felt them later. When I faced her again she took a breath and then asked how I was still alive, and I shrugged, telling her I was a hard son of a bitch to kill. She smiled and then hooked two fingers into the chain around my neck, then pulled me into bed with her and we never spoke of it again.
But sometimes when it’s the end of the day and we’re standing around waiting for a realtor or some store clerk, she’ll lace her fingers together and then drape them over my shoulder: one of her palms covering the entrance wound and her other covering the exit, and she’ll lean her forehead against my arm like she’s sorry. And she doesn’t even know the story, because I never told her, but somehow she still just seems to know how that scar is the one that matters.
“Is that all it’ll cost me, Luca?” she says, and slippery relief flows through me that her tone is confident, assured that I will deliver on what I offered. “You’ll give me a family if I give you more money?”
“I consider it a fair trade, and you know I’m worth it,” I tease. “And you have to start kissing me.”
“Quite a list of demands you got there.”
I shrug. “Then counter. You know you’re dying to renegotiate.”
“Okay,” she says and nods. “I want…full control of—”
I cut her off with a buzzing sound and she giggles.
“You didn’t let me finish!”
“Find a compromise.”
“Fine.” She sighs dramatically and I snort. “I will give you a raise, in turn for daily foot massages.”
“Deal.”
“And every time I kiss you, you have to tell me I’m beautiful.”
“Done.”
“Also…I get to name her.”
My eyes open. “ Him .”
She gasps, peeking at me over her shoulder. “ Her .”
I shake my head, my thumb sweeping over the planes of her stomach through her shirt. Although I don’t know why she’s not naked in my dream, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all. “You’re wrong, but that’s nothing I’m not used to dealing with.”
She playfully narrows her eyes at me. “And her last name is Pearce.”
“Nope! Wrong again.”
“Luca!”
“ Zoe ,” I say mockingly.
“My daughter’s last name will be Pearce,” she says assertively, and I arch an eyebrow at her.
“Your son’s last name will be Roark, end of story.”
“You’re a tyrant,” she tells me, and I shrug.
“Took lessons from this bossy little home stager I know.”
She rolls her eyes, then looks away while snuggling farther back into me. “Next you’ll tell me you want to get married.”
“Well since you asked so nicely…” I drawl, and she chuckles. I hold her a little closer, just breathing her in and thankful that my buzz seems to be wearing off. “Zoe?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at home,” she says sweetly, and I chew the inside of my lip.
“Are you asleep?”
“No,” she says. “But I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, and she doesn’t answer. I wait a moment, just thinking, then quietly breathe, “Do you need me to come over?”
She shakes her head. “Not right now. Besides, I’m here with you.”
I chuckle. “This is the craziest dream I think I’ve ever had.”
“That’s what happens when you drink half a bottle of Jack Daniels. And however many beers are all spilling out of your trashcan.”
My brow furrows. “Thought you weren’t all-knowing?”
She daintily clears her throat. “I can smell it.”
I duck my head. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says, her other hand smoothing up my forearm. “Just close your eyes…”
“Am I gonna wake up?”
“Soon,” she tells me, and I shake my head.
“Don’t want to.”
She rolls over and faces me, her hand sweet and gentle when she lays it on my cheek with a smile. “It was a good dream though.”
Pain burns through my chest, my face falling. “But it’s not real. I’m gonna wake up and you’re…you won’t be here. You won’t be happy, you won’t talk to me, and you will
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