Page 35 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

THE LAST BATH

" G et back in bed this instant," Kathy said.

Carmelo stood swaying in the hallway of their suite, one hand pressed against the damask wallpaper for support.

Without even a crutch to steady his battered frame, he looked like a wounded gladiator refusing to yield.

The afternoon light through the tall windows revealed the full extent of his injuries—purple bruises blooming across his ribs like dark flowers, his left eye still swollen despite a week of healing.

If she'd been delayed any longer with Janey, she feared he would have attempted the stairs alone.

"I mean it, Melo!" She pointed at him with fierce authority.

"I'm fine, dammit. I smell like shit, and it's hot as Hades in that room," he huffed, though perspiration beaded his forehead from the simple effort of standing. "Where were you? You've been gone for over an hour."

She hurried to slip her arm around his waist, feeling him lean gratefully into her warmth as she guided him back toward their sanctuary.

Their upgraded accommodations were a world apart from their previous lodgings since leaving Aunt Janey’s house.

This place had high ceilings adorned with ornate plasterwork, burgundy velvet drapes framing tall French doors that opened onto a wrought-iron balcony, and elegant chaise lounges upholstered in cream silk.

The pièce de résistance was the adjoining bathing chamber with its magnificent clawfoot tub—a luxury that proclaimed him New Orleans' newest champion.

Carmelo was a hero for defeating the Klan.

She helped him settle on the edge of their four-poster bed, the fine linen sheets still rumpled from his restless sleep. "I can prepare the tub and bathe you properly," she said, kneeling gracefully to remove his worn leather shoes. "I'd already planned to do so."

"Where were you?" he insisted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge.

She looked up from unlacing his boots, noting the tension in his jaw. "I told you—I had to see Janey. She's agreed to escort me to the train station tomorrow morning."

"And I told you Caesar and I would take you!" The words erupted with startling vehemence, causing her to freeze.

She studied his face properly for the first time since returning, seeing past the physical pain to something far deeper. Raw anguish swam in his dark eyes, and tears threatened to spill over his bruised cheeks. Understanding dawned like sunrise breaking through storm clouds.

"What is it, Melo ? What's truly the problem?”

Carmelo wiped roughly at a tear sliding down his battered face, turning toward the window where golden afternoon light painted squares on the room. "I'm not angry with you—I'm furious with myself. I hate myself. Hate myself!”

Kathy stood to settle beside him on the bed, placing a gentle hand on his muscled thigh. “No, you don’t. No! Stop saying that.”

"I nearly died. For what? For their entertainment? For money that goes to my father, not us? I can't share anything with you.” His voice fractured like breaking glass. "What about what I want? What about what I need? I need you , Kathy. We are here and we are husband and wife, then… I go… and… I’m not… I’m sorry. ”

She put her hand over his and dropped her head on his shoulder. "We have our plan, remember? We discussed this. In a few more years, when?—"

"Fuck the plan!" The words tore from his throat with devastating finality.

"Fuck all of it! I made the money now. Let's take it. I know where the men are keeping the money bags. Let’s take it and run, Kat.

Tonight. Let's disappear and never stop. Just go!!” His hands clenched into fists.

"I can't keep riding this carousel—happiness, then loneliness, then despair, then hope, then none. This endless waiting is destroying us and me. They are killing me!”

Kathy stood and gathered his head against her stomach, feeling his powerful arms circle her hips as he buried his face in the soft fabric of her dress. She stroked his dark hair, still damp with anguish.

Everyone told her to run—Janey, Debbie, and now Carmelo.

What truly held her back? She closed her eyes, searching her soul, and the answer crystallized with painful clarity.

She loved him beyond reason, but she could never abandon her parents.

Her future with Carmelo had to include them, or there could be no future at all.

The truth formed on her lips, but she swallowed it. Some confessions were too cruel to voice.

"Can I please take care of you?" she asked instead, lifting his face in her palms until his wounded eyes met hers. "Let me love you the way you deserve. Okay. Let’s not waste this time.”

“But—the money…”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips to silence him.

“That money will come at a price. They won’t let us get far with it. They’ll kill us, Melo.”

He nodded, the gesture heavy with surrender and trust. She kissed his forehead tenderly, then moved toward the bathing chamber.

Their suite boasted modern amenities—hot and cold running water.

As she turned the brass taps, she could hear the familiar sounds from the cobblestone street below: children calling up to their window, "Champ! Hey, Champ!"

Carmelo would shuffle to the balcony despite his injuries, tossing coins to his young admirers. The gesture never failed to make her heart swell with pride, but ache with longing to share this life with him longer.

She filled the magnificent tub with water cool enough to soothe his battered muscles, adding drops of salts and oil she'd purchased from a French healer on Royal Street.

When she returned, he sat exactly where she'd left him, staring at his hands. "Come," she said softly, helping him stand. "Let me wash away the pain."

She guided him slowly to the clawfoot tub, where late afternoon light filtered through frosted glass, casting everything in a dreamy, golden haze. With infinite care, she helped him out of his remaining clothes, her fingers gentle over his wounded skin.

The hot water embraced him like a lover's caress as she eased him into the tub; his groan of relief was an echo off the tiled walls. She knelt beside the porcelain edge, rolling up the sleeves of her cotton dress, and began the tender ritual.

Using a soft sea sponge, she traced the contours of his body with patience, washing away dried perspiration, soothing inflamed bruises, loving every inch of him back to wholeness.

Her touch was both maternal and sensual, healing and arousing, as she worked the lavender-scented soap into rich lather across his shoulders and chest.

"Does this hurt?" she whispered, her fingers trailing along a particularly angry bruise spanning his ribs.

"Nothing hurts when you touch me," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed in blissful surrender.

She washed his hair with infinite care, her nails gently massaging his scalp, then poured warm water from her pitcher that cascaded over his head. He leaned into her touch like a man dying.

The silence between them was sacred, broken only by the gentle splash of water and his contented sighs. She traced the strong line of his jaw, now softened by healing, and pressed tender kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

"I love you," she whispered against his ear, the words carrying all the promises she couldn't make, all the futures she couldn't guarantee. “Nothing and no one can ever change it.”

His hand found hers beneath the warm water, their fingers interlacing. " Ti amo anch'io, " he replied, his voice thick with emotion. I love you too.

As she rinsed the soap from his skin, watching the water carry away the physical evidence of his ordeal, Kathy memorized every detail: the way candlelight flickered across the water's surface, the sound of his breathing deepening into a peaceful rhythm, and the feel of his skin, warm and alive, beneath her palms.

This was their last night for months, perhaps longer. Tomorrow would bring farewells and separate trains carrying them to different worlds. But tonight, in this perfumed sanctuary, they had this—love distilled to its purest essence, expressed through the simple act of one soul caring for another.

She would carry this moment through all the lonely nights ahead: this perfect communion between two hearts that refused to break, no matter how far apart the world forced them to be.

When the water began to grow cooler, she helped him stand, wrapping him in thick towels warmed by the window. She dried him with the same care she'd used to bathe him, pressing kisses to newly revealed skin, whispering endearments that had no English translation.

Later, as they lay entwined in their bed, the sounds of Bourbon Street filtering through the French doors, she listened to his breathing settle into the deep rhythm of peaceful sleep. His arms held her close, as if he could keep her with him through sheer will.

Sleep came.

Later

Was it a dream? Carmelo hadn’t known sleep without pain since the fight.

His eyes opened slowly, drawn awake by gentle kisses brushing softly against his face.

Kathy’s eyes were glistening with tears; she'd clearly been awake and crying.

He recognized those tears—the same tears she'd shed the last time they parted.

Now it was Kathy who felt the agony of impending separation.

Desire surged through him urgently, his body responding so powerfully that it hardly surprised him. He wanted her desperately, craving the comfort and intimacy that only she could offer. Attempting to rise and move over her, Kathy's hand gently pressed against his chest, stopping him.

“No,” she whispered gently. “You can’t. The doctor said no.”

“Please,” he begged softly, “I need you.”

“I need you too,” she replied tenderly, pushing him back down. “But lie still.”

He persisted briefly, placing hurried kisses along her neck and trying again to shift above her, but she pressed firmly against his chest once more.