Chapter 28

I wake up and try to stretch out, but I’m restricted by Jake’s heavy body wrapped around me like always. If I have one complaint about my lover, it’s this constricted way of sleeping. With much limb-twisting, he manages to get as much skin-on-skin contact as possible and somehow maneuvers me into positions while I’m unconscious that defy the human body’s ability to bend.

I slide a leg out from between his, rotating my foot to get some feeling back and attempt to retrieve an arm that has gone to sleep pressed under his weight. He is impossible to get loose from in bed; the second I move free, he reaches out and re-curls himself into me, pulling my limbs into the position he wants. He’s sleeping heavily. I can tell by his deep, even breaths, so by moving slowly, I finally manage to get myself loose with some effort.

Sitting up beside him, I gently stroke his cheek with a smile on my face. His sleeping habits are more like an insecure child longing for cuddles than the confident awake Carrero, just another layer to my fascinating man that endears him to me.

I quickly get up, find a robe, and head to the upper deck for air. The air is cool and refreshing after his stifling body temperature. It’s dark, but the horizon has hints of color, as though sunrise is not far away.

I was dreaming about my mother again; lately, she’s been plaguing my thoughts. I don’t know if it’s because of Jake being in my life this way that I somehow feel obliged to tell her or if it’s just being with him that has started to make me think differently about my decision not to see her again. She is still my mother, and being with Jake has made me understand what she’s always been searching for but never found, which, in a way, is sad: that one guy who can bring such happiness to her life, the way Jake has to mine. This thought gives me some remorse about my decision now.

Is it wrong to want to find love? To be so desperate for it that you ignore all the bad, try not to see it.

There’s no denying Jake has changed me in so many ways; he’s brought that cold, ice-queen PA back in touch with her emotions and feelings. I could never have imagined coming back to myself like that and having my thinking changed completely.

I’ve seen my mother in a different light now and, in such a short time, have even returned to feeling some forgiveness toward her. Maybe it’s because Jake told me about my father and, somehow, it’s made my mother more appealing to me. Despite her flaws, she kept me, raised me, and I know she loves me in her own way. No amount of money in the world would have made her walk away, even when she chose her lovers over me. Ultimately, I left, and she never tired of asking me to return to Chicago.

I breathe in slowly and deeply, finally cool enough to go back below deck, tiredness fogging out the thoughts which woke me. The call of his body lures me back to lie beside him, as though I might start to fade at his lack of presence. I am a butterfly who needs the sun to fly; he is that light for me.

I climb back in bed slowly; he’s shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back, so it’s easier for me to lie beside him. As I lay my head on his chest, his arm automatically comes around me, pulling me tight against him, his chin coming to my head. He makes me smile; even asleep, he somehow has this sixth sense that I’m here. I wrap my arm around his ribs and close my eyes, trying to push my mother out of my mind’s eye for the time being.

“I’m awake, baby.” His voice startles me. “I woke up and figured you needed some ‘you’ time. I always wake up when you leave me.” I sense his smile against my hair, hearing the irony of his sentence. He told me my going away had been a huge wake-up call to how much he needed me. I shake my head at his cheesiness and throw a light kiss on his broad chest.

“I was thinking about my mother; I guess I’d been dreaming about her.” I shrug nonchalantly and sigh.

“Are you thinking you maybe want to see her?” he asks cautiously, treading lightly. He’s still unsure how to deal with the subject of my mother. As far as I know, he thinks I should have a relationship with her because she gave birth to me. I’ve always known he had mixed feelings about the woman who let me be subjected to so much in my youth, but his close relationship with his mother has made him ignore my problems with mine.

“I don’t know anymore.” I exhale heavily. “Part of me never wants to see her again, then part of me feels like I’ve so much more to say to her.” His other arm envelopes me in a tighter hug, cradling me.

“She’s still your mamma. I think you’ll always regret not trying to talk to her again. If you want to see her, I’ll come with you…for moral support.” His hand moves up to my hair and begins caressing my scalp gently.

“I think I’d like that,” I mutter softly, closing my eyes and listening to the steady beat of his heart in his chest, lulling me back to calmness. I think about the fact that old Emma never wanted Jake near her mother or to know anything about her past, yet here we are, and I’m happy to have him with me.

His chest rises and falls a little more quickly, and his arm tenses a bit, making me notice his sudden change in demeanor. Aware of how in tune I’ve become with him, I suddenly open my eyes as he seems hesitant.

Does he maybe not want to come to Chicago?

“What is it?” I ask bluntly, as I, too, tense—alerted, sensing something is off. He sighs heavily, as though he’s just been busted, and stiffens all over.

“I had a message on my phone when I woke up.” He sighs again. “We might need to cut this trip short, dolcezza.” He lets go of me and slides out of bed, reaching for his jeans and pulling them on before sitting back beside me. As he takes my hand, I can see his face in the moonlight coming in the uncovered portholes. I’ve learned that he’ll always get up and pull pants on when he thinks an argument is likely. It amuses me as somewhere in my head. I wonder if he’s protecting his tackle in case things get frisky. Maybe he thinks I’ll go in for the kill below the waist in anger. It only makes me anxious now, knowing he believes a fight is brewing.

“Why? What is it?” I stutter in confusion, and my heart beats a little harder.

“The tightness in his voice makes my skin prickle, and irritation ignites as the green-eyed monster in me kicks out.

“She wants what? Does she think you’re going to go back on your promises? She doesn’t need your money; her family is as loaded as yours. And what goddamn requests? You owe her nothing until that baby comes, then she’s nothing to you; your relationship will be with the kid, not her!” I snap, my rage getting the better of me as the rush of negative emotions fuels my outpouring. Sitting up quickly, my insecurity and jealousy show their faces in unison. He leans forward, grasps my arms, and pulls me toward him. Holding me gently, his hand strokes my cheek softly to calm me.

“She thinks I won’t commit to the classes and being at the birth because I now have a vested interest elsewhere…you. She’s also now demanding that you not be included in the trips to LA or my relationship with the kid. That after the birth, you can’t have anything to do with the baby unless I marry you,” he says hurriedly, an edge to his tone as he rushes to get it out.

I gasp in shock, confusion crushing me.

What? She’s threatened by me? She’s trying to drive a wedge between us in the only way she can.

Obviously, she’s still in love with Jake, and this is her biggest weapon. She will use his child as a pawn to maneuver him to meet her demands and try to tear us apart in the process.

“You’re going to agree?” I snap in anger, his hands tightening on me as stinging tears gather in the back of my eyes.

“No! Why would you think that?” He frowns. “She can’t dictate who I take with me on my own fucking plane to LA or who stays in the hotel with me. She doesn’t own me; she’s not my goddamn wife. Once that kid arrives, if she wants me to have access, she’ll need to get used to the fact that you’ll be there, whether we’re married or not.”

He gets up, lets me go, and paces back and forth in agitation. “She doesn’t need money, but I’m giving her money for our child…not for her. Marissa is manipulative; it’s a fucking gift of hers. By throwing in that jibe about marriage, she thinks I’ll run for the hills because she thinks I’m a commitment phobe,” he sneers. “She has no idea how different things are with you. If I need to marry you to let you see my kid, I’ll marry you tomorrow because I’ll marry you anyway. Now or in the future, Emma, you’re going to be my wife.” He storms around, letting his infamous temper rip, and I gawp at him, stupefied.

My voice catches in my lungs, and I can’t formulate a reply; I stare at him in open-mouthed silence, inner tingles washing over me like hot sauce. Jake’s never mentioned marriage before; I know he loves me, but part of me still finds it hard to believe he loves me as much as this.

“You do want to marry me one day, right?” He asks, halting his pacing, suddenly sounding so young and unsure. My silence must be making him think I’m freaking out in a bad way. I guess a small part of me is, but mostly I’m shocked into silence. He moves closer, panicking and doubting that he’s said something he shouldn’t have. I reach out for him, and he follows, wrapping himself in my arms.

“I just didn’t think you would want that with me,” I mumble, the tears stinging my eyes for a different reason now, and I sniff.

“Why wouldn’t I? You know how I feel about you; I’ve told you enough times.” His face comes to mine. His hand clasps my chin and tugs it up, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“It’s just…I’m broken. You can have any woman you want, so why would you choose to marry someone as messed up as me?” It’s the first time I’ve ever verbalized some of my insecurities and anxieties to Jake. I’ve always hidden it because it’s such an ugly way to think, and I don’t want him to think I’m pathetic. He seems taken aback and stares at me with furrowed brows.

“Is this what goes on inside that head of yours? Is this how you think?” He seems genuinely surprised. I close my eyes and nod. It’s painful to even admit this to him, this inner voice that’s always with me, always doubting my worth, always hiding in the recesses of my brain in the parts I would never let anyone see. Suddenly his mouth is against mine, his kiss forcing me to respond; his hands come up to cup my face and hold me close. I return the softness, parting my lips, sagging against him as our tongues meet, gently caressing. He kisses me until I’m panting, then pulls away.

“You’re not broken. You’re just scarred. You’re the only woman I ever want! Even if you left me tomorrow, I wouldn’t move on. Even when I thought I could never have you, I just couldn’t get over you. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Everything reminded me of you,” he says. “Tell me what I need to do to make you feel secure, Bella, to believe me. I’ll do whatever it takes to remove those doubts from that beautiful little head.” His gaze is so intent on mine that I feel he’s trying to dig deep within my soul to figure out why I would think this way. He has no clue of the depths of insecurity I have inside me, the depths of self-doubt and lack of worth. I’ve always hidden them so deeply behind my mask that no one knows, not even Sarah.

“Everything you’re doing already,” I finally respond softly. “Little by little, it helps.” I don’t know what else he could do to make me believe I mean as much to him as he does to me.

“Non-avete idea di quanto ti amo, bambina,” he mutters, his eyes focused on mine, slipping into his second language because he’s emotional. I giggle and raise an eyebrow.

“What?” I gaze at him indulgently as he breaks into a smile and looks down at our hands clasped between us.

“I really need to teach you the basics of Italian. I said: You’ve no idea how much I love you, baby.” He kisses me on the nose. “You tamed il Casanova, Mio Amore; that in itself should be proof of what you are to me.” He smiles lovingly.

I close my eyes tightly and take a huge deep breath.

He’s right; he’s told me a million times. Maybe it’s time I told him why I’m so sure I’m not worthy of anyone’s love, the way he says he loves me.

I trust him. He shares so much with me, yet I hold back. There’s a part of me that’s always afraid that if I tell him about my past properly, he’ll turn from me, disgusted at what I am. But if I don’t, he’ll never really understand me. I owe it to him to open up, to at least try. He opens himself to me in every way possible, yet he no longer pushes me to do the same. I love him enough to let him in fully. It’s time.