Yesterday a set of keys showed up on the island along with a wad of cash and a note. Of course, Angelo left it.
“Go shopping,la mia pace,” his scrawl was flowy but with an edge and surprisingly legible. “Buy whatever you need or want. I’ll be home around five or I will call you.”
I wondered how he got my number, but when I looked at my phone, I had a text.
Il mio re:I took the liberty of adding my number to your phone. There’s no point in arguing with me about it. It’s already done. Have fun today.
I looked it up. It means ‘my king’ and all I could do was roll my eyes. His self-assuredness should have been a turn-off. It wasn’t. It only made me want him more.
After looking through the kitchen, I went to the grocery store. I knew someone was following me because I’m not stupid and I’ve gotten this far in life by being observant. They haven’t interfered and I don’t see any reason to bring it up.
When arms wrap around my waist and pull me from my thoughts, I don’t jump. I know who it is. His scent is all woodsysmoke with a hint of citrus. It makes me want to curl up in his lap and snuggle against his chest.
For a muscular man, burrowing against him is surprisingly comfortable. Then there’s the fact that I want to do it at all. I’ve never been much of a cuddler, but with him, it’s all I want to do.
It makes no damn sense.
He plants kisses up and down my neck, the warmth of him seeping into me while he gently sways us from side to side. We’re almost dancing, and the whole thing strikes me as so silly and ridiculous that I can’t help but giggle. I would never have imagined this moment.
Never.
“Merry Christmas Eve,la mia pace,” his words slide against my skin, and they feel like a caress. “It smells good in here.”
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I echo, my voice sounding small compared to his. I’m still not sure about all of this.
Angelo is though. And it shows.
“I’m just making some chicken. We have some time while it bakes,” I tell him while glancing at the timer.
He makes a humming sound and picks me up to carry me into the living room. The same room where a Christmas tree with all the trimmings appeared the other day. Well, it was there and it was lit up, but the ornaments were in boxes around it like a holiday offering.
As we decorated the tree together, he asked me questions. They were the light, airy questions you always ask when you’re getting to know someone. The difference when it came to Angelowasn’t in the questions, it was in the way he listened intently to my answers.
I swear the man was putting together a mental spreadsheet about me.
I’m not used to his kind of focus.
“How was your day?”
Angelo’s question pulls me out of my thoughts, and I relax against his chest from my seat on his lap. When I look at the tree, I’m glad there aren’t any presents underneath it. It would be too much.
I would have gotten him something nice. I wanted to. With a small shake of my head, I push away the memory. Things did not go as planned.
“It was okay,” I tell him. “I went out and did some shopping.”
Not a lie. I did go out. I did buy things. Which means shopping happened. Did I get everything I wanted to? No. But that’s not the point.
He makes a humming sound again as he grips my chin and tips my face up toward him. When he takes my mouth, the kiss starts out sweet. It doesn’t stay that way.
I don’t know what it is about this man, but whenever he kisses me, it’s like I lose myself. In him. In the way he makes me feel. In the pleasure flowing through my body.
As much as I could get used to it, and desperately want to, I try to keep some emotional distance between us. Angelo doesn’t allow it. He pushes past the defenses I try to put up. He closes the distance between us, never letting me stray far and that goes for metaphorical and physical distances.
It’s maddening.
And incredibly endearing.
And probably a giant fucking red flag.
