It was one of those nights after work, when the air outside felt too good to waste.
Alex and I walked through the town square, my fingers looped through his arm as I leaned into his shoulder. The wind threading gently through my hair, carrying the scent of stone and night. We were surrounded by old buildings made of ancient stones. They reminded me of Sicily. Of the old town where I'd spent most of my teenage years and nearly all of my adult ones.
I had grown up between my grandfather's estate and a Catholic school, my days split between discipline and devotion. But there were also memories of sneaking out with Camilla and Joshua, slipping into one of our clubs, dancing until dawn. We were always found out by the time we stumbled home. Punished the next morning with drills, still hungover, still laughing.
It had been hard. Brutal, at times.
But it wasn't all ugly.
They had been my family. My only constants.
I miss them.
"What's got you smiling?" Alex asked, pulling me from the past.
I glanced up at him and shrugged. "Just...some stuff."
Alex slowed, turning slightly so I had no choice but to look at him. His thumb brushed beneath my eye, light and reverent. If I didn't know better, I'd say his green eyes sparkled.
"I love it," he said quietly. "That smile. It's different when you're thinking."
"There's such a thing?" I asked, half teasing.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on mine. "There's a tightness in your eyes when you're thinking too much. Like you're bracing for something, even when you're happy." His thumb brushed lightly along my cheek. "This one's different. It's softer. Free."
My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words never came. He leaned in instead, closing the distance with a kiss that was slow and certain. Soft at first like he was giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
My fingers curled into the front of his jacket, anchoring myself to him as I kissed him back, deeper now. His hand sliding to the side of my neck, warm and steady, holding me like I was someone precious instead of something dangerous.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the quiet press of his lips, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way he kissed me like he wasn't afraid of me. Like he never would be, if he only knew the truth.
"Sol?"
The sound of my nickname cut through the moment like a blade.
I pulled back instinctively, breath uneven, the warmth of Alex still lingering against my mouth. Joshua, my best friend, stood a few steps away, his hands buried in his pockets, blond hair tucked beneath a cap, stunned to silence. As if he hadn't just walked in on something he had never allowed himself to imagine was real.
But his eyes lingered. Not on Alex. On me.
"Joshua?"
We were so high up I could barely make out the tops of the buildings across from us, swallowed by New York's wintry fog. Funny how when I was little, I'd craned my neck at these towers while walking through the crowded streets, my small hand wrapped in my mother's, wondering what it would feel like to live above the clouds. To be close enough to the sky to touch the heavens.
Only, no one ever tells you how lonely it is up here.
"Wine?" Alex asked, handing me a glass as he settled beside me.
"How is everything?" I asked, taking a slow sip of the vintage.
After we had left the building, Alex had insisted we go back to his place instead of mine. It wasn't safe anymore, and he was right.
It turned out that he lived in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, directly adjacent to Dario's old one. He had bought it months ago, right after he found out about my engagement, which was stalker-ish of him. But not surprising, really.
Typical Alex.
"Quiet," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "As expected."
"Arturo?"
"Flew back to Italy. Also expected." He took a measured sip, tasting it before turning to me. "And you?"
I shifted closer, resting my head against the crook of his shoulder. His arm came around me at once, firm and instinctive, his thumb tracing slow grounding circles over my skin.
"Numb," I admitted. "I couldn't even cry anymore. It's like something inside me just...shut off. And the last time I felt this way, was those three years when I've lost my memories."
"Take it from someone who's lived through this more times than he should've," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the fog beyond the glass as if he were somewhere else entirely. He took another drink. "Sometimes, not feeling anything at all is a mercy."
"You've never told me about your past," I said, setting my wine down on the coffee table before climbing into his lap, straddling him.
Alex looked up at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this world. He took a slow sip of his wine, leaning back into the couch as his gaze traveled over my face, my hair, my mouth. I could feel his hardening length, pressing insistently between my thighs. But I chose to ignore it. For now.
"How Olga smuggled you here," I continued, my hands cupping his jaw, my thumb brushing over the roughness of his stubble. "How your brothers hunted you. How you survived long enough to become...this."
A faint smile ghosted his lips.
"You know the outline, Princess," he said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I've never cared much for the details. What's done is done."
"How did you survive it?" I asked, my voice quieter now, my forehead resting against his temple. "This guilt."
He finished the last of his wine, then set the empty glass aside. His arms coming around me, firm and certain, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
"I didn't," he admitted. His voice was low, stripped bare of its usual armor. "You don't survive it. You learn to carry it."
The honesty of it lodged somewhere deep in my chest.
I pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his neck, breathing him in. "I'm tired," I whispered. "Tired of feeling like there's no version of me left untouched by it."
His hand slid beneath my chin, lifting my face until I had no choice but to look at him.
"You'll learn," he said. "You're stronger than you think. And we'll find our way back. To something good." His thumb brushed over my lower lip. "A future that's better than the one we've had before."
"Sometimes I wonder," I murmured, "maybe it would've been easier if I just took up your offer and ran? Just like I did back then."
His mouth softened as he kissed me, slow and deliberate. Not desperate. Not consuming. Nothing but tender. Like the idea pleased him.
"We could have," he said against my lips. "But we would've spent the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders." His hand slid to the back of my neck, steady and protective. "I have no problem living like that." His gaze held mine, unwavering. "But I won't let that be your life, or our future children's lives."
The words settled heavily between us.
Our future children.
The thought made something inside me seize, sharp and sudden. Like a wound I hadn't realized was still open. My body stiffened before I could stop it.
But I forced myself to soften, pressing my lips to his before he could notice. Before he could ask.
I would tell him. Later.
One battle at a time.