“Well, that seems safe,” I said.
“Ten dollars Arlo ends up face down on the floor.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not taking that bet.”
Luca turned to look at me, blue eyes twinkling, smile just barely curling his lips. “Dr. Emery Finch, do you want to get out of here?”
Wantdoesn’t even begin to cover it.
He took my hand and led me out of the banquet hall as easily as he’d led me onto the dance floor earlier. We’d find out later that Luca would have won the bet and Arlo ended up with quite the shiner, but neither of us would even think about the wedding until the next day, long after the sun came up, slanting warm and golden across the foot of Luca’s hotel bed, where the bedding had wound up in a smooth, white pile.
Our first kiss had been as easy as our first word, our first dance, our first time ducking out of a party early. It was inside the elevator, a wordless moment where our eyes met. Luca stepped closer, gently crowding me against the mirrored wall as he bent and brushed his lips over mine. He pulled away, studying my reaction, and I sent a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down, stretching on my toes to deepen the kiss. His tongue was teasing, lips strong and full, kisses so intoxicating I felt like I’d had much more to drink than I actually had.
Luca was the first man I’d slept with on the first night, and only thethird man I’d ever been with, but he made me feel like a sex goddess. There was a mirror across from the bed, and he was obsessed with how we looked together.
Do you see that?
The way you take me?
Sei perfetta. So perfect.
Show me how to make you come.
His hands were fevered and greedy, cupping my curves, squeezing, pulling me to him, stroking me to madness. Beneath me, above me, behind me, he absolutely possessed me. For the entire night, the only thought I had wasMore of this, more of him.
After the first time, we lay in bed facing each other, talking for hours through the night about everything, from the hardships in our childhoods—Luca had been left alone much of the time to care for his younger sisters while his parents traveled or socialized; I’d lived a perfectly happy life as an only child until the devastating loss of my parents—to our favorite sports, books, bands, movies. Gradually we made our way back to each other, kissing, touching, teasing, until one of us was begging for more. Over and over again, this lasted all night long.
During breakfast the next morning, with room service trays stacked precariously on the table, Luca sleepily gazed at me with adoration.
“Luca?” I asked through a bite of pancake. It felt like there was a panicked bird trapped in my chest. Something fluttering, anxious, desperate to get out.
He hummed in response, completely calm.
“Am I crazy?”
“No.”
“What’s happening here?”
He lifted his coffee to his lips, blowing across the hot surface. “I think you know.”
I think I did.
Strange, maybe, that though we met in Vegas, our whirlwind wedding didn’t take place there. It was a couple of months later in our shared hometown of San Diego, on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with his parents and sisters, my grandmother, cousin, and aunt, and a scattering of our friends who could make the last-minute trip to California in attendance.
I struggled with the decision. Not the decision to marry Luca—I’d known from that very first night that I would do anything to keep him. No, I struggled with knowing that I could never be totally honest with him.
For his safety, and for mine.
But I’d make it work. I assured myself that I’d always been able to accomplish anything I put my mind to. I could love him enough to make up for the secrets.
We wrote our own vows, promising to encourage each other’s passions, growth, and independence, though we did keep some things standard.
For better, for worse.
For richer, for poorer.
In sickness and in health.