He kissed me like he’d been drowning for weeks and I was the first breath of air. His mouth crushed against mine, warm, demanding, reverent. I grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, letting the anger melt into want, into relief, into something I wasn’t brave enough to name.
We only separated when our lungs begged for mercy, foreheads pressed together, breath mingled.
“I’m sorry you were in the dark,” he murmured, thumb tracing my bottom lip. “But I’m not sorry I did it. I won’t apologize for doing everything in my power to make you mine.”
“Always the gentleman.”
“I might not have perfect morals, but I vow to you,Francesca…I will always put you first.Always.”
Warmth spread in my chest – slow, terrifying, impossible to stop. “I know…”
“I love you, Francesca. I’ve never said that to anyone in my life.”
I swallowed, the admission pulling my heart open like dawn breaking. “I love you, too.”
“Good.”
My fingers tugged at his collar. “Don’t lie to me again.”
His eyes locked on mine, unblinking. “I won’t.”
I believed him.
“Come on,” Matteo nodded towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you dinner.”
“You better,” I murmured, still a little grumpy, but in too deep to be truly mad.
He smiled, his arm only tightening around my waist as we walked deeper into our home. “How does stake sound?”
Chapter 36
Present
Upper-East Side, New York City
I WOKE TO PALE BLUE light and the soft rustle of curtains breathing with the morning breeze, before the door slid closed.
The bed beside me was empty – still warm, the pillow lightly indented where his head had been. It didn’t surprise or scare me. Matteo was always gone when the sky was still bruised with dawn, like he belonged to the sunrise more than the night. Usually, I’d stay curled under the sheets, drifting back to sleep until he returned and pulled me back into him like I was his favorite thing to wake up to.
But today something tugged at me. Last night changed something.
I felt different knowing how deeply he truly felt for me. Almost like it was safer for me to allow myself to openly express my feeling for him.
I pushed the blanket away and sat up, platinum hair falling over my shoulder. The room was shadowed and silver, quiet enough that I could hear the distant traffic. My eyes drifted toward the terrace.
Matteo stood with both hands resting on the balcony railing, broad shoulders outlined by the soft, rising light. His back was to me – bare, strong lines disappearinginto the low hang of gray sweatpants. The horizon was a watercolor wash of lavender and gold, just beginning to bleed warmth into the sky.
I sat there for a moment, at the edge of our bed, watching him. Admiring him. Maybe worshiping him a little.
God, he was beautiful.
Not just in the obvious way – though that certainly didn’t hurt – but in the way he was. In the way he’d been through so much, yet remained kind and loving. In the way he radiated warmth like the sun himself.
Like he could justbe.
And I loved him for that softness he rarely showed anyone else.
I pressed my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them, heart quietly full. It was ridiculous, really – how every time I looked at him, I fell a little harder. How a marriage that started for business, for convenience, for strategy, somehow became the most real, solid thing in my life.
