To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges
Violetta
This birthday is the best one of my life.
That’s not saying much considering my childhood, but I can’t imagine a better one going forward either. Tristano has given me the perfect gift. He’s offered the freedom of choice and I don’t know if there’s anything else that matters more to me. My heart protests by lurching in my chest and I amend my thought.
Being loved, truly and unconditionally, is the only thing that would carry a greater significance with me.
I watch Tristano, leisurely running my gaze over his strong hands and deft fingers as he fills my wine glass and lifts it for me to take. My fingertips brush his during the transfer and I swear that sparks sizzle along my arm.
Or that could be desire…
Just knowing those same fingers have touched me, stroked me, and pleasured me is enough to stir my arousal; let alone being near Tristano.
Everything about him calls to me, pulls me in his direction. I’m in awe of his confidence, impressed by his intellect, and attracted to his strength. There’s no one I’d rather be with right now. If this is the way my sister feels about Rafael, then I’m beginning to understand why she left me and put herself in danger to save him.
I would do the same for Tristano.
The thought of him in trouble is distressing and not something I want to dwell on, so I take a sip of the champagne to distract myself. The tiny bubbles and the sweet flavor roll across my tongue, effectively bringing me out of my musings.
“What do you think?” Tristano asks me.
“I like it.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “I want to try yours.”
His brows lift, but he gives me his glass and I swirl the liquid, making sure not to spill it. Then I take a sip and let it glide over my taste buds so I can truly explore the different flavors of the wine.
“Are you a wine tasting connoisseur?” He watches me closely when I repeat the process and I find it difficult to swallow. “If so, what is your expert opinion?”
I assume a haughty air and lift my chin. “It will do.”
He’s quick to smile, his mouth lifting with amusement. “I’ll have to see if I can do better then.”
The evening passes with Tristano asking me questions of all types. It’d feel like he’s prying if not for the enthusiasm he shows at every answer I give. Sometimes I’m not sure what to say, since I don’t know what the future holds, but he’s masterful at the way he phrases the inquiries. They make me think, truly analyze the things I want out of life, and by the time we’ve finished the meal, I feel as though I know myself a little better.
But I want to know more about him.
“What are your aspirations in life?” I ask, propping my chin on my hand. The glasses of wine and champagne merrily course through me, putting me into a more relaxed, less formal state. “You’re already successful and wealthy, so what else do you want?”
He stares at me.
It’s such a long pause I nearly squirm in my seat due to self-consciousness and my growing anxiety. Have I offended him? Angered him? The questions were nothing more intrusive than what he’s already asked me, so I doubt they’re the reason something shifted in his gaze, taking it from silver to platinum.
Although beautiful, whatever’s lurking underneath is intense.
“I'm not actually sure,” he says after a while. “I’ve been focused on a single goal, one that is near completion, but I haven’t taken the time to fully contemplate my life beyond that.”
“I understand.”
He has no idea how much. This trip has distracted me from thinking about my place in Carina’s life. Yes, she’s my sister and she loves me, but does that mean she wants me to live with her? I suppose I’d have to, considering we don’t have a lot, if any money to our names. Rafael does and he’ll take care of her, that I’m sure of.
What about me?
I’m not trying to be self-centered, it’s that I’ll need a place to live and money to survive until I can make it on my own. That’s one of the many reasons I’ve been stressed about my sister’s new circumstance, because I don’t know how to be out in the world alone, or what I would do to earn an income. When you’ve been indoctrinated your whole life with the idea your husband will take care of you, it’s hard to change that mindset. I’ve never wanted a husband for that, or anything else, but until recently it was my future.
“What are you thinking about, ribelle?”
Tristano’s deep baritone carries me out of my mind and into the present moment. He studies me without remorse and I like it just as much as it unnerves me. I don’t think he’ll hurt me or anything, it’s just too much sometimes. And I worry he’ll discover things about me that I don’t even know.
“I…”
“Don’t shut me out, not now that you’re finally letting me see who you are.”
My lips twist into a wry smile and I down the contents of my wine glass, enjoying the simmering heat in my belly. “I don’t even know who I am, so how can you?” My tone was meant to be teasing, but it comes out as a challenge.
“I know you prefer wine over champagne, and chicken over beef.” He smiles at me and his eyes shine like freshly polished silver. His teasing is quickly replaced with a gathering of his brows, giving him a countenance that’s serious and no-nonsense. “I know you’re a woman with an incredible intellect, who’s well educated and well-mannered. I know you’re mischievous and tactful, but warm, genuine, and empathetic. And I know you’re passionate, that you don’t hold anything back when you finally trust someone.”
My throat goes dry and my heart races to the point I can’t hear anything else except its thrumming. Tristano hasn’t just been watching me this whole time, he’s been studying me. His astuteness is uncanny, but it thrills me all the same.
And it has me wondering why he’s been learning all these things about me…
I nod slowly, willing my cheeks to cool. “I had no idea you were paying such close attention.”
My fingers slightly tremble with nerves when I reach for my wine glass and fill it. Then I down the entire thing. From across the table, which feels a lot smaller now, Tristano watches me, his lips turning downward into a disapproving frown.
“I’ve never had alcohol before,” I say with a wave of my hand, trying to make light of my behavior. “Well, other than the liquor my sister snuck upstairs on her sixteenth birthday. That stuff was gross.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought of it, still able to recall how much it burned my throat and made me gag when I drank it.
“Violetta.”
My heart rate skyrockets again. Although I’m not sure it ever slowed to its original speed. “Hmm?”
He quirks a brow. “I don’t want you drunk on your first birthday as an adult, because then you’ll spend tomorrow hung over and possibly forget everything that happened this evening. The whole point is to offer you experiences and choices that you can carry with you afterwards.”
The lecture has irritation flaring within me, but I quickly dampen it. He’s right and that’s the only reason I’m annoyed. “Fine,” I say, lifting my chin. “But if I can’t drink anymore, then I’d like to do something else.”
“What would that be?”
Kiss you. Touch you. Be with you.
“Dance with you.”
He looks stunned by my answer and that melts any remaining vexation I had. After pushing back in my chair, I get to my feet and walk over to his side of the table. Then I hold out my hand.
“Are you serious?” Tristano’s gaze locks onto mine and he must see my determination because he blows out a sharp breath. “Very well, but only once.”
He instructs the musicians to strike up a waltz and then he’s leading me to the empty portion of the patio. “Do you know how to dance the Venetian Waltz, or any other formal dance?”
“Yes,” I say, “we were taught in preparation for our wedding day.”
His gaze flashes and remains bright as he takes my hand, pulling me toward him with a firm grip. I follow the unspoken command to draw near, and then erase the distance between us until my chest presses against his and the scent of him envelops me.
This is where I want to be.
This is where I want to stay.
“This isn’t your wedding day,” he says, his voice tight, almost harsh. “It’s your day, not anyone else’s. But on the day you wed the man who has the privilege of taking you as his wife? That will be his day. Because for him, the day he marries you should have no equal.”
It’s in this moment that I fall completely in love with Tristano.
He invades my life-altering epiphany by sweeping me across the floor, into the circles and swirls that make up the structure of the dance. Thankfully muscle memory assists, keeping me from making an idiot of myself. Which I surely would’ve done because my mind is not on the steps. No, it’s reeling over what he just said about my future wedding day.
There’s no way I could’ve responded to Tristano’s statement without my heart shining in my eyes or my soul wrapping around his. What he said was the most profound and beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
And I want that to be my future.
I want Tristano to be my future.
He expertly guides me through the formal dance and all the while I stare up at him, breathing him in. I absorb the way his arm muscles ripple under my fingertips and I can almost taste the flavor of the wine lingering on his breath. His every expression imprints itself on my brain, offering me a gallery of him that’ll last until my mind no longer functions.
But even then, my heart will remember.
Because I never want to forget the night my life changed forever.
Now I can truly empathize with my sister and her decision concerning Rafael. It was her love for him that drove her to desperation because the thought of never seeing him again was more than she could fathom. That concept has become real to me because of the feelings I have for Tristano, all of them bubbling in my chest. I’m like the champagne I drank not too long ago, light, airy, and nearly bursting. Or perhaps this man is the flavor I’ve been without all of my bland, tasteless life?
Whatever the substance, I hunger for it.
For him.
I peek up at Tristano from underneath my lashes, suddenly shy and unsure of myself. I’ve never been one hundred percent confident around him and that was understandable, considering his reputation. Yet, this is something different. It’s a sense of vulnerability that’s not physical.
My emotions are in danger of being rejected or dismissed.
Somehow I need to find out if he sees me as Carina’s little sister, as a temporary burden, or something else. Yes, he desires me, that’s a given.
But does he want me, Violetta, the woman inside?
I may not know everything about myself and I certainly don’t have anything to offer in the material sense, however, if he really appreciates who I am as a person, none of that will matter. Until I have confirmation one way or the other, there’s no reason to share my feelings with him or anyone else. Not that I would, but with Carina back in my life I could tell her.
The idea of that makes me uncomfortable now. If Tristano doesn’t care for me, or doesn’t want more than my body, then I’d be better off keeping my confession to myself. There’s no reason for me to seek out public embarrassment and shame.
I’ll keep this secret, and if Tristano shreds it, then I’ll bury the information deep inside my heart and set it on fire. It’ll become ash, the secret along with it, and they’ll both be destroyed.
But if he feels anything for me…
“What has you smiling, ribelle?”
I jerk up my head to find his gaze already on me. “I’m concentrating on the steps so I don’t stumble. I’ve never been very good at this.”
He gives me a lazy smirk that makes my stomach flutter. “Yet you suggested it?”
“I did, and it’s because I wanted to dance without being ordered to, while knowing it was only a precursor to a life in bondage. I wanted to dance with a man of my choosing, not my father’s. And I wanted to dance so you’d touch me.”
My face flames at the boldness of my response, but I meant every word and it’s too late to retract them or act as though they weren’t said. Besides, if I want to know whether or not Tristano sees me as something other than a fling, I have to start somewhere.
I didn’t necessarily have to be so blunt about it, yet here we are.
He halts in the middle of the dance. It’s so abrupt I teeter precariously to the side and he has to steady me. His grip on my waist is firm and strong, like him, and when it tightens, as do the muscles along his jaw, I regret being forthright.
“What do you mean?” His voice is so low, so quiet I barely hear him even though I’m mere inches away. Without being able to discern the inflection, or lack thereof, in his tone, I can’t figure out if he’s angry or just confused.
I wet my lips and his gaze locks onto my mouth, his eyes nearly glowing with ardor. “My parents never gave me freedom of any kind. My father decided what I was to wear, what food I would eat, and what I spent my time on. I hated that, hated him for turning me into a servant. Not even that since our household staff were able to get away and go to their homes and families, but I was never permitted to leave. The dance lessons weren’t my choice, but tonight I’m taking the skill he forced me to learn and using it for something I want.”
My breath stills in my chest while I watch the different emotions that briefly flicker over Tristano’s face. I’m able to catch glimpses of confusion and anger, but most of all desire. There’s never been a doubt he wants me.
I pray something deeper, something more tender lies underneath…
“Violetta…”
The chastisement mixed with resignation in his voice sends alarm streaking through me. I grip his biceps tighter in fear he’ll pull away. Not that I could stop him, but most of my logic has evaporated at the determination in his eyes.
And it’s not in my favor.
“Wait,” I say. After clearing my throat to remove the hint of desperation from it, I continue. “Before you say anything, anything that can’t be taken back or undone, just answer one question for me. Please?”
His expression softens at the pleading in my tone and he gives me a brief nod. Hope surges in my chest and I steel myself for any possible outcome, especially the one that’s sure to happen if I don’t convince him otherwise.
“Would you look at me differently if I were older or if I wasn’t Carina’s sister?”
He searches my face and I don’t move. I haven’t a clue as to what he could be looking for, but the anticipation of hearing his answer keeps me in place. I don’t want to miss any indication of what his thoughts are.
After a moment he exhales sharply and looks away, seeking something unseen or maybe patience. Again, my nerves heighten to an almost unbearable level, the jittery energy crackling along my skin.
“Your age is a factor, whether or not we want to acknowledge it,” he says. Then he brings his gaze back to me and there’s a tension in the gray of his eyes, making them stormy and tumultuous. “The way I look at you…” He shakes his head. “It has nothing to do with you being eighteen and everything to do with the complications it would bring if I were to do more than just look. Don’t you understand?”
I step closer, not enough to be flush with his body, yet close enough to where he can feel each of my breaths as my chest rises. “What about what I want? What about if I want you to do more than look? You already have, not that you’ve forgotten.” I frown as the thought occurs to me. “Am I right?”
He nods stiffly. “There isn’t an hour that goes by that I don’t think about it.”
I smile up at him and slide my hands along his biceps, along his shoulders, and then lightly grasp the back of his neck, while combing my fingers through his hair. After tilting up my chin, I press my torso against his, wanting to mold to him, to be one with him. His heart pounds furiously, indicated by the throbbing in his neck and how it drums against my chest where mine meets his. And then there’s his cock, which has a pulse all on its own.
Tristano reaches up and untangles my fingers from his neck, gently bringing them to my sides. Then he steps back and a small, cool breeze enters the space between us, emphasizing the distance he created. I want to hug my middle to steel myself against the rejection from him, but I don’t. Instead I choose to fortify myself internally, stoking the fire of determination inside.
If he thinks that I’ve given up, then he has no idea what’s coming for him.
Since my blatant approach didn’t work, I’ll go for subtle and sensual.
Tristano may be experienced, but I’m efficient.
Violetta the victorious versus Tristano the trustworthy.
Game on.