by Lucia Black
Lorna looked around the room at her relatives, and she tensed up when she saw a man with a mustache and a ridiculous tie. Sure, he looked a little creepy, but this was her family, right? Her, of all people—Lorna who could lie to the entire Moretti family with a smile on her face, Lorna who could swallow her pain like no one else he knew, Lorna who could remain outwardly stoic and unaffected in any situation . . . Lorna that should not be this affected by seeing a relative.
Unless . . . Alessandro connected the dots from a conversation they’d had ten years ago. She’d confided in him how her uncle molested her when she was a kid. She never described him or gave him a name, but this had to be that uncle.
Red heat burned behind Alessandro’s eyes. This pitiful man? This one had hurt his precious Lorna? He looked like he had maybe twelve functioning brain cells under his mop of dirty-gray hair. His mustache sagged, and the wire-rim glasses pinched the bridge of his nose too tightly. He deserved every torture Alessandro had ever heard of and then some, but Alessandro didn’t think he had the patience for that. He had every intention of knocking the pedophile’s skull in when a firm hand wrapped around his arm and stopped him. Lorna’s trainer, Logan, shook his head silently and pulled Alessandro around the corner and to a different waiting area.
The hallway was quieter, still sterile, and if Alessandro had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have been beeping like an alarm clock snoozed one too many times. Logan released him, but still looked ready to wrestle him to the ground and break his arm if he made a wrong move. “It’s not your place,” he said calmly.
“But he’s right there.” Alessandro’s blood boiled. “He’s just standing there like he’s fucking innocent. Like he didn’t—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His tongue wouldn’t wrap itself around the words.
“It’s not your place,” Logan repeated, still calm, but with more emphasis. As if that would change Alessandro’s mind.
Then whose place was it? Who had the right to defend Lorna, to slay her dragons for her? If not Alessandro, then who? He felt his shoulders flex and his chest puff. “Why the fuck not?” He could protect her from the memories of that trauma, cut them off at the source. He could give her peace of mind that no one else would suffer by his hands like she had.
Logan shook his head. “You don’t really know. She might have told you what happened, but you don’t really know.”
“And you do?” Alessandro guessed.
“Yes.” Logan looked at him with a severity that bordered on haunted. “I knew her before, and I trained her after.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She was so small, so scared. Her mother brought her to me and asked me to train her, but to keep our sessions quiet. I pieced it together from fragments of what I knew, and from Lorna’s reactions to things.” He sighed. “I’d never worked with a kid before, but I didn’t expect her to pick it up so quickly. She really applied herself. She worked so hard. There was a desperation to her when she trained. Like she had to. Like it was survival. In a way, it was.” He looked off into a memory Alessandro couldn’t see. But he could imagine a very young Lorna fighting like her life depended on it. Her little face screwed up in concentration, her little hands balled into fists, tension rippling through her entire body. Logan continued, “I know how you feel. I felt the same when I found out who hurt her. I still do, honestly,” he admitted. “But it isn’t for us to serve justice.”
“Shouldn’t justice be served?” Alessandro wanted to wring that measly neck. How many other children had he abused aside from Lorna? Why hadn’t anything been done to stop him? How many other families didn’t have the resources to hire a personal trainer for their nine-year-old? What happened to those children? Alessandro didn’t usually enjoy taking lives, but he thought he would enjoy ending that one very much. Rid the world of the filth. It made him sick to think about. That a person could look at a child and hurt them in that way. That a person could look at Lorna, the most precious person in his universe, and intentionally hurt her.
“Lorna wouldn’t want this here and now,” Logan said.
That, he knew, was truer than anything else. Logan was right.
Alessandro’s anger ebbed away. His blood cooled a bit, and the red heat behind his eyes faded. He hadn’t been thinking rationally. The drama would be the last thing Lorna needed right now. She was under so much stress—dealing with the reality of marrying his brother . . . sleeping with him, and now with her father in intensive care—she didn’t need one more thing. He sighed. “I still want to kill him.”
Logan laughed lightly. “Get in line.” His face revealed an unsettling calloused hatred, and Alessandro was glad to be on Logan’s good side. “For now, focus on Lorna,” he said. “She needs all the support she can get.” Alessandro nodded, and Logan settled a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you find a way to convince her. I’m rooting for you.” He clapped Alessandro’s shoulder and stepped back into the waiting room.
Alessandro leaned against the wall, feeling too many emotions at once. He was proud that Logan approved of him and was rooting for him. He was sympathetic for Lorna’s father and the impact his health had on her. He was enraged that the man who abused her almost twenty years ago was still alive. And he was so deeply in love with Lorna, he couldn’t do anything about any of it. He hated the feeling of helplessness. And he still didn’t know how he would call off the wedding. He closed his eyes and took a breath, then followed Logan back into the waiting room. He needed his keys. He hoped idly his car hadn’t been towed from where Lorna had left it.
21
Lorna
Lorna wanted to leave. There was nothing good in the hospital. Her father was some washed-out version of himself, her mother was wilting under her well-adjusted facade, and the uncle she never wanted to see again was sending her into a panic.
It had been years. Her mother had gone to great lengths to avoid situations where they would be together as an extended family. Lorna hadn’t expected to see him, and that made it worse. If she’d been mentally prepared, she wouldn’t feel her heart beating in her throat. She would intentionally not notice the way his gaze lingered on her, the way his tongue flicked out over his thin, dry lips, or the way he shuffled closer to her. She was hyper aware of the whistle of his breath through his nose and it made her skin crawl.
She liked to think she could be mentally prepared for this.
She balled her hands into fists and crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the scream that bubbled deep in her chest. If she did scream, it would be in fear, it would be in anger, in pain, in the agony of keeping it secret for almost twenty years. She would scream at the abject horror she felt as a child and how that burned and shifted into rage at the patriarchy and more than anything else, self-blame.
She took a breath and nodded at her mother. Time to go. The effort of holding in that scream drained her. She was mentally exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day. Being angry and worried drained her.
Alessandro waited by the door, arms crossed, mouth teetering on the edge of a frown. His eyes burned with something primal and dangerous that Lorna hadn’t seen before, not even in the bedroom. A righteous anger that had him looking down his nose at her uncle like he was the scum of the earth. Lorna didn’t disagree, but she didn’t know why Alessandro would be looking at him like that, unless . . . She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. He knew. She had confided in him that summer before she was engaged to Giovanni, but she didn’t name her uncle or describe him. Alessandro must have known from her reaction. He knew her well enough. She cursed herself for showing emotion and for always underestimating Alessandro’s observational skills. He gave off such an arrogant aura, it was easy to forget that he was aware of the world around him. But the look on his face told her he was all too aware. She prayed he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
A hand on her shoulder. “You look like hell.” Logan’s face came into focus in front of her.
She blinked a few times to process, t
hen tilted her head to give her trainer a look. “Yeah.” She supposed she probably did. And all things considered, she had every reason to.
Logan’s eyes softened as he rubbed her tense shoulder. “Go home.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. They didn’t need to say more than that. She knew he meant for her to remove herself from a stressful and potentially traumatic situation. He cared like that, always watching her back. She was so grateful to him, but she didn’t need to say it. He knew. And that was enough. “Will you stay and make sure my mom’s okay?” she said. She was worried about her. Logan nodded.
She walked to Alessandro and held out his keys. “Take me home.” It was an order, but a soft one.
He accepted the keys and very conspicuously did not put his arm around her. The car was still where Lorna parked it on a fire lane right under a ‘no parking’ sign. Alessandro said nothing about it. When they were seated in the car, he looked at her, face a twisted mess of concern and anger. “That was the uncle who—”
“Yes,” she cut him off. She didn’t want to hear the words. She felt drained and numb. Like all her feelings were frozen and the slight tingle of cold was the only thing in her chest.
Silence for a moment as he drove. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” There was nothing else to say about it. It happened. Life went on, and she had to go on with it or be left behind.
“Okay,” he agreed quietly, and didn’t press her for the remainder of what was a silent ride. He parked at her apartment building and turned the car off. “I want to walk you in.”
“Sure.” She wouldn’t mind the company. She didn’t really want to be alone right now. The dark void where her emotions should be might swallow her whole if she were left to her own thoughts.
He walked her up to her suite, and she didn’t let go of his hand when she walked through the door. “Lorna . . .” He looked so full of things to say they might start falling out of his eyes, but he didn’t say any of them.
She hugged him. She needed to. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest to listen to his heartbeat. His arms were gentle around her as they held her in return. Gentle, but strong. Safe.
“Stay,” she whispered. He didn’t react, and she thought he didn’t hear her. It might be better that way. She knew he couldn’t stay. This wasn’t the cabin. This was her home. Her wedding inching closer by the second. But the memory of the wedding made her hold him tighter. She felt his lips against the top of her head. An acceptance.
He walked her to her bedroom, sat her down on her bed, found some pajamas in her dresser drawer. She felt empty. Like those one of those Russian nesting dolls with all the smaller versions of herself missing. She let him undress her and pull a loose cotton t-shirt over her head. He didn’t fixate on her body, didn’t even smirk or wink or flirt. He remained completely focused, working with a gentle efficiency.
Numbness ate away at the corners of her mind, keeping her eyes unfocused. The only thing real was Alessandro’s warm touch. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a damp cloth to wipe off her makeup. His hand at her jaw was soft, tilting her face to the best angle for the soothing warmth of the washcloth to melt away her mascara. There was an unmistakable tenderness in the way he was so careful with her. Not because she was fragile or breakable, but because she was valuable. It was not the kind of care you took when you dusted your mother’s porcelain tea set before entertaining the Queen; it was the kind of care you took when you polished a perfectly balanced blade before you brought it into battle.
He disappeared again to put away the cloth. When he returned, he pulled down her blankets to allow her to slide underneath. She took his hand before he could leave and held it. She said nothing because putting words to her feelings at this point would be too much. She wasn’t even sure there were words to express the turbulent emotions. He seemed to understand, and he crawled into the bed behind her, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her close to his chest. The reassuring warmth of him against her back made sleep come faster. As her eyes fluttered closed and he whispered “goodnight” into her hair, she wondered if he loved her. Actually loved her. Not just the idea of her, or the infatuation of how they worked together in bed. Not just loving the memory of the summer they spent together. But loved her for all that she was, even as she tried so desperately to push him away so they wouldn’t get hurt. There were times—like this—when he acted like it. Like it was more than lust. Like it was real. But it was probably wishful thinking. And it wouldn’t matter in two weeks, anyway.
22
Alessandro
The way Lorna’s body pressed against Alessandro’s, seeking his warmth, made his heart flutter around his ribcage like a bird used to roaming the open skies. He stayed much longer than he should have. The pale light of dawn seeped through the window. She was an early riser. She would wake up soon, and he shouldn’t be here when she woke up. They might do something that neither of them would regret enough.
He could stay like this indefinitely, breathing lavender and lilac and sugar, watching her face peaceful and vulnerable from sleep, and petting her hair slowly. It was so soft at her temples, like a baby bunny or one of those overpriced blankets his mother liked to collect. She sighed in her sleep, and his heart ached. She was just so precious. He couldn’t lose her. Luca’s words echoed in his mind; he picked the option he could live with. Alessandro knew he couldn’t live without her, and he would have to take action to keep her in his life.
He slipped out of the covers silently, careful not to wake her. It was almost six in the morning. Giovanni would be awake. Alessandro sent a text, asking his brother to meet him at the diner for breakfast. He tucked the covers around Lorna’s shoulders and pressed his lips against her hair. If he could protect her from everything evil and unfair in the world, he would.
He drove slowly, half in a dream. Part of him remained with Lorna, wrapped around her, fighting away the monster under her bed. The diner was empty. A sleepy waitress told him to sit wherever he wanted. The old juke box coughed up some raspy brass which echoed off the vinyl records mounted on the walls and added to the dreamy, nostalgic haze Alessandro was trapped in. He was worried about Lorna. She was usually so full of life, but last night she looked vacant and undead. He wished she would talk to him, but he wouldn’t push her. If she wanted him to know something, she would tell him.
By the time Giovanni arrived, Alessandro was halfway through a plate of eggs and had already ordered a milkshake for his brother.
“What’s wrong?” Giovanni sat down and picked up the milkshake to examine it.
“Does something have to be wrong for me to invite my brother to breakfast?” Alessandro asked. Reality came rushing back. Lorna couldn’t be his until they called off the wedding.
Giovanni set down the cup. “Strawberry milkshake for breakfast? That’s an apology.” He leaned forward on the table, face open and forgiving. “What’s wrong?”
Alessandro sighed. “It’s Lorna.” He set his fork down, suddenly not hungry. “I think—I mean, I don’t think, I know.” Why was it so hard to say it out loud? He’d been thinking it since that summer ten years ago. He leveled a steady gaze at Giovanni. “I’m in love with her.”
Giovanni blinked. “I know.”
“You know?”
What did he know? Shit. How long had he known? Was he going to do something about it? Had Alessandro been too obvious? Did their father know?
Giovanni laughed. “You think I didn’t know what you were doing when you had me take her on all those shitty dates?” He unwrapped his straw and stuck it into the milkshake.
“That obvious, huh?” Alessandro looked down at his plate. He should have expected Giovanni to notice. Just like he noticed about Delilah. It was stupid that he didn’t give his brother enough credit there.
“It was to me. Probably to anyone with two eyes and half a brain.” His brother smiled. “Does she love you back?”
“I have
n’t asked her in those words, exactly. We . . . we have a history. Whatever we started, we never finished. But I do love her.”
Alessandro relaxed in the cherry red booth. It was a weight off his shoulders now that his feelings were out in the open. He shook his head with a little laugh. It seemed silly now to have tried to hide it from his own brother.
“So you’re telling me because you don’t want me to marry her.” Giovanni took a sip of his milkshake.
Alessandro sighed. “Yeah.” Ideally, Giovanni would tell their father that he wouldn’t marry Lorna, that there was some other way, and that arranged marriages were antiquated and unfair. In a perfect world, their father would laugh and say he wanted to see how long it would take Giovanni to tell him he wouldn’t marry her. It was all a test, and they passed, and everyone could choose who they wanted to marry, and life would be all sunshine and rainbows from then on out. But Alessandro knew that he didn’t live in a perfect world, and his father would react negatively. He saw the arrangement his sister was put in, and every one of them knew what would have happened if she’d suddenly refused. He knew he was asking Giovanni to risk the wrath of Bruno Moretti.
Giovanni pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Okay, I won’t marry her.” Alessandro’s mouth fell open. That was much easier than he expected, and he couldn’t believe his luck. Giovanni pointed a finger at Alessandro. “But you have to tell him.”
Ah. There it was. The catch. Alessandro picked up his fork. “Why can’t you just tell him you’re not going to marry her?” He really didn’t want to explain to his father that he fell in love with Lorna. If Giovanni told him, he wouldn’t be as upset as if Alessandro were the one to throw a wrench in his plans. Giovanni was good at talking to people like that. Diplomacy or whatever you wanted to call it. Negotiation. Giovanni could talk his way out of this. Alessandro would only gain his father’s ire, and probably still somehow lose Lorna. And he absolutely could not abide losing Lorna.
