Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“And Dominick knows?”
“Yeah. For the most part, it doesn’t matter since he handles the business side of things, but when I need to read something …” I tap the earbud that’s situated in my right ear.
“That’s why you always wear that earbud. So you can listen to your texts and emails.”
I nod. “It’s just easier that way. I googled it to see if there was a cure, but there wasn’t. I did learn that there’s a fifty percent chance of passing it down to your kids though.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s why you don’t want to have kids?”
“I wouldn’t be able to help my own kids with their homework or read them a bedtime story. Hell, you asked me to read you a fucking measurement, and I lost my shit. Add the fact that this life is dangerous? Not only would my child’s life be at risk every day, but they might not even be able to read, thanks to me. And don’t get me started on my emotional dysregulation. I’m either fighting or fucking to keep my emotions in check. Not exactly husband or father material.”
“Oh, Matteo,” she sighs. “Don’t you hear yourself? You’re aware of what you went through, what you go through every day. Do you honestly believe that if you had a child and they ended up having dyslexia that you wouldn’t do everything in your power to make sure they got the help they needed?”
Fuck, I guess I never looked at it like that, but …
“Did you see the way I lashed out at you? I don’t want to put someone I love through that. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You mean the way you got upset and then walked away and took it out on a bag because you’d rather do that than hurt me?” She quirks a brow. “Make up all the excuses you want, but you’re a good guy, Matteo, and you’re not going to tell me otherwise.”
She stands and extends her hand, and I’m immediately drawn to her.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the kitchen. I was in the middle of baking you a cake.”
“Me?” I ask as I stand.
“Yes, you.” She pokes my chest with her finger. “I heard from a little birdie that your birthday is tomorrow.”
Oh shit …
“I figured you probably have plans with your family tomorrow night, so I was making you a cake for tonight. And according to my source, your favorite is chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.”
“And would that source happen to be stuck behind bars?” I half joke as we walk back to the kitchen.
“Yes, and he insisted I take a picture and have an extra slice for him.”
She walks in front of me, but before she can get far, I reach out and pull her backward, so her back is flush against my front.
“Thank you, Dani.”
She turns her head to look up at me. “For what?”
I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek. “For being you.”
21
Daniella
Matteo is dyslexic. Now that I know, so many things make sense, like the way he always has an earbud in one ear. Or how, sometimes, when he’s texting someone, he’ll voice-text it. I thought he was just being lazy, but that’s not the case at all. He’s adapted, and he has done a damn good job of doing so.
“All right,” he says, leaning against the counter, “let’s make this damn cake so I can eat some.”
I go about making the batter while Matteo watches. We talk about our day and what we should order in for dinner since we’re celebrating his birthday, and he invites me to his brother’s house for his birthday dinner tomorrow night.
“You’ll get to see my mom,” he says.
“I haven’t seen her in years. But my mom said she was so proud of her. She moved on and met someone, right?”
“Yeah. Some boring-ass financial adviser.” Matteo chuckles. “But she’s happy. I went to his office the other day to have lunch with them and walked in on them fucking.”
He mock gags, and I laugh.
“That’s what I want.”
He quirks a brow. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism, but if that’s your thing …”
He shrugs a shoulder, and I slap his chest playfully, trying and failing to ignore how gorgeous his body is without a shirt on. Between his chiseled chest, masculine tattoos, and rock-hard abs, he’s a walking, talking fantasy come to life.
“Not watching people have sex!” I choke out, hoping he doesn’t hear how affected I am. “I want to be the one having sex in the office. I want a man who wants me so badly that he can’t help himself.”
I should’ve known that Enrique wasn’t really into me when I’d mention wanting to have sex and he’d tell me he was too tired.
“What’s this?” Matteo asks, picking up the bag of flour. “Almond flour?”