Chapter 7: Touch Me

At midnight I opened the guest room door.

Vincent was sitting on the carpet in the hall with his back to the wall and his knees up.

He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled.

He looked up at me.

He didn't get to his feet.

"You're awake," he said.

"Nonna says you've done this three nights."

"Four."

"Why?"

"So if you came out, I'd be here."

I looked at him for a long while.

My heart was going hard, and the hallway light threw the scar over his eyebrow into shadow.

For four days he had done every single thing I'd told him.

I'd waited for him to break the terms so I could leave, and he hadn't.

"Stand up," I said.

He stood.

He was a head taller than me, and he stood with his hands at his sides and his eyes on my face.

"I asked you not to touch me unless I said," I told him. "I'm saying."

His breath went out of him.

"Antonia."

"Touch me."

He didn't move.

"Say it again."

"Put your hands on me, Vincent."

He crossed the hall in one step.

His hands came up and took my face, and his mouth was on mine so hard I hit the doorframe with my shoulder.

It was nothing like our wedding kiss, or any kiss in two years.

It was rough, and it tasted like coffee, and under it was a shaking I could feel through his whole chest.

I got my fingers in his shirt and pulled.

Buttons skittered across the floor.

"You don't get to be gentle," I said against his mouth. "Not tonight."

"I wasn't going to be."

I shoved him through the doorway and onto the edge of the bed, and he let me.

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