Page 25 of Love Him Like Water

I was married.

To a man I’d been thinking about and dreaming about for years. A secret not a soul in the world knew but me.

How different it was from those fantasies.

But the end result was the same.

I was married to Renzo.

It just wasn’t the outcome I’d been expecting.

Sure, through these more jaded eyes, I could see how fanciful I’d been, how I’d been expecting Renzo to live up to the man I’d created in my mind, rather than seeing him as the man he actually was.

I’d wanted him to fall for me like I’d fallen for him so long ago. I’d wanted him to be soft and sweet with me, to spend long hours in bed exploring me, to give me a scene out of those books I’d been devouring for years.

The problem was, of course, that Renzo Lombardi wasn’t a soft man.

It was a point that my family had been desperately trying to hammer home for the months, weeks, and days leading up to my impending wedding.

I’d rarely dug my feet in about things in my life. When you were surrounded by so many demanding, overbearing men who believed they knew what was best for you, life was easier if you simply… gave in.

They hadn’t been prepared for just how stubborn I’d been about this ever since I learned that Renzo wanted an alliance through marriage with my family.

Their valid arguments had fallen on unhearing ears. I was too busy imagining my dress, the moment Renzo would kiss me at the altar, how he’d make love to me in his bed later.

Grumbling, I shook off those thoughts that now felt so silly.

I went back to my book, finishing it and feeling restless at not having something to focus on.

That day, two meals showed up, unbidden, in the kitchen.

The same the next day, and I figured those two meals must have ended up during Elian’s shift.

Still, though, no sightings of my husband. Just a mussed bed, a damp towel, and a coffee cup in the sink.

Disappointment mingled with a longing I didn’t have a name for, an ache for a man who clearly never spared me a second thought.

By the fourth day, a dark cloud formed over me, the weight of it making it hard to do anything but take my scalding baths and roll restlessly around in the bed.

Like on my wedding day, I felt tugged in two directions. One part of me wanted to go home to my family, to tell them they were right, bury myself back into my girlhood bed, and pretend none of this ever happened.

The other, clearly the stronger, part of me, though, wanted to stay, wanted this to work.

Regardless of all the proof that there was no hope of that.

I’d fallen into a sad sleep, plagued with vague dreams about drowning, the cold water surrounding me, the pressure building in my lungs as bubbles of oxygen escaped me while I kicked and writhed helplessly.

I woke with a gasp, shooting up in bed, panting for breath, my hand going to my throat, the sensation of drowning so strong, so real, despite never having swum a day in my life, having no idea what it actually felt like to be trapped under the water, struggling for air.

It was a long second before I realized I suddenly wasn’t alone, that there was noise coming from the bathroom.

The second my gaze shot in that direction, the door swung open.

And there he was.

With nothing on but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

There was no way to prepare for the way desire crashed into me, a sensation as strong as a punch to the gut, stealing my breath, making my skin immediately warm.

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