His hands tugged Jordan into his lap, of their own volition. Jordan allowed him, straddling his thighs. Their chests brushed together. Damiano wondered if Jordan could feel how hard his heart was pounding.
“I’m here because…” Jordan locked his eyes with his. “I’m here because I can’t do this anymore, Damiano.”
Something lodged into his throat. “And you came all the way to Italy to tell me that?”
Jordan sighed and threaded his fingers through Damiano’s hair, the touch unbearably gentle. It sent a shudder through him. He wanted more, but he forced himself not to lean into the touch.
He glowered at Jordan. What was he playing at?
“Why do you always assume the worst?” Jordan said, brushing his fingertips against Damiano’s eyebrows. “Stop frowning so much. Though I guess your stupidly handsome face would benefit from a few wrinkles. I’m looking forward to them.”
“I—I do not understand.” At times like this, he thought his grasp of English wasn’t sufficient.
Jordan smiled at him, his blue eyes so very soft and pretty. “How can such an intelligent man be so dumb when it comes to feelings? I can’t live without you, you dummy. And I’m done with your hot-and-cold act. You don’t get to treat me like that, coming and going out of my life as you please. Fuck that. You’re stuck with me from now on.”
There was a strange feeling in his chest, unbearable in its intensity. He was possibly suffocating—his throat felt too tight, as well. Perhaps he had been poisoned. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You can’t,” he managed. “It’s dangerous, with who I am. You might die.”
Jordan shrugged. “That’s true. But I might die in Boston too. I might get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. Life is a risk. And it’s one worth taking. I’d rather die happy with the man I love than miserable and alone.”
With the man I love.
With the man I love.
With the man I love.
Jordan cradled his face with his hands and smiled. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. Surely you had an inkling about my feelings for you? I wasn’t exactly subtle. But I get it—it’s different to hear the words, isn’t?” He stroked Damiano’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “God, I love you so much. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much.” He smiled crookedly. “You’d better feel the same way or I don’t know what I’d do. I might cry. I’m such a mess without you, it’s embarrassing.”
Damiano tried to swallow around the thickness in his throat. When it didn’t work, he had to clear it a few times. He wanted to ask if Jordan was sure. He wanted to make him say it again. He wanted to tell Jordan that he wasn’t allowed to ever change his mind. But what left his mouth was, “Ten bodyguards.”
“Huh?”
“You will have at least ten bodyguards with you all the time.”
Jordan stared at him. And then he laughed. “You can just say it, you know. Say that you love me. Surely you aren’t scared of a word?”
Damiano had to clear his throat again. “I don’t—I don’t know if what I feel for you is love.”
“Oh.” The light in Jordan’s eyes dimmed, and Damiano hated it. He wanted those blue eyes to be alight with affection, always. He was addicted to the way Jordan looked at him—as if he were worth loving. As if he were a better man than he was. He wasn’t. Frankly, people weren’t wrong when they called him unfeeling, selfish, and heartless. He didn’t care about people. Most people were just tools for him. He felt no remorse about hurting people. Except this one. This one was precious. This one was his. This one made him feel.
“I don’t know how ‘love’ is supposed to feel,” Damiano said, struggling to hold Jordan’s gaze. He’d never felt more off-balance in his life—he’d never been good at admitting being bad at anything. “I know that I—that I care for you.” Care seemed such a weak, inadequate word. English had never seemed more difficult for him. Or maybe the language barrier wasn’t to blame. There weren’t adequate words to convey what he was feeling even in Italian. “I feel…”
Jordan made an encouraging noise, looking at him earnestly.
Damiano felt his ears turn hot. “Love is always depicted as a nice, sweet feeling in the movies. What I feel for you isn’t sweet. It isn’t nice. Sometimes I almost hate you for turning me into this. For making me—for making me need another person. For wanting to be a better person than I am. I don’t like it—the way you make me feel.”
“What way?” Jordan said, his gaze very soft.
“Unbalanced and distracted—when you aren’t around. Obsessive, possessive, and out of control when you are. If this is love, it fucking sucks.”
Jordan smiled. “Love doesn’t have to be like in the movies,” he murmured, stroking Damiano’s cheek with his thumb. “Everyone loves differently. I think you’re doing pretty great for an emotionally stunted asshole.”