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)
Confident that a healthy stream of water will help unlock some of my confusion, I head for the shower. The bathroom is massive, with a Jacuzzi tub, a bidet, and a shower that could fit five people. After turning on the faucet, I slip out of my bra and panties. I step under the spray face-first, trying to wash away the confusion.
Some of my memories fade into the background, but the hazy ones of me masturbating under Matteo’s watchful gaze refuse to dissolve. I blush while tracing the outline of my lips with my fingers. My mouth feels bruised from a senseless kiss, and my chin feels scuffed from a rough brushing. They could be the effects of the kiss we shared in the walk-in closet, but it feels more recent. Like it was mere hours ago.
No longer interested in letting my memories fade, especially the one where Matteo hinted he wanted to keep me for eternity, I scrub a loaded loofah over my skin, rinse off the bubbles, switch off the faucet, then clamber out of the shower.
As I wrap myself in a towel, I scan the bathroom floor for the items I arrived with. A maid collects our clothes each morning to launder, so I have to ensure I hide my soiled underwear at the very bottom of the laundry hamper if I ever want to show my unblemished face again.
The only way to keep secrets is to keep them well hidden.
My bra and the sheet I used for coverage are where I left them, but my panties are nowhere to be found.
“I’m sure I took them off right there,” I murmur to myself, thrusting my hand at the sheet.
Assuming they’re tangled in the king-size sheet, I bob down to whip it off the floor.
Before I can search it, Matteo’s deep timbre comes through the bathroom door. “Are you nearly ready, micina? Brunch ends in an hour, and I’m extra hungry this morning.”
I recall him saying similar words when he ate me for dinner, and a delicious shiver runs through me.
“Coming.”
I curse myself to hell for my inappropriate reply when Matteo chuckles. Then I wad the sheet and my bra into a ball and toss them into the laundry hamper, hopeful my panties are buried deep inside the sheet.
When I leave the bathroom, Matteo eyeballs my departure. Unlike me, he doesn’t hide his hungry gawk. He moistens his lips as his hooded watch switches my heavy stomps to weightless, flighty steps.
I walk into the closet and pause, hand on the doorknob, wondering whether I should close it.
With a groan, I enter the spacious area, leaving the door untouched. Matteo has already seen too much of me and the mess I pretend isn’t there. Closing the door now feels pointless.
Fake modesty is lying to no one but myself.
Leaving the door open, I put on a flirty fitted shirt and a flared floral skirt. It’s not exactly a risqué outfit, but it’s a couple of steps up from the nun suit I wore most of yesterday.
When I approach the built-in vanity station, Matteo’s figure blocks the door. With his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder resting on the doorframe, he watches me with an unreadable expression.
I run a brush through my hair before leaving it to curl naturally. “We only bought clothes for events. They aren’t appropriate for brunch.”
“It’s all good,” he says, pushing off his feet. “That works. You look cute.”
Cute?
Is that a compliment or an insult? It’s hard to tell.
Matteo smiles at my grimace before he nudges his head to the entryway of the walk-in closet.
“Let’s go,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m starving.”
We walk downstairs together, hand in hand.
Brunch is in the dining room today, not in the atrium, which is usually reserved for Giovanni and Valentina. Apparently, the atrium is “occupied” by Matteo’s father and stepmother. “Occupied” must be code for something no one wants to think about, because Matteo’s shiver matches that of Giovanni and Dante when they join us at the main dining table.
“Still convinced the family living under one roof is a good idea, Vanni?” Dante asks Giovanni when he shoves away a plate loaded with breakfast treats after only pushing its contents around with a fork. “I have no intention of visiting the sunroom anytime soon.”
Matteo shivers again, and Giovanni grimaces before muttering something under his breath in Italian. It must be a family joke—or trauma—I don’t understand.
Valentina sits beside Giovanni, yawning as if she’d rather be anywhere else. I sympathize. Food is abundant, but having so many couples in one place feels suffocating. Perhaps the Carusos’ obvious approval of public displays of affection caused the weird emotions that have been bombarding me the past couple of days?
I eat while pretending I’m not seconds away from getting caught in a web of alliances, obligations, and desires I shouldn’t have.