He lets up a little at my words as he pulls back to look at me. I finally have some room to move, and I immediately use it to wrap my legs around his waist, rubbing against him, and his eyes clench shut. I hear him grunt. I move faster. I want him to lose control. I want him to trust me. One more roll of my hips has him dropping back down. I’m taken off guard but entirely ready when he pushes inside me. Deeper and deeper, taking me higher and higher. His lips find mine in a frenzied kiss. Every inch of my body feels like a live wire, all sparks and flickering lights—I might catch fire, but I want to burn. I don’t have to hold back anymore. I can experience everything. It feels right to fall when Matt falls with me.
His thrusts don’t stop and I’m right there with him. Every tender stroke, every strained sound, coils me up impossibly tight. So tight that I have no choice but to break as he shifts his hips. He hits a spot and my mind screams,Right there. I feel myself clenching as something gives inside me. My head falls back onto the mattress in riotous bliss. Matt covers my mouth with his and picks up his pace. He only slows down a few seconds later, his muscles tensing and his breathing labored when he drives into me for a final time and his forehead drops to my shoulder.
I don’t know when, but he rolls off to the side and we’re both on our backs, looking up at the ceiling.
“That wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” I say, still a little out of breath. “Is that how that typically goes for you?”
Matt looks over at me, and it seems like it takes every ounce of his strength. “No. That isn’t how it typically goes for me.”
I meet his gaze, a little perplexed but wholly satisfied. “Well, that’s unfortunate. How am I supposed to forget about you now?”
“Maybe you’re not,” he casually suggests. “I’m moving to LA, not Siberia. We can still see each other if we want to.”
I shrug at the thought and slip under the sheets. “I’m not going to lie. I’d travel for that.”
Hearing my admission, Matt seems happily surprised. “Would you really?” he asks. His voice is so hopeful, and it reaches a part of me that I’ve kept buried for a long time. And even though that very same part of me tells me that I should be scared, tells me I need to look away, I don’t. I stay there with him here. I don’t want to go.
“Possibly,” I answer coyly. “But if you ever shave, the deal is off.”
17
We’re back in Rome much later than we expected. It’s almost 7:00 p.m. and we had originally hoped to reach Rome by noon. What should have been a minor rain shower this morning turned into a downpour, and the ferries weren’t running until midday. When we finally got to Naples to take the train home, track maintenance was being performed. We didn’t board until five o’clock, and now we’re back in the apartment, travel-worn and exhausted. Matt felt terrible about the delays, but there was nothing either of us could do except deal with it. Of course it didn’t help that we only slept for two hours last night, but even so, it was worth it.
At least we’re here now and I still have a few hours to get some work done. I looked through most of the pictures on my phone at the hotel and on the train, and I have my five favorites, but I want to see what Marco thinks. After a long “I’ll see you later” kiss in the living room alcove, Matt heads to his bedroom and I go straight to the workroom.
I push the door open and am immediately met with a room full of light and the steady hum of the sewing machine. I look at the dress forms and two of them have partially finished garments on them while the third has a muslin for draping. Glancing deeper inside the room, I see one completed piece already hanging on the clothing rack.
“Wow,” is all I can manage to say as a slow, twisting knot forms in my stomach.
“Hey!” Marco answers, standing up from the machine and coming around to give me a hug. “Look who’s back looking all sun-kissed and freshly ravaged.” I can barely manage a response as I return his hug. Stepping away, Marco happily keeps talking. “Thank god you’re back. The suspense is killing me. I know you won’t reveal all the dirty details so just touch your nose if your night with Matt was everything we dreamed of and more.” I mindlessly touch my nose and Marco looks as pleased as pie. “I knew it,” he says. “It’s always the quiet, serious ones. They know what they’re doing. That’s why they’re so quiet. They’re just sitting there thinking about what they’re going to do to you, twenty-four-seven.”
I choose not to focus on Matt’s bedroom prowess and instead concentrate on what’s in front of me. “I can’t believe how much work you got done,” I say a little weakly. “I didn’t think we were going to start on our physical pieces until we got back to New York.”
Marco glances around the workroom as well. “I know. I didn’t think we were going to either, but it turns out not having mind-blowing holiday sex really helps to free up one’s work hours. Dino thedestinogot stuck at the restaurant, so Holly and I spent the weekend kicking things into overdrive. Half of what’s here is hers.”
Another anxious dropping sensation swooshes in my stomach at the mention of Holly being at the apartment all weekend. “Does she know I went away with Matt?”
Marco pauses and for him, it’s downright ominous. “She does,” he says carefully. “But I didn’t confirm that there was anything romantic so she might not think that there was.”
I nod but I know the odds are unlikely. She’s going to have questions and I’m going to give her honest answers. It makes me nervous, but it has to happen. I want to be honest with her.
Moving to the dress forms, I run my finger along a work in progress that I can tell is Marco’s. It’s an asymmetrical evening gown in white organza with a striped feature along the trim. It’s elegant and elevated and it fills me with guilt. Beside it is one of Holly’s pieces, a muted, structural sleeveless top that isn’t yet finished but is equally impressive. Turning to the clothing rack, I see an impeccably tailored pair of shorts that I can tell are hers.
If I ever thought the three of us were on the same level of preparedness, I see now that I was dreaming.
“I’m finished for the day,” Marco soon says, jolting me out of my worried reverie. “How about we grab some dinner? Holly went out for drinks with Chiara.”
“I’m good,” I tell him, my growling stomach contradicting my words. “I want to get some work done before bed.”
“I can bring something back for you,” he offers.
“No, no,” I answer. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
With an “Okay” and a squeeze to my hand, Marco heads out, and I’m left alone in a now-silent room, surrounded by the garments of my competitors. I sit down at the desk and open my sketchbook, looking at everything I was planning on showing Lorenzo. It isn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. I’m at a loss. I can’t give him something tangible to judge until I have my fabric, and I won’t have my fabric until I print it out at school in New York. But how can I only show him sketches when Holly and Marco have near-complete pieces to present? He’ll see their talent in physical form and mine only in concept. There’s no way he’ll give me his vote. I know I wouldn’t. I can feel my panic rising, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m grabbing my bag and racing out the door.
When I arrive at Louisa Tessuti, I’m sweaty and out of breath and the shop closes in twenty minutes.
“What are you doing here so late?” Louisa asks, stepping out from one of the aisles after I storm inside.
