“How long?”
“The maximum for aggravated assault is twenty years. It won’t be that,” he shook his head. “But with two charges for assault, and a charge for his threats, it could be up to fifteen.”
“Fifteen years?” Her mouth opened. And sympathy crossed her face. “So long?”
Jealousy, again. “You don’t want this?”
“I –,” she dropped her eyes to their legs, her expression impossible to read. He didn’t pressure her but every moment of silence pulled at his nerves. “I wish I didn’t,” she said earnestly. “I can see the way his life could have turned out, and I wish he hadn’t turned into the kind of man he is. But he did. And he hurt me and he scared me and honestly? I don’t think he’s capable of stopping himself. I think prison is the best place for him.”
Pride. Admiration. Affection. He felt every single one of those emotions to the core of his being.
Everything she said was so fair, so balanced, so right. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his life would be like in a matter of days, without Maddie, and strangely, found that almost impossible.
“But Nico? Doesn’t that mean the same thing for you? I mean, what if you go to jail for hitting him?”
She grew even paler before his eyes. “I didn’t hit him.”
“What? I’m sure you –,”
“No. I restrained him forcibly, but I was very careful. Believe me, Maddie, I am aware of my actions because they ran contrary to every instinct I possess. Even before I knew who your attacker was, I found the idea of giving him a dose of his own medicine tempting. But having Michael here in my house and seeing him grab you by your hair,” he paused, needing to regulate his voice, to slow his breathing, to avoid the possibility of frightening her in any way. He didn’t want to upset her further. “You have no idea how much I wanted to make him pay for what he’s done to you.” He shook his head slowly, pain radiating towards his eyes. “But then I’d be no better than him. And I’m different. Even when angrier than I have ever been, I didn’t use my fists.” He brushed her lips with his. “There are gentle men, Maddie. What Michael was like with you –,”
She bit down on her lip and he groaned, kissing her properly then, needing her to understand. But the kiss was his undoing because nothing that had happened that day had driven desire from him. He wanted her, if it was possible, more than ever before. Where pain had filled her, he wanted to erase it with pleasure.
“I will never hurt you,” he promised, and in that moment, with all of his soul, he meant it.
His cheek was purple. She traced it with her eyes, not wanting to wake him, not wanting either of them to have to face this day: her last in Italy.
A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed past it, but it was impossible to erase the emotions that were flooding her, cell by cell, so she could barely breathe.
The idea of flying away from him was like poison.
She didn’t want to go.
God, she wanted to stay. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away, pushing out of the bed quietly, so as to avoid waking him. She needed a moment to think, to understand what she wanted. Not just what she wanted – what was possible.
She moved into the kitchen silently, flicking the kettle to life and staring out at the sea. It was a grey morning, rain clouds heavy in the sky, just as they’d been the first time she met Nico.
A noise alerted her to the fact she wasn’t alone but when she shifted her head, she saw Dante’s comforting frame moving towards her. He was walking well, no evidence of his injuries in his gait. She crouched down, patting his furry neck and pressing her cheek to the top of his head. “Hey boy.” She whispered, but even if she hadn’t wanted to wake Nico, she wouldn’t have been able to speak in a normal voice. It was as though grief was taking up all the space reserved for air in her lungs.
“How you feeling?” She ran her hand towards his mid-section. He made a low moaning noise and so she stopped. “Still a bit sore, huh? I guess that’s to be expected.”
The kettle clicked off. She stood with one last pat of the dog’s head, reaching for a mug and dropping a tea bag into it. Boiling water drew colour from the bag and she watched its slow penetration of the water, swirling like magic. Rain began to fall and of their own volition her eyes tracked to the patch of grass where she’d been walking in the storm, completely unaware of how her life was about to change.
Even on that morning, she’d already come so far. Just being here in Ondechiara, she’d found pieces of herself that Michael had sledged away from her, but it was being with Nico that had truly made her whole again. She’d thought she loved Michael, and after she’d left him, she’d really believed she’d never fall in love again. She’d thought love was, in and of itself, untrustworthy, and unsafe.
But with Nico, loving him made her feel strong. She trusted him completely, she felt safe with him. She loved him.
A strangled noise came from her throat so Dante drew his gaze to hers sharply. Instinctively, she rubbed his head, calming him, but her pulse was like a torrent, incapable of doing anything other than assaulting the framework of her veins.
“Oh my goodness.” She lifted the tea to her lips. It was scalding hot and bitter. She’d forgotten to add milk. She replaced the mug, moving to the fridge and removing the bottle, but she simply put it on the bench beside the cup, her eyes wide, shock at the realisation flooding her.
She loved him.
Of course she loved him. It wasn’t even such a revelation. She’d probably known she felt that way for weeks, but giving that emotion its proper name was confronting.
Because she knew he didn’t love her.
She knew it was a love without purpose, because Nico had been so careful on that score, so honest and sure of himself.