by Sam Mariano
“We’ll have to go to church with Ma for Easter. She’ll want to buy our daughter an extravagant Easter dress.”
“We can put our son in a dapper little suit,” I say, grinning.
“And get our scruffy little mutt a bow tie to wrap around his collar.”
I laugh, sigh, and wrap myself around him. I know these are impossible dreams, but they feel so close I could reach out and touch them. “Where should we go for our honeymoon?”
“Italy,” he says, without hesitation. “Puglia. I have family there and it’s beautiful. We’ll spend a few days there, then we’ll head to Sardinia and spend the rest of the time there.”
“You’ve got this all planned out,” I say, poking him in the side.
“If I can get away for a little longer we’ll hit Sicily, too. We’ll have to train for all the food though, because we’re going to be eating a lot.”
“Well, I obviously hate food, so…”
“And beaches. You in a bikini,” he says slowly, trailing his finger down my arm. “There’s a lot to look forward to.”
“I like the sounds of this.”
He nods, watching me as his hand moves to my breast, catching its weight in his palm. “Every year on our anniversary, we’ll go away together. Even after we have kids, just you and me.”
“You’re going to be such a good husband.”
He smirks. “I kind of have a cheat guide. Ethan basically wrote the good husband manual, it turns out.”
“Are he and Willow married?”
“No, he was married before.”
I raise my eyebrows. “He’s divorced and he wrote the good husband manual? Maybe you should read a different edition.”
“I know, that’s what I thought, too, but it seems like he knows what he’s talking about.”
“We should be couple friends,” I decide.
“That sounds creepy. She’s my sister.”
“Then you should be brothers-in-law and we can be sisters-in-law. I maintain my campaign about you building a relationship with her. You said you want to go out, call her and set something up.”
“We can’t all go out together in the city. I don’t think she’ll even agree to it. She doesn’t really like me.”
“Who could not like you? I don’t believe that. We’ll all go out to dinner, somewhere out of the way, not in the city. It’ll be my treat.”
“I’ll talk to Ethan,” he says, relenting. “He probably won’t agree, either. He tries to keep his distance from anything crooked, and going out to eat with a Castellanos and a Morelli sounds like his personal hell.”
I grin. “Tell him I’m a nice one.”
“Your family doesn’t have a reputation for niceness, sweetheart.”
“You can’t always believe everything you hear,” I inform him haughtily. “I heard you were a ruthless playboy asshole, and that wasn’t true.”
“Well, it was, just not for you, and not all at the same time.”
I wrinkle my nose up with displeasure. “I’m not a big fan of the playboy part.”
Smiling smugly, he lets his hand skim my bare side, coming up to catch my breast in his palm, caressing the sensitive flesh. “I was just biding my time until you came along.”
“You should’ve bided it hiking or something,” I inform him, rolling with him so he can move on top of me.
“I picked up a few tricks though, now you get to benefit from them. Think of all the orgasms I can give you on our honeymoon with my skills.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, lightly. “I think I might need a demonstration.”
“That so?” he teases, leaning down to trail his lips across my collar bone.
“Mmhmm,” I murmur, my body stirring with interest at the mere touch of his mouth.
Bending his head, he takes a hardened nipple into his mouth. His skilled tongue swirls around the peak, then he gently sucks on it before flashing me a sinful little smile. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” I say, my eyes drifting closed. My hand comes up to caress his back, pulling him closer as he heaps attention on my other breast. His tenderness, his affection, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known before. It’s the only thing I ever want to know.
Chapter Twenty Four
It’s just after 2am when I creep through the front door tonight. The lights in the house are off, and I’m just about to go upstairs, but my attention is snagged by the open study door. There is a flickering light coming from inside.
I switch paths, frowning slightly as I approach the door. Mateo’s usually in bed by now. I know Vince and Mia officially moved out today though, and I guess I know before I get there that’s probably why he’s still awake.
He’s not at his desk. The fireplace is lit, a rare occurrence, and he’s pulled a wing chair up in front of it. The alcohol cart is wheeled up next to the chair so he doesn’t have to move, and as I step inside I see him sitting there alone, drinking and watching the fire.
I clear my throat to let him know I’m approaching, but he doesn’t even glance up as I come to stand beside the chair.
“What are you doing up?
He shrugs, his head propped against the side of the chair like he’s too tired to hold it up without the support.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
“Slept a little. Realized drinking was a better idea.”
Damn, he’s almost slurring. He might actually be drunk. Mateo rarely gets drunk. He drinks plenty, but not to the point of intoxication.
“How long have you been drinking?” I ask gently, glancing at the glass. I sort of feel like I should take it. It’s tipped halfway over in his lap; it would spill, but he’s finished most of it.
He sort of grins at me, and that’s how I know he’s drunk. “A while.”
“Was someone at least drinking with you when you started?”
He shakes his head, suddenly remembering the alcohol and bringing it to his lips. “Who would be drinking with me? My only friend hates me.”
“Adrian doesn’t hate you,” I say mildly. Now that Mateo isn’t in his way with Elise, I think Adrian will come around.
Mateo shrugs. “He’s leaving anyway. Doesn’t matter. Everyone leaves.”
I can’t help flinching. I’m glad he’s looking at the fire and not me. “You mean Mia?”
He takes another sip. I don’t know how long he’s been at it and I’m worried he’s going to get alcohol poisoning. I really need to get that glass away from him.
“It’s okay to feel a little lonely,” I tell him. I don’t really know how to talk about whatever he did with/to her, but I’ll take a swing at it.
His gaze moves to mine suddenly. “I had a dream about her. Can you believe that shit? My brain is a bastard.”
A little stab gets me right in the heart. “You dreamed about Mia?”
He almost nods, but then he catches himself, like he can take back having admitted that if he doesn’t. I think he’s done talking, but I still linger. I’m dead tired, but so is he, and if he’s sad I don’t want to ditch him here by himself.
So I just stand here watching him watch the fire.
A few minutes pass in silence, then out of nowhere he says, “She always let me hold her. Even when I was being a bastard, she let me hold her. And by morning, she would end up curled against me with her arm thrown around my waist like she wanted to be there. Each morning—even the first time. It was like she couldn’t help it. She didn’t mean to, she was asleep, but she just… she ended up there. The first morning she was embarrassed when she woke up and realized she’d accidentally given me affection. She was afraid I’d taunt her for it. She was always afraid I’d taunt her for things she didn’t mean to do. I should’ve. Thought about it. But I just couldn’t. I enjoyed it too much to make her feel bad about it.”
I want to argue that he most definitely should not have taunted her for that, but it’s in the past now anyway, so what’s the point?
“Once she realized I wouldn’t me
ntion it, she didn’t seem embarrassed when she woke up like that. She stopped acknowledging it. But she kept doing it.”
Since I don’t know how to answer that, I just listen.
“Turns out maybe I did kinda like her,” he says dryly, tipping the glass back and emptying it.
I’m so helpless to make him feel better. I don’t even know if I should try to make him feel better. Part of my mind tells me he deserves this for the way he treated her, but my heart recognizes his loneliness and wants to banish it. “It’s not impossible she and Vince will break up. They’re both young.”
He shakes his head, turning to look at the cart so he can put the glass down without dropping it in the floor. “It’s over now. Doesn’t matter. It’s better this way, just felt like drinking about it tonight.”
“You’ll still see her. They’re still coming to Sunday dinners. And if you like her and you think maybe she could still like you… I mean, I don’t want to recommend you steal Vince’s girlfriend, but maybe you guys could develop a friendship and see if it leads anywhere.”
He shoots me a look of plain amusement. “Oh, sure. That sounds like something I would do.”
I prop a hand on my hip and quirk an eyebrow. “Well, your way didn’t work, now did it?”
His amusement dwindles and I immediately feel like a jerk. Which is absurd, because he’s the one who should feel like a jerk.
“It would’ve, actually,” he remarks. “I didn’t send her away because I couldn’t have taken her back from him. I could’ve. I would’ve. That’s why I needed her to move out. I couldn’t have kept her here much longer without fucking her again.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
Nodding like I agreed that he made a good decision, he says, “Yeah, it was for the best.”
That makes me sad. Not because he’s wrong—he might be right, for all I know—but because he’s going to keep doing this. He’s going to keep pushing people away. He’s never going to let anyone get close enough to him to love him—he’ll just send them away if he thinks there might be a chance, and that’s no way to live.
Sighing, I go over to the alcohol cart and push it away from him. He doesn’t need any more alcohol, that’s for sure. I replace it by pulling a second wing chair up in front of the fire and sinking into it.
He glances over at me questioningly.
“When you’re ready to go to bed, I’ll go to bed. I’m not going to leave you here to brood all by yourself.”
“I’m fine on my own,” he replies, like the ingrate he is.
I can’t help smiling faintly, but I’m so tired, I lean my head against my chair, too. “She might not have left, you know.”
“She’s too young. It wouldn’t have ended well,” he states, like he’s already seen it through to the end. “I would’ve broken her. She would’ve grown to hate me. I made the right decision.”
I hate that he thinks that’s a foregone conclusion, but since I can’t even be sure he’s wrong, I say nothing.
---
I almost have an actual heart attack when Mateo shows up at my bakery the following day.
For one thing, I was just getting ready to leave for Sal’s.
Now I’m frozen behind the counter, heart pounding as I try to offer up a normal smile. He peruses the display case, absently smoothing down the already impeccable flap of his lapel, then glances up at me.
“Nice selection.”
I can hardly breathe. I force a smile and nod my head. “Yeah.”
Oh my God, I hope Mark doesn’t come up front.
Mateo never comes to the bakery. Never. He doesn’t even like dessert. I can’t stop wiping my hands on my jeans and I feel like he can see the fear in my eyes so I try to relax. Sure, it’s been literally years since he stepped through that front door, but that doesn’t have to mean anything, right?
“Um, do you want something?”
Amusement flickers in his gaze, but I glance down at the display like I meant food.
“The cinnamon cupcakes aren’t too sweet. You probably still wouldn’t like them, though. So I don’t know why I said that.”
Chuckling, he asks, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I shake my head faintly, but to clear it, not to deny that. “I’m used to you in certain spaces. Not this one.”
He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks at the cookies with frosting faces. “I’m heading home for lunch. Thought I’d pick something up for Isabella.”
That makes slightly more sense, but it’s still deeply unsettling. What if he would’ve come in a half hour later? I’m sick to my stomach, considering how close this came to being a disaster.
And it still could be. Mark could still walk up here.
I need to get him out of here.
I grab a single-serve box and open the display, bending to draw out a purple and green frosting face. “That was thoughtful,” I tell him, glancing up at him. “Of course, I think Maria probably could’ve made her something sweet.”
His hand sweeps gently, indicating the display. “And yet, I have this bakery at my disposal so she doesn’t have to.”
I always think of the bakery as mine. I don’t like the reminder that, at the end of the day, it’s actually his.
I close the box and secure it with a tab, sliding it across the counter. “Anything else?”
He shakes his head. “Bring home some applications tonight and I’ll go over them. You said you’re understaffed.”
“Okay. I mean, I could handle it. I run everything around here as it is and we’re doing fine.”
“I know, but you work as much as I do. Maybe a little more help would allow you to take a break once in a while.”
He is suspicious. He has to be. That’s why he’s remarking on how much I work.
A sinking realization hits me: now that Mia has moved out and he’s filed her away, there’s nothing at home to distract him. He’s going to go back to micromanaging and keeping a better eye on things.
Damn.
“Mia helps out sometimes. I could give her more hours.”
He shakes his head, but his face betrays nothing. If not for last night, I’d believe he didn’t give half a damn. “Let her focus on her studies. We’ll hire someone else to help out.”
“She’s already trained, though. And she and Vince could probably use a little extra money now that they’re off on their own.”
He meets my gaze evenly, but I get the impression I’m annoying him. “I said no.”
I shrug, averting my gaze but not saying a word.
“I told Mia that once she and Vince break up, she’s free to move on from our family, so don’t go drawing her deeper into it. They come to Sunday dinners, she can help out for a few hours a week here, but that’s it.” Then, a little more pointedly, he says, “Do not try to fix anything.”
I expected him to steadfastly ignore that last night ever happened, given vulnerability is his least favorite thing in the whole world, but I feel like this is the only opening I’ll get to mention it. “I think you’re wrong about her. I’ve thought about it all morning, and I think maybe her youth works in your favor. Because she’s young, you could train her to handle you. She already fits in with the family like she was born to it; it might not even take much guidance.”
I would think that sounded bad, except I was brought up in this family. Mateo will not consider it remotely odd that I’m talking about training females.
“I put her through enough,” he states. “She wants to put me behind her. Let her.”
I’m completely conflicted, half-agreeing with him, but also wanting him to be happy. I’m still frustrated with him for making such an awful mess to begin with, but I don’t think it’s a hopeless situation, even given all he did to fuck it up. Mia made it through all his shit, and she seems to have rolled right out of it. Since the poker game, she’s been almost as cheerful as she was when she still looked at life in our house like a fairytale. If she can weat
her his storms that efficiently, if they don’t wear on her like they do everyone else, if she can bounce back that fast, that’s rare, and completely perfect for my pain in the ass brother.
I can’t say that though, so I settle for something much simpler. “But you like her.”
“There was more alcohol in my veins than blood,” he replies dismissively. “I had enough 40-year-old scotch to turn maudlin. That’s all it was. Forget that happened. And if you ever see me drinking alone in front of the fireplace again, just leave me to it.”
If he’d just let people care about him, we would. Instead he keeps up a stupid fortress around his heart, wielding cruelty, indifference, or whatever he has handy that can be weaponized. It’s damned exhausting.
I don’t believe he really stopped in for a cookie, but I don’t know if his ulterior motive was to check up on me because he’s in some way suspicious, or if he just wanted to say something about last night in the study.
Whatever the case, he takes Isabella’s cookie and leaves.
I still feel incredibly antsy. I want to go peek out the front door and make sure he really left.
I’ve let myself get comfortable lately, but this served as much needed reminder that we need to be more careful.
Once I’m adequately convinced that Mateo isn’t going to come back inside, I make my way to the back as casually as I can for the camera’s benefit. I’m so relieved Mark didn’t come out there. I’m fairly certain Mateo wouldn’t recognize him, but he might get a little shifty—especially given Mark has developed a little crush on Mia, and currently despises Mateo—and Mateo would pick up on it. Whether he assumed the correct reason or the wrong one, it could just lead to problems. Best to keep them out of each other’s way.
I dig my Sal phone out of my pocket and tap out a quick text, telling Sal I can’t come over for lunch after all.
“What? Why not?” he sends back immediately.
“Mateo just showed up at my bakery. I don’t know why, but it’s unusual, so I just want to be cautious.”
“Shit. Is Mark cool?”
“Yeah, he stayed in the back so Mateo didn’t see him.”
