Page 21 of Irreplaceable
“Thank you,” she sighed, turning to look at me with a glazed smile.
I chuckled, a pleasant hum spreading its way through my limbs. “Do you always thank someone after having sex?”
She screwed up her features. “Um, no, actually. I think that was a first.” She covered her face with her hands. “And that was…embarrassing.”
“It was—” I pulled her hands away from her face, kissing her cheeks before straightening “—my pleasure.” I smirked. “Thank you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She shook her head. “My ankle is fine, though I’m sure other places will ache later.” She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, tantalizing me with that simple move.
I picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, where we showered—Harper sitting on the built-in seat while I stood—and then I wrapped her up in one of the bamboo robes. I swept her into my arms and carried her back upstairs, depositing her on the bed. A gentle breeze made the curtains billow, and she flopped back against the mattress with a satisfied smile.
I joined her and then used the phone on the nightstand to call down to the kitchen for some sustenance. While we waited for the food, I asked her about her bracelet. It was similar to a symbol my dad would often draw to remind me that progress wasn’t always linear. And that everything I did took me closer to my goals, even if it didn’t always feel like it. But surely…she couldn’t have known that about me. No one knew that except Val.
We ate in bed, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever done anything so hedonistic. It wasn’t the food that made me feel that way; it was the company. The sense that we had all the time in the world, with nowhere to be and nothing to do.
A while later, Harper smoothed her hand over my back, her fingers tracing the patterns of my tattoos. I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time. She’d hesitate any time she came to one of my small scars but then quickly resumed her exploration. I lost track of time, of any cares I had until she said, “Tell me about your tattoos?”
She was quiet, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance the only noise. I opened my eyes and let out a deep breath. “What about them?”
“Well, I can read some of them.” She ran her nail over my shoulder and down my bicep, the sensation both electrifying and soothing. “But I want to know why you got them. What they mean to you.”
I rolled onto my back, giving her a better look. The sheet shifted, revealing her breasts. I trailed a finger over her shoulder, circling one nipple then another. Her skin was so beautiful, so pure compared to mine, which was covered in ink. I marveled at the differences.
“They’re so fascinating.”
I laughed, pulling her into my arms as I peppered her with kisses. “I think you’re pretty fascinating.”
She softened into my embrace, fitting perfectly. Everything about this—about her—seemed right. Which also seemed crazy. Even so, there was a connection I couldn’t deny.
“Some are for my family.” I released her and indicated to a few tattoos.
“Who’s Sofia?” Her tone was hesitant, gentle, yet questioning.
“My mamma.” I swallowed. Most people knew everything about my life, down to the brand of underwear I wore. Or at least they thought they did. It was almost strange to have to share about myself.
Harper slid her hand over my heart, her palm warm on my skin. “That’s right. You’re a mama’s boy, aren’t you?”
I chuckled and tucked my arm behind my head. “We’re close, yes. Especially since my papà died.”
“I’m sorry. Losing a loved one is never easy.”
I nodded, swallowing back my emotion. “My father always pushed me to do better, be better. Without him,” I sighed, “I wouldn’t be the man I am today.”
I could tell she had a million questions ready to burst from her lips. So, I said, “He’s the one who encouraged me to become fluent in English. He’s the reason I have this tattoo.” I indicated to my chest. “To remind me of what I stand for.”
She propped herself up on her elbow, studying my chest as she swirled her finger around the design there. “And what do you stand for, Enzo?”
My voice was low when I spoke. “Quando finisce la partita il re ed il pedone finiscono nella stessa scatola.”
She furrowed her brow, and I wanted to kiss away her confusion. “When you finish the game…the king and the pawn end up in the same box?”
“We all meet the same end.”
“That’s…true.” I tried to read her expression and failed.
“In the end, money, power…none of it means anything,” I explained. “The only thing that matters is how you treat people.”
“Mm. Well, you’ve definitely treated me very well.”