Or you can forgive

Proserpina

I stopped as I saw Lucien. He was at the bottom of the stairs and we stared at each other for a long moment. A bodyguard, big Noah, hovered hesitantly in the shadows, wondering, perhaps, if he should step forward and grab the Boss before he fell down in a drunken heap.

My eyes took in the haggard lined face, the craggy features that I still loved, the muscular physique but with slumped shoulders now. I took the last step and he moved, swaying slightly, almost stumbling.

Lucien Delano was dead drunk.

*

Without stopping to think, I reached out and grabbed his arm, my arm going to encircle his waist, propping him up, and steadying him. The familiar musk and spicy lemon smell of my husband engulfed me. And a rush of whiskey-laden breath hit me. I crinkled my nose in disgust. The man was drowning in drink.

Suddenly, he pulled me into his embrace. Tight and possessive.

I stood still, stiff and unresponsive at first. But my heart yearned to throw my arms around him, for I loved hi