Chapter 12: Moretti, N.

I didn't tell Matteo what Antonella said.

I told myself I was keeping it until I understood it.

That night he came to my door, and he knocked, and he waited until I opened it.

"I'm asking," he said. "I'm not assuming."

I took his hand and pulled him inside.

This time it was slow.

He undressed me in the lamplight, one button at a time.

He kissed each place he uncovered, my shoulder, the inside of my elbow, the bone of my hip.

I lay back on the pillows with my head bare against the cotton.

He braced himself over me and looked down, and I saw that his arms were shaking.

"You're trembling," I said.

"Yes."

"You weren't last time."

"Last time I thought I had a year," Matteo said roughly. "Now I know I don't have enough."

I pulled him down.

He moved inside me with care, and with a long, steady patience that undid me by degrees.

I wrapped my legs around him and told him not to be so careful, and he groaned against my neck and gave me what I asked.

His hand slid under my back and lifted me closer.

I held onto his shoulders, and I heard myself say his name, again and again, until I couldn't say anything.

He followed me over, with his face pressed into my throat and my name broken in his mouth.

Afterward he didn't let go.

He lay on his back with me tucked against his side, and his fingers moved in slow circles on my arm.

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