What should have been two days in the hospital turned into two weeks, thanks to an allergic reaction to the IV contrast. But thankfully, tomorrow, Aunt Grace will be released. And then, we go home.
The doctors have cleared her for the trip back to North Carolina, and all the Everlys have pitched in with a rock star party bus. As excited as we were for the queen bed to keep her comfy, she was over the moon with the traveling stripper pole.
It should be good news, right? So why does it feel like my chest is heavy and full of lead?
Aunt Grace sleeps peacefully, and I take a look around before I head home for the night. My last night in Chicago. The hospital room is fragrant with roses and crowded with teddy bears and gifts from every D’Angelo and Everly, and one from Leo.
A box of homemade cookies. Trini said he burned four batches to get to this one. I nibble a bite and laugh. Without sugar, they’re awful.
Two soft knocks sound at the door. “How’s she doing?” Smoke walks in shyly, and a lump forms in my throat.
“She’s been resting off and on all day.” I straighten, determined. “She’ll be fine.”
Smoke scans the monitors and checks her chart. It all seems second nature to him. He keeps his voice hushed though she hasn’t stirred. “Does your aunt need anything? Do you?”
“Do you?” I ask, pointing out the lingering bruises around his face.
He cradles his jaw. “I’d like to say you should see the other guy, but I’m the other guy.” Both our smiles are small as he makes his way around the room. He selects a get-well card from the sea of them, reads it, then returns it carefully back in place. “I was wrong, Ivy, and I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave.”
How do I explain that I do? This isn’t even about my contract with Andre. It’s about Leo. It’s always about Leo. Loving Leo is like loving the pain of a trampled heart. Sooner or later, it breaks for good. “It’s better for my aunt,” I say softly.
Smoke pops the nose of a small, beige teddy bear. “We’ve set another date for Erede al Trono. Trini would love for you to come.” When I say nothing, he clears his throat. “We’d all love it if you could come.”
“Enzo, too?” I joke half-heartedly.
“Enzo the asshole, too.” He laughs sadly. “He’s actually the sorriest of all of us. His jet is at your disposal, for you and your aunt.” The silence dredges on, becoming awkward and strained. “We could set up an account. Get you a car. A house. Find a nice place for you and your aunt—”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, my smile a smidge wider.
He plucks a flower from the assortment—a bright yellow rose—and hands it to me. “You and I both know I do.” I take a small whiff of the sweet perfume. I can see he’s trying, and it’s a start. “Look, I don’t know what deal you made with Uncle Andre, but I know he got the goldmine, and you got the shaft.”
I let out a long, even breath. “I got what I needed.”
“You deserve more than the shaft, Ivy.”
“What can I say to that? I agree,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “Besides, you paid for the hospital bill.”
Smoke cocks a mild grin. “I could pretend I know nothing about that, but we’re family now, so full disclosure. I would have, but I didn’t. It was all Leo.”
“Of course, it was,” I sigh with regret. “How is he?”
Smoke blows out a breath. “I’m not sure. MIA most of the time.”
I nod sadly.
“Here.” He hands me a folded piece of paper and waits while I open it. “The blood test was inconclusive. But, for what it’s worth, you’re definitely a D’Angelo.” He places a paternal hand on my shoulder, and I can see it in his eyes—a sense of connection. Somehow, I know that no matter what’s happened between us, he wants to repair it. Smoke wants to make this right. “Can I at least offer you a ride?” he asks.
I grab my purse since my tab with Officer Friendly is beginning to pile up. “Yes.”
We make our way to the parking garage. Leo leans against a car, waiting. I freeze in place, breathless.
“I can still give you a ride,” Smoke explains. “But Leo was hoping he could. It’s your call.”
What do I do? My heart wells up with love and pain, and I can’t decide. Do I run into his arms?
Or run away?
I walk to him as he meets me halfway. “What do you want, Leo?” I ask the question, then hold my breath, anxious for his response.
Smoke’s footsteps move quietly away, but my eyes stay on Leo. And his are on mine.
Leo takes my hand in both of his. “Forgiveness. A miracle.” His eyes well up, and so do mine. “One night.”
I lose myself in the skyline of the city. “I’ll miss Chicago,” I whisper. I press a palm to the glass, and I spot the locations of every beautiful memory Leo gave me. haydon’s on the shore. Dancing in front of The Bean. Even this hotel. Dread begins to fill my heart, weighing it down with sadness and grief.
“You don’t have to leave,” he whispers sadly in the dark.
I turn. I want him to see me when I say this. Hold him to our promise—the one I have to keep. I repeat his words back as a reminder—to Leo as much as to me. “One night.”
He nods. We kiss, and I breathe him in, memorizing this. Us. Soft kisses trail along my neck and chin as he slowly peels away my clothes and his. He holds me tenderly and in reverence. An intimate moment where his soul binds with mine, tangled in our breaths and our heartbeats.
And our…love.
He lifts me to the bed and climbs on top of me. My legs spread, allowing him to settle between them. Our eyes lock. Our breathing stops. “Don’t go,” he whispers.
I glide my wetness along his length as my eyes flutter back. I won’t stay. I can’t.
In one swift, unforgiving move, he enters, filling me with more of him than I think I can take—a hard, punishing thrust. “More,” I beg.
He moves slowly at first—careful, intentional strokes that are filled with pleasure, passion, sadness, and pain. An imprint of something beautiful and devastating that will forever be ours.
He tries to speak, and I kiss him soft and tender, raw and rough. I kiss him again and again because I can give him this. Not what he wants.
But what I can give.
He drives into me harder. Deep, desperate thrusts that threaten to tear me apart. He controls me—owns me—until I shudder hard. Then, he fucks me harder. “Stay,” he demands, giving me no reprieve. No way to escape. No way not to answer.
He rips one climax from me and prepares my shattered body for another.
I try to kiss him, but he turns away. “Goddammit, Ivy, stay.”
Tears break free. “I can’t.”
He forces a leg over his shoulder, pumping deep. The sweat of his body slaps the wetness of mine. His thick length grows. Widens. Deepens. Until there is nothing of me but him. His thrusts break through my every barrier and defense. His body slams harder. “Stay.”
I can’t. I won’t. My back arches, and every piece of me shatters beneath him. With violent, uncontrolled jerks, he collapses, spent, on top of me.
His voice is tired, and I’m not sure if he’s saying this to me or to himself. “I hate you, Ivy Palmer.”
I laugh in the dark, shifting to spoon against his chest. “Is that so?”
His leg wraps around me. “I hate you for leaving me.”
I tear up. This isn’t him putting up walls. Leo is tearing them down. I line up a brick along the wall of my defenses and take a baseball bat to it. “I hate you, Leo, for breaking my heart.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I hate that I can’t get you out of my head.”
“I hate that no one will ever give me the orgasms you do.”
His laugh is hearty. He thinks for a minute and comes up with another one. “I hate that you put everyone’s needs above your own. You never put yourself first.”
I weave my hand into his. “You do that, too,” I say sadly.
He kisses my shoulder. “Do you hate that about me?”
“I guess not,” I say with a shrug.
“Then it doesn’t count.” He kisses my neck. “Still your turn.”
This game is ridiculous. But it makes me feel better, so I play on. I secretly hate that there’s something about his late wife that no one will tell me—some reason he has for guarding the delicate softness of his heart— but I can’t say that. Instead, I wrap it into a bigger issue. “I hate that everyone knows more about you than I do.”
He turns me so we’re face to face. His eyes are raw and red. “I hate that you’re the only woman who will ever have my heart.” We kiss a long, slow, meaningful kiss. We melt into each other, and he says the last thing he hates about me. “I hate how much I love you.”