Page 157 of Pietro

Then starts again.

I pull back slightly, just enough to see his face properly.

"You know," I say, keeping my voice light, "sometimes a girl needs to talk without being interrupted."

His eyes narrow. "I just?—"

"See? You're doing it again." I press my finger to his lips. "My turn."

He goes completely still.

"You terrify me too," I admit. "Not because of what you do or who you are. But because of how much I need you. How much space you take up in my head, my heart, my everything."

His hands tighten on my waist.

"When I walked into your office that first day, I was running. I wasn't looking for anything except survival. Definitely wasn't looking for a bossy Italian who can't organize paperwork to save his life."

"I organize fine?—"

"Shh." I press my finger to his lips again. "Still my turn."

He bites my finger gently in retaliation, but stays quiet.

"You want to know what I remember from that first day? You looked at me like I was a puzzle you couldn't solve. Like I didn't fit into any category you understood. And for someone who'd spent her whole life being exactly what everyone expected was..."

I search for the right word.

"Revolutionary," I finally say. "You saw me as me. My broken parts but also me. "

"You're not broken," he says against my finger.

"Neither are you." I move my hand to cup his cheek. "We're both a little cracked, maybe. But that's how the light gets in, right?"

He makes a sound that's half laugh, half something else. "Quoting Leonard Cohen at me now?"

"Would you prefer Dante? I know you have that book hidden in your office."

"How do you—never mind. Of course you know."

"I know everything about you, Pietro Sartori." I lean in closer. "I know you touch Pablo's tattoo when you think no one's looking. I know you can't sleep without checking the locks three times."

"Stalker."

"I know you're terrified of being happy because you think you don't deserve it. Because you think Pablo should be here instead of you."

His whole body tenses.

"I know you think loving me is another way to get me killed. That everyone you care about ends up hurt or dead." I frame his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at me. "But here's what you don't know—I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."

"Nora—"

"I love you too. I love your stupid temper and your overprotective bullshit and the way you pretend you don't care when you care too much. I love that you're violent and gentle and broken and whole all at once. I love you, Pietro. All of you. Even the parts you think are monsters."

He crashes his mouth to mine, and it's not gentle. It's desperate and possessive and full of everything we can't say. His hands tangle in my hair.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"Say it again," he demands.