Chapter 23: Free to Stay

The east wing door stood open that night, and nobody had bolted it.

Wynne walked through it at nine, in her own jeans and her own sweater.

The torn dress lay in a heap in her mother's new hotel room.

Massimo was in the sitting room with his shirt off and a fresh dressing across his left shoulder.

A doctor had come and gone.

He had a glass of whiskey he was not drinking.

He stood up when he saw her.

"You came," he said.

"I told you yes on the steps."

"People say yes on steps."

"Massimo."

"I know." He put the glass down. "I'm trying to learn the other kind of sentence."

"That one's fine."

She crossed the carpet.

She had crossed it a dozen times, angry, with a list in her hand.

This time she put her palms flat on his chest, either side of the bandage, and felt his heart going under her hands.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Only when I breathe."

"Then breathe slowly."

She went up on her toes and kissed him.

He kissed her back with his whole mouth, and his good arm came around her and lifted her off the floor.

"Bedroom," she said against his lips.

"Wynne, my shoulder..."

"Then I'll do the work."

He carried her anyway, with one arm, through his own door, and set her on the edge of his enormous bed.

It was dark wood and gray linen, and it smelled of him.

She sat there looking up while he stood in front of her.

"Take that off," she said.

"What?"

"All of it."

He undid his belt.

He did it slowly, watching her.

She saw the hard muscle of his stomach and a scar low on his hip she had never seen before.

He pushed his trousers off and stood there, hard already, and she felt her mouth go dry and her whole body go warm.

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