The Honest Affair (Rose Gold Book 3)

by Nicole French

  “I prayed for you too, just now,” he said almost casually, as if he were letting me know he had picked up my mail or something equally benign. “You and Olivia.”

  “A prayer for me?” I tipped my head, not quite sure why my heart thrummed in response. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “Well, I pray for you a lot. But this was one extra.”

  “What was it for?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I just asked Him to help us out tomorrow. I know it won’t be easy for you, talking to this woman about her dead husband. So, I asked Him for some mercy on your behalf.”

  I wasn’t sure what I thought of it, this praying business. I honestly wasn’t sure I was worth the trouble.

  But in the end, I found that I liked it. For more reasons than just myself.

  “Olivia is Catholic,” I said as we stared up at the great beams that held up the church.

  Matthew turned. “Come again?”

  I sighed and turned back to him. “I still don’t know why I did it, but I asked for her to be baptized just after she was born. To give her a little something of her father, I suppose, something she could access in New York, when the time came. I’m not Catholic, of course, so they fought me a bit. But her godmother—Caitlyn—was. Is, I think. And Giuseppe was, even if he wasn’t particularly pious. I never saw him pray or anything. Not—not like you.”

  Matthew offered a crooked smile. Something half-guilty, half-boyish, and completely endearing. “Ah, well. Some might say that’s just the mark of a man who knows who he is already, sinner or not. It’s those of us who actually worry about our mortal souls that you probably have to be wary of.”

  He was trying to be light, but as soon as he said it, a heaviness settled atop his broad shoulders. I was reminded once more of just how hard he was on himself. That for all his accomplishments, all the good he had done in the world, Matthew really did think worse of himself than just about anyone.

  Another thought occurred to me.

  “Did you confess?” I asked after a moment. “After—after that night in September? When you—when you came to see me at the station?”

  He was quiet for a while before answering, staring down at his clasped hands like he thought they might hold the answer there. He almost looked like he might start praying again.

  “I did,” he said finally. “And then I didn’t go to Mass for a while because I didn’t think I was, um, clean enough to receive the sacrament, if you want to know the truth. I didn’t think I’d served my penance, no matter what the priest said. It was—” He sighed. “It was the worst when you were sentenced. When the papers reported that you were in Rikers. I about lost my mind when that happened, Nina. Especially knowing that if I came anywhere near you, I’d make things so much worse for both of us. It killed me.”

  My heart twisted, imagining him in that state. So riddled with guilt over us that he couldn’t even manage his most essential functions. Turning himself into a chimney of all things just to cope.

  Well, I had been in a state myself too.

  “So, then what did you do?” I asked. “Besides smoking, of course?”

  If he heard the joke in my voice, he ignored it.

  “I just…prayed,” he said simply. “And maybe tried to drown my sorrows in a bit too much liquor. But mostly I just prayed to God to forgive me for what I’d done. He gave me a woman to love, and I betrayed her. It’s the greatest blasphemy.”

  I bit my lip. “You sound like a priest when you talk like that.”

  That crooked smile returned. “There’s no other word for it that I can think of. I look at you, and I know it’s true. Real love is holy. Sacred.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Would you—would you have asked me to convert?” The question toppled out of my mouth like rocks thrown off a bridge, clumsy and harsh. “If we had ever…”

  I trailed off. For some reason I really didn’t like talking about the dreams we had once shared. Especially if they could never be. The idea of myself in an off-white dress, placing a ring on Matthew’s hand, him sliding one onto mine. In a place like this, it was a little too potent.

  Matthew watched me carefully. I held my breath. I was nervous. The truth is, despite having baptized Olivia Catholic, I had never had any intention of joining the church myself. I wasn’t even sure I believed in God.

  But what if Matthew said yes? What then?

  “I won’t lie,” he said. “If I had gotten married before, it probably would have been in a church. Maybe one like this. But then again, I never really saw myself getting married in the first place.”

  My heart sank.

  “Before I met you, that is.”

  I tried and failed to ignore the great thump in my chest.

  “To be honest…” Matthew reached out tentatively to take my hand and cradled it in his much larger ones. “I doubt God really cares about where we get married. I think He just cares if we honor the gifts He gives us. Do our best to be worthy of them. One day,” he said in a voice that was suddenly haggard. “If you’ll let me. I’ll be worthy of you again, Nina. I promise you that.”

  But you already are, I wanted to say and discovered I believed it.

  As if he could hear me, Matthew looked up. His dark green eyes were large and open, as if inviting me to search for any trace of deceit. There was none. Nothing but love. And hope.

  And in my heart, I found that I had forgiven him at last. A great weight lifted from my shoulders that I hadn’t even known I was carrying, and my chest felt full of light, as if the rays through the windows were penetrating the darkest parts of me and illuminating me with this man’s love.

  “Matthew,” I whispered. “Do you think your God would be angry if I kissed you? Right here in this church?”

  The crooked smile returned, then morphed quickly into a full grin. He slipped his fingers around my neck and pulled me close, touching his forehead to mine. I inhaled his lovely, masculine scent.

  “Probably not,” he said as our lips hovered only a breath apart. “Considering I just asked Him for exactly that.”

  “You did not.”

  “I swear on His name, I did, baby. And who am I to turn away His gifts?”

  And then he kissed me, tame and quick, lips meeting softly, yet with enough vigor that I sighed with relief. His mouth curled into a smile against mine at the sound.

  “Finally,” he concurred. “The priest, though, probably isn’t too happy with us.”

  “Oh!” I tried to break away, all too aware now of a soutane-clad man lurking around the altar, casting disapproving looks through a pair of smudged glasses.

  But Matthew turned my face back to his.

  “Hold on there, duchess,” he murmured before stealing another kiss. “Sure, the priest might not like it. But you know, I’m not sure I care.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Matthew

  We meandered through the towns for the rest of the day, taking our time to get back to Riomaggiore despite the chilly winds sweeping off the sea. I got the feeling Nina didn’t want to leave. Fair enough—neither did I.

  But even if it didn’t feel like we were stealing time, in a way we were. There were other things waiting for us in Florence, and then back in New York once we were done. And a few kisses didn’t make a life, much as I might have wanted them to.

  When we had finally checked into our pensione in Florence after enjoying a simple cliffside dinner in Manarola and then hiking back to the car, it was nearly midnight. Nina was yawning every few seconds as we walked the stairs to the rooms I’d booked side by side.

  “Well, this is you,” I said, handing her one of the keys when we came to a stop.

  She looked down at it for a moment, then back up at me. “We’re not staying in the same suite?”

  “It’s a smaller place. They didn’t have suites with multiple bedrooms.”

  She blinked. “Does it…does that matter?”

  I paused. Was she saying what
I thought she was saying? Could it really be that easy?

  “Well, I know you let me kiss you and all, but I didn’t want to presume that means we’re going to bed together, doll,” I replied easily. “But I’m not going to argue if that’s what you want.”

  If I sounded too eager, I really couldn’t help it. Ever since that kiss, innocent as it was, I’d wanted to show her how badly I’d missed her in every other way. Still, I had the sense she was a bit like a deer at the moment. One false move and she’d take off in the opposite direction.

  She worried her bottom lip for a moment.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching out to take her fingers. “What is it? You can tell me.”

  She looked at our hands, connected. “What would you think if…Matthew, do you think you could bear it if we only slept together? For now?”

  I knew what she meant. That she couldn’t handle another frenzied, almost violent coupling in the dark of night. At the party, there had been a sense that if we didn’t find our way together there on the rooftop, we might have killed each other instead. We were two champagne bottles, shaken and ready to burst with need. Selfish, only willing to take what we needed without thought for the other.

  I hadn’t been able to give her what she needed then. But I was sure I could do it now.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Her shoulders sank in relief.

  “But I’m going to keep the other room for now,” I continued. “In case—in case you need some space from me, all right?”

  Nina frowned, and for a moment I thought she might tell me to return the key. Maybe I’d get what I really prayed for in that church, and she would throw her arms around my neck and tell me she loved me again and that I was crazy for thinking she’d ever want to be apart from me.

  But instead, she nodded. “Good thinking.”

  We went into the room, then awkwardly took turns in the bathroom, waiting for each other to change into pajamas like we were hostel roommates, not people who knew every inch of each other’s bodies intimately. It felt wrong. Stiff.

  But it was what she said she wanted.

  “Is this all right?” I asked her when I emerged in a pair of boxer briefs but no shirt. Usually I didn’t sleep in anything at all, so I figured this was a compromise. The idea of sleeping fully clothed honestly made my skin crawl.

  And yeah, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least trying a little for the hungry expression I saw then. Nina’s gaze devoured down my bare chest, lingering over the muscles of my stomach that I kept up like a carefully tuned machine.

  “Um, yes,” she said like she had something stuck in her throat. “I’ll just get changed myself.”

  While she got ready for bed, I decided to make us a couple of nightcaps. It was late, but I was a little worried, if I was being perfectly honest, about sharing a bed with her. She didn’t know about my occasional nightmares—or the fact that they had been returning since September. Maybe if we knocked ourselves out a little harder than usual, they wouldn’t come tonight.

  I turned the small radio on the nightstand to the first station that had something decently relaxing, then poured a couple of fingers of the grappa I’d purchased in Riomaggiore into the water glasses on the bureau. But when the bathroom door opened, I stopped what I was doing. I couldn’t see anything but her.

  Her hair was mussed, her face scrubbed pink and free of makeup. She wore only a thin, white silk nightdress that reached to mid-thigh and curved along her small breasts and delicate waist like a ribbon wrapped around a package. She looked beautiful. Simple. Perfect.

  “Dance?”

  Nina’s mouth opened slightly in surprise as she looked at my now-extended hand. “I…really?”

  Doubt was written clearly across her face, warring with the desire that was undoubtedly written across mine.

  “It’s just a dance, doll. No harm, no foul.”

  “So you say. But you’re shirtless, and I’m in my underwear.”

  Her thin blonde brow arched. There’s my girl, I thought to myself. I couldn’t help it. I loved bringing this side out of her.

  She shook her head in that same way Nonna did whenever I was teasing her about serving day-old amaretti. Scamp, she’d call me. And she was right.

  Nina knew it too.

  But instead of shooing me away, she called my bluff and took my hand. And there was that electric spark, the one that never failed to skip through our fingers when we touched. We had tried and failed to ignore it so many times. But I was done.

  Nina approached with the grace of a trained debutante, looking for all the world like she wasn’t in her nightgown and bare feet, but a gown and tiara. And I guided her to the center of the room like it wasn’t just a simple room, but a ballroom of a royal court. Like maybe I could be her prince. A worthy consort to this undeniable queen.

  “You’d better be careful,” she said. “I’ve been taking lessons since I was three. Do you even know how to dance properly?”

  In response, I pulled her tight so she was flush against me and I could catch her waist with my other hand.

  “Oh!” Nina gasped.

  “No more questions, beautiful,” I ordered. “Just let me lead.”

  A waltz picked up on the radio, and I started to whirl her around the room as best I could.

  To her credit, Nina was actually a really good dancer. She probably had been taking lessons since she was three, since she could clearly keep up with me and then some. Nonna’s simple instruction to Frank Sinatra standards was no match for Nina’s teachers. Still, by the end, we were both shouting with laughter and delight, out of breath and clinging to each other once the music ended.

  “Oh!” Nina cried as I dipped her again. “Oh, that was fun. Matthew, I’m shocked—you can actually waltz!”

  I grinned down at her. “And foxtrot and jitterbug and swing dance, if you’re up for it.”

  “Oh, I love to foxtrot!” she said, holding up her arms for another round like Sofia begging for a piggyback ride. “Eric was always terrible at it, but it was my favorite step. He was my practice partner, you know.”

  I chuckled. “No, I didn’t know that. But I’m definitely going to give him some shit for it.”

  I was about to take her on another gallop around the room, but the music shifted, and a different, much slower tune filled the air. Pavarotti’s rendering of Turandot, it sounded like. Its most famous aria, “Nessun Dorma.”

  Just like that, I was transported back to the Met. Sitting with Nina in that warm, red box at Lincoln Center. Whispering lyrics of passion into her ear while I brought her another kind between her legs.

  “Do you remember this?” I asked as I pulled her close once more. I pressed my nose to her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. “Do you remember that night?”

  “Of—of course,” she stuttered, even as her arms encircled my neck, and one hand automatically began playing with my hair. “I could never forget that night. The good…and the bad.”

  I swallowed. Of course. I remembered the best parts of that night and had done my best to block out the worst. The way she’d discovered my previous fling with one Caitlyn Calvert Shaw. The way she’d run into Central Park only to throw herself to her knees and forced me to take the pleasure she thought I wanted from her body. Used her like she thought I had used others.

  And I did it. Fuck me, I did it. Because at that point, I would have taken her any way I could get her. Angry, happy, sad, delighted. Nina was Nina to me, back then. Whatever form she took.

  But now…now I could see what that selfishness had brought me. She had never fully trusted me. And just when she was finally thinking about it…I’d thrown it all away.

  “But do you know what it’s really about?” I asked her as we began to sway gently back and forth to Pavarotti’s vibrato. “The song, I mean.”

  “I remember the lyrics you whispered,” she said. “‘None shall sleep.’ After he claims the right to marry her, she begs for a way to get out. So they come to a
new agreement, correct? If she can discover his name before sunrise, he’ll die. And so…none shall sleep while she searches for the means to her freedom.” Nina pressed her nose into my neck, as if the idea of freedom was too much for her. “A bit bloodthirsty, isn’t she?”

  I held her all the more tightly, enjoying the way the curve of her slim waist fit perfectly to my palm. “I think most people would kill to be free. They’d do just about anything.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “My sympathies are more with Calaf, though.”

  She lifted her head. “The beggar who wants to marry her? Why? All he does is trick her.”

  I shrugged. “Only to show her the farce of the whole system. And remember, at the end of the night, when she realizes she’s doomed to marry him…he gives up his name of his own accord. He’d rather die anyway than entrap the woman he loves. He would do anything to make her happy.” I stroked her hair, gently. “I understand how he feels.”

  She stopped swaying, pressed her hands to my chest, framing the cross and San Gennaro token that dangled between her fingers.

  “Oh, Matthew,” she said softly. “But he’s wrong. Don’t you know that? He’s completely wrong.”

  “How do you figure?” Opera was the language of love, wasn’t it? If Puccini didn’t get it, what hope was there for anyone else?

  “I didn’t understand this until I met you, but love isn’t about sacrifice. It’s not about clipping your own wings so your partner can fly, hoping desperately they’ll carry you with them. It’s about…” She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, trying to sort it out. “It’s about making it safe to soar together.”

  My heart thumped like a drum at the truth in her voice. Oh God. Oh my fucking God. She was so damn right it hurt.

  “And do I?” I asked, my heart now stuck in my throat as I tried not to hold her too close. “Nina, do I make you feel safe? I want to, baby. I want to so fucking badly.”