Before the Rain, There Was Fire

The night became careful hands, a mouth that wasn’t, broken breaths in embarrassing places, and my name leaving Zach’s mouth in a way that was deeply disrespectful to common sense. At first, he went slowly because he knew it was my first time. Infuriatingly slowly. He gave me time to pull away, to get angry, to curse, to bite his shoulder when my body didn’t know where to put that much feeling.

“Easy,” he murmured once when I sucked in a breath at the sting spreading through my thighs.

All that came out of me was a broken breath.

Then... once I had gotten used to it... the night turned into something hot, messy, and completely without manners. A pillow fell. The whiskey glass got knocked onto the carpet. The Barolo stayed intact on the table like an aristocratic witness choosing not to interfere. Zach kissed me until Lorenzo became a name I only noticed because I had stopped remembering it. Disgusting, really... the fact that my body could betray the entire drama of my life that quickly.

But maybe my body wasn’t betraying me.

Maybe it was just more honest than I was.

At one point, I laughed because I had run out of breath, and Zach only stared at me. At another, I gripped his shoulder too hard, and he made a low sound that made me understand, with great reluctance, why women threw glasses, reputations, and possibly their futures at Zachary Bandini’s feet.

“Are you ever satisfied?” My voice broke sometime during the night.

He lifted his head. His hair fell over his forehead. There was a red mark on his neck that, with a small amount of horror, I realized had come from me.

His eyes were dark. His smile was lazy, his breathing was uneven. “I’m hungry,” he said.

I stared at him. “That’s the least human sentence I’ve ever heard.”

“From me?” He kissed my jaw. “That’s a long list.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Tomorrow you’ll be busy running away from your wedding.”

I wanted to answer.

I didn’t manage it.

The night took my voice little by little until my throat hurt and my body became a collection of evidence I could never defend in front of either family.... and...

At some point, I fell asleep.

...or I passed out elegantly.

>>>>

I woke up while the sky was still dark blue. Lake Como beyond the window looked like a secret waiting for the sun so it could start lying again.

I lay on my back, my body heavy, my hair tangled across the pillow, my throat dry, my lips sensitive, and awareness slowly entered like an uninvited guest.

I’m in Zach’s room.

I’m naked in Zach’s room.

I had slept with Zach.

I had given my first time to Zachary Bandini.

Not Lorenzo.

Not the man who was supposed to marry me today.

Not the man who had spent two years holding my hand, opening doors, kissing my temple, and making me believe I was safe.

I stared at the ceiling. “Brilliant, Aubrey,” I groaned softly. “Damn it.”

“Good morning to you too.”

I froze.

Zach was standing on the balcony.

The glass door was half open. Cold air drifted inside, carrying the scent of the lake and an unlit cigarette, maybe because he was civilized enough not to poison the bride-to-be he had just socially ruined. He wore nothing but black pants, his chest bare.

His back was to me, his shoulders broad, his skin catching the light before dawn in a way that was far too cinematic for a man who definitely had emotional sins. When he turned, I saw the bite mark on his shoulder. Two scratch marks across his chest. One red mark near his collarbone.

Me.

My body decided to heat up as though it hadn’t already humiliated us both enough.

Zach saw me looking at him. I immediately pulled the blanket up to my chest and sat up, which turned out to be a terrible idea because my entire body filed a formal complaint.

His eyes dropped briefly to the blanket clutched in my hands, then returned calmly to my face.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“A little.”

“Creepy.”

“I have many qualities.”

I wanted to laugh, but my throat hurt. My gaze dropped without permission to his chest. Athletic, hard, with muscle definition that did not need to be that detailed on a traumatic morning. On the left side of his body, just below his chest, slightly toward his upper ribs before his waist, there was a tattoo. Strange black lettering, nearly hidden unless someone was close enough to see it.

Ἰσιδώρα.

I didn’t know what it meant, and I didn’t want to know.

“I had someone prepare a car,” he said. “And a plane. If you really want to leave.”

I stared at him. That sentence was more surprising than his bare chest, which was annoying because that chest was working very hard.

“Do you always help women escape after sleeping with them?”

“Usually they want breakfast.”

I laughed. “Sure. You look like a man with a private chef and commitment issues.”

“I have two chefs.”

“Of course that’s the part you correct.”

He leaned against the balcony frame. “You should cancel the wedding in person.”

My laughter died. “No.”

“Aubrey.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

I swallowed, then regretted it because my throat still felt like it had just been used to negotiate with the devil. “If I go downstairs now, I’ll see everyone. They’ll ask questions. I’ll answer. Then Lorenzo will show up with his sad face, and I...” I stopped. My breathing refused to steady. “I’ll do something deeply satisfying but possibly illegal.”

“I support several illegal options.”

“No shit.”

“But disappearing will make them come after you.”

“Let them.” I started throw back the blanket, then immediately stopped when I remembered I was naked. I grabbed the sheet around me and searched the floor for my clothes.

My dress was lying near the couch. One shoe was under a chair. The other was nowhere to be found. My bra, may God and every Moguel ancestor forgive me, was hanging off the corner of the table.

Zach picked up my dress and handed it to me.

I stood with the sheet still wrapped around my body, then snatched the dress from him. “Don’t look.”

“I’m already pretty familiar with your body.”

I threw pillow at him. He caught it with one hand.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

“Hungry, asshole, inhuman. The list is growing.”

I put the dress back on stiffly. Every pull of the fabric made my body remember things that didn’t need to be replayed before coffee. I growled softly when I couldn’t reach the zipper in the back.

Zach came closer without being asked. He stood behind me, his hand touching the zipper. His fingers brushed lightly over the skin of my back. I didn’t flinch. I should have flinched at being touched by a man I had only just met. I should have tensed. But my body only went still, recognized his warmth, then stored the information somewhere it would become a problem years later.

Zach slowly pulled up my zipper.

Before he finished, his hand stopped at my wrist. I looked down.

My small scar, thin and pale, crossing my skin. A remnant of the night a strange man tried to drag me into a car near campus.

“When?” he asked.

I turned my head slightly. “What?”

“The stalker.”

I froze. “It was a long time ago.” I pulled my hand away. “How do you know about that?”

“Lorenzo told me.” His jaw tightened. “At some point. He was drunk.”

I frowned.

I tried to remember. Had I ever told Lorenzo about the attempted abduction? Maybe. I must have.

“Maybe I told him,” I said at last.

Zach looked at me over his shoulder. “Maybe?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t push.

I picked up my shoes and put them on while holding back a sound. One of my heels was blistered.

“So,” he said quietly, “last night was only about punishing Lorenzo?”

I straightened.

“Because you gave me your first,” he continued.

I looked at him. “Yeah.”

His face didn’t change. “All right,” he said, then walked to the door and opened it for me. “I’ll explain what happened later to everyone.”

I stopped in the doorway. “You do what?”

“Everyone needs to hear the version that gives you time to get away.”

I stared at him. “Why?”

A hint of his smile returned. “Because I don’t like losing to Lorenzo either.”

I believed that was his only reason. “Okay....wedding isn’t happening either, so whatever..”

“Don’t sound so polite. It ruins the memory of last night.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I want a goodbye kiss.”

I laughed once. “Of course you do.”

“I’m hungry,” he said again, so casually, so shamelessly, as though that word hadn’t just sent heat crawling up the back of my neck.

I should have left.

I was already at the door.

I was already halfway free.

So naturally, I did the stupidest thing available.

I turned, grabbed him by the neck, and kissed him.

A deep, hot kiss, too aware that after this door, we might go back to being two people who shouldn’t share anything except a scandal. He responded instantly. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer until my back nearly hit the open door.

For a few seconds, I forgot again. Everything disappeared.

There was only Zach, his mouth, his breath, and the way he stopped first. “You can lie to my brother,” he said quietly. “Don’t try it with me.”

And I left...

Three weeks later, it was raining in Manhattan.

Dirty, cold, practical rain. My tiny West Village apartment was too cramped, too expensive, and had a radiator that sounded like an old man smoking inside the wall.

I stood in the bathroom wearing an oversized T-shirt, my hair tied up carelessly, and I had already thrown up twice this morning.

I looked at ...the two red lines.

For a long time.

My hand reached for the edge of the sink. Found it. Gripped it.

[You left something in my room.]

I closed my eyes.

“Fuck,”