Page 175 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

When I’m not painting, I’m wandering the grounds, meeting Bella or Rosalia for lunch, reading by the pond, or showing up on Michael’s arm at whatever event he decides we’re attending.

Bella and I are the absolute worst people to sit near in public because we will spend an entire meal creating fake lives for everyone around us. Affairs. Witness protection. Secret second families. Nothing is off limits. I honestly can’t remember the last time I left lunch with her without tears in my eyes from laughing so hard.

Rosalia and I basically operate like two old women trapped in younger bodies. Every Wednesday at noon, we meet at the same Italian restaurant, aggressively overanalyze a book for two hours, and then head to the bookstore afterward to pick our next read. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite parts of the week.

After one of my lunches with Rosalia, I wandered into Michael’s office, sat on his lap, and thanked him for dumping her. He leaned back in his chair and just blinked at me for a second like he genuinely didn’t know how to respond to that. I explained that if he hadn’t broken off the engagement, I never would’ve met her, and now she’s one of my favorite people.

He rubbed a hand over his face, muttered, “Fucking insane woman,” kissed my forehead, and went back to working.

I had a good laugh after that one.

Every Sunday, I see Sarah at Aunt Sofia’s house for dinner. His family has accepted us both as missing pieces to their large puzzle. Michael’s cousin Bruno is probably one of my favorites. He gives me the biggest hug every time, and his laugh is so loud you could hear it down the block.

Luca’s mom, Sofia, loves telling stories from Michael and Luca’s childhood. Michael is nine years older than Luca, but he was more like an older brother than his cousin. His mom, Sofia, says from the moment Luca was born, Michael has protected him, taught him how to ride a bike, how to play baseball, and when Luca was old enough, he hired him on in the family business. She says they have been thick as thieves for years.

Last month, I turned twenty-five, and I sold the house.

Selling the house was probably one of the hardest and easiest things to do if that even makes sense. I grew up there, but pieces of my mom were in every corner. He didn’t push it, but Michael supported my decision. We both know that I’m not going anywhere, so why would I hold onto something so painful?

I’ve only been to my mom’s grave once—the day her headstone was placed. Michael asks weekly if I want to visit, but I always say no. I know one day, I’ll say yes, and that’s why he keeps asking. He knows it too.

For my birthday, I told him I didn’t want a party, so Michael celebrated by taking me to a luxury car dealership and saying, “pick one.” I drove off the lot in a Mercedes Benz Coupe that cost more than what we sold the house for. Then he took me back to Dominico’s so I could get another one of those delicious steaks. After dinner, he took me home, spread me out across our bed, and spent the rest of the night making me come until I lost count. Honestly? Ten out of ten birthday experience.

Last Friday, Sarah stayed over at the estate. I know Michael wasn’t thrilled about it, even if he tried not to show it, but I didn’t give a fuck. She and Luca were leaving for the Bahamas for two weeks, and we needed a girls’ night.

We took over one of the big bedrooms on the west side of the house and made a night out of it. There were snacks everywhere. We swam in the indoor pool, sang karaoke in the theater room, and stayed up way too late.

We told him he wasn’t invited, and he actually listened. He stayed locked in his office most of the night, working. I have a strong suspicion he was pouting about it. I can’t prove it, but I know him well enough now to be pretty confident.

I should have gone back to teaching after Labor Day, but instead I quit and blew my life up for a man with more money than I know what to do with. The amount I’ve made from my paintings is more than I ever thought I’d possibly get from them, but Michael still set up an account for me anyway like I’m on some kind of fucked up allowance.

I don’t check the balance. I’m not stupid. Because I know it’s obscene. I know it would turn my stomach if I actually let myself see how far removed I am from the person I used to be, but I’m happy. Like, stupid happy. Embarrassing levels of happy.

I have this beautiful man who comes home after working all day, and the first thing he does is find me. He wraps me up in his arms, kisses me like he’s been waiting to do it all day, and then he stays there with me the rest of the night.

He wants to know everything—my paintings, the books I’m reading, what I had for lunch, whether I went outside or stayed in bed all afternoon. Every single dumb, pointless detail of my day, he eats it up. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not even pretending to be chill about it.

I tell him I love him constantly. He says it back every single time. Last week, he said the M word. Yeah. That one—marriage. Just casually ruined my ability to function like a normal human being.

“Doll,” he said, pulling me closer. “I can’t wait to put a ring on your finger, and I can’t wait to put my babies in you.”

I didn’t even pretend to be normal about it.

“Michael,” I whispered, staring at him.

He smirked against my hair. “Yeah?”

“You can’t just say shit like that casually.”

“Why not?”

“Because now I’m ovulating.”

He laughed so hard his chest shook beneath me, and I remember thinking, somewhere in the middle of that moment, that it had become my favorite sound in the world.

Chapter 63

Michael