Black Widow | 18+

34 | Make Me

A/N: Hello! It has admittedly been a while but I am so happy to be writing again! ALSO, this one is JUICCYYYYY

Artemisia

I kept my eyes on the waiter as he walked away from us, having taken our drink order. My heart was beating fast, but I was doing my best to ignore the nerves and anxiety crashing through my body.

Anton cleared his throat before placing a hand on mine that rested in my lap, squeezing it gently, and I looked over at him.

"Why did you wait so long to get back in touch Arté?" He rasped and I shut my eyes, taking a slow breath in as I tried to come up with a response in my head.

"I thought that the longer I left it, the easier it would be; I was telling myself that with time I would be able to get over it, and that things would be fine when we did eventually meet again."

"But obviously that isn't the case, even after five years." Anton replied and I opened my eyes to look at him; his brown eyes were so dark that searching them was like looking around a pitch black room. "You wrote me that letter with the expectation of feeling none of those things when you next saw me, but instead you feel everything for me and more." He observed

I bit the inside of my cheek, tearing my eyes away from him and looking over at the group of women chatting but staring at Anton and I. It made me feel uncomfortable, it made me feel seen, like they knew I was talking about my feelings I had for a married man with a child, who I had abandoned after he had made me so happy.

It felt fucking awful.

Anton placed a hand on my jaw gently and guided my gaze back to his. I felt vulnerable, so exposed under the light of those around us but particularly him. He could read me better than anyone, something he would always have to his advantage.

"I love you Artemisia." He murmured

"I know," I rasped

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" He sighed

"Because you have a wife, and she's given you a child." I replied, not tearing my gaze from him

"You pushed me away before Leandro ever came into the picture, so why then?" He asked and i shut my eyes as a wave of uneasiness came over me. 

"Because you know me better than anyone, and for a very long time I depended on not being seen or understood by people to make life manageable. Then you came along, and you fucked it all up, and you made me irrational and emotional, I couldn't have that, not when I was doing what I did for a living." I muttered, opening my eyes and finding his brown ones, so blurred in the light.

"But look where that got you Angel," he mumbled, "look where that got us."

The waiter came over and set down our drinks, his being a scotch and mine being a glass of wine. I drew my glass to my lips and scanned the area, catching the gazes of men watching from a distance and the women had now thankfully returned to their own conversations.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I muttered, resentment laced through my tone, "I don't know why you have such a big hold over me, I don't know why I'm so torn."

"Maybe it's because, as you said, I'm the only one who can read you. But also Arté, I'm one of the very few who can understand you. Leandro doesn't get you like I do, and I'm not saying that out of a place of bias, just out of truth." Anton replied. I looked over at him, allowing my gaze to settle on the tattoos peeking out through the undone buttons of the linen shirt.

The cross tattoo that was the centrepiece of his chest was being slightly revealed and my mind immediately flashed back to the nights that I would spend tracing the artwork, with Anton explaining each one to me.