“To remember this.”
Fear grips my heart tighter than anything before. This can’t be happening. I’d have let Javier touch me if I knew it would lead to this. I would let Javier do anything if it meant keeping Gio safe.
I can’t stand him looking at me. Not because I don’t want him to see. Because he’s looking at me like a dying man would—as if he knows it’s his last sight. As if drinking his fill.
My breath stutters. I need to be closer than this. This place we’re in—this is water. And he is air. I push up to him, pull him down to me. I meet his lips in a gasp.
Then he’s kissing me back, his lips demanding, tongue fierce. And his hands. Those large, beautiful hands that have done violence tonight—for me. They cradle my head so sweetly. How can something so good feel like pain? How can this be the end?
I shove him back. “We’ll find another way. Something. Anything.”
“There is no other way. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of how to get you out of here. And if you stayed here, you’d condemn your sister too. Byron would make everyone suffer.”
And now it will only be Gio suffering. The canapés from the party turn in my stomach. My hands curl into fists, useless. “You wouldn’t let me do this. You wouldn’t let me sacrifice myself for you. So how can I let you?”
“You’re not letting me do anything, Clara. You don’t have a choice.”
Angrily I shove the tears aside. This isn’t a time to be sad, because this is not happening. We’re not leaving him behind. So why can’t I stop crying?
Why does it feel like I’ve already lost?
“Gio,” I say, my voice breaking.
His forehead touches mine again, his hands cradling my face. I feel so delicate when he holds me like this. I feel loved. “Let me do this for you,” he says roughly. “I couldn’t protect you before. I don’t have anything to offer. I never did. But this?”
“No, no,” I sob.
He pushes me tighter against him, cheek to cheek, and I swear these tears aren’t only mine. “You care too much, Clara.”
“How is that too much? It’s the right amount. I care too much to leave you here. How is that wrong?”
He is silent a moment. “It’s not wrong. But I care too much to let you stay.”
His arms come around me, holding me in. They feel unbreakable. They are castle walls, his arms. They are a drawbridge rolled up and a moat. They keep everyone out. Only with him do I feel completely safe. Maybe I’d always known how much he’d do for me. He’d fight for me. He’d die for me.
And that’s what he’s going to do. And at the end only rubble will be left.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, but we both know it’s a lie.
My hands clench in his shirt. “How can you be?”
“Just go,” he whispers fiercely. “You think this is about me sacrificing for you? No. I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.”
I cry until his shirt is dark and wet. These are silent tears. They fall without my consent, while my face is solemn. I can be stoic for him. I won’t beg now. I won’t plead.
Not even when Honor comes in and tells me it’s time to go.
It feels like dying to walk away. Feels like dying to look back and see him watching me go. Feels like dying as I cross the dark lawn.
Honor holds my hand, but doesn’t say anything.
I think she knows. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt, to leave him behind. And it’s nothing compared to what he’ll go through.
We’re near the gate when we hear the explosion behind us. Fireworks.
Those are the fireworks that would have celebrated her engagement.
Only fitting that they’ll end it.
It’s not hard to find Gio’s beat-up Pontiac Grand Am parked down the side lane. The radio is broken. The gas tank is full. We drive in silence until the blasts fade to nothing.
There is only empty road in front of us and empty road behind.
I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.
And so I do.
*
That’s the end of the prequel Tough Love! I hope you loved meeting Giovanni and Clara. Turn the page to begin reading Hold You Against Me, the novel-length conclusion to their story…
Hold You Against Me
“I want to be inside your darkest everything.”
—Frida Kahlo
Prologue
Giovanni
The sound of running water pulls me out of the darkness. Soft and pleasant, like a babbling brook. That’s how it seemed the first time I heard it. Only the clench of my gut told me it would be different. And the sight of the black-soot concrete ceiling.
It’s become my sky, that ceiling. Instead of finding shapes in clouds, I see skulls in the dark growth and water stains lining the top of the room. The walls and floor are similar, but I don’t get to see them much.
They only take me down from the table when I pass out.