Alessandra Torre - Masked Innocence

“I lusted for you and that is why I didn’t stay away from you like I should have, like every reasonable bone in my body told me to. But in fucking you, in you taking my sexuality and warping it, expanding it, I lost myself, my barrier. And somewhere in all of that, I fell. I was unguarded and unprotected and my heart latched on to you and made every pore in me yours.” I wanted to pull my eyes from his, but he held me still, exposed.

“It’s not because of your money, or your looks. It’s your essence. I love your sense of humor, your honesty, your ability to piss me off and make me laugh at the same time. I love how you are respectful to Martha, and how you will risk your safety to keep me safe. I don’t ever want to experience anything again without you next to me. You change a situation, make an ordinary event incredible.” I stopped suddenly, out of words and too bare to create any more. I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them and stared into his, scared of his reaction. “Does that scare you?”

He was still, and when he spoke, his words held restrained emotion.

“There is very little that scares me, Julia. But you certainly do. I think I have, for a long time, feared love. The last person I truly loved was my mother, and it did nothing to protect me from her abandonment. Since then, I’ve avoided love. Not deliberately, but I’ve set myself up for failure through my actions. Whether it was this crazy situation that brought us together, or my own inability to screw this one thing up, somehow you slipped past that defense.” He paused, his eyes on mine, dark prisons I was unable to break from. “Julia, I have fallen hard. Fallen madly in love with you.” The words hung across the table for a moment, and I waited in the stillness, not wanting to break the moment, his bareness breathtaking and terrifying in its sincerity. “I didn’t admit it to myself until last night, and am just now fully coming to grips with it.”

He bit his bottom lip, the causal gesture tantalizing. “I didn’t expect to ever really fall in love. I hoped, one day, that I would find someone who could satisfy me sexually, and also provide a home, possibly children. But I didn’t expect to fall in love with her. I expected to have affection, to love her in the sense that I love Martha. But what I have with you is different. I don’t really understand it yet, so I’m not going to try and put it into words, not yet. It is going to sound strange, but I don’t particularly like the feeling. I don’t like not being able to control every part of a situation. I don’t like feeling vulnerable, unsure. You are a gamble in that you are young, you could fall out of love as quickly as you fell in it.”

He held up a hand, stopping the protest that was about to leave my lips. “I am, as you have so eloquently put it, ancient. You may, ten years from now, decide that I am too old for you. You may decide that you settled down too young, that you missed out on other opportunities. You just got out of a two-year relationship, an engagement. You haven’t had any time to be single, to have a normal college experience. That may not seem important to you now, but it could later.” His brow furrowed and he looked at me intently. “I’ve never really cared if a woman ‘broke up’ with me. With you it is different. I am a gambler, Julia—I love the thrill of it. But with my heart, with my life, with you, there is too much at stake.”

I frowned at him, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. “So, what are you saying? You are breaking up with me? Because you love me?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No. I just want you to really think this through. I want you to understand what is at stake for me, and for you to really look at what you are giving up by being with me. I want you to really ask yourself if what you are feeling is love. Because for me, I have no doubts. I hate it, it scares the hell outta me, but I know it is true. I know that my life, from this day forward, will be incomplete unless I share it with you. I’m asking if you will be my wife.”

His wife? This was so unexpected that I blinked, my jaw literally dropping as my mind tried to comprehend the statement.

“Julia, will you marry me?”

I was so flustered I hadn’t even noticed him standing up, walking over to me and kneeling at my chair, a small box in his hand, unopened. He looked at me gravely, with such intensity, his handsome face waiting, expectant.

It was like time stood still, as if even the piano player took a break midsong. I was still adjusting to the fact that he had admitted love, to being “in love” with me. This was too much, too overwhelming, and I stared at the small box in his hand, in terror, afraid to open it, afraid that it might contain something beautiful that would be the final crack that would cause this whole beautiful glass ball to break into a million pieces. I understood what he was doing, understood what my saying yes would mean—to my situation, to the danger that threatened my life. Marrying him would protect me, but chain him. Possibly chain us both, and it was too soon. There was too much unknown about each other. Yes, I loved him. I was surer of it than I had ever been of anything. But did he really love me? Or was this a gallant form of chivalry that had invaded his senses, chloroformed his heart?

He shifted, waiting, his face growing stressed, and I stared at his eyes, the depths I loved, though I could never tell a damn thing from them.

I moistened my lips, my eyes stuck in the channel between us, then spoke.

“No.”

His eyes blinked, but stayed on me. “No?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

He looked down at the rough roof beneath his knee, then hefted himself to his feet and sat down across from me. He gave an exasperated smile and looked at me, waiting.

“I would love to marry you, and to be your wife. But I want you to propose to me for the right reasons—not because we are in a bad situation. Am I correct in my understanding that getting engaged is your plan for keeping me safe?”

“Are you even going to look at the ring?” He set it on the table in front of me, pushing it forward, his eyes excited.

I glared at him. “Are you listening to me? I’m not going to look at the ring.”

“Why not?”

Grrrr. “Am I correct in that you are proposing so that your family does not hack me into little pieces?”

He grinned, still not getting the idea that I was rejecting him. “They don’t ‘hack.’”

“Answer the question.”

“I am in love with you. Something I never expected, didn’t want, but am now ecstatic over. You know me well enough to know that when I want something, I go after it. I love you, and want to let everyone know it—want to make our relationship permanent.”

“And...it would also conveniently fix our problem.” I folded my arms at him, the damn black box in front of me screaming for attention. I fought against looking down, against giving credence to its screams.

He shrugged. “Well, yes. As my wife, you would be untouchable. Protected.”

“Under lock and key.”

His eyes narrowed, a hard edge coming to them. “I don’t know what you mean by that comment. I have no desire to put you up in a big house and leave you alone, if that is what you are referring to. I want a partner in life, not a trophy in my case.”

“And you will be faithful?”

He reached forward, grabbing my hand and clasping it in both of his, pulling my eyes to his, dark and solemn. “Julia, you are incomparable. I know what I risk in straying from you, what I would lose if you left me. I promise to never kiss, caress or fuck another woman without you there, watching it happen. And I promise to allow you to be as unfaithful as you want, as long as I am there to make sure you’re satisfied.” His mouth curved into a grin and he brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it gently.

“Or flirt.”

“What?”

“You can’t flirt with women either. And by the way, you really do suck in the romance department. Hallmark will never put that last paragraph on a card.” My mouth moved without order, and I found myself grinning back at him. He nudged the box again, practically pushing the damn thing into my lap, his eyes lit with anticipation. He was like a damn kid at Christmas. I looked at him expectantly, and he frowned, then understood what I was waiting for.

“Oh. Right. No flirting. Do you want me to kneel again?”

I exhaled, frustrated. “You are treating this as a joke.”

“And you are way too serious about this—this is supposed to be a happy time. I am finally throwing off my stubborn bachelor ways and professing my love to you. You should grab the damn ring and run for the closest altar.” He reached forward, plucking the box from the table and opening it in one quick motion. Then he held it forward, and leaned across the table at me. “Julia, please. Ignore the bullshit and the drama going on in our lives. I truly believe that I was made for you, and there is not a woman on the planet that is more perfect for my troublesome self. I know you deserve better than me. But please, give me a chance to be a husband worthy of you, and I will spend my life becoming the man you deserve. Please, Julia. Marry me.”

His intense eyes, with darkness that I never could decipher, stared at me, and I saw truth in their depths. My eyes flickered from the heat of his stare, and I glanced down at the ring. I expected the ring to weaken my resolve, to be the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I expected that I would not be able to resist a diamond. It was a gorgeous setting, a perfect, breathtaking stone, but I wanted more. And looking back into his eyes, I found it.

I wanted him. Needed him. And in that desperation, I wanted to push him away, badly. Because in that vulnerability, there was certain heartbreak. But in the ring, in the engagement, there was safety. And I needed to be smart.

I exhaled slowly, decisively, and nodded. “Yes.” I held up my hand when he rose, his face lit with excitement. “Wait.” He stayed standing, but leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, waiting for me to finish.

“I’ll accept your proposal,” I said carefully. “But I’m not getting married. Not for at least a year, long enough for me to feel like you will be faithful to me. I’m not worried about us being happy, about us having enough love, about you being ‘the right one’ for me. I worry about you not being happy in a monogamous relationship, whether we are engaged in a swinger lifestyle or not. I just need time to make sure that you will be loyal, and will be happy being loyal.”

I paused, trying to keep a smile from my face. “But to appease your bloodthirsty family, and because I can’t imagine life without you, I will accept your proposal.”

I was in his arms before I could take a breath, his arms around my body, his mouth on mine. He lifted me, spinning me around, and I laughed when he finally let me come up for air.

“Thank you,” he said, his mouth at my ear, voice gruff. “You have made me so happy.” Then he bent me back into a Hollywood dip, and my eyes found his in the dim light. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” I said, smiling up at him.

“Will you wear the damn ring now?” he said, pulling me back to my feet, the rooftop spinning a little, city lights and night sky everywhere.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Well, if you insist.”

And then my unromantic future husband knelt again on the rough rooftop and, with the sounds of Sinatra floating through the night air, put the ring on my finger and made it official.

We rode back to Brad’s house, the new engagement ring sparkling on my hand. It shone at me in the dark car, claiming me as its own, and I slid it off, then back on, just to prove to myself that I could. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and I looked over at him. His profile was strong, beautiful, mine. It felt odd, having security in our relationship. And at a point when I had just come to terms with the feelings I had for him.

“So. What’s next?” I spoke over the music, and he reached forward and turned it off.

“Tomorrow morning, I will speak to my father. If you feel comfortable enough, I’d like you to be there.”

“Me?” I blinked, considering the situation.

“Yes, you. He will love you, I promise.”

“Did he love your first wife?”

“Hillary?” He shifted in his seat. “Ummm...”

“Oh my God—he hated her.”