Fire on Fire

8. You're not alone

"What does it mean?" Emma asked lowly, as if scared he would hear it, yet needing an answer after all this time.

"What?" Alexander asked back, more focused on enjoying the moment. For the first time, she wasn't in a rush to get dressed and leave, instead she was letting him spoon her, cuddle her closely.

It might have been the drowsiness caused by intense lovemaking, but the fact was, Emma had remained in his arms. No arguing, no trying to escape, no stubbornly refusing to accept reality. She was still there, and his heart had a hard time trying to come to terms with it.

She turned around in his arms, and hinted behind him, more specifically at the tattoo on his back. "The phoenix, what does it mean?" She'd been dying to trace those lines again after the first time, but she hadn't dared. However, as much as she'd told herself not, she needed to know.

Alexander offered her a small, sad smile. "Rebirth. A phoenix normally symbolizes rebirth. It's been used a lot in different cultures, and-"

"No." She interrupted him. "I'm asking what does yours mean, you know that."

"I know," he murmured, caressing her skin gently, his hand sliding along her sinuous curves, his smile unfaltering yet sadder, "but I'm not ready for that, and neither are you."

"I'm sorry." Emma admitted. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No ..." he pulled her closer, kissing her forehead, "it's fine. And you know, I kind of want to tell you about it, but ... I never have, to anyone."

"I understand, you don't need to justify, I-"

"Emma ..." he called sweetly, then pecked her lips, "you can ask me anything. But there are things I'm not ready to talk about just yet."

After a short pause, she nodded against his forehead. "Okay." Emma would have wanted to say more or do more, and part of her reminded her that time was limited and she was supposed to go. However, she felt too drowsy to act on it. Instead, she let him pull her closer, cuddle her, and soon enough fell asleep.

✧✧ ✧ ✧ ✧  

Emma woke up to a delicious smell for the second time in the same weekend. This time, however, it was different. It wasn't Mrs. Adams and her amazing culinary skills, she was sure, because this bed was definitely more comfortable.

Rolling over, in fact, Emma immediately looked towards the kitchen, just a few steps lower than the bedroom. And there he was, Alexander, intent on placing food on the table.

"No, I didn't make it," he said loudly, having noticed she was staring at him, marveled, "there's an Italian restaurant nearby."

"Where's the receipt, then?" Emma teased, causing him to laugh, her with him.

"Touché." He shrugged. Once done setting the table, he looked up at her. "My great-grandfather was an Italian chef, Nana learned from him, I learned from her."

"I thought you were German." She commented, sitting criss cross on the bed.

He chuckled. "What made you think that?"

"The fact that I heard you speak German?"

"Oh," he laughed, "right. Well, no, my mother was ..." he clouded over for a moment, then cleared his throat, "yeah uh ... my mother was German." He faked a bigger smile than he could give.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you ..."

"It's fine." He cleaned his hands on a cloth. "Come down, you must be hungry. I'll just go wash my hands." Having said that, he disappeared in the bathroom.