Page 39 of I Would Beg For You

“You…” she sputters as she takes another step back. “You always do this. You’re always badmouthing my father.”

I stifle the groan that wants to come out. That bastardo is forever to remain a shadow between us. “You don’t know him like I do.”

I want to hit myself when the words come out. Why did I have to throw oil on the fire, and now, of all times? I finally have her with me, in my home. We were opening up to each other. I’ve never confessed to anyone why I play this tune. I say it’s good practice to whoever even hears me making this music on a piano.

“I…I want to go home!”

Her voice catches on the last word, like her throat is clogged with tears. Suddenly, she seems so terribly young and I have to ask myself what I’m doing with her. Despite growing up next door to each other, she’s not from my world. She’s not an ingenue from our borgata that has been hand-picked to make my bride, so she’ll bear me a son and a spare, like Zia Vivi hinted at during the ball. She’s… I’m not sure what my feelings are for her, but she means something to me. Enough to make me want to see where this is going, where this can go.

Tale padre, tale figlio. Indeed. Was this what my dad felt like when he saw my mother, the daughter of a rival family, and knew he wanted something with her?

I blink out of my thoughts when Naomi reaches the doorway of the study and stumbles into the circular hall that connects most of the rooms on this floor. She pauses in her step, possibly to ascertain where the front door could be.

I can’t let her leave. Not like this.

I stalk to her and grab her arm gently. “You’ll catch your death like this.”

She blinks up at me, then looks down, seeming to realize she’s wearing my shirt and nothing else.

When she looks back up at me, it’s with fire in her eyes.

“Give me your coat,” she asks.

I narrow my eyes at her. This is how she wants to play it?

This is how she wants to playme?

I’m not some toy she can tinker with then throw away when the presence of our family’s conflicts casts a shadow on the perfect little illusory world she’s built for herself.

“I’ll expect it back,” I say. “Delivered by you. Directly to me.”

“F-fine,” she bites out.

My nostrils flare with anger. It’s best this—whatever this is between us; call it a lapse, a momentary blip in the matrix—ends now. Before any of us gets hurt. We barely tried, and it’s alreadyfalling apart. I can scratch out a line through the idea of being with Naomi Smith and move on.

“This way.” I give her a chin nod towards the right, then start in the direction of the front door. Once there, I pull my black coat from the stand and hand it to her. “Bring it back before the end of the day.”

She stays silent for long seconds, not reaching out for the coat, not doing anything. I thrust it at her once more.

“You’re an asshole,” she says softly as she looks up at me with wide eyes. They are shiny with tears.

My jaw tenses. “I’m not the one asking to leave.”

“And you’re just going to let me?” Her voice sounds incredulous.

I shrug. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to.”

She blinks, and her lower lip starts to tremble.

“I don’t want to go,” she mumbles.

If she’d been defiant, or if this had sounded like a sulky child pouting, I would’ve stayed stone. But I could hear her heart hanging in those words, there for me to grab.

I throw the coat back onto the rack and reach for her.

“Then stay.” I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. She comes willingly, and when she hugs me like she wants to melt into my body, I can’t help it. The words leave me. “I don’t want you to go, either.”

We stay in this embrace for long moments. It feels right, to hold her to me, to have her much smaller body burrowing into me, seeking warmth and shelter.

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