“I love hearing that,” he jokes, grinning.
“So, do I get to watch you cook?”
“Hell yeah,meraviglia.Pull up a chair, the Chef Matteo show is about to come on. My mouth is already watering, I should have had a snack before coming here.”
My mouth is watering too, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m hungry.
In the end, it only takes one bite for me to agree that he’s been right all along. Grigory’s chicken parm is good, but Matteo’s is excellent. Martha clearly taught him everything she knows, at least about this dish in particular.
The crust of the chicken is crunchy perfection while the inside is still tender and juicy. The sauce is the perfect combination of robust, acidic, and sweet. And the cheese melts in my mouth—every bit of it pairing so well with the homemade pasta.
“So?” Matteo asks in anticipation. “What do you think?”
“I think I could eat this exact meal every day for the rest of my life.”
He beams and starts to dig into his plate. “I can’t wait to tell Martha. I’m going to text her right after we finish. She’s going to be thrilled.”
“You two text?” I ask with a laugh.
He grins wide. “Of course!”
I laugh again, shaking my head at his enthusiasm. Martha is fifty-six years old but apparently keeps up with twenty-one-year-old Matteo fairly well. He speaks about her more like a friend than an employee of his family. It’s obvious that she’s at home with the Morettis and it’s nice to hear about.
I almost don’t think I have any room left for dessert, but when Grigory sets a slice of decadent dark chocolate cake on the dining room table in front of both of us, I have no choice but to indulge.
It takes me twice as long as Matteo to finish my serving, but it’s worth every moment. Each bite made me fuller than the last, and I know there’s going to be a bit of discomfort hitting me soon, but I can’t seem to make myself care.
“Will you be disgusted with me if I ask for another piece?” Matteo jokes.
“I might not be able to watch you eat it,” I say through a chuckle. “But I wouldn’t judge you for it. That was amazing. Dinner, and the cake.”
He hums in agreement and looks like he may be debating getting up to go get another slice. The taste of chocolate is still fresh and sweet on my tongue as I lick my lips, sensing I’ve coated them while taking my last bite.
As I set my fork down, I feel soft, golden strands of my hair have escaped the low ponytail I put my hair in to eat without it getting in the way. The strands are brushing against my cheek but thankfully staying out of my eyes. Still, I try to tuck the locks behind my ears.
“You’ve got some…” Matteo trails off, gesturing to my face.
Before I can ask what he means, I feel the gentle caress of his fingers tilting my chin up. His thumb skims the corner of my mouth, slowly wiping away a dot of chocolate. My breath catches at his warm, slow touch. He’s so careful and so close.
My eyes flutter shut and then open, and suddenly I’m so glad that we sat next to each other at the table instead of across fromone another. I don’t know if this moment would have happened if we hadn’t.
“There,” he murmurs.
His hand lingers on my chin, his fingers shifting down to caress my jaw softly. Our eyes meet with such intensity that time seems to slow. The moment stretches, and I can feel my own breath bouncing off his skin.
“Tell me you want me to kiss you again, Anya,” he begs, his hooded blood eyes pleading. “On the lips this time.”
My stomach bursts with uncertain nerves, but I don’t let the feeling stop me. It only takes two words to change my life forever.
“Do it.”
Matteo brings his other hand to my face, cupping it on both sides before leaning down slowly. I know he’s giving me time to change my mind, but I can’t and I won’t. The feeling that was holding me back before has vanished.
The second our lips connect, a spark of something warm and intense shoots straight through me. Love, desire, lust, bravery…whatever it is, it’s incredible and I never want it to end.
Greedily, I lean forward to push my hands into his shirt, gripping the fabric so hard that I wonder if I could rip it open at the buttons. He takes my cue of holding him close as a good sign and deepens our connection in an instant.
It’s a tender sort of heat that his kiss inspires, making my insides feel weak and gooey. My eyes are closed, a man is holding my face, he’s kissing me, and yet I can’t get enough. Because he isn’t just any man, he’s Matteo, and he’s all mine.
