Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
I'm so—-
Aaaaaah.
They came at the same time, Sarica crying out as he suckled hard on her neck.
If only.
If only this moment could last forever.
If only.
But time was unstoppable, and Sarica's tremulous words were the first to break the silence between them.
"I already know it's you, Giancarlo."
Sarica's voice shook as her fingers found his face in the darkness, tracing the new scars, memorizing the changes sixteen months had wrought. "So p-please let me see you. And I p-promise. I won't ask any questions you don't want to answer. It doesn't matter what you say or don't say." Her voice broke, the sound piercing his heart. "I'm going to wait for you the way you waited for me all those years."
Sarica waited for Giancarlo to speak with desperate hope. But instead of words, he chose to answer her with a simple little click of a light switch, and the sound was everything.
She started to sob as she finally saw him clearly, her trembling fingers tracing the chiseled lines of the face that had consumed her thoughts and dreams for the past six months.
Thank You, God.
Thank You.
She couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop thanking God enough because she knew this would have been impossible without Him.
The silver in Giancarlo's hair had spread slightly; a wider streak that made him look even more distinguished despite his leaner and harder frame. But what broke her heart the most was his eyes, oh God.
His eyes were still the most precious windows to his soul, and in it, she already knew just how much he had suffered in the sixteen months that he was gone.
She traced his lips with care, a part of her still in shock that the Giancarlo before her was no longer an illusion. "It's really you," she couldn't help but whisper, and a sardonic smile twisted over the lips she had just touched.
"Now, you have doubts?" His tone was mocking, but she could hear the strain beneath it, could see the muscle ticking in his jaw.
"I love you." Sarica felt foolish for how desperately she needed to say them. But this time she could see his beautiful face, and her heart hurt at how his features hardened at her words.
"It seems I need to make myself clear."
"Giancarlo—-"
Sarica's voice faltered as he disentangled her limbs and put her down on her feet.
"The only reason I've shown myself is for you to understand that this has to end now." Each word seemed to cost him, seemed to carve new lines of pain around his mouth. "I want you to leave—"
"Why?"
His jaw clenched. "What happened to not asking questions I don't want to answer?"
"Because I'm sure that's not one of them." She stepped closer, heart pounding against her ribs. "Your mind says you don't want to, but your heart—"
"Don't."
"But I lo—"
Giancarlo was gone before she could finish, the door closing behind him with terrible finality.
But this time, the sound didn't break her.
This time, it made her think.
Because she knew her Giancarlo—knew him in ways that sixteen months couldn't erase. Knew the man who had once moved heaven and earth to protect her would never cause her this kind of pain without reason.
And as she stood there, surrounded by the lingering scent of him, pieces started falling into place. The careful way he touched her, even when trying to push her away.
The pain in his eyes when she said she loved him.
The way his hands shook when she got too close to whatever truth he was hiding.
No, her white knight hadn't changed—not where it mattered.
And the only thing clear to Sarica now was that this time...
It was her turn to wait.
Her turn to hope.
Her turn to have faith for both of them.
Chapter Six
When Giancarlo returned the next day, they fell into an unspoken truce. She didn't speak of her feelings, he didn't ask her to leave. Every second was precious...because neither of them knew how long it would last.
Sarica couldn't help but notice how thoroughly she still had him wrapped around her finger. She would absently mention something she craved, and it would be handed to her on a silver platter, literally. He would notice her shiver, and she didn't have to say a word after that. He would pull her into his arms and warm her up in the way only he could do so. Maybe one day he would figure out that she was not as sensitive to the cold as she used to?
But the thing that gave Sarica the most hope was how he kept finding excuses to touch her—-which was the exact opposite of the old Giancarlo, who had taken pains not to even be alone in the same room with her for years.
From the moment he entered their room, he would be holding and touching her in some way. Not a second would pass that they were not in contact. If she were to read a book, he wanted her to do so while curled up on his lap. If he caught her yawning, he would insist that she sleep in his arms and nowhere else. He insisted on bathing her and drying her hair. Dressing and feeding her. He insisted on doing everything for her and with her.