9. Bella

9

BELLA

E verything would be so much easier if I could be around Gabriel without wanting him.

I thought sleeping with him once would be enough. I thought that, after that one night, all of the mystery would be gone for us both, and the tension, the anticipation of wondering, would be gone.

But I was wrong. I felt it in the living room tonight, almost palpable, that need that has been steadily growing between us from the very start. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to drop my wine glass on purpose, just to recreate that night when I thought he might kiss me in the living room back in New York.

Being just down the hall from him feels like hell. I walk into my bedroom, closing the door behind me, and fall down on top of the covers on the bed, closing my eyes. All I can think about is that he's so close—that if things were different, I could have him in bed with me right now. And despite all the reasons why I shouldn't, that's what I wish I could have. I want him to make me forget. I want to feel like I did before that awful morning when Igor came back. I want to feel the way Gabriel makes me feel.

I slide my hand over the front of my t-shirt, tugging up the fabric over my head, imagining that it's Gabriel's hands on me. That he's skimming his fingertips over my taut stomach, curving them around the cotton cups of my bra, reaching to unclasp it so he can feel the soft shapes of my breasts and my stiff nipples under his fingertips. I sigh softly, whimpering as I pinch my nipples, wanting it to be him playing with them. Him drawing those sounds out of my mouth, tugging my sweatpants down my hips with his other hand as he makes me arch and moan?—

I hear footsteps, and go very still, half-undressed atop my bed. They pause outside of my door, and my heart beats harder, louder, wondering if Gabriel is going to knock. If he'll come in, and find me like this, stretched out atop my bed with my hands wandering over my body, imagining it's him.

What would he do, if he found me like that?

The thought of his eyes on me makes me squeeze my thighs together, a pulse of arousal throbbing through me as I strip the rest of my clothing off and kick it onto the floor. I slide one hand down between my legs, letting out another soft whimper when I feel how wet I am. I'm soaked, just from thinking about him. Just from looking at him in the living room, handsome and silhouetted in the soft light, a little more rugged than usual. I could see the ways the past days had worn on him, the stubble on his jaw that he usually shaved, the way his hair looked like he'd run his hands through it a number of times. I'd wanted to run my hands over it. To feel all that stubble scratching over my skin.

I suck in a breath, my fingers rolling over my clit. I want it to be him. God , I want him. My hips arch into my hand, remembering how it felt to have his tongue sliding over me, his fingers thrusting into me, his cock?—

I bite my lip against a moan, abandoning playing with my nipples to slide my other hand down between my legs as well. I push two fingers into myself, curling them in a mimicry of the way Gabriel touches me, arching my back as I imagine that it's him thrusting into me. There are so many things I want to try with him, things I can only vaguely picture, things that I want him to teach me.

The ache builds and builds, the heat flooding over my skin, my hands drenched with arousal as I work my way toward the orgasm I so desperately need. My body is wound tight, and I know I'll be able to get myself there—but what I want more than anything is Gabriel. I want his skin against mine, the heat of his body, the muscled weight of him driving me into the bed, his hands and lips and?—

I suck in a breath, gritting my teeth and turning my face into the pillow as I fight the urge to cry out, a helpless moan spilling into the fabric as the orgasm crashes over me. I buck against my hands, gasping out Gabriel's name, wanting more. I want more of him , and even as I come apart with pleasure, shuddering from the force of it, it's still not enough.

He's the only thing that feels like enough. And I've started to wonder if he's the only person who ever will.

I bite my lip as I come down from the high, emotions crashing over me that I can't begin to untangle. I haven't wanted to put a name to them, but even with as little experience in relationships as I have, I know what I'm feeling. What I've been feeling, for longer than I want to admit.

I'm in love with Gabriel. It feels inevitable, in a way, like there was no possibility that I was ever going to make it out of all of this without loving him. How could I not—a man who has done so much for me, who has been patient and kind, who has shown me that the world isn't only the violent, terrifying place that it shifted into after the horrors of my wedding? A man who loves his children, who is the kind of father—and, at his core, the kind of person —who anyone would be lucky to just know, let alone love.

Adding in the physical part of our relationship made it inevitable. But we agreed that emotions wouldn't be a part of it. That love wasn't on the table. Gabriel told me that, in black and white, before he ever so much as kissed me. There was no ambiguity. No way for me to say I didn't understand. And I agreed.

I told him I wanted him so that I would have a possibility of romance with someone else, in the future. I wanted to learn with him, so I could try to date without being terrified of intimacy. We were both painfully clear with each other about what we had to offer. What we wanted.

And yet we ended up here anyway—and I can't imagine wanting anyone else.

The orgasm and the flood of emotion left me feeling wrung out and exhausted, but I take one of my sleeping pills anyway, not wanting to risk nightmares that might wake anyone else up. Before I know it, my alarm is ringing in my ear, and I fumble for my phone, hitting the snooze.

Tomorrow, I'll be ‘off work,' and although I know I'll still end up doing things around the house and helping out, I have every intention of sleeping in until I wake up without an alarm.

I throw myself fully into getting back into my routine, trying to do anything other than think about Gabriel, and how he makes me feel. It feels nearly impossible, when one of the first things I see is him, sitting at the breakfast table in a light blue button-down linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the curling ends of his hair falling forward as he scrolls through his phone and takes a bite of the poached eggs Agnes made this morning and served over toast.

Fortunately, he takes off right after breakfast, going to handle things around the estate while Agnes, Cecelia, and I tackle the living room, working on finishing cleaning it before we start making firm plans for the renovation. Un fortunately, right around lunchtime, Gabriel comes strolling into the living room, wearing a t-shirt and boardshorts, and looking mischievous.

"Grab your bathing suits," he tells Cecelia and Danny. "You too," he adds, glancing at me. "We're all going to go have lunch out by the lake."

My stomach tightens, but it's not with fear at the idea of being out in the open in a bathing suit. For some reason, the staff on the estate don't make me feel as panicked as I did back in New York, when I tried to avoid anyone catching even a glimpse of me in so much as a short-sleeved t-shirt. I have a feeling that it's mostly because we're so far from home. I don't have the same negative associations with being here. And when it comes to those older fears, Gabriel makes me feel safe.

It's the bigger fears that still loom over me. As if the terrifying possibility of Igor finding me here makes the others less daunting.

I force the thought away, plastering a smile onto my face before either of the children can see otherwise—or Gabriel.

"Okay. Let's go grab bathing suits!" I tell Cecelia and Danny, herding them towards the stairs. I don't meet Gabriel's eyes as I pass him, unsure of whether I want to see desire in his face at the thought of seeing me in a swimsuit—or not. I can't help but think that the tension I still feel between us is one-sided. That his insistence on protecting me is from a misplaced sense of responsibility for me, and nothing else.

He agreed that he only wanted it to be the one time. And after all of this—I can't imagine that he would still want me the way he did before. Not when I've caused so many complications, no matter what he says about not blaming myself.

The memory of him pinning me up against the wall on his private jet flickers back into my head as I go up to my room to change—but I'm still not entirely convinced that wasn't just the adrenaline, that he actually still wanted me . And ever since then?—

I force it out of my head, digging around in my clothes, hoping that Gabriel packed a swimsuit for me. I haven't fully unpacked yet, and I find it at the bottom of the bag he packed—two of them.

One is the same black bikini that I wore the night he found me out at the pool. My hand closes convulsively around it, my pulse beating faster in my throat. There's no way I'm wearing this out to the lake, but I'm instantly flooded with desire, my skin hot at the memory of what we did the last time I put this on.

The other is my black one-piece, with white piping along the edges. I yank it out, my heart still pounding as I quickly pull it on and throw a pair of jeans and a t-shirt over it, shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers. I don't look at the bikini again as I walk out, desperately hoping that what I'm thinking isn't showing on my face.

Gabriel must have known I'd find it at some point. Why did he pack it? He had to have also known I wouldn't wear it here. Unless he just wanted to remind me?—

The clattering sound and mingled shrieks of Cecelia and Danny running downstairs thankfully yanks me out of my train of thought. Gabriel is waiting with a soft cooler that's probably filled with the lunch he wants to take out to the lake, and he glances at me once before herding the two children toward the back door. I hang back a little, my pulse still throbbing at the base of my throat as I try to collect my thoughts.

I have to find some way to move past this. To not feel like this around him, all of the time. It will be impossible to keep going, otherwise. And I don't want to lose what I've found here. If we do somehow make it out of this, I want to stay. I want to keep this happiness and sense of home that I've found. It's not just the threat from Igor that could destroy it. It's also the threat that's posed by me wanting more than I can have. More than Gabriel said he could offer.

There's a vintage Land Rover outside, a dark green with a soft beige top that Gabriel rolls back as Cecelia and Danny clamber into the back. He walks around, opening my door for me, and I give him a smile as I climb up into the passenger's seat. His arm brushes against mine, briefly, and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

My breath catches, and I try not to let it show.

Gabriel climbs into the driver's side, tucking the cooler between the seats as he starts the car. I slide my hands over the cloth seat, looking over at him. "This is really neat," I murmur, taking in the wood grain and the old-looking radio, and he grins.

"This was my dad's. He loved this car, took amazing care of it. There's newer ones—" he gestures at two others parked not far off, "—but he loved driving this one all over the estate. It's been nice, driving it since I've been back."

"Can you teach me?" I laugh a little wistfully. We didn't get far in our driving lessons back in New York, before everything imploded. I have no idea if Gabriel will have the time or desire to teach me here.

"You'd have to be willing to learn to drive manual." He taps the stick shift. "But it's not that hard, once you get used to it."

I blink at him, realizing that he took me seriously. I hadn't thought he would—but I realize that was an error. Gabriel always takes me seriously. "I didn't think you'd say yes," I murmur, as he puts the car in gear and starts down the narrow road that will lead us through the estate.

"I'm happy to teach you anything you want to learn." His voice drops a little as he says it, the edges husky, and my heart stutters in my chest. His hand closes over the knob of the stick shift, tightening as if he's stopping himself from touching me. As if he realized what he just said, and how it sounded.

I swallow hard, looking away as we drive through the estate. It's even more beautiful up close, green and verdant in the summer. Most of the land is being used or cultivated in some way—the vineyards, pastures, a large garden that I see out near a handful of outbuildings, but as we get closer to the lake, it gets a little less tamed. I see a field of red flowers, blooming wildly near the treeline, and nearby the shimmering silver shape of the lake, surrounded by lush grass.

The ‘road,' which turns into something resembling more of a path as we near the lake, ends just a little bit before the edge of it. Gabriel parks the car, barely managing to turn off the engine before Cecelia and Danny are already clambering out of their sides.

"Wait before you get in the water!" he calls out, opening his door and jumping down. I slide out, too, not waiting for Gabriel to come around and open my door. I need a minute to catch my breath, and organize my thoughts. His being preoccupied with Cecelia and Danny gives me a chance to do just that.

I look around, trying not to think about how exposed we are out here. How easily someone looking for us could see us. I want to enjoy this. To be happy out here in the warm sunshine, to be relaxed, to enjoy these moments with Gabriel and the two children that I've come to love. Having had a taste of what that feels like, back in New York before everything fell apart again, I can feel myself craving it.

And not just the feeling. Him .

"Bella."

His voice is so close that I jump. I feel a hand on my hip and turn, seeing Gabriel an inch away. My gaze drops to his mouth before I can stop myself, and I feel him tense, going very still. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Cecelia spreading out the blanket on the grass, and I start to pull away, but Gabriel's grip tightens. My pulse speeds up immediately, my breath catches in my throat.

He never touches me like this. Insistently, without asking permission or going slowly first. It should scare me, given the way I used to feel—but with him, I realize, it no longer does. Instead, all I feel is a bloom of heat that starts in the pit of my stomach and trails outwards, making me have to fight not to lean into him.

"Stop thinking about what could happen," he says quietly, his voice low and insistent, firm in a way that oddly sends shivers over my skin. "I'll take care of you. I wanted us to have a nice afternoon out here—all four of us. No one is going to interrupt or ruin that. I promise. Bella—please." His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches again. "Try to relax."

He says it gently, and I can hear a plea in it. A plea to trust him. To let this place make me feel safe. At home. And I want it.

I'm so afraid to lose it again.

I nod silently, following him to where Cecelia and Danny are sitting on the spread-out picnic blanket. Cecelia is primly setting out the food for lunch—a container of small pickles, jars of jam, a container of fruit, sourdough bread and crackers, and sliced charcuterie meats and cheeses. There's a jar of lemonade and one of what looks suspiciously like wine. When I look over at Gabriel, he smirks, reaching for it and tucking it away in the bag as we crowd around the food and start to eat.

My chest squeezes tightly, and I look away. When I glance back at him, I can see that the carefree expression has fallen off of his face, and he looks slightly more subdued, although he's still cheerful.

The food is delicious. There's just something about eating out in the sun—I've always loved having picnics in Central Park with Clara, back in New York. And out here in the Italian countryside, next to the sparkling lake with the sun shining down on us, it feels even more special.

When Cecelia and Danny jump up and run down to the water, I start to pack up the remnants of the food, not looking at Gabriel. I feel him shift next to me, and when I look up, he's staring out at the lake as the two children splash at the edge of it.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don't know what to say. He wants me to feel safe, but I can't. And as for the rest of it?—

This afternoon feels like the day that he and I went to the botanical gardens in the city. When, for one afternoon, I let myself pretend that this was more than it was—let myself just enjoy the way he makes me feel. That afternoon ended with me on the hood of his Ferrari.

And if we were alone right now?—

My pulse leaps in my throat. I have a flash of him rolling me over on the blanket, hovering over me, warm and smelling of spice and oranges, his mouth moving over my skin. I can feel my heartbeat fluttering in my throat, and I can't think of a single word to say as Gabriel looks at me, his gaze meeting mine.

He leans over, taking the wine out again. He flips the glass top off, tilting it as he takes a sip, and then holds it out to me.

I lick my lips nervously as I take it, and Gabriel's eyes instantly fall to my mouth. "Is this from here?" I ask, nodding towards the general direction of the estate. "Is it what you make?"

"Well, not me personally." He laughs, sitting up a little more. "But yes. It's from our vineyard, if that's what you're asking."

Our vineyard. He doesn't mean his and mine; he means his family's—and yet the word shivers over my skin as if he did. I draw in a breath, hastily tipping the jar up, and take a sip.

It's warm and rich and earthy, with a hint of sweetness, and I make a small noise of pleasure in the back of my throat as I swallow it down without meaning to. When I look over at Gabriel, his gaze is fixed on me, his eyes darkened as he looks at me in a way that I know very well now.

"Gabriel." I set the jar down, still holding it, almost white-knuckling the glass.

"What?" There's that note of huskiness in his voice again, and the world feels like it's narrowing down to us. No one is looking at us, and I have a wild thought that I could lean over and steal a kiss, and no one would be the wiser. Cecelia and Danny are fully occupied with the water and picking flowers off of the bank—they've all but forgotten we're here.

His eyes drop to my mouth again. I love the way he looks at my lips, I think before I can stop myself, my heart a fluttering bird in my throat. He's looked at them that way since the very first time he slipped and let himself give me a look of desire, like they're the part of me he wants the most.

I wanted to give him all the pleasure I could with my mouth, after the way I've seen him look at it, that last night that we were together. But I couldn't. It was the one fear I couldn't get past, the one thing that still panicked me to do. And now?—

He shifts towards me. My pulse is throbbing, my blood rushing in my ears, and my mouth feels dry. My tongue flicks out, sweeping over my lower lip to dampen it, and I see the muscle in Gabriel's jaw tick.

Please kiss me. I want it so badly, even though I shouldn't. Even though there's nothing we should do less than complicate our situation even further by turning this back into something more than it began as—a professional relationship between a widower in need of a nanny, and a girl in need of an escape.

"We can't," I whisper before he can come closer, before we can make a mistake that Cecelia and Danny might see, which would complicate things even more . I have no doubt that they'd be thrilled to see us kissing—the topic of Gabriel and I together has never come up, because we've been very careful. But they're both attached to me, and I have a feeling that they would whole-heartedly endorse me as a stepmother.

My heart skips a beat at the thought. A different kind of longing—one for security and stability, and a permanent future with the family I've come to love—sweeps through me. I fight it back, as I slide away from Gabriel and try not to see the disappointed look that flickers over his face as he sits up, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. He looks away from me, watching the children, and I both wish I knew what he was thinking and am glad I don't, all at the same time.

I look at the handsome profile of his face, and a feeling of desolation sweeps over me. How am I ever going to fall in love with anyone, ever again? Even if a time comes when I'm safe from the Bratva, when I have nothing to fear from Igor, even if there's a time when I can have exactly what future I choose, no matter what it is—every day that passes makes it more and more clear that it's going to be impossible to ever find anyone who makes me feel like Gabriel does. Who is even a fraction of the man that he is.

But I don't want to be alone forever. And I don't want to lose this job, or this family that's beginning to feel more and more like my own, because of my feelings for the man who is still, at the end of the day, my boss. Even if I can't imagine how it's possible to keep living with and working for him, and be with anyone else at the same time. It feels wrong, now more than ever.

Would Gabriel be able to stand seeing me with another man? It was the agreement we made before, that he was just helping me overcome my fears, teaching me the things I wanted to learn, so that I could move on with someone else. But I think of the way he's touched me, the way he's kissed me?—

I bite my lip, looking down at the soft picnic blanket. The thought of seeing Gabriel with another woman makes my chest ache. I don't know why it would be any different for him—unless he doesn't feel anything for me. Unless what there was between us was all physical pleasure, and nothing more.

Which is exactly what it was meant to be.

It will wear off eventually, I tell myself, picking at the wool fabric and looking out towards the lake. All I need to do is focus on other things, until the Bratva threat is dealt with as Gabriel has promised it will be, and we're back in New York. Then, I can think about what the future might hold—once I have a future to think about at all.

I stand up, slipping my shirt over my head as I look at the crystalline lake. It's growing hotter as the afternoon goes on, and as a bead of sweat slides down the back of my neck, I suddenly want very much to go for a swim—and to put some distance between Gabriel and me.

I can feel his eyes on me as I drop my shirt to the blanket and undo my jeans, but I don't dare look at him. If I do?—

The memory of that night by the pool sweeps over me, prickling my skin. Nothing like that could happen here, today—we have company. But even a kiss is too much to give in to, and I might do exactly that, if I look over and see desire in Gabriel's eyes.

Kicking off my sandals, I walk through the grass down to the edge of the lake, not looking behind me once. I wave to Cecelia, who has a bunch of wildflowers in her hand, stepping into the water and sighing as I feel the cool lap of it against my ankles.

This place is paradise. It's the most beautiful place I've ever been, made a hundred times better by who I'm here with. If only my every moment wasn't dogged by the fear of who will inevitably follow, it would be perfect.

But that fear is inescapable. And even in the shimmering, warm beauty of this particular moment, with laughter in front of me and the heat of Gabriel's gaze heavy against my back, I can't shake it.

Igor will come for me. And when he does, I'm terrified of what the fallout might be.

—

Dinner that evening is a summery lamb pasta with fresh peas and burrata that Agnes makes, paired with a crisp white wine from the estate's vineyard. Afterwards, Gabriel sets up a projector and screen in the living room for us all to watch a movie. As he switches off the lights, I make a point to sit on the far side of the room, near Agnes, away from where I might be tempted to accidentally brush my hand against his in the dark. Even so, I can still feel him looking at me throughout the night.

After everyone has gone to bed, I FaceTime Clara, knowing that back in New York, she'll be just getting off of work. She answers on the second ring, her face bright and happy in the screen's picture, the afternoon light behind her. She's in the kitchen of her small studio apartment—I can see the gauze curtains embroidered with little butterflies that she has on the window hanging behind her.

"Bella! I can't believe you called; it's got to be so late there."

"Midnight," I confirmed. "But I wanted to call you. I miss you." As I say it, homesickness spreads through me, in direct contrast to the feeling I had earlier by the lake. But like the last time I talked to Clara, it's not homesickness for New York. I don't know that I would care if I never went back there. It's homesickness for my best friend. Right now, more than ever, I wish she were here. And I know that would be a terrible decision for her to make—which is why I won't ask.

"I miss you too. You're going to be tired tomorrow, getting up crazy early with the kids."

I can't completely stifle a yawn. "I know," I admit. "But I wanted to show you this house. Agnes and I are plotting what we're going to be doing to fix it up." I turn the screen, so she can see the softly lit living room, with its large windows, carved fireplace mantel, and dark wooden floors in need of refinishing, as well as the vintage furniture. "Some of this we think we can salvage. And a lot of other stuff will need replacing. Cecelia has been picking out paint colors."

"It's beautiful," Clara murmurs. "A little outdated for my taste, but I know you love old things." She's smiling when I turn the screen back to face me. "Show me more."

I walk her through the house, the way I would if she were actually here. I show her the kitchen that overlooks the gardens, the old library, the bathroom with the big claw-foot tub and hand-painted mosaic tiles that Agnes and I are determined to keep, and my bedroom. I sink down onto the edge of the bed, and Clara looks back at me from the screen, her expression thoughtful.

"You know, if I were in your situation, I'd be terrified," she says. "All of the time."

I frown. "I am," I admit. "But why would you say that? I mean—of course, I'm terrified. I have no idea when Igor might figure out where I am, or what he might do to get me back. But?—"

"Just let me finish," Clara interrupts. "Even though you've got to be scared—anyone would be—you look happy. Despite the circumstances. The entire time you were describing the house to me, and the fact that it's been in Gabriel's family, the history behind it—all of that, you were smiling. You looked relaxed. Peaceful. " She lets out a slow breath. "He's good for you, Bella. I think where you are now is good for you."

"I don't even know how he feels about me now," I say softly. "It's all—it's all jumbled up with the rest of this. And it's not really the time to think about it, either. It would only complicate things. Not make them easier."

"I'm sure." Clara leans against her counter, her expression pensive. "I'm just saying—if something happens, I wouldn't be so quick to shy away from it. I think he makes you happy. And you deserve to be happy, Bella."

Long after we've turned the conversation to other things, long after I've hung up, and as I'm lying in bed, waiting for my sleeping pill to kick in, I can't shake that last statement out of my head. I think he makes you happy.

She's right. There are so many times when Gabriel has made me happy. I think, in the short time that I've known him, he's made me happier than anyone else I've ever had in my life, except for Clara.

It's part of why I don't want to lose him—even if that means never making this more than it is right now.