Adriana closed the heavy door and leaned her weight against it. She had cried so many tears in the taxi that the driver had offered to take her to the police station or a church, as if either could ease her misery. She sniffed back another onslaught of tears and pulled the hair away from her puffy face. It would not do for Irma to see her in this state.
Quietly, she made her way up the stairs, keeping to the hallway runners to avoid the clacking of her sandals against the polished wood. Not quietly enough. When she arrived at the top, Jian Carlo’s voice greeted her from his office. “Is that you, Adriana?”
Her heart lurched. Why was he home?
She continued across the landing to his office and stopped outside of his door. He sat behind the bloodwood desk—not working, not talking on the phone—sitting, waiting.
“You look nervous,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“You startled me. That’s all.” She pulled her lips into what she hoped was a smile. “I didn’t expect you to be home.”
“Nor I you.”
He looked like an emperor on a throne, all powerful, all knowing.
She crumbled. “I’m sorry.”
She had not planned to apologize, and having done so, her mind scrambled for a way to undo it. Could she pretend it was a reflexive phrase, a casual regret for a minor inconvenience? Or did her false apology sound like the deeper confession it really was?
Every tendon in her body felt coiled to bolt, yet Adriana stood fast. Jian Carlo was a predator and predators loved to chase. The only body parts that refused to hold still were her fingers, which folded and unfolded at a compulsive pace. She squeezed them together and hoped he would not notice.
A moment later, his chest was inches from hers, separated only by those feeble fingers, which she had clenched into a single fist.
He leaned into her hands, pressed her thumb knuckle into the hollow spot between her ribs, while his hands slid around her back in a restrictive embrace. The pressure of her fist against her diaphragm made it hard to breathe.
“Of course you are sorry,” he whispered. He caressed her back in slow, deliberate circles.
Her jaw slackened. Her lungs strained as she inhaled a sliver of Jian Carlo’s scotch-infused breath. She tried to turn her face, but one of his palms had slid up to cradle her cheek. She was trapped. No hands. No air. Just the heat of his breath and the pain in her gut.
Ever so gently, he kissed her lips.
The act caught her completely by surprise. It had been more than a month since she had felt his lips on hers, and even then, it had not been a caring gesture. He had not kissed her this intimately since their courtship, when everything he had said and done had made her head spin and her heart flutter. Back then, she had wished his kisses would never end. This time, she wished they had never begun.
She pushed with all her might, moving her trapped fist away from her and into him so she could breath. “Please, Jian. I’m so tired.”
“Of course you are, meu amor.” He offered an indulgent smile, but he didn’t let her go.