<b>GIANNI </b>
I have prepared for meetings with highly violent, vtile men and felt less pressure than I do now, putting together a tray of food and coffee in the kitchen for which <b>I </b>n to bring up to the bedroom. Caterina was asleep when I left her there<b>, </b>sprawled out on her stomach, her hair fanned out across the pillow. I could haveid there for hours watching her. Soaking in her soft sighs, the rhythm of her breathing, and the way her brow would sometimes wrinkle. Like even in her sleep, her troubles follow
her.
Today is a new day, and I hope, as I gather breakfast with Sheryl’s Help, that betweenst night and this morning <b>I </b><b>can </b><b>convince </b>my little bird that I’mmitted to taking as much of her troubles away as I can.
“I take it Miss Caterina is back?” Sheryl’s eyes twinkle as she fills up a tter of muffins, fruit, and cheese. “This is what she likes best for breakfast.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate your thoughtfulness.” So do <b>I</b><b>, </b>but it’s unusual being in this situation. Almost embarrassing. Like getting caught by a parent. I must remind myself she’s my employee<b>, </b>not a disapproving guardian. No matter if she likes to <b>act </b>like she is asionally.
As I set off with the tray, my gait is lighter than it’s been in days, even if I slightly dread what’sing next. We concluded things wellst night, and I couldn’t have been more relieved when she agreed to spend the night. I didn’t want to send her back home to him. I know he would never hurt her–of that, I’m certain but it’s still not a weing environment.
Whether or not it’s right, I need to protect her from returning to a hostile situation. I know I can’t save her from all of the world’s evils any more than I can save my daughter, though I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
She’s still asleep by the time I return<b>, </b>still on her stomach with one knee hitched up and off to the side. The nket barely covers her ass–the most innocently erotic thing imaginable. Even when she’s asleep, everything about her reaches something
in me.
Rather than pulling the nket back and waking her up with my tongue, I set the tray on a chair near the bed before sitting
beside her.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek, temple, and bare shoulder. Slowly she starts to awaken, a little bit at a time, sighing drowsily as she does.
“What time is it?” she mumbles, though most of it is muffled by the pillow she buries her face in when sunlight touches her
open eyes<b>. </b>
“It’s past nine o’clock.” I gently brush a stray hair away from the side of her face. “You slept like a rock.”
“It’s Saturday,” she grumbles. “Ever heard of sleeping in?”
“Ever heard of burning daylight.” I run my lips down her arm and watch as goosebumps erupt across her skin. “I couldn’t wait another minute for you to wake up.”
She rolls over, her mouth curving up into a smirk. “Were you lonely?”
“You can’t keep yourself away from me for days at a time and expect me not to take advantage of having you here.” The fact is, though, it was almost a lonely experience<b>, </b>as much as I enjoyed the chance to watch her sleep. She’s someone whose presence I can’t imagine ever growing tired of.
There’s never an end to the questions <b>I </b>want to ask, the stories I want to tell, or the skin I want to touch and kiss. I’m an explorer who finally found what he sought amid a long, rough, almost deadly journey. Now I’m supposed to find a <b>way </b>to cope when she wants to sleep in; I don’t think so.
“It just so happens I should get up now, anyway.” She stretches her arms over her head while she purrs like a cat.
“Hungry? Sheryl made sure to send me back with some of your favorites.”
“Muffins? Is there brie, too?” The excitement in her voice makes me smile. Here I am thinking I was the only person who could
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make her <b>eyes </b>light up like that.
She sits up, pulling up the nkets, while I tug the tray and settle beside her. I almost can hardly believe the man I’ve <b>be </b>one who eats breakfast in bed with a woman and can’t imagine Being elsewhere. I can practically imagine us lying here on Sunday mornings<b>, </b>reading the paper and maybe listening to music while we talk. It’s enough to be with her and bask in her presence<b>. </b>I can hardly recall what life was like without this sense of peace and rightness.
However, things are still looming over us. It would be so easy to pretend everything’s fine, that we worked it all out. To gloss over <b>the </b>reason she came herest night and the questions she had Yes, I promised to help her, and I will<b>, </b>but that isn’t the end. Not even close. And if she doesn’t trust me, if she’s hesitant to believe in me, that’s nobody’s fault but my own. I have to face it. If this is going anywhere–and I need it to, more than I’ve ever needed anything–I have to be the man she needs.
“So.” Once I’ve had a little coffee and feel the gears turning in my brain, I set the cup back down to pick out a fresh blueberry muffin.
“So?” She lifts an eyebrow before popping a strawberry into her mouth.
How do I do this? I’m navigating uncharted territory without apass or map. “Does this mean no more running away? Or am I going to be forced to endure life without you again?”
She’s suddenly very interested in her coffee, staring down at it while cream swirls in a cloud. “It depends.”
“On?”
On you.” She throws a nce my way before averting her gaze again. <b>“</b>I’m sorry. I’m just being honest.”
“I understand that and ept my role in what’s happened before now.”
Again with the arched eyebrow. “Really?” Even though I deserve it there’s more than a healthy amount of skepticism in that. If we’re going to make anything out of this, I have to ept the truth and be honest with myself. I usually am<b>, </b>sometimes to a fault. I don’t deny my negative or less–than–savory qualities.
“Yes. Really.” When all she does is frown at her coffee, I add, “I want to be together, to be one. You know this. I’ve told you this numerous times when all you kept doing was insisting we were nothing more than sex.
>>
“You have an interesting way of showing it.”
“I’ve made mistakes. I can admit that. But part of rtionships is finding a way through that, right? I’m not exactly great at it, but I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.‘
”
Finally, she sets the coffee aside in favor of frowning directly at me “This doesn’t feel like a rtionship? Because up until now, from where I’m sitting, the most we’ve had is sex.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
<b>“</b>I mean, we can’t rey the footage like Sunday night football, but I can tell you<b>, </b>the most we’ve ever connected is through sex. That has been the bulk of our rtionship. Are you trying to say you want more than that? More than me being an item you proudly disy on your shelf?”
She won’t be satisfied until she’s crushed my balls. At least I can say I knew she wouldn’t make it easy. I know better now. She deserves this. Deserves answers and honesty.
take <b>as </b>“Yes. I want more than that. I want you. I mean, do I want to give up the sex? Not on your life.” We both chuckle, wl a good sign. “But I know in the deepest part of my heart that the sex wouldn’t be nearly as good if it wasn’t for you. You were always missing from my life all this time. I don’t want to go back to living without you. That is just something I’m unwilling to do.”
She goes back to her food, picking at it again, pairing a piece of cheese with a grape. “I want to be together, too, but it can’t be the way it was before.”
“What do you mean?” At least I know she’s willing to be more honest with <b>herself</b>. No pushing me away, pretending there’s nothing between us. I can work with this.
“The control stuff. I won’t be caged–and I told you that before.”
“And I told you I want you to be safe. I want you protected from all the shit in the world. <b>I’ve </b>seen too much of the world’s ugliness and almost lost you to it. You can’t expect me to turn a <b>blind </b>eye and risk your safety.”
“There’s a difference between wanting me to be safe and controlling every aspect of my life. It isn’t a rtionship if I don’t feel free to go where I want, to see who I want<b>, </b>or talk to who I want.” She looks downright pissed, staring me in the eye. “I want to be able to go somewhere and not wonder if I’m being tracked or followed.”
<b>“</b>If you weren’t tracked, I wouldn’t have found you at that cabin.”
Right away, I regret my response when she winces. Why don’t I kick a wounded animal while I’m at it? “I didn’t mean to throw that in your face.”
“Sure, you did,” she whispers. “That’s how you found me. How you saved me.”
Silence fills the space between us while she picks at the rest of her muffin. “I don’t want that anymore,” she whispers.” Promise me.”
Every word takes effort to pry from my mouth. “I promise you. No more tracking.”
“I need to feel like you trust me.”