Page 62 of Broken Pieces
“Bacon is greasy too,” I point out.
“Yeah, but at least it tastes good,” she counters with a playful smile, then takes another bite.
I shake my head with a laugh. That's her, alright. No rhyme or reason for the things she likes. We keep eating and talking about art, our college years, and anything random we can think of.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Only child, fortunately. I don’t think any other normal child could have survived mymother,” she says with a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes, and that tugs at my heart in an unsatisfactory way.
She’s so unapologetically herself, no matter what. It’s my favorite quality about her, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of all she’s endured. I can relate, in a sense. I believe what breaks you makes you stronger. You can either face your problems or run away from them.
I chose the latter, deciding to take my father’s struggling business and turn it into the empire it is becoming today. But at the same time, I refuse to look back and forgive everything I went through with him, because even though he's not here, he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. Fuck that. I don’t want to be the bigger person, even if it’s the right thing to do.
You don’t always have to do the right thing, not if it means sacrificing your sanity.
“Do you have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “The closest thing I have to a brother is Enzo. He lived in Italy until his late teenage years, but used to visit Chicago every summer, and we would spend our time together,” I say, reminiscing the few good memories I have.
Her eyes soften as she grabs my hand and squeezes it in a tender, loving way. The feeling is electric, and I never want to let go.
“Boy, do I feel sorry for you if Enzo is the closest thing you had. He seems unreliable,” she jokes.
“Surprisingly, he has been the only constant in my life,” I confess.
Despite Enzo living a hard life, training since he was a literal child on how to think and behave like a businessman, preparing to take over the Mancini name, he taught me everything I know. Helped me build my business plans, invested his time and energy, but most importantly—believedin me. It’s difficult to accept how the tables have turned, how somehow, for some reason, he has lost his way in life. He’s not the man he used to be. That’s for sure.
We finish eating, and she insists on making hot chocolates, even though I’m so stuffed and don’t think I can ingest anything else, I accept it. Because it just means I have a few more minutes with her. As we both sit on the couch, facing each other, and she’s talking about her first days working for The Institute, a moment of honesty takes over me for a chance.
Without thinking, I say, “Can I confess something?”
She looks at me expectantly and nods.
“I don’t want this day to end,” I whisper.
She doesn’t falter, nor does her body language change in surprise. She grabs my mug and places it on the table next to hers. Taking my hand and interlacing our fingers, she whispers, “Me neither.” She looks down, avoiding my gaze.
My heart quickens at her words. Here I thought the feeling wasn’t mutual, that she was just being kind, wanting tomake sure I didn’t spend my Saturday alone. Because that sums up Aria Petrov.
Fierce. Selfless. Kind.
Our bodies shift closer, and I tuck one of her hair strands behind her ear. She looks up, with her bright hazel eyes, and I get lost in them once again.
All I can do is admire her. Her beauty is fuckingoverwhelming.
Both of my hands find the base of her jawline, and as she melts to my touch, I whisper, “Penso di essermi innamorata di te.”
“What does that mean?” she asks softly.
“That you’re beautiful,” the lie rolls off my tongue easily, because I’m not ready to tell her the truth. Not yet, anyway.
Before she can respond, I close the little distance we have left with a soft, yearning kiss. I’ve been wanting to do this ever since we last kissed, and fuck, it feels good to feel her lips on mine. She kisses me back with the same softness and need, reciprocating my feelings. This kiss feels different. Whilst the first kiss was fierce, and desperate, this one is the exact opposite. It’s like time is staying still, and we have nothing else to do but to explore each other’s mouths. The kiss is consuming; intoxicating. I could die a happy man right now. There’s no other place I would rather be.
Her lips part, and I let out an appreciative groan as my tongue clashes with hers. She tastessofucking sweet. I’ve never considered myself a sweets kind of man, but for her? I could indulge in it for the rest of my life. My teeth find her bottom lip, and I bite it softly. A low, soft moan escapes her lips as I bite the soft flesh. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, fisting my hair and bringing us closer, and God, it’s driving me insane. I could happily get lost in her touch, her delicious taste and her dizzying scent and never come back.
My weakness; my lifeline; my anchor.
Mine. Mine. Fucking mine.
