I roll over and groan, sure that I’m dreaming because there’s no way Matteo would be waking me up while it’s still dark outside, especially since we spent most of the night into the early morning reminding each other—and ourselves—that even though what had happened was a close call, I was still here and alive and I wasn’t going anywhere unless I was forced to.
“Ten more minutes,” I whine, shoving my head under the pillow.
It’s Sunday, so it’s not like I need to get up for work. And when he has stuff to do, he never wakes me up.
“We don’t have ten minutes,” he says, lifting the pillow off my head and brushing my hair out of my face. “The plane is scheduled to leave in an hour, so unless you want to go to the airport in your pajamas and without showering, you need to get up now.”
The airport …
I pop my eyes open. “The airport?”
He chuckles. “Italy, remember?”
I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes. “We’re still going?”
I assumed, after everything that happened, he’d need to stay close to home to figure out who was coming after his family.
“All the bullshit will still be here when we get back,” he says. “But right now, I’m taking my girlfriend to Italy.”
I choke out a sob, unsure why the hell I’m suddenly so emotional, and nod. “Okay, let’s go to Italy.” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss the corner of his jaw, which has accumulated a good amount of stubble. “I can’t wait to see Italy with you.”
The plane isthe one the Antonovs share with my family, so I’ve been on it before, and the moment we step inside, memories of trips with my parents hit me hard. The last time I was on it was for our ski trip to Wintergreen, a ski resort in Virginia. The sad reality that I’ll never take another trip with my parents causes me to wrap my arms around my middle and sniffle back a sob.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Matteo asks, picking up on my mood.
“This is the plane we took to go skiing the Christmas before my parents were killed.”
Matteo nods in understanding and encircles his arms around me.
“They were good people. Your dad was more of a father to methan my own was. And your mom made the best damn desserts.” He kisses my forehead. “Like you.”
Despite my heart aching in my chest from my missing my parents, I smile up at Matteo, thankful that I have him. He doesn’t replace them, but his love fills a huge part of the hole their deaths left in my heart.
“Maybe we can go skiing one day?” I mention, hoping maybe we can continue my family’s tradition of going to Wintergreen every winter. I haven’t brought it up to Lorenzo yet, but?—
“I don’t ski,” Matteo deadpans, popping my bubble of hope. “And I hate the fucking cold. But I’m down to spend a week in a cabin with your body heat keeping me warm. And maybe, if you do a good enough job of persuading me, I’ll attempt to snowboard.”
I choke out a watery laugh at his response and lean in to give him a kiss. “Thank you, Matteo. That means a lot to me.”
We find our seats and, since it’s early, order breakfast from the attendant. Matteo tells me that it’s a ten-hour flight, and since Italy is six hours ahead, we’ll arrive just in time to go to bed. But the rest of the week will be filled with touristy shit—his words, not mine. We’re flying into Rome, but the plane will be on standby in case we want to go to any of the other cities, such as Venice, Florence, or Milan.
Once the plane takes off and we’re allowed to unbuckle, Matteo drags me to the room, where we spend the next ten hours starting our vacation off in the best way possible—with him inside me.
31
Matteo
We walkedby the Colosseum and did a pasta-making class in Rome, visited the Tower of Pisa, went to more galleries than I can recall in Florence, and now, we’re in Portofino, walking through the streets and checking out the shops.
This week has been perfect. Dani has fallen in love with Italy, and I’ve fallen even more in love with her. The days have been spent sightseeing, and the nights have been spent with her wrapped around me.
Tonight is our last night here, and I’m freaking out a little because I want to make it memorable. We’re staying at a hotel that overlooks the Ligurian Sea, and I’ve enlisted the hotel restaurant to have dinner ready for us on the terrace when we get back. I never imagined this would be my life, but the happiness I see radiating on Dani’s face as she experiences each part of Italy makes it worth it.
“Oh! Let’s go in here,” she says, pulling me into a high-end boutique.
She spends the next twenty minutes checking out the expensive purses that I’ve seen my mom and sister use, and she finally settles on a little white-and-black one that shouldn’t cost as much as it does.
Of course, she doesn’t ask me to buy it for her because she has her own money and refuses to let me pay for anything unless it’spart of the trip. Once the overpriced purse is paid for and in some ugly-ass orange bag, we head out.
