Past – August 2014
No matter how much time passes since my mom’s death, I still can’t seem to handle storms. I still remember sitting at home that night, taking in the view from the window and thinking how pretty it looked. The rain falling, the crackles of lightning filling the sky, the rumble of thunder…
I thought it was so relaxing, so soothing. That was until I left my room to head downstairs, only to find the staff flurrying around when they’d otherwise be silent. My father’s men had stricken expressions on their faces. The housekeeper who was always close with my mom was crying in the kitchen. No one would tell me what was happening, since they were under instructions from my father not to utter a word about it in my presence.
It wasn’t until I headed back upstairs and found Finn seated on my bed waiting for me that I learned that our mother had passed. My brother didn’t shed a single tear, his voice almost monotone as he explained what had happened. The worst part was that dear old Dad had decided that this would be a lesson for my poor brother. His mom had died, and my father had decided that Finn should be the one to tell me. He put that burden on his own son as a lesson in showing no emotion, in having no emotion.
Ever since that night, I’ve no longer found storms pretty.
No, instead, they incite panic in me.
As soon as I hear a crackle of thunder or see a flash of lightning, I’m brought back to that night, only I’m wondering who else the storm is going to take from me.
Granted, there’s not many people left for it to take.
Finn. Marco. My aunt.
I was meant to be at Marco’s an hour ago, but I’ve yet to leave the house. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I sit on the window seat and stare out at the view.
It’s Sunday, which means the house is free from staff, while both my father and brother are out doing whatever the hell it is that they do most days, leaving me here alone.
My phone rings, and I shakily pick it up to see it’s Marco calling. I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my ear.
“Sloane, baby, are you okay? Where are you?”
“I-I’m at home,” I stutter and take in a shuddering breath. I rub a hand over my face, and it’s only when my hand comes away damp that I realize I’m crying.
“What happened?” Marco asks softly, and it takes everything in me not to burst into full on sobs. He knows how my mother died, but I’ve never told him about my fear of storms. It never came up.
“I couldn’t leave, Marco,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I just couldn’t do it.”
I hear the telltale sign of keys jingling as he hums.
“It’s the weather, isn’t it?” he asks, and I sigh. Of course, he knew. Marco just seems to have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to knowing things about me. It’s as though he just inserted himself in to my mind at times, he pays that much attention to detail.
“Yeah.”
“That’s okay, little warrior. Do you know how fucking strong you are, Sloane? Do you know how much I admire you? You’re the bravest, most resilient, smartest woman I’ve ever met, and I’m so goddamn thankful that I get to call you mine,” he states and butterflies swarm as a smile pulls at my lips.
“I couldn’t even leave the house,” I say with a watery laugh.
“I didn’t want you to leave the house in weather like this. I texted you, telling you to stay home, and when you didn’t reply I got worried. Everyone is scared of something, Sloane.”
I chuckle, though it comes out as more of a croak. “Yeah? And what are you scared of, Romano?”
I hear something going on in the background, but it’s too distorted to hear what it is.
“Many things,” he responds instantly.
“Like?”
“I’m not the biggest fan of heights, I’m scared of losing the people I love, spiders freak me out, and you scare me, too.”
“I scare you?” I ask, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Baby,” he says with a laugh, “you fucking terrify me.”
My brows furrow. What the hell is there to be scared of? I’m just about to ask him, but he keeps talking.
“I’m terrified of losing you. I’m scared of our future. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, yet you bombarded your way into my life, smashing down every wall I had ever built up and burrowed yourself into my soul. So yeah, Sloane, I’m fucking terrified of you. You single handedly hold the power to destroy me.”
Tears once again spring to my eyes, only this time they have nothing to do with the storm and everything to do with him.
“Marco,” I croak.
We still haven’t said those three words, and even though I feel them, I can’t seem to form the words. Besides, when I finally do tell him how goddamn in love with him I am, I don’t want to do it over the phone.
“I know,” he says simply, though I’m not really sure what he knows. Does he know I love him? Does he feel the same?
“Look out your window towards the left side of the estate,” he orders, and I immediately do so, only to find his car parked on the edge of our property.
“What the hell are you doing?” I exclaim.
“I won’t ask you to leave the house. And don’t worry, I’m not coming in. But like fuck am I just going to sit at home while you’re here crying, so I’m going to sit in my car, as close as I can get to you, and stay on the phone with you until the storm passes. Okay?”
This fucking man.
I’m not the type of girl to swoon, but Christ, he makes it hard not to.
“Okay,” I whisper.
It’s not until four hours later, when the sky is dark and the storm has finally passed, that Marco finally goes home. Leaving me with an ache in my chest and a carefully carved spot in my heart, dedicated just to him.
