'll understand." With a little hesitancy he took my small hands in his own and rubbed his thumbs over the backs of them. "If you want to leave me, I won't stop you from walking away. This life isn't what I would have chosen for anyone, least of all the woman I love, so no matter how much I might want to I can't - I won't - tell you not to go."

I brought his right hand up to my face and held it against my cheek, savouring the warmth and familiarity of the gesture. I couldn't imagine this being the last time I ever felt his touch or inhaled his scent. I couldn't imagine a world in which Arturo's husky voice wasn't the first thing I heard on a morning and the last thing at night.

He watched me closely as I nuzzled into his hand and let my eyes close. When I eventually spoke, they opened again, and Arturo's expression looked pained. "I can't just walk away from us," I said slowly, "but I can't stay when we're like this, either. We can't just keep going around in the same circles."

"I know," he sighed. "My whole life has been about power and control yet when it comes to you I feel helpless."

"You just have to trust me, Arturo. And I have to trust you. We have to be honest with each other."

He ran our hands through my hair and nodded slowly, taking a step forward. "I promise," he breathed, hooking a finger beneath my chin and tilting my head up, "that I will do better for you." So gently that I barely felt it, he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, never once breaking eye contact. His touch was as light as a feather. The second he moved away I felt myself lean up in response, desperate to feel him, but he maintained the tiny, electrified distance between us. "I will be the man you need me to be," again his lips folded over mine, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, "until you allow me the privilege of being your husband."

When Arturo pulled back this time I was breathless, but I pressed my hand to his chest to hold him back. With his dishevelled hair hanging over his forehead and his eyes burning into mine, he looked undeniably sexy, but something about his words had created a lump in my throat.

"We need to take things slowly," I said hoarsely, the colour in my cheeks no doubt betraying my desire. "I want to start from the beginning and get things right. I want to remember why I'm here. Is that...okay?"

He took my hand from his chest and brought it up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to each of my knuckles. "I can't promise we'll get things right," he breathed, "but I can promise we will try."

I nodded silently and he pulled me gently to my feet. "Are you tired?" he asked, glancing out of the window.

I hadn't realised but it had somehow become dark outside since we'd started talking. We must have been in the kitchen for hours, poor Marco. I felt bad that Arturo and I had caused such a scene in his house.

"A little," I admitted, suddenly having to stifle a yawn. "We should probably get back home."

Arturo took my hand and led me through Marco's house which was eerily silent. I'd expected him to be home by now but the whole place was empty, even Amber had gone by the look of it. "We can stay here for the night," Arturo said as we made it to the staircase. "Marco will be sleeping at our house."

I followed silently, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of gratefulness that his hand was still wrapped around my own. No matter how much we fought, I would always find comfort in his touch, I would always be soothed by his presence. I wasn't ready to let go of that just yet, not if I didn't have to.

The hallway was dark but Arturo wrapped a hand around my waist to guide me. We entered the spare room I had been sleeping alone in and he flicked on a small lamp in the corner. Now that we were in the bedroom and our argument was over it appeared neither of us knew quite what to do. Arturo watched me as I padded over to the single bed and sat down on the edge of it.

"I can sleep on the floor," he offered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Slowly, I shook my head. When I spoke my voice was barely above a nervous whisper, though I couldn't put my finger on why. Arturo and I had slept together hundreds of times, but this felt different. Now that we were starting over, I was scared that we really might not work out. "I want to feel you," I admitted quietly, looking down when my cheeks began to blush. "I need to remember why we're here."

Arturo cleared his throat and nodded, rubbing the back of his head as if he too were at a loss.

I climbed under the covers and began removing my clothes, moving up so that he could perch on the end of the bed while he removed his. Once his shirt came off, I sat up slightly, running one of my hands down the marred skin of his back. I knew each indentation like it was my own.

When Arturo switched the lamp off and the room was plunged into darkness I became hyper aware of everything around me. I listened to my breath come and go in the silent room, pulling the covers up to my chin as I waited for the bed to dip with his weight.

He climbed in beside me but kept a respectable distance between us, just close enough that I could feel the heat of his naked body. My heart rate spiked as I stared through the darkness at where I knew he was lying, squinting as though I might be able to make out his face. I could see nothing. The only indicator I had was the sound of his rugged breaths matched to mine, his heart beat muffled yet strong. I wondered how many times I'd fallen asleep to that sound, how many times I'd curled into his chest and felt safe.

Despite the calm regularity of Arturo's heart, mine was thundering, so loud and fast I was worried he could hear it.

In the darkness, I reached my upturned hand out and let it rest in the middle of the bed between us. The mattress was cool and empty. I wondered if Arturo had somehow already fallen asleep but a second later I felt his hand reach over and cover my own, lacing our fingers together. Neither of us moved another muscle. We were tensely still, hyperaware of each breath we took and each place our hands were touching.

"I love you, Florence Genovese," Arturo murmured with a sigh. "No matter your surname or where you come from." His fingers tightened around my own for a second then loosened, his breath becoming deeper. I suspected he was on the cusp of sleep.

"I love you," I whispered back into the darkness.

With another heavy breath, Arturo pulled me into his body so that my back was pressed to his chest, each part of us curved perfectly around each other. He rested his head against mine so that I could feel his stubble against my cheek, our breath mingling in the air before us. His right hand came up to cup one of my breasts as he slowly began nuzzling into my neck, peppering delicate kisses along it. I felt my body responding, but without a word I brought my hand up and entwined my fingers with his, pulling his hand down to rest on my stomach instead.

Arturo's kisses halted, his unsteady breaths tickling the hairs around my neck. "Taking it slow?" he whispered next to my ear.

I nodded silently and in response he moved me so that we were facing one another again. Then he pulled me into his body, arms winding around me, holding me to his chest. At first I tensed, but I quickly felt myself melting into him, the familiarity and comfort of the gesture almost too much to bare. I reached my arms up and pulled him closer, settling my head into the crook of his neck.

"You belong here," Arturo murmured sleepily, pressing a light kiss to my forehead. Then, when I wasn't certain if he was awake or asleep, "please don't run from me again."