With Richard's arms still clasped around her waist, Cecilia was too overwhelmed to blink, let alone move. He was looking down, away from her face. The thunder roared and shook the wooden frame.
"Hmm. You deserve. More than someone. Hmm. Without a heart."
Cecilia stepped back, breaking from his grip. His lips were quivering slightly. She touched his arm and tried her best to smile through her welling tears. She was almost too choked up to sing, but if there was a chance her song that could shine a light on his heart, she'd sing every waking moment.
"He'll look at me and smile
I'll understand
And in a little while
He'll take my hand
And though it seems absurd
I know we both won't say a word..."
But her heart rose up to her throat, to the point that her voice was barely a whisper. She touched his shirt pocket, tracing its shape through the fabric.
"Silly thing. You have mine."
She reached her hand toward his broken face. The scarred skin was not as rough as it appeared - taut and thick, but not off-putting. She kissed him on the forehead, just above his vacant eye socket. His entire body shook as he broke into voiceless, choking sobs. Cecilia drew her lips close to his ear, her heart pounding. He was trembling so hard he no longer stand, and he gripped her so tightly that Cecilia was forced down to the floor, where she cradled him in her arms like a child, his head against her bosom. She couldn't make a sound, just stroked his hair, her tears cruelly mimicking the rain on the window.
Angela's words echoed in her ears. She knew what she was facing, but never expected the way his pain tore through her being, threatened to swallow her whole. It was maddening to her that she couldn't take it away. She tried to imagine all the things Daniel had written about. She turned the thunder into the rattle of gunfire, and she tried to summon the fear, the overwhelming stench. Darkness. Death filling every moment. Richard's heart was mired in it, and although Cecilia was not a frail woman, even with all her strength, she found pulling him ashore a formidable task. Praying through her own tears for dry land, and it felt like weeks until the storm subsided.
The floorboards were leaving their reddening, icy impression on the back of her legs. She started to sit up, gently nudged him forward, toward the easy chair by the fireplace. Still unsteady, he sunk into it, Cecilia kneeling beside him. She was positioned so that her head rested on his thigh, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply, beginning to calm.
"Richard, you should stay here tonight."
"Hmm." Then, nothing.
"Can I get you anything?"
"No. Thank you." Richard thought for a moment. "Not to trouble you. Perhaps. A blanket."
Cecilia sat up. "Whatever for?"
"The room. Is a bit cold."
Oh God, thought Cecilia, biting her lip. He's trying to be a gentleman. "No, it's no trouble. But," she whispered, "I did have other accomodations in mind."
She jumped to her feet. He rose behind her, tentatively following her into a bedroom. Cecilia wondered if the sound of the blood pulsating in her ears was audible over the rain. Richard looked briefly around the room, then he sat down on the bed. She closed the door and sat beside him, reaching for his hand, drawing it up to her lips. Emboldened, Richard leaned forward and kissed her, almost ferociously. Cecilia gasped as his lips brushed her neck. then close to her ear. Again, her lips met his, eagerly. He took her by both shoulders, stroked her arms, gazed into her eyes. How she loved that smile, that beautiful broken smile. She could have wept, but as her physical passion mounted, her chafed emotions seemed reduced to merely observing. Waiting in the shadows. She stood and pulled back the covers on her bed.
"You said you were cold." With little hesitation, he removed his shoes and joined her under the blanket. She moved in close, savoring the warmth of his body pressed against hers, his fluttering breath on her cheek. He had a slight build - she could actually feel the outline of his ribcage - but broad shoulders, muscular arms. There was a scar she hadn't noticed before, across his throat. "Cecilia -"
It was the first time she clearly remembered him speaking her name. She shivered, though every nerve in her body was aflame. There was something about his voice in that moment, something she couldn't quite place.
"Cecilia..."
She was entranced. Even with the oddly mechanical-sounding rasp in his voice, it sounded vaguely like a song. She pushed herself back up to meet his eye. It was almost morning, so its pale brown color seemed much more vivid as it caught the light. Her fingertips circled the dark, still-damp tresses that fell across his scars.
Then came the loud, persistent rapping, jolting both of them. Richard sat upright, looking startled.
"What the hell?" Cecilia exclaimed, nearly falling out of the bed. She gathered her dressing gown around her shoulders and ran to the door. Richard located the Colt in the pocket of his still-wet coat in the parlor, and pushed past her, throwing the door wide open.
"Hey, Richard, relax. It's just me." He gave a nod to Cecilia, who was clutching her chest.
"Mr. Darmody. You startled us."
Jimmy could barely contain himself. "Am I interrupting something?
"No," Richard and Cecilia answered at the exact same moment. Richard glanced at Cecilia, then hurried toward the bedroom. Cecilia averted her eyes.
Jimmy stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry."
"I understand," she said, although she briefly considered telling him to go to hell.
There was a long pause. "You know something...I think I can handle it."
Richard emerged a moment later, bending down to retrieve his coat from the floor. He tucked the Colt back in his pocket. Jimmy called him over and whispered something in his ear.
"Cecilia, I'm so sorry to have troubled you. I told Richard I'll come by later. I apologize for the disturbance."
Before she could answer, Richard said, "Thank you." And to Cecilia's bewilderment, he re-entered the house.
"Tonight, then."
"Yes."
As Jimmy turned to leave, just barely supressing a laugh as he did so, Richard watched Cecilia's face as she sighed deeply. "That was very kind of him."
"He is."
"I'm certainly glad you didn't shoot him."
"Hmm. I thought he. Might be an intruder."
Cecilia cocked her head. "And you'd come to my rescue?" she asked, dryly.
"You sound. Surprised."
"No. It's not that. I know you would. And I don't mean to offend." She scurried to the hutch and returned holding something wrapped neatly in hand towel. She handed it to Richard. He carefully unfolded it to find a handgun, remarkably similar to his.
"It's a Smith and Wesson. My brother, Adrian, gave it to me after Daniel died. He didn't especially like the idea of me living alone."
"You can. Operate this."
Cecilia lowered her eyes as she spoke. "I grew up with six boys. When they'd go out hunting, I'd tell my mother I was concerned for their safety, and I'd just follow them into the woods. They knew how stubborn I was, so they figured they might as well teach me how to shoot."
"Hmmm. A large family."
"We've been out of contact since Daniel and I married. Well, except for Adrian. He's different from the rest of them." Her tone was curt and icy. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. "So, Richard, how about you? Your family?"
"I have a twin sister. Emma. She lives in Wisconsin. Hmmm."
Cecilia nodded as Richard handed the weapon back to her. He watched as she tucked it back into a drawer. "A twin. Thought for certain you were one of a kind." She reached up and touched his cheek affectionately. She debated telling him that she was teaching Margaret, Nucky's paramour, how to properly handle and fire a gun, and how she had difficulty loading the clips. Richard, having been a marksman, would likely have had some advice. But now that daylight filled the room, he noticed the piano.
"Do you play."
"Yes."
"I'd like to hear."
"Okay." Cecilia sat down on the bench and tentatively began a Rachmaninov piece. Richard took his place on the easy chair. He was entranced. But after a moment or two, he determined it wasn't all that gratifying just to watch.
He stepped behind her, watching her fingers dance across the keys, her eyes closed, as if she was lost in a dream. In a fell swoop, he gathered her hair and planted a passionate kiss on her neck. She was startled at first, but then turned to meet his lips. The room fell quiet again so all she could hear was his breathing. The sweetest song in the world.
Open your eye, my darling, she wanted to whisper as Richard slept peacefully on the pillow next to her. She was fixated on figuring out its actual color. In the sunlight it looked lighter than the painted eye on his mask, as if it had been chiseled from topaz. Ah well, he's not waking up anytime soon. It'll have to wait. She dressed herself, then set about making some biscuits.
It was the clatter of pans along with the aroma that actually woke him up. He rose from the bed, rummaged through the blankets to find his clothes, and in his haste accidentally knocked something off the side table. He picked it up and realized it was a photograph of a much younger Cecilia and her family. He took a closer look, examining it for any obvious damage, but fortunately there was none. He smiled at the sight of her plump face, how uncomfortable she looked in the pale lace frock, ribbons adorning her unruly curls. She was surrounded by mostly boys; there was one other girl, and a mother, holding a baby. He squinted to see the faces of her brothers, and realized one of them looked familiar. Too familiar.
Yes, he'd definitely seen that face before. She did say she was from Philadelphia. Perhaps someone he'd run into at Manny Horwitz's place? Or someone who frequented the boardwalk -
Oh, no. Richard thought, his mind beginning to race. Shit. It can't be.
He could put it back, pretending he never saw a thing. He held onto the vague hope that if he could pretend, that would make it less real. But instead, gripped by curiosity, he opened up the frame and removed the photograph, and turned it over. On the back, in a woman's perfect script, it read:
La famiglia d'Alessio, agosto 1910