“It’s not your fault,” she replied, her voice scratchy. “I’m the one who’s sorry for being so weak.”

“You aren’t weak,” he said. “You have every right to be shaken up. Fuck, I’m shaken up. No one touches my girl unless she wants to be touched. That’s something my mom made sure we understood—a woman’s body is a temple, and you should never enter it without an invitation.”

He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. It was difficult to talk about, but he wanted to share this with her. “I don’t know details, but my mom was raped when she was young. She spent time volunteering as an advocate after that. My father still donates money to the center in Chicago where she worked.”

Haven scooted closer to him. “Wow.”

“That’s the reason I don’t want you to feel like we have to do anything. Your body is your temple, and I won’t come in it unless you want me to.” The moment the words left his lips he laughed to himself. “That sounds so fucking wrong. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Haven lifted her head to look at him. “What’s wrong about what you said?”

Of course she wouldn’t get the perverted connotation. “I don’t think now is the time to explain.”

She shrugged and laid her head back down.

The room was quiet except for the air whistling as it blew from the vent in the ceiling. Haven took one of Carmine’s hands and linked their fingers together, resting them at her chest. He felt her breath as her lips brushed across his swelling knuckles.

He smiled at the feel of her kiss. “What are you thinking, tesoro?”

“I’m wondering if, uh . . . It’s stupid.”

His curiosity grew. “Nothing you think is stupid.”

“Well, do you think . . .” She paused to take a deep breath. “Do you think you could ever love someone like me?” She whispered the question, and he froze. Before he could gather his thoughts and answer, Haven cut in again. “I told you it was stupid.”

Devastation shook her voice as she took his hesitation as rejection. She found the nerve to bring up a subject he wasn’t brave enough to broach, to utter the word love that terrified him so much, and instead of reassuring her he clammed up. “Haven, I could never love someone like you, because there isn’t anyone else like you. You’re one of a kind.”

* * *

The haunting melody filtered into Carmine’s subconscious, taunting him, as he watched his mom under the flickering streetlight of the vacant alley. Her words filtered past the gloomy song, her voice soft. “My sole,” she whispered. Her sun. She called him sole because he shined so brightly.

She laughed, drowning out the tortuous notes. It was such a beautiful night that she wanted to walk home, and Carmine trusted her so he didn’t argue. His mom was infallible. He would always believe in her.

It came out of nowhere, the chaos and mayhem. Images flashed before him, so fast and frenzied he could barely keep up. Tires screeching. The terror on her face. Voices cold, their words brutal.

“Run, Carmine!” she yelled. “Run, baby, and don’t stop!”

Her screams were loud in the night, but no one was around to help. Carmine stayed frozen, because he couldn’t leave without her. He didn’t want to go alone. He was her sole, her sun . . . He couldn’t bear to leave her in the dark.

“If you love me, Carmine Marcello, you’ll run,” she said as tears spilled from her eyes. He hesitated, terrified, but at the last second he fled.

“Shut her up!” a man yelled. “Do it quick!”

The petrifying, bone-chilling scream rang through the alley. Carmine’s steps waned, and he turned back around. They were hurting his mom. She needed him.

The men were shrouded in black, but in the flicker of the streetlight, he saw the flash of a face. It was a blur, a mosaic of scar tissue and hate as the loud bang of the gunshot ricocheted in his mind.

Startled, Carmine sat upright and clutched his chest as he tried to get his heart to slow down. Glancing beside him in the dim room, he saw Haven’s eyes were wide-open, her expression layered with concern.

Falling back onto the bed, he ran his hands down his face. Sweating and shaking, his breathing erratic, he half expected Haven to run when he reached out to her. She didn’t, though. Instead, she allowed him to squeeze her in a hug.

Tears built up as he cleared his throat. “I was eight, and it was my first piano recital. It was late when it was over, and my mom wanted to walk home. She didn’t want to wait for a car to pick us up. We took a shortcut through an alley, and a car pulled up—a black car with dark windows.”

He could still see it. Generic, another undistinguishable black sedan, but it stood out to him.

“I saw it and thought my father sent it for us, because he didn’t like us out without protection. But my mom knew. I don’t know how, but she did. She told me to leave, to go straight home. I didn’t want to, but she said if I loved her I’d run. And I fucking loved her, so I did. I ran.”

Hot tears burned his cheeks. He didn’t fight them—they’d come whether he wanted them to or not. “I made it to the end of the alley when she screamed, and I turned around in enough time to see him pull the trigger. She dropped as the second guy pointed a gun at me. The burning tore through me. At first, I seriously thought I was on fire. I hid behind a Dumpster at a pizzeria around the corner, too scared to go on. I thought they were following me. I thought I was gonna die.”

He paused to clear his throat, taking a deep breath. “The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. I’d never seen my father cry before that day. He just sat beside my bed, chanting, ‘It’s my fault,’ and fuck, I felt the same way. I ran. I left her there to die.”

He let out a shaky breath and squeezed Haven tightly, feeling her warmth and life. Her hand stroked his chest as she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “I ran, too, you know. My mama told me to run away and leave her. I only did it because she asked me to.”

“So you know the guilt I feel.”

She nodded. “But you didn’t let her down, Carmine. You did what she needed you to do.”

Carmine brushed away her tears. “And what’s that?”

“You survived.”

18

Time wore on, weeks passing as the chilly southern autumn spawned an unusually frigid winter. The football season ended so Carmine spent more time at home, he and Haven growing closer every day. Despite the coldness outside, despite the dreary weather, warmth and passion flourished inside the old plantation home as young love blossomed, unable to be contained.

Carmine and Haven would lie together, holding hands and embracing in the darkened bedroom after nightfall, away from prying eyes, away from a reality that couldn’t understand how two kids, broken and yearning, could find a way to somehow feel whole together.

One night, Carmine brought his lips to her ear. “Ti amo tantissimo, mia bella ragazza.”

Haven didn’t know what he was trying to say, but the sound of it made her heart beat wildly.

He kissed her as she lay on her back, his body moving with her, lips working frantically. She gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but he held back. Carmine stared into her eyes, searching for an answer to an unasked question. Haven wanted to know what he sought, but before she could ask, he seemed to find his answer.

The corner of his lips turned up, and he kissed her sweetly before whispering into her ear. “Let me make you feel good. Prometto di non danneggiarlo. I’ll only touch.”

She trembled at his words, her body igniting in a fire she’d never felt before. “I trust you.”

Carmine reached toward the nightstand and hit his stereo remote, soft classical music instantly filling the room. “Tell me to stop any time and I will.”

She laced her trembling fingers through his thick hair. Carmine’s lips moved down to her neck as he softly stroked her sides before pulling off her shirt. Haven closed her eyes, trying to relax, and shivered when she felt his warm breath against her bare stomach. He tasted her flesh, his tongue dipping inside her belly button, and she gasped as tingles coursed through her lower half.

Carmine took his time, kissing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. She squirmed, her moans mixing with the song pouring from the speakers. She had no idea what it was, no idea who performed it, but the melodic notes washed through her, accentuating every calculated touch of Carmine’s fingertips. His hands roamed her thighs, stroking her soft skin, before making their way up her torso. He slipped them beneath her, undoing her bra clasp with one swift experienced flick.

Surprised, Haven opened her eyes again and peeked up at him as he sat back on his knees. He smiled sheepishly as he pulled off her bra, discarding it on the floor. His eyes remained on hers for a moment before slowly, carefully, drifting down.

She tensed self-consciously as she thought of her scars. He could see every mark and blemish, the remnants of the countless beatings she’d endured at the hands of the first people who were supposed to protect her. She felt so raw and open, having never been so exposed to someone before.

She waited for him to react, for him to be repulsed and turn away, but instead he trailed his pointer finger down her chest, from the dip in her throat to between her breasts. He traced the small scars with his fingertips, drawing a pattern on her quivering stomach. “Bellisima,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The sound of his voice put her at ease. Sparks danced across her chest, her skin pebbling under his touch. The hand resting on her stomach drifted farther down, slipping under the waistband of her shorts. Haven could think of nothing and feel nothing but his touch, the sensations overwhelming her from head to toe. It only grew stronger when his hand rubbed the space between her thighs that, until that moment, she hadn’t realized desperately ached for his attention.

He pressed his lips to hers again as she swallowed a cry and arched her back. Jolts of electricity ran through her veins, tiny pop rock explosions igniting inside her. Her legs shook, her breathing erratic as the softest of whimpers forced their way from her throat.

Fisting the bedsheets, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, the sensations more intense than she imagined a simple touch could evoke. Her entire body was on fire, lava pooling beneath the surface and rushing through her bloodstream, warming her skin to a light pink flush.

Carmine whispered into her neck, his voice gritty. “Just feel it, hummingbird. Enjoy the flutters.”

The buildup intensified, growing stronger and stronger as Haven moved her hips, seeking more friction. Her body craved it, cried out for it, begging for more.

Groaning, Carmine pulled his mouth from her neck, his lips meeting hers as her body seized up before erupting in pleasure. Shockwaves went off inside her, shooting down her legs and up through her stomach as she convulsed with her first orgasm. She stammered, trying to call his name, but nothing coherent passed between their connected lips. The feeling faded as quickly as it came, the tension receding from her muscles like a wave.