Page 128 of The Deadly Candies

"No, I'm fine," she replied, trying to mask her discomfort.

He kissed her trembling lips as more of him entered her. Her pelvis rose to meet his movements, and they soon established a more harmonious rhythm. Both breathed heavily, their bodies naturally taking over, and she hoped the pleasure would soon replace the pain before their first time ended.

He collapsed on top of her, and Kathy resisted the urge to push him away. Instead, she held him close, sharing in his discomfort.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Making love had been sweet,filled with gentle uncertainty and shy exploration, the innocence of their youth transforming their first intimacy into something sacred. Kathy quietly slipped from the bed first, her bare feet padding softly across the worn wooden floor. In the cramped bathroom, she washed carefully, heart still fluttering. From down the hall, Debbie’s laughter mingled with Matteo’s playful curses, their boisterous love an echo of simpler times. Music floated gently from José’s room, adding a nostalgic rhythm to the union he and Samuel shared in the night.

When Kathy returned, Carmelo stood silently and took his turn. Alone again, she quickly set their modest picnic, lighting candles that cast flickering shadows over their simple meal. Her hands trembled slightly, but she steadied herself, determined to make this moment perfect.

Carmelo reappeared, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist, water still glistening on his shoulders.

“Where are your shorts?” Kathy asked softly, feigning sternness.

“Don’t need 'em,” he teased with an impish grin.

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming as she handed him the wine bottle. “Can you open this?”

Carmelo tugged at the cork with his teeth, popping it free. “Never really had wine, except for communion,” he admitted shyly.

“Me neither,” she laughed, raising her glass. “But we’re adults now, right? Married folks have wine on their wedding night.”

The bitter taste made her sputter, and Carmelo choked, laughing alongside her. “Maybe it's spoiled?”

“I'd rather have water,” she said softly, setting her glass aside and picking at the lukewarm pasta and sweet meats. They ate quietly, stealing glances, their faces illuminated by candlelight.

“What’s on your mind?” Kathy finally asked, noticing his distant, wistful smile.

He shrugged slightly, eyes softening. “Thinking about when you first told me about pecan pie. I asked Mama Stewart to make some—she said she didn’t know how.”

“I’ll bake one for you someday. Promise,” Kathy whispered.

Carmelo’s gaze grew earnest. “Someday soon, this won't have to be secret. We'll be legitimate, Kathy—I swear on my life.”

She pressed a gentle finger to his lips. “Not tonight. Let’s not talk about tomorrow yet. Please.”

He nodded, reluctantly agreeing to her fragile request.

“Tell me about boxing,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “It seems so painful, so dangerous.”

He glanced down at his body, tracing scars silently, each one a memory of his father's rage. “It helps with the anger,” he admitted quietly. “Gives me control.”

“This one’s from Pa. The ankle’s from jumping out that bakery window.”His voice dropped.“Got a fight next week. Training starts tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“My father wants it. It’s part of our plan to get close to him, to make things change, Kathy.”

She reached for him.“You’re not a fighter. You’re?—”

“It’s for you.”His eyes locked onto hers.“Winning a belt means traveling. Getting closer to you down South.”

Her chest ached.If she ran, her father would pay. If she stayed, they’d bury her next to her family.She forced a smile.“Read any good books lately?”

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