She turns to look at me, her pretty eyes lidded with sleep and affection. "Stay a while in the mornings. I don't want to wake up alone ever again."
“Done.” I press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in and letting her scent calm the rough beat of my heart. “I’m sorry. No more lonely mornings for you. I will be the first thing you see every morning when you open your eyes for the rest of our lives. I promise,tesoro mio.”
“Good,” she says with a yawn. “I love you, Matteo.”
Epilogue
Four Years Later
Sofia
The room is a living and breathing entity of chaos, a hive of activity. There is music blasting, people laughing, and conversations overlapping in a jumble of voices. It’s all so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts.
What I can feel, however, are my nerves.
I've worked too hard to be this terrified, but I can't help it. This is my first solo runway show where the world gets to see the designs I've been working on for years. There are famous fashion editors from magazines and online publications who are going to write pieces on this show, along with some popular celebrities and other industry people in the audience. They’re all here to watch my show, and its success partly depends on them.
The thought of someone hating it has my palms sweating and my stomach rolling with anxiety. The noise in the room only works to amplify my nerves. I run a hand through my hair, begging for peace.
Silence.
I just need a moment of quiet to think and calm my nerves.
As if hearing my silent plea, the room settles with a hush, and the pulsating music cuts off, dying mid-note. Conversations cease and a profound stillness follows. It's so abrupt that it stops me in my tracks, my heart leaping into my throat. I slowly turn, trying to understand what caused the silence.
Then I see him.
And my breath hitches. The world seems to narrow, and just like that, the room, the noise, the nerves, everything else just melts away. And it's just him and me.
He's tall, a silhouette against the light, dressed in his signature black. His features had to be the gods themselves—so chiseled and breathtakingly handsome. His presence is magnetic, drawing the attention of every woman in the room, but his eyes stay on me.
When he starts walking toward me, the people in the room rush out of his way, parting like the Red Sea for him. He doesn’t say a word but, instead, grabs my wrist and then pulls me out of the room. All the protests I make fall on deaf ears as my husband drags me down the hall and opens a door to the left, pushing me inside.
I should probably be annoyed that he’s pulled me away from work before I can check on the last-minute details for the seventeenth time, but I find relief in the blessed silence the dressing room he’s brought me to provides.
"What are you doing?" I ask with a sigh, my eyes widening when Matteo drops to his knees in front of me. “Matteo–”
"Gia texted me, told me that you were nervous and that you needed me," he says, running his hands up my legs and pushing up my skirt. “You do need me, don’t you?”
"God yes," I sigh, placing a hand on his shoulders to stop him when he leans forward. "Remind me to scold my sister for siccing you on me like this. Jesus, Matteo, I always need you. It's just that now is not the right time. The show starts in less than thirty minutes–”
“I only need ten.”
“Matteo–”
"You're nervous,” he rasps, taking my wrists and pulling my hands off his shoulders. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
“But–”
"I want you," he leans forward, brushing his lips over my thigh, his warm breath against my skin. "Let me have you,tesoro mio."
Christ, there is something hot about seeing a man as strong as he is on his knees, those dark eyes filled with passion that melts my resolve. No, I can never resist him, and when his hand slides under my skirt and yanks down my underwear, forcing a shudder down my spine, I realize I need this—him.
I always do.
“Someone could walk in.” It’s a halfhearted protest at best. "It's a little risky, Matteo. I think… oh!" My back hits the wall when I feel his thumb rubbing over my folds, parting them and grazing my clit. I moan, arching into his touch despite myself.
“There you are,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss my inner thigh. My breath comes in rapid gasps as his lips move up my thigh, caressing and nipping at my sensitive skin. Lust shoots through my stomach, and I feel my pussy flood with moisture. I ache with need for him to cool the fire building in my core, an ache so strong it leaves my knees weak.
