Page 20 of A Love Most Brutal (Morelli Family #2)

MAXIM

When I find my way back to the room a half hour later, after a short walk agonizing about another completely fumbled interaction with my wife, I find her submerged in a bubble bath, her hair piled on her head in a bun.

The sight of her naked shoulders above the surface of the water is enough to necessitate adjusting myself in my pants.

She makes me feel seventeen, or like an animal, want bubbling about me and making me tense.

I’ve never had the particular urge to run through the wilderness in pursuit of a person until meeting Marianna Morelli. Marianna Orlov , now.

“How is it?” I ask. She doesn’t startle, just closes the paperback I was reading earlier and glances over her shoulder at me. As I approach, I see a hickey I left above her collar bone and the necklace I gave her still around her neck.

“Boring. Too much sand worm, not enough kissing. You should read books with more sex.”

“Noted.”

She gestures to the large, jetted tub. “Do you have one of these in your house in Boston?”

“What, a bathroom?”

Marianna cracks a smile and it is my personal victory of the day.

“Why, do you want one?” I ask. She shrugs, the movement lifting the tops of her breasts just out of the water. I would buy her as ridiculous of a bathtub as she wanted—I’d get her multiple, even. I would buy her a house—a whole building—full of tubs this size if she asked. Whatever she wants.

I don’t know what possesses me, maybe lust or an unconscionable desire to be close to her, but I toe off my shoes and strip off my shirt before climbing into the bathtub facing her.

Even with the size, my limbs are long enough that there’s still some maneuvering of her legs between mine before I can settle.

If her bright, wide eyes are any indication, I think I’ve surprised her and much as I have myself. I told myself that I wouldn’t seek intimacy with her again, at least not until I could get my thoughts under control where she is concerned. Easier said than done.

It’s only that I have an unending need for her, worse now that I’ve tasted her, and she’s made it very clear that there is not, nor will ever be, anything as tangible as love between us. I saw her desire, though. I felt it.

Maybe desire can be enough to sustain me.

Under the water, I stroke a line up her calf and revel in the pink that rises on her cheeks.

“Maxim?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not supposed to wear clothes in the bath,” Marianna whispers.

I stare into her brown eyes for the space of a dozen heartbeats before I push a lock of curly hair behind her ear.

Her words feel like a challenge, if not an invitation, so I stand and unbutton my shorts, pulling the soaked fabric down my legs until I’m bare in front of her, evidence of my arousal unmistakeable between us.

I sink back down into the hot water, the suds rising to almost the tops of her shoulders as I sit.

“About last night,” Marianna starts, then glances away from me. “It was—fun, but I know sometimes, for some people, sex can be. . .more than just sex.”

Willing my jaw to relax, I nod for her to continue.

“It’s not for me.” She looks vulnerable, concern on her face, like I might be angry at her for this after she’s promised me multiple times that she can never love me. “Just because it appears we are compatible , doesn’t mean something more.”

As much as I would love to hear about our compatibility and her inability to love me, I can count about a dozen things I would rather do instead.

I reach under the surface and grab her hips, tugging her in one motion toward me, disrupted water splashing over my chest and some over the edge of the tub onto the tile.

Her face now just inches from mine tilts up.

“I thought we were pretending,” I muse. I lower my mouth until I’m just a breath above hers, then wait for her to close the distance.

Her eyes flit down to my mouth, and she’s about to when a loud buzzing pulls her attention from me.

She looks to the ledge where her phone is lit up and vibrating with a call.

I want to tell her to ignore it, to kiss me instead, to let me pull her body against mine and pretend again for the rest of the night, but when she sees the name on the screen, her face turns from confused to concerned.

She answers the phone and puts it on speaker.

“Sean?”

I glare at the screen as if her brother-in-law might feel my ire through the phone for the interruption.

“How’s Mexico?” Sean asks, his Boston accent thicker than the rest of the family. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What do you want?” Marianna says instead of answering either question.

“I wasn’t going to call you, since you’re honeymooning and all, but Nate said you would poison me if I didn’t.”

“Sean,” she starts, her tone a warning.

“Willa’s in labor,” Sean says.

Mary stands from the tub immediately, sudsy water sliding down her naked body as she steps out of the tub and reaches for a fluffy robe.

“Is she at the hospital?”

“Yeah, we just got checked-in.”

Relief shows briefly on her face before she goes on, all business. “How far is she?”

“That’s the thing, the baby never flipped the right way, so they have to take her back for a C-section.”

Marianna stops moving and stares blankly at the floor, processing this news. Her eyes are wide, her face draining of color. I stand, too, and pull the drain on the tub.

“Mare?” Sean asks. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Marianna shakes herself and pulls the robe tight before securing it around her waist. “I’m fine. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“What? No, you don’t have to?—”

Marianna cuts the call short before he can protest more, and when Sean tries to call back a minute later, she rejects the call.

Her eyes track around the room, her breathing sped up as she seems at a loss for what to do.

With a towel wrapped around my waist, I place my hand on her cheek and force her to look up at me.

She does, her chest rising and falling like it did on Christmas Eve when I found her in the club.

“Breathe,” I command. I take a deep breath through my nose and release it out my mouth for her to follow. She does, and after four of these, she appears less frantic. “Willa’s going to be okay. Now you go pack your bag. I’ll make the calls. Okay?”

Marianna nods and whispers, “Okay.”

I squeeze her shoulder, wanting to pull her into me and make her feel better, but I know what will make her feel most at ease is getting back to Boston. So, less than twelve hours after arriving, I make the calls to take us home.

Seven hours later, we are back in Boston and Willa is recovering in a hospital room after the delivery of a new baby—a girl—who, Sean assured over text, is healthy and bonding with her mother.

I got Marianna to eat on the plane, though she was too tense to eat her usual amount. The flight was less than five hours, but she didn’t sleep, instead opting to pace around, check her phone, read a couple pages of my book, and pace around more.

The nervous energy in her body is palpable as we stride through the hospital.

The only clothes she had were the items Willa packed for her, so even though it’s below freezing outside, Marianna wears a short, pink sundress with one of my sweatshirts over it, the sleeves cuffed three times to fit right.

I have a sick pleasure in seeing her in my clothes again, and idly wonder how I can manage to keep her wearing them as often as possible.

“She’s okay,” I remind her as the elevator makes a slow climb to the sixth floor. Marianna blinks to attention, as if her mind was elsewhere. “Both of them.”

“I know, but—” Marianna shakes her head, a curl falling onto her forehead. I refrain from righting it. “I used to think everyone would die if I wasn’t there to make sure they didn’t. She could’ve.”

I inhale to tell her that this wouldn’t have been her fault if Willa had been hurt, but the elevator doors slide open and Marianna is off down the hall. Is that what she carries? Why she insisted her family need more protection? Because she holds the pressure on her own shoulders?

When we reach Willa’s room, she’s awake, sitting propped up in her bed.

Vanessa and Claire are there brushing and braiding Willa’s hair while Sean and Nate stand in the corner both looking at a bundle I assume is the new baby.

The room is larger than most hospital rooms I’ve seen, but the addition of myself would make it crowded.

I lean in the doorway and watch as Marianna reaches the other side of her sister’s bed to the shock of all three Morelli women.

Willa exclaims that we should have stayed in Mexico, but all of the Morelli women have tears in their eyes as Marianna hugs her oldest sister.

“You’re okay?” she demands.

“Oh, Mary,” Willa says, and squeezes Marianna tighter. “We’re alright.”

Claire rubs Marianna’s back and Vanessa wipes her cheeks, smiling, but when she looks at me, I see a sadness in her eyes.

Vanessa kisses both of her sisters on the head, then nods at me, which I assume is a command to wait for her in the hall.

Already feeling like I’m overstepping on the family moment, I am quick to retreat down the hall to a small waiting area where I can watch the morning sun rise in the sky.

“Sorry about your honeymoon,” Vanessa says behind me a few minutes later. She’s not in her usual sharp attire, instead casual and soft in a way I know she seldom gets to be in her position. She’ll soon have a baby of her own, the bump obvious beneath her sweater.

“Some things are more important.”

“Thank you for bringing her,” she says, quieter. I feel a second, heavier message in her eyes, one that confirms what I already believed: Marianna’s need to be here was about more than just the new baby. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our Mary is. . .a sensitive soul.”

Sensitive isn’t a word that I’d guess anyone other than her family has ever dared use in talking about Marianna Morelli. I understand it, though. Christmas Eve, I saw it as she fought to regain control of her emotions in the alley behind my club, and again last night when she got the call.

“She’s always been nervous—superstitious, even—but after our dad died,” Vanessa trails off as she looks back at the sky beyond the window. She drops her voice to just above a whisper. “Be patient with her.”

“I will.”

“I know,” Vanessa resets her posture and smiles, a habit I’ve seen from all the Morelli sisters.

Recentering and putting back on the masks they think they ought to have.

“I’m not stupid enough to think that I can control my sister’s decisions, but I wouldn’t have let you near her if I thought otherwise. ”

Vanessa’s faith in me feels unfounded, and she’d probably be less confident if she knew how deranged I feel when it comes to the youngest Morelli sister, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.

“Now come meet your new niece.”

We stay at the hospital for a couple of hours before Marianna offers to spend the rest of the day with the older kids at Vanessa’s house. She says goodbye to the new baby, whose name, we learned, is Clara, and Marianna squeezes Willa’s hands for a long second before leaving the room.

I follow her around like a dog—my schedule is cleared for the next two days after all—but when we get to her sister’s house, my phone rings with an incoming call from Sasha.

“Miss the beach yet?” he asks.

I don’t tell him that we didn’t even get to see the beach in our few hours in Mexico. He knows.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Colton Tenneson called. Said he heard about your restaurant getting shot up and offered to buy the building before you take on repairs.”

My eyes narrow at the memory; Marianna saving us by observation and intuition alone, the stomach churning fear I felt imagining another bullet slicing through her body. The scar on her shoulder is a reminder that she was lucky last year.

Renovations on the restaurant are already underway with Morelli Construction, set to be completed in the next couple of weeks. The hotel has lost a good amount of money from the incident, but not enough that I’d be willing to part ways with it.

“On my honeymoon? He’s relentless.”

“He thought marriage might make you more agreeable. Opportunistic son of a bitch,” Alexei mutters.

“He was wrong. Did he tell you I saw him in Mexico?”

“I’ll be damned, he did not.” Alexei whistles. “He still wants to talk about the place by the water. Brought it up after I said you probably weren’t interested.”

“Absolutely not.”

I’d excused myself to take this call, but I can hear Marianna’s animated voice as she plays a game on the TV with her niece and nephew. They adore her plainly and completely.

“What’s his deal with that place anyway?” Alexei asks. “How many times can you say no before he gets it?”

Colton Tenneson has been asking after that property for two years now; it’s an abandoned textile factory that’s more of an eye sore than a prime investment. As friendly as he may seem, he resents my footprint in this city. Resents that I won’t work with him more.

I have no clue what he wants with the factory—perhaps he wants to gentrify another neighborhood—but I’m sentimental about the place. My dad used to use it as storage, and it’s there where he ultimately met his demise. I don’t wish to part with it.

“Tell him we’re reconsidering parts of our portfolio this summer and can get back to him then.

” It’s not completely a lie, though I know I will never sell to him.

The man isn’t involved in organized crime, but he might as well be a criminal, slimy as he is.

I’ve never liked him, though that may have more to do with the fact that my father loved him, and as a rule, I usually hate the things my father loved.

“Done. So, how was it, newlywed?” Sasha asks.

“What?” My mind goes first to the sex, and I won’t speak of it with him, but my mind supplies that if that’s what he wants to know, then the answer is that it destroyed me—I am an inhuman version of myself, remade into something much weaker and more feral because of it.

“Your first night married to the shadow. Does she snore? Does she even sleep?”

“She sleeps.” Marianna sleeps hard, sprawled on her stomach, curly hair fanned around her head. “I think you’ll like her.”

“I already do. You seen her fight?”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll check in tomorrow,” I tell him and say my goodbyes before hanging up to spend the rest of my afternoon off with Marianna and her two favorite thirteen year olds.