He was drifting between sleep and wakefulness as Aria used her fingertip to trace an abstract path across his skin. An unfamiliar feeling had sunk into his body, something deep-seated and heavy but not at all unpleasant.

Contentment, he realized.

Well-being.

It didn’t make sense. He was at war with Primo Fiore. Would have to see Nico Vitale about protecting Aria in Italy while he went back to New York. Had no way of knowing how he and Aria would make it out of this mess together and alive.

Yet she was here in his arms for the moment. He knew it wasn’t enough. Already knew he wanted her for far longer than a moment.

But it was more than he’d ever had before. He was inclined to appreciate it.

He’d closed his eyes, finally giving his body over to the gentle rocking of the boat, the soft lapping of water against the hull when she spoke.

“Why is the shelter one of your pet projects?”

“Hmmm?”

“You said the Franklin Street shelter was one of your pet projects. I got the feeling there was something personal about it,” she said.

He opened his eyes, looked up at the sky, littered with diamonds. He’d never spoken aloud to anyone about his father.

Had never wanted to.

But that was before Aria, and he was surprised to find he wanted to tell her everything. Wanted her to really know him when all his life he'd worked to make sure no one did.

“My father was a wife beater. There’s no nice way to say it. He used to beat up my mom.”

She lay her hand flat against his chest. “Did he hurt you?”

His body tensed with the question, and he forced himself to relax. “Not as much,” he said. “She usually stepped in before he could do too much damage.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You and your mom deserved better.”

He looked down at her as he stroked her hair. “Like you.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Primo took good care of me after my parents died.”

He pulled her on top of him, held her face as he looked into her eyes. “Maybe so, but you deserved safety and peace and security. You still do.”

She lay her head down on his chest. “Did you believe you deserved those things when your father was alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was as honest an answer as he had.

“Do you believe you deserve them now?” she asked.

He thought about it, about the luck of holding her in his arms, or finding his way to her against all odds. “I’m starting to think I must. I have you.”

There were things left unsaid. That he didn’t know how long he would have her, if she even wanted to stay with him when it meant betraying her brother. That he didn’t know what waited for them back in New York or how he would reconcile Primo’s life with the one he was beginning to think he wanted with Aria.

He didn’t want to think about those things now. He’d never been a man for dreams. He’d found his peace in the cold, harsh light of day.

In the reality his father had tried to hide behind money and power.

Now he just wanted a moment to dream of a world where Aria Fiore could really be his. Where she would wander barefoot through the tiled halls of the house in Capri and swim naked with him in the aquamarine waters off its shore. Where he would find her in the greenhouse in Westchester, smelling of soil and life, when he came home from work.

“Is there anything else you want?” she asked, her voice sleepy. “Anything you would rather be doing?”

There was no judgement in her voice. Just an honest question.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never really thought about it. The truth is I enjoy financial strategy like my father. I just never wanted to give him the satisfaction of going into his business. My work is a way to combine it with something more honest.”

She laughed a little. “What you and Primo do isn’t honest.”

“It’s as honest as anything my father did, manipulating people and their money. As honest as half the things businesses do today.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” she said.

“What about you?” he asked, kissing her head. “What would you do if you weren’t tiptoeing around Primo?”

“I think I’d like to counsel children,” she said. “Use my degree to help kids who are as messed up as I was after my parents died.”

He tightened his arms around her. “You’d be wonderful with kids.”

He could picture it, not just Aria talking to children she didn’t know, but Aria holding the hand of a child with his wavy hair, her big eyes.

Was it a dream?

Maybe, but right now, with her in his arms, it felt almost close enough to touch.

Close enough to hurt.