Chapter 19: Slow

The shaking started in the car and did not stop.

Bruna was sitting alone at the long table with her hands folded, and neither of us could stop seeing it.

Cesare drove, because the doctor had told him not to and he did it anyway.

"The council can wait until noon," he said. "The old man will keep her in that hall. You are not going near a table tonight."

He did not take me to the Lombardi house.

He took me to the brick row house by the harbor, the one with the steel door.

"Is this all right?" he asked at the curb.

"Yes."

"I'll sleep in the kitchen."

"No."

He looked at me.

"Come inside," I said.

The house was cold and smelled of old coffee.

He turned on one lamp and stood with his hands hanging.

I walked up to him and put my forehead against his chest.

His arms came around me, slowly.

"You stepped in front of a rifle," he said into my hair.

"You were going to kill a man."

"I was going to kill him for you."

"I know. That's why I stopped you."

His chest rose and fell under my cheek.

"Don't ever do that again," he said, and his voice cracked. "Not for me. Not for anyone."

"Then don't make me."

I lifted my face.

He kissed me slowly, with his hand cradling the back of my head.

There was no rush in it tonight.

The night on the florist's worktable had been a fire.

This was a thing I wanted to stay inside.

"Bed," I said against his mouth.

"Jo."

"Bed, Cesare."

He took me up the narrow stairs by the hand.

The bedroom held a plain double bed with a gray blanket and a window that looked at the water.

I turned my back to him.

"Unzip me."

He drew the zipper down my spine one tooth at a time, and kissed each place it opened.

The dress fell.

He undid my bra and slid his palms around to cup my breasts, and I leaned back against his chest.

They were fuller now and sore.

He felt the difference, and his hands slowed.

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