"Sometimes I feel like I've made a muddle of it all," he continued. "Like all I do is screw up, but I swear to you that I'm trying my best. I'm only terrible at this relationship thing because I've never done it before, but I promise I'll keep working until I get it right. I'm nothing if not determined."
The thought floored me. I spoke without thinking. "Now that's a depressing thought, James, because if you're terrible at this, there isn't even a word to describe how much I suck at it."
He threw back his head and laughed, and my mouth moved into a smile automatically. He brought his laughing lips close to mine. "Not true, Love. You're doing perfect, as far as I'm concerned."
His mouth was a whisper away from mine when I spoke. "You haven't made a muddle of it, James. You couldn't be terrible at anything, even if you tried. I think you're perfect."
He kissed me, a kiss that started out soft but as always our unquenchable hunger for each other quickly took it further. He was gripping my hair and plundering my mouth within hot, drugging moments. I rubbed my wet chest against his.
We made love slowly, leisurely, lovingly. I lay my cheek against his wet chest when we finished, kissing my crimson name on his pounding heart.
He stroked my hair for long minutes, still buried inside of me. He seemed in no hurry to pull out.
"I love you, Bianca," he said very quietly. "There isn't a thing about you that I don't adore. Even the things that have made it hard for you to let me in hold a special place in my heart. I never thought I'd meet a woman that I couldn't doubt, a person that I could so easily give my trust to, but I know your soul, and it is so pure and clear to me that I feel like I can see right into it."
I didn't know how he could say that. I felt so cynical sometimes. But I soaked up his words, loving the way they made me feel. I didn't have to agree with the words to be touched by them.
"I love you," I told him simply.
We were silent for long minutes, communicating only through stroking touches and soft kisses. Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled slowly out of me, pulling me flush against him right away.
"Can I tell you about my parents?" he asked finally.
"Of course," I said quickly, surprised that he thought he had to ask. "I would love to hear about them. I love to learn about you."
"You would have liked my mother. She was so passionate, so opinionated, but also kind. She didn't come from my father's world, but she didn't put up with any of the nonsense that the high society set tried to throw her way. She hated luncheons and teas, hell, she hated all of the insufferable social functions that weren't directly helping a charity, and the term 'socialite' made her see red."
His words brought me a staggering sense of relief. If he had expected me to do what Jackie suggested and devote my life to a pointless string of unenjoyable social functions just for the sake of keeping up appearances, I would have been troubled, because that just wasn't for me.
"She kept a few close friends very close, and devoted her time to her family and to her charities. She was so beautiful."
He paused, stroking my cheek.
"My father was a reserved man, but he was loving. I do remember that. He worked a lot, but when he didn't, he devoted his time to my mother and me. He worshipped the ground she walked on." He stroked my hair when he said it, his eyes loving.
"They had a good marriage. I was young, but even I could see how devoted they were to each other. They would share these looks … Even as I child I knew that they had something special."
"As I got older, long after they'd passed, I didn't imagine I could ever find something similar for myself, that I could ever feel something like what they had. I honestly didn't think I was capable of it … Until I met you, I didn't know I had those kinds of feelings inside of me. Now I see clearly that with the right person, it's so simple. Those feelings aren't something one can force, and they aren't something I could deny once I felt them. It still just floors me that I felt them so fast and so deep with you."
"My father liked to claim that he fell in love with my mother at first sight. Even back then, I thought he was just waxing poetic, but I believe him now. I did exactly the same thing."
I looked up at him. "You're insane," I told him. The idea of love at first sight was just so far-fetched, especially since it was me he was talking about. "But undeniably, terribly romantic," I allowed.
He just smiled. "I know. But I'm honest, and that's just how it was for me."