My cheek is warm. More than warm rested between the curve of throat and shoulder. My neck is perched on Giovanni's strong arm, my eyes coaxed shut by the gentle massaging of his fingers against my skull. My arm, which is draped over his tight body, instinctively pulls him closer in contentment.

The room is sweetly hot, humid from the soft patter of rain outside. That and Giovanni's heartbeat, still finding its equilibrium, brings me peace I haven't felt since the last time he was near me. The ground below us is hard, even with the quilt we brought in from the bedroom beneath us.

His calm sigh as my lips touch the damp skin in the middle of his chest is music to my ears, so I continue to praise him with my mouth, slow and gentle.

It's only when I stop, laying my head down on the place, that he speaks.

"I think we're going to have to light some more candles. These are already low."

I huff. "You better not move a muscle."

I can't see his grin, but somehow I hear it. "As you say."

I pull myself up on him, resting my chin against my forearm. He peers down at me, and I'm pleased to catch the aftermath of his wide smile changing into a different one as our eyes meet. As happy as we are in each other's presence, there are things to discuss. With only so many hours together, we must use them wisely.

"Tell me about you," I whisper.

"Not much of it's good."

"I don't care."

He exhales, running his hand over the length of my back. "Well, my mother checked into a rehab facility two days ago. Voluntarily."

"Really?"

He nods. "Valentina and I somehow convinced her."

"That must have been hard."

He focuses on the locket around my neck to avoid my eyes. "It's been a long time coming."

"Still."

I can tell he's biting the inside of his lip as it twists, his brows creasing in thought. I run my hand over the crinkled skin to smooth the distress. His eyes flicker to mine, betraying a sadness that shocks me. My head shakes side to side in confusion, my stomach dropping with dread.

"I don't know how everything got so fucked up," he confesses softly, a tremor in his voice.

I want to tell him it's not that bad, to console him but know I'd be giving him falsities. We're in a shit place right now, and we both know it.

"I don't understand how I have a brother who absolutely hates me. I don't understand how I lived with a man my whole life, worshipped the ground he walked on, and never saw that he was a crook." He pulls his hand back and rakes it through his hair with frustration, leaving it there. His head shakes, his mouth etched tight. "I don't understand how a girl could go through so much horror and still have to fight to be happy. I don't understand how you could still be strong after all of this, after everything that's happened to you."

My gaze settles on his chest. I wonder how to answer him. "What happened with your brother?"

He smiles, but there isn't a trace of pleasure behind it. "You know, not much, really. I fought like a goddamn animal to get a meeting set up with him privately, nearly couldn't pull it off... and it was all for nothing. He saw me, told me how fucking terrible I am, and asked to be taken back. I could have been there to get him out, Scarlett, and he still would have sent me away."

My eyes close in regret. He shifts beneath me but, thankfully, doesn't push me off of him.

"We weren't always like this... we were a good family. We were there for each other, we encouraged each other. I never fought with him, not once until he screwed around with Lola. I was goddamn blindsided by my own brother, and he has the audacity to hate me." He growls to himself, his reddened eyes rolling to the ceiling. "I don't understand it."

I'm too affected by his unraveling that I disregard the fact that he's just told me nothing came of his talk to Tony. My index finger caresses the curve of his face with delicateness, a gentle comfort. The moment his eyes move to mine, offering me a momentary glimpse into the lost disarray swirling within him, he inhales and quickly re-gathers, blinking fervently.

"You know what? Here I am moaning about shit when you have so much more—"

I shake my head, pressing my hand to his mouth.

"Ah, no. Don't disregard what you feel... I don't."

He sighs. "Tell me about you."

"There's not much to tell."

"You haven't seen him, right?"

I shake my head. "No. No, not since that night."

Giovanni's eyes dart from my face to my throat, and his hand caresses the back of my neck.

"And Norman? The job?" His mouth twists wryly. "Ed?"

I begin to smirk, pleasantly surprised to see jealousy in such a confident man. "He said with disdain," I mewl, and he rolls his eyes at my tease. Absentmindedly, I let my hand drift over the soft hairs along his pecks, thinking deeply about the last conversation I had with Norman in my office.

"I think... I think he's really trying. But maybe I'm just falling for what I want to be real."

"And what's that?"

I purse my lips, fighting past the part of me that wants to shut down. "I want to feel like I mattered to someone."

He begins to open his mouth, his eyes widening in disbelief, but I press my hand to his chest.

"I know what you're going to say. But hear me out. I know I matter to you, but that is different." I think hard about how to word what's been going through my mind for days. "My father, the man I thought was my father, didn't give a shit about me. And my mother, well, she did... but it wasn't enough. I didn't matter enough. He did, and that is why she never once tried to run away, never once tried to get her daughter away from him."

I catch my breath. "And that doesn't mean I don't still love her. I do... but things have changed."

He observes me closely, nodding for me to go on.

I swallow, closing my hand into a fist. "I want to feel like I mattered to the person who brought me into this world. I thought I would have to live without that, but now..."

"You have that chance back."

"Except I don't trust him. I'm fucking furious with him... just looking at him makes me mad."

"These things take time. Forgiveness takes time," he presses.

"I don't have time, Gio." I stare at him hard. "I don't have time. He's dying."

"Scarlett..."

"No." I shake my head. "No, I don't want to do this tonight."

He stares at me for a beat and then exhales, smoothing a hand over my hair. I'm sweating from the heat outside and his body, but I don't want to move off of him.

"Let him say what he has to say, Scarlett. When the time is right, you will know what to do. I promise."

I close my eyes, dropping my face to his chest with a groan. "Why are you so good? I'm making you listen about a man who's tried to destroy you."

"He's your father," is all he replies, massaging my tensed nerves.

It's then that the last candle goes out. A darker moonlit glow replaces the warm light we were bathed in, and it suddenly becomes easier to hear the noisy woods outside, the thunder crashing from far away. Giovanni pulls himself out from under me and stands onto lean legs, striding over to the kitchen where the other candles and matches lie. The power went out hours ago when the storm was at its height.

I turn onto my side, rising onto an elbow, admiring him in all his glory as he lights a match.

"Think we got enough to last the rest of the night? It doesn't look like this storm's letting up anytime soon."

I smile. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

I can finally see his smirk when the candle is lit. He stares down at me.

"Yes, but I want to see you."

My heart thumps irregularly. "All night?"

"Mhm."

"Think we can make it?"

He pours the remaining white wine from dinner into our glasses. He lowers down to hand me one of them. "I'm game if you are."

"I don't want to waste one minute," I whisper, almost to myself, as he walks around the makeshift bed, gloriously nude as he scans over the furniture.

"What is this place? He hasn't updated it in years."

I swallow the wine, my mouth frowning at the taste. It didn't matter that I found out I wasn't blood-related to an alcoholic. I still fear the idea of enjoying all types of liquor. They will always remind me of him.

"This was their place," I confess as Giovanni picks up a book, glancing at the front cover. "My mother... and Norman's."

Giovanni looks at me, shocked by the admission. I point with my glass to the ledge where the picture rests. He walks to it, lifting it towards the light. He blinks repeatedly.

"Wow. You look just like her."

"I know."

"Did you know when you came--?"

"No. I had no clue. I think he was trying to make me see it."

He nods slowly, setting the picture down. "Gotta give him points for effort."

I watch the wine swirl in my glass. "I told him we are engaged."

He's staring at me wordlessly when I garner the courage to look at him, and I lick my lips, biting down. "Should I not have? Did I make a mistake?"

He shakes his head slowly. I wait for him to speak. Instead, he looks down.

"I know. I didn't think. I shouldn't have—"

"You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that."

I exhale with relief at the sight of his smile. "It's getting easier... to imagine."

"We're gonna have it all, baby. Just gotta work for it."

I nod, refusing to sink into my emotions. I want to remain positive.

I raise the glass to my lips with a grin. "Tell me about work, dear."

...

My fingers tighten against his hand, laced between his slender bones. My eyes scan over his features bathed in candlelight. His eyes are closed, but his mouth begins to turn up just as I thought he had fallen asleep.

"Fuck, I'm tired."

"Sleep, then."

My gaze drifts to the mantle clock, which reads 4 am. He has to leave in three hours.

And my chest hurts at the thought. I have to look away from him as my throat tightens, so I turn onto my back, pulling my hands gently from his.

I don't want him to go.

I hate this... and I love this.

I want to pour out my heart now because I'm fearful something will happen when he's not around. But I can't, knowing I'd only scare him.

"Tell me something good," I whisper. He's silent beside me, and I realize he's fallen asleep. I smile to myself and toy with a piece of my hair.

"I wonder if there's any music in this place," he wonders, glancing around us. "I mean, I doubt there's a Bluetooth system, but—"

I point to the corner of the room, where some records lay. With a quick search, my eyes feast on a small player on the ground. I grin, sitting up.

"Bingo."

"Please let it be seventies."

I smile, knowing Giovanni's admiration of the era of music.

I stand, pulling down on Giovanni's tee to conceal as much as I can as I bend down to sift through the records. I find one in particular and hold it up.

"Wow, my mom used to listen to this on repeat."

He squints, sitting up onto his elbow. "What is it?"

"Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose." I appreciate the cover and laugh. "What do you know? '72."

Giovanni chuckles, looking delicious in only his pair of jeans.

"Never heard it. Put it on."

I check the record player and am surprised to find it's battery-operated, portable. I flick on the switch, fully expecting it to spark from water damage or something, but the green light falters and then remains. I look at Giovanni with excitement as I pull the disc from the envelope and rest it gently on the turntable. I lower the diaphragm so that the needle rests on the groove, and suddenly, drums and strings are present in the air.

I can't help but smile with remembrance, a clear image of my mother dancing to this in the kitchen while my father was at work. It was on a cd player, but it's all the same. It's a good memory, and those are sparse.

I look to Giovanni, who is watching me sway with a warm smile.

I bite down on my lip to hide my sudden happiness as I stand, holding out my hand to him.

"Too Late To Turn Back Now," I say, uttering the title of the song with a double meaning. He just watches me for a moment before he hauls himself up, crossing the room to me. He takes my hand and spins me, immediately pulling me into him. I sway to the rhythm of the song against him, blushing as he presses his lips to my shoulder, dragging them up to my neck. I tilt my head to give him easier access, resting my hands atop his against my belly.

The meaning of the song means more to me than it normally would. The singers croon about being unable to turn away from love, about wanting someone at every time of the day, and I immediately take it to heart.

"Every moment we spend together makes me love you more," he tells me softly near my ear. I shiver at the confession, eyes closing as he tells me exactly what I need to hear.

I tilt my head to him, humming warmly as I lift my arms, moving against him. He takes hold of the hem of the shirt at my silent command and pulls it up clear over my head, rendering me naked in just seconds. I turn to him, eyes naturally gravitating to his mouth as we stop swaying to the music, our own private tension disrupting the sweet, playful atmosphere.

He stares at my lips but doesn't go near them, building the anticipation as I undo the button of his jeans, pulling down his zipper and then the rough denim. The minute he steps out of them, he gathers me in his arms, pulling me down onto the ground, springing into action. I gasp just as his lips cover mine messily. Coming together with such need, we ungracefully fumble in the best way, unhealthily taken with each other.

The music blares around us, a completely different mood than the one we're trapped in now. I moan freely as he gives me air, pressing sweet kisses and then warm, shocking licks down my body en route to the space between my legs. He nestles between them and dives in, urging my hips upwards into his face, so he can bury himself in my sex, tonguing my folds, suckling my clit until I'm swallowing large gulps of humidity. My hands shoot down between my breasts until I'm holding him to me, rocking my hips onto his tongue in a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Oh god," I breathe, shutting my eyes tightly as the music suddenly fades out and then stops abruptly, and the player begins to thump in protest. But neither of us is deterred.

"Oh, don't stop." My plead is moot. I know he's not going to. In fact, his hand, which is rested against my stomach, presses down harder, his tongue circling the small nub repetitively before quickly shifting gears, teasing my slick labia, my clenching entrance. He's delightfully devouring the most intimate part of me, determined to bring me to the brink of pleasure. And my desperate pulls to his hair, my sharp moans only spur him on. The moment he sucks me into his mouth again, I'm lost. I cry out, legs closing around his face as my orgasm hits me like a train, knocking me senseless.

When I resurface, coming back, I free him, and he rises, moving over me with breathless gasps. His mouth crushes to my own, wet from my own sweet arousal. I hum at the taste, my body still tingling from the exploding nerves within. He lowers down between my legs, clasping my neck with one hand, reaching beneath him with the other. He places himself at my entrance and enters with a swift thrust, and we both groan loudly at the pleasant intrusion.

"Oh, Giovanni."

He moves deep within me, holding my hands beside my head, his lips, his eyes just inches away from my own. Now that the music is gone, our ragged breaths can be heard. His sweet words, whispered onto my mouth, are only loud enough to linger for a moment before they are stored sweetly in my memory. I will bask in them later.

My legs wrap around his hips, my hands exploring the length of his back, damp from exertion and lack of air. We're using it all up.

He easily turns me onto my stomach and enters me from behind, resting his body weight against my own. I fist the quilt as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, his other hand supporting his unfaltering rhythm. My moans are short and rushed as my body reacts to being filled to the brink. He takes up every inch. The feeling of his tongue against my back and then the shocking graze of his teeth against the damp skin is the reason the room echoes with my arousal. I'm incredibly aroused, pleasantly in the moment with him.

With my fiancé.

I'm beginning to really like that thought.

"There's no greater feeling than this. Than being buried in you," he whispers against my skin, out of breath. I drop my head down onto the quilt as he keeps true to his word, coaxing my insides with soul-searching pumps of his cock.

His hand covers mine, fingers lacing with my own until he's holding them so tight it hurts.

I gasp, my body shuddering beneath him, getting off on his complete control, the fact that I'm at his mercy, forced to take all he's got. My body lifts from the bedding, meeting his every thrust as he builds with me to our pleasure.

"Fuck, Scarlett."

"Come in me."

"Fuck," he breathes again, pressing his forehead to my back as he begins to pound into me—rough, brutal, building pounds into my sex. I howl into the comforter, pulling it towards me as my second orgasm hits, rocking my senses again and sending Giovanni straight into his.

He grunts against my skin, pouring himself into me with deep, virile spurts. We slowly come to a halt, stilling as we try to catch our breaths. I lift my face from the quilt, hearing the steady thump of the record player still sounding. Giovanni slides off me onto the ground but ends up turning so he's on his side, his body still pressed to mine.

I press my cheek into the material of the comforter, eyes opening and closing languidly as he caresses my skin with a strong hand, covering the length of my spine with one smooth glide. When it ascends the skin again and moves straight into my hair as he leans in to kiss the front face of my shoulder, I smile softly, contentedly exhausted. My eyes reopen as I turn my face into his seeking lips, kissing him with a tender slowness that speaks volumes.

"I love you," he whispers, and my heart palpitates unevenly.

I repeat the words to him in kind, just as softly, and shift into his embrace, sighing as I'm gathered tight into his arms. My face buried into the crook of his neck, I let my eyes close, unwilling to think of what will happen when I have to open them.