Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hi.”
He sets down the spatula, walks over to me, and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you sure you want to leave the warmth of the blankets? It’s fucking freezing up here.”
“Says the guy not wearing a shirt.”
His tongue peeks between his teeth as he hits me with a frisky wink. “You were too busy snoring to tell me what you wanted to eat, so I thought I’d keep your options open.”
I backhand his stomach, doubling his grin. “I do not snore.”
What? I can’t go straight to begging to eat him for breakfast, or he’ll never know how much his support has meant to me.
Even the most confident man wouldn’t need to feel guilty about pulling the pin this early in a forming relationship. Our vows may have said until death do us part, but they didn’t mention psychotic meltdowns.
My hit doesn’t keep Matteo down for a second. “Don’t feel bad. You’re keeping the tourists guessing.” He moseys back to the skillet, his ab muscles popping with each swaggered step. “They still believe the worst threat in these mountains is bears and wolves. My bite is a lot harder.”
“You better not be biting anyone, mister.”
His smile… Did I die? “I’m not biting anyone. Except you… if you want me to.”
Needing to sit before I fall, I plonk my backside onto a stool near the breakfast bar, then get our conversation back on track. “You can blame a 1945 Italian children’s book classic for people’s beliefs that bears aren’t extinct in Sicily. The Bears’—”
“Famous Invasion of Sicily by Dino Buzzati,” Matteo says with me. “My mother read it to me all the time when I was a kid.” He slides freshly made crepes onto a plate before spinning to face me. “It’s been years, and I still know the words by heart.”
I smile, loving that he’s talking about his mother without the usual pain his voice once held.
“Do you miss her?”
“Every fucking day,” he says without pause for thought. “But the grief isn’t as bad now.”
“Why?” I ask, desperate for guidance on how to continue moving forward. I lost Hattie four years ago, but I’ve never had the chance to truly grieve her. I held it back until I felt safe to express it without judgment.
Clearly, I feel safe with Matteo.
He plucks a fork out of the drying rack, then slips onto the chair next to me, not looking at me as he replies, “Because she wouldn’t have been able to give me you if she were still here.”
My heart bursts.
For once, it is in a good way.
In silence, we eat together on the island. The crepes taste better than anything I’ve had in days, and not solely because I add the condiments I like, but because everything tastes better when it’s made with love.
Halfway through breakfast, guilt creeps in. It isn’t that all-encompassing guilt I felt earlier. Just loathsomeness that I’ve burdened Matteo more than I’ve made Antonio’s life a living hell.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Matteo looks up sharply. “For what?”
“For taking so long to find myself again.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Grief is different for everyone.” Sipping his coffee, he adds, “Not all of us are built for multiple DUIs and days in county lockup.”
I choke on my crepe when laughter bursts out of me. It is unexpected but undeniably genuine.
Matteo grins, satisfied, but inside, I still hate myself a little. If I hadn’t been so broken, perhaps I could have told him more about Antonio’s plans. Does Matteo know that the Adamis were packing up and leaving the country? Or was he too worried about me to make sure he didn’t need to cross continents to exact revenge?
He squeezes my hand, silently demanding my eyes back to his. “Stop. Nothing you’re thinking about right now matters. It’s my job to support my wife when she needs me. One day, you’ll do the same for me.”
I snort. “That better not be anytime within the next year. I promised your father I’d keep you on a short leash when he approved my plan for us to fake a relationship without your input.” I snap my mouth shut two seconds too late. “Forget everything I just said.”
“No fucking chance.” His mouth falls open before it cracks into a panty-wetting grin. “I knew he conspired to get us together. He’s got some stupid notion his sons will fall in order.”
I twist my lips, lost as to why he’s acting as if his father hasn’t achieved precisely that.
“Too bad he hasn’t realized Cupid’s arrow homed in on Nico’s ass years ago.”
I mimic his earlier shock. “Do tell.”
As we eat, he shares a story as wild and reckless as ours.
It’s also just as heartbreaking.
When we finish eating, I stand to clear away our dishes. That’s when I notice the massive gift hamper on the dining table. It’s overflowing with everything imaginable: chocolates. Feminine products. Bubble bath. Sketchbooks. Pencils. Markers. And a giant fluffy pink tutu. Huh?