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He allowed me to get a little closer before his feet seemed to turn into fins and he whooshed away from me. Far enough I could not catch the sucker!

He shook even harder with laugher. “This is what the wa te r horse would do.”

“The war horse would do!” I lunged for him, and he allowed me to dunk him underneath the water. When he came up, he showed me his teeth, chomping them at me, and then went for me again.

I was not even fooling myself when I attempted to get away from him. I could not run as fast as he could, nor could I swim as fast as he could. Physically, he was more powerful than me in all ways. He was more powerful than the average man in all ways.

“I am nothing but dinner.” I fixed his hair when he took me in his arms and began to float me around.

He sucked against the pulse in my neck. “The only sustenance I need for the rest of my life. Right here. In my arms. Pressed against my lips.”

I closed my eyes, melting into his arms, while he chauffeured me around the pool.

I muttered something about being afraid the comb was going to break in my hair, this was how tangled it was, and he moved us closer to the bank where he handed me the soap.

We took turns washing each other, and after, he lifted me out of the pool and sat me on a large rock, right where a beam of sun landed.

I basked in it while he ran up the rocks to the cave.

When he came back, he had my hairbrush. I went to take it from him, but he shook his head.

“Allow me to do this for you, my wife,” he said in Italian.

“ Sì ,” I breathed out, standing. “This will make it easier.”

“On you or on me?”

“Both,” I said.

He was tender as he worked through the knots, however, the soap we used must have softened my hair, or perhaps it was the water. The bristles caught a few times, but I did not anticipate him taking long or a hair headache from all the tangles.

He cleared his throat. “My mamma almost died when I was younger.”

My eyes fluttered open and I stiffened, but I instantly forced myself to relax. If he suspected any pity from me, he would clam up. I said nothing, only breathed out easily, although my heart was thundering.

He cleared his throat again. “Olivier Nemours attempted to kill her when he took her from Natchitoches. He was driving fast in a car, and it hit a tree. My old man went after them, but it was almost too late. Mamma was in bad shape. My old man, too, only because she was. When he didn’t think she’d make it, he was going to leave us too. ”

Ah , I breathed out. There it is. The murky area I always sensed from him. The hurtful truth covered in dark silence.

“This must have been,” I whispered, “very hard for you and your siblings to accept.”

I could not see him, but I sensed his shrug. “We all dealt with it in different ways.”

“You began to race.”

He grew quiet at that, and I shivered when the tender caress of the bristles touched my scalp and then my back. He was taking extra care not to hurt me.

“I’ve always raced. Even before birth. Mamma told me so. I realized after finding you that I was always racing to you.”

“ Bene ,” I whispered. “I was so lonely without you.”

He breathed out, I heard it and felt it as he came forward and kissed my shoulder.

I cleared my throat. “I would like to keep designing and creating,” I whispered; perhaps his parents were bringing up thoughts of my own. “I was thinking, perhaps I could have my own shop in Grosseto or use the work area you set up for me at our home.”

“Not in Wyoming.”

It was not a question, but I answered it as if it was. “No,” I agreed. “Not in Wyoming. This is our space to disappear into each other.”

We grew quiet after this, and I melted into the feeling of having my hair combed. I had never had that before. Or did not remember it, if I had.

After my husband was done, I swayed on my feet from how relaxing it felt. He lifted me off them, carrying me up to the cave. We said nothing as I set out the blanket tucked inside of the box. It was cool from whatever ice packets had kept the food fresh.

Mariano explained that all of the cuisine was traditional. I especially enjoyed the duruka, which was a type of wild asparagus, and vudi vakasoso, a Fijian dessert made with plantains drizzled with caramel, along with fresh fruit.

“Here.” I pushed a piece of pineapple at him. “You are not eating.”

“Eat, Annie,” he said, but he took my offering. “You need it.”

“I enjoy feeding you.” I offered him a piece of banana.

He pushed it back at me. “I just had a piece.”

All right. I breathed out. “One for me.” I ate it. Then I offered him another. “One for you.”

He took it and then looked straight, as if he was staring through the waterfall. Then he roared with laughter.

“What?” I looked all around, at first, not sure where the sound had come from.

The sound of his joy echoed around the cave. I could not help but feel the truth in it. It was as soft as the blanket underneath me, but the foundation of it was as sturdy as this cave.

Me.

I was his joy.

His healing, as he called me.

“Two bites for my wife,” he said between bouts of laugher. “One for me.”

I laughed, the sound of mine joining in with his. “I am hungry!” I almost felt ravenous, as if the food we had eaten was only a snack. So…. I had snuck another piece to his one while he was not looking. He had caught me. Set me up, most likely.

He could not catch his breath. He pulled me in, kissing my temple, then slid his hand underneath my hair and started to massage my neck. The piece of fruit I plucked from the platter stilled. My hand hung. I brought my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them to keep steady.

He was amazing with his hands.

He was kneading and getting deep into my tissue. Then his fingers would become light, brushing up and down my spine, as if he were painting me with caressing strokes. I made indecent noises.

His breath washed across my skin, adding to the melody of feelings, and the cave suddenly felt warmer than it had.

My eyes closed, and when the piece of fruit dropped from my hand, his arms wrapped around me, and he pulled us both down onto the blanket.

He rolled his shirt up and set it underneath my head as a pillow.

Lying on his side, he propped his head on his hand.

I moved the “pillow” some and we shared, our heads as close as our bodies.

I sighed.

He sighed.

I yawned, and my eyelids felt weighed down. I almost felt intoxicated. It was a wonderful spot to take a nap.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Far removed from reality.

However, I was moved to speak by something I felt as if I had no control over.

“This place is magical,” I whispered, moving my body even closer to his, although physically, it felt as if we were melting into each other. I needed deeper. “I can feel it in my bones, Marito mio . You?”

“ Sì ,” he said, his voice low, raspy, and it felt as if the tone of it was moving against my skin as his hands were—a mixture between smooth and calloused.

He looked into my eyes at the same time I turned my eyes to his. His moved my hair away from my face, stroking my skin, before he closed his eyes and kissed me.

I was even more ravenous for this.

Whatever “this” was that existed between us.

Our mouths were hungry, our tongues starved, and his moved so deeply inside, I wondered if he was hitting muscle or bone, or someplace far, far deeper.

My soul.

I could not breathe, but I was.

It felt as if his breath was mine.

This was what I needed .

Craved.

Was ravenous for: the connection between us to take hold and refuse to allow us to let go.

He entered me, slowly, our eyes never leaving each other’s. It felt better than what we were doing. I could feel my soul and his, entangling in the magical cave, a part of us forever left behind. As if we were marking the spot for our own. Leaving behind a print that was his, mine, ours.

It was overwhelming, the depth of emotion moving between his body and mine. Because it was not on the outside of who we were, but the inside. I felt him deep inside of me, deeper than his cock.

I gasped for breath, my hands reaching out, holding onto him. “Mariano,” I barely got out.

“This is it, my wife,” he spoke in Italian, his voice low, even rougher than before. He stilled, groaning. It was a sound from someplace deep inside his chest. It vibrated in his throat. “Hold on to me. Hold on to me even when you feel like letting go.”

“I will never let go,” I barely got out. I could not tell if it was cool tears gliding down my cheeks or the water from the fall. “I see you, feel you, and…I could not. I could not. You are so deep inside of me…” A low moan came from my own chest, and he sucked in a breath.

“Tell me, my wife,” he said in Italian, “who do you belong to. Whose rib is inside of your chest. Whose blood makes yours sing. Whose marrow are you imbedded in.”

“Yours— ah .” The way he was moving inside of me…I felt every glide of his cock as if my skin had been turned inside out, and every sensitive nerve was his for the touching. It was as if he was softening my shell so he could find me in the depths of my soul.

He longed, demanded, to be there forever, with me.

I could not hold on any longer. He did not expect me to. We came together at the same time, our mouths kissing, our bodies shattering.

He kissed me all over the face before he pulled out of me.

He was still there.

He would always be there.

I clung to him, refusing to allow a breath between us. He kissed my head. Cleared his throat. “This place,” he said, his voice quiet. “Some says it’s magical. Supposedly, people come here to find out if love is true.”

“This makes complete sense. I feel…” My fingers danced up and down his arm, and he shivered at my touch, goosebumps rising. “If anyone tried to take you from me, I would go feral.”

“Like a piece of fruit from your fruit platter.”

I turned to him and grinned. However, it was the opposite of what was going on inside of me. I felt feral at the thought of losing him. “How do you feel, Marito mio ?”

“I would rip someone’s throat out if they even thought about taking you from me.” He kissed over my heart and said, “ Mine .”

“This is…” I breathed out. “I do not know if it is normal or not, what exists between us. It is too strong for even me to hold, and it is inside of me, yet I could not live without the weight of it. It keeps me rooted here when I feel as though I could fly… I, ah…” I made a frustrated noise, attempting to explain it.

“I got you, Annie,” he said.

“Yes, but I want to explain this…somehow. Put it into words.”

“Some things don’t need words,” he said. “They just are.”

“This is life’s mysteries,” I said.

“Yeah.” He leaned down and set his lips on mine. The kiss was light, airy, but soul branding. “They need no explanation, as long as we understand they exist.”

“I like that,” I whispered. “I love that.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “As much as you love me?”

“This is another mystery,” I whispered. “I do not understand how one heart can hold the amount of love I have for you. It keeps…stretching inside of my chest to accommodate it, yet, at times, I fear it might burst.”

“Same, Annie.” He sighed, setting a hand over his heart, rubbing it against his chest. “Fucking same.”

I fixed his hair, all the pieces that had gone rogue, and as we held each other close, the light in the cave started to change.

It was bright white, at first, but as the sun began to soften, it seemed to melt into the waterfall and become a kaleidoscope of colors, the most prominent gold.

I lifted my hands, allowing the tender light to play on all three of my rings.

The diamonds glimmered against the gold bands. The red diamond sparked like fire.

“Always,” I whispered as I drifted off into a cloud of dreams.

When my eyes fluttered open, the light in the cave had changed again. It was glowing, the rose-gold color almost neon. I could tell evening was upon us. The edges of the cave were starting to bruise with purple before complete darkness took over.

“Time to go, Annie,” Mariano said to me, slipping the shirt I had packed for him over my head.

I tucked my arms in and yawned. He had already collected our things. He swung my beach bag over his shoulder, then picked me up, carrying me down the rocks.

All I could do was stare at his face. When his eyes met mine, I grinned. Then I pointed toward the pool as we left it behind.

“My suit!”

“No fucking worries,” he said, his grin much darker than mine. “Guerriero the wa te r horse ate it. It was barely even a snack. It was a fucking tease.”

I exploded with laughter, laughing all the way back to our bure , until he kissed me again and I faded into… him, as the sun fades into the darkness.