She beams at me, and I find that I like her company as we chat through breakfast. Her help is welcome as we pack my things. She keeps the air lively as we leave. A chauffeur waits for us at the entrance and drives us to Matteo's penthouse.
We arrive at the same time my sisters do with my things, escorted by two of Matteo’s brothers, who leave soon after. We spend the rest of the afternoon chatting. It’s nearly six when they all leave, giggling among themselves on how they need to clear out so I have time alone with my husband.
I don’t realize how bored I am until I find myself alone in a spacious, luxurious penthouse with none of my sisters' laughter to fill it.
He hasn’t called all day.
Sure, he sent his sister and a car for me but it's him I wanted there when I opened my eyes. Him who I wanted to help me move into a home I am going to be sharing with him.
I manage to work myself into a frenzy when the doorbell chimes half an hour later. I rush to the front door without glancing at the security monitor, expecting yet again to see Matteo. But I am greeted by the blue uniform of a delivery driver, face obscured by a baseball cap. The scent of lemongrass and chilis hits me, instantly making my stomach rumble. My eyes drop to the familiar bag from my favorite Thai place, but… It's on the other end of town.
Matteo?
Did he really call my favorite restaurant from across town and have them deliver my meal? I feel a tiny bit, just an inch of resentment melt off as the delivery guy hands me the food.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the bag. The delivery guy mumbles something in response before darting away. I’m grinning ear to ear as I walk back inside, touched that Matteo isn’t a complete asshole for deserting me right after our wedding. The note inside confirming that the food is from him makes me smile.
The food helps tame the anger, but not completely. Two hours later, when I finally hear the front door open and catch that sexy scent that is uniquely my husband, I am ready to rage at him for abandoning me. He had no right to rock my world the way he did last night and then desert me the next day.
I'm already rising from the couch, ready for a confrontation with him when he steps into my line of view and… I forget how to breathe.
He’s in black pants and a black shirt rolled to the elbows. A gold watch winks on his wrist as the only accessory on him, and Lord above, he's a sight to behold. His raven hair is neatly combed back and those eyes… those almost black eyes are the sexiest thing ever.
“Sofia,” he says my name in a deep voice that sends my knees trembling. “I thought you would be in bed.”
Right…
“We… I… we need to talk.”
“About what?” he asks, dropping the briefcase in his hand and approaching me, his dark eyes filling with heat that licks at my skin and leaves me trembling. I'm not sure which one of us moves first, but the next thing I know, we're kissing.
My arms wrap around him, and my hands circle his waist as he licks into my mouth like a drowning man. I cling to him as he lowers me onto the couch. His lips are on my throat, kissing my neck and tugging down my dress to suck at my nipples,causing my core to flood with heat. I run my hands over those firm muscles, kissing him back with just as much fervor. I'm sobbing when he finally sinks into me, filling and stretching me with his massive girth.
I cling to him, hugging him close as he takes me on the couch in fast strokes. There are no words traded between us as we make love on the couch and then later on his wide bed.
There is a thought… an important memory fluttering through my mind about something I needed to do, but for the life of me, I can’t recall what it was. The feeling stays even when he holds me in his arms after the lovemaking, the fast beat of his heart lulling me to sleep.
When I open my eyes next, it’s dawn, and I’m alone in bed. Again! We didn't get to talk much, or at all, with his tongue and mouth being so busy, so I vow to talk to him tonight when he gets home. Surely, I'm smart enough not to allow my baser needs to distract me.
I spend the day unpacking and settling into the penthouse, texting with my sisters about how strange it feels to live somewhere new. Around five, I start preparing dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta primavera, something I actually know how to make. If Matteo is going to be home for dinner, I want to be the one who made it..
At six-thirty, my phone buzzes with a text.
Matteo:Home by 7. Looking forward to seeing you,tesoro mio.
My heart does a little flip. He’s coming home. For dinner. With me.
When the front door opens at seven sharp, I’m pulling the pasta off the stove. He appears in the kitchen doorway, loosening his tie, those dark eyes finding me immediately.
“You cooked,” he says, surprise evident in his voice.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I say, trying not to smile. “I’m not completely useless in the kitchen.”
He crosses to me, one hand sliding around my waist as he leans down to kiss my temple. “I didn’t say useless. I said I’m surprised.” His eyes drop to the pasta. “Smells good.”
“It’s just pasta.”
“It’s perfect.”
