The Wedding Crush

Chapter Twelve

Avery

“Don’t you sleep?” Stefano groans underneath my pillow as I snuggle into his big spoon.

“Listen, I don’t know what you want from me…” I’m only half-joking as I venture, “Do you know how long it’s been since I woke up to a handsome, sweet, certifiably funny, attentive, virile, strong, sexy—”

He takes the bait.

Peeking out his sleepy head, Stefano squints at the light streaming through the blinds, his voice thick with sleep as he instructs me to, “Please continue.”

“…Hard-nosed, no-nonsense, stoic, austere, quietly assessing, broody, intense man in my bed?”

Stefano deflates onto the pillow.

“Don’t forget smart.” He chuckles, gliding his large warm hand over my waist. He tugs me flush to his strong, hard frame, and my Lord… It feels so good waking to this.

Heat dances over my skin, sending tingles down my spine, and I, shamelessly giddy, arch my back into him.

“Hey, when I say every single one of those words turns me on…” I’m not surprised by the truth in my admission, despite the whiplash roller coaster we’ve been on to get here.

Stefano nuzzles into the curve of my neck, kissing along my nape.

A soft moan spills out of me.

I glance at the clock on the wall, calculating how many more times we can realistically have sex before Mommy drops off Ace this afternoon.

An hour and a half is plenty, so I reach back, fumbling for him. I’m laughing, not even bothering to hide my amusement when I tease him.

“I still can’t believe what you did last night.”

Effortlessly, he flips me over to face his shocked smile. “Avery, stop joking about it.”

“Sir, it’s not my fault you did what you did to me. In an alley, no less, with all our friends and loved ones ten feet away, on the other side of a single brick wall…”

Stefano’s mouth falls comically open.

I can practically see his brain short-circuiting.

We said we wouldn’t tell anyone, even though our friends and his siblings, probably know us better than our parents. Yet, last night, we walked our happy selves back into Il Sapore, and played Oscar-worthy roles.

We should’ve been celebrating my best friend and his brother, mixing and mingling. Yet, we spent the rest of the evening stealing glances we had no business taking.

And the champagne?

BIG MISTAKE!

Magnifying the senses when we were still fresh on the skin? When I could smell him on me, us on me? Feel him moving with purpose inside me?

I just know he’s still figuring how he’s going to spin this. He’s inwardly berating himself for acting out of character and doing what we did then walking back in that room looking guilty as all get-out. Predictably, this devastatingly handsome man who recharged my batteries is likely still worried about what Dante and Morgan will think, after he went on and on about an extended engagement.

“Jesus, Avery.” He rubs his face. “Please stop saying it like that.”

I hesitate, then nod.

Reaching my hand up, I run my fingers through his hair, kiss his nose.

A heavy sigh spills out of me.

The air electrifies.

“God, I love your curls.”

“Yeah?” He seems shocked. “Even with the gray? Because I was thinking about dyeing it—”

“No, it’s the perfect mix of black and silver, and…” My insides ache with need. “Just…leave it.”

“Okay, I will.” A calm smile smooths his expression.

I can tell he’s turning over something in his head. Then his gaze flits briefly to my hair.

To my wig.

“I know you’re probably wondering how my hair always looks this fabulous…” I jest.

“Actually, I love your hair. I just wondered if maybe, there was a story behind it.”

I roll onto my back, letting my sigh plume out of me.

“Would it make sense to you if I said it’s about control?”

“Your choice,” he reasons.

Tossing Stefano a sidelong glance, I see the genuine interest in his eyes. He wants to understand, and based on the hurt he’s been through, he might be the only person I know who might.

“It was after I lost Justin.” That familiar pang of sadness stirs in my gut. “I felt like my life was spinning out. I was a widow and single mom. I was struggling to understand the legalities of moving on without him, looking for signs of him everywhere, then feeling more alone when there were none.”

“That must’ve been so hard.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to continue. “I spent so much time in bed, listening to self-help podcasts, and holding on to his clothes because it made me feel closer to him.” I shrug, feeling exposed, now that he knows what sparked my thorough list. “Then I hated the guilt I had for accepting so much help from Mommy with Ace or enjoying myself while doing anything. Slowly trying to put the pieces of my life back together…it was overwhelming.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and Stefano pulls me closer, holding me to his chest, coaxing me to let it out.

“I changed my hair a million times. Cuts, colors, styles, I did it all.” My heart wrenches. “I was stuck while the world was moving on. Every day felt like losing him again. Then, one day, I tried a wig, and something clicked. I had so many emotions swirling inside my head that I couldn’t get a handle on, couldn’t control. But at least I could control what was on my head, you know?”

Stefano turns me back to face him. For so long, he stares at me, searching my eyes like he’s watching the pictures scrolling across my mind.

“I’m so amazed by you, Avery Ellis.”

“I’ll be here all week.” I flick my gaze upward, hoping to lighten the mood. “So, anyway, relax. We don’t have to tell anyone what we did. Or what we want to do,” I say, suggestively. “If we want to christen this city…shoot, the entire state of California, that’s our business, right?”

I flash him a reassuring smile.

A hot flush washes over my face when he doesn’t immediately volunteer for fun, wild Californication with me.

“Yeah,” Stefano says, absently. “No one has to know.”

And the empath strikes again.

I’m ruining this.

One question—about my WIG—and now, I’m emotionally involved.

The thing is, last night no one could’ve told me a thing about getting freaky on the side of a building, in a sketchy-looking alleyway, where anyone could’ve happened upon us.

After the way life has cranked us through the wringer…

We rightly deserve to throw caution to the wind. We were living guilt-free in the moment. It wasn’t about Justin or Carina. We were just two consenting adults, baring it all for one another. We were in control of our destiny. However, temporary.

Just us having fun.

But after we fixed our clothes and smoothed each other’s hair. After he outlined my lips with his thumb, and pressed a final, petal-soft kiss to them, my heart stuttered.

All I wanted was to do it again.

Ten other people were in the room talking and laughing, but Stefano’s voice was the only one I heard. Instead of getting him out of my system, I’d let him in. I forgot what it felt like to be lusted after. For every inch of me to tingle with awareness. I forgot how intoxicating it was to have a man cherish my body, as rough and as tender as I needed.

I’d messed up.

I knew it then, and I feel it now.

Sex aside, I forgot how opening up to a man who genuinely wants to understand me on a deeper level can leave me vulnerable.

I’m not in my twenties, clubbing and hooking up for fun.

That ship has sailed.

I know firsthand what marriage and kids entails. I know he’s fragile, too. So how do I explain forgetting that I never could do one-night stands?

Never.

One word: empath.

I feel. I am feelings. Worst of all, I’m other people’s feelings.

My head swims.

I don’t know what more to say. We tore down the physical barrier, and now I really want to try this—dating and getting to know each other on a deeper level. Even if we’ve got to do it in secret. He’s lying in my bed in all his naked glory, exposed and beautiful.

But does he want to try with me?

“Say something,” I whisper.

As I let my head rest back on my pillow with my insecurities lodged in my throat, Stefano lowers his head onto my chest. Slowly, tenderly he skates his fingertips over the curve of my hip. Then he replaces them with his mouth, brushing fire over my tender skin.

Desire coils low and tight in my belly.

Tossing away the covers, Stefano scoots down, centering himself between my thighs again.

“Look at me,” he commands.

It’s one ask, one tell, and it changes the entire mood.

He wants to see me as we learn each other intimately. It’s loud and playful, switching positions, discovering uncharted erogenous zones, and trying not to laugh as we crash over the edge.

Far be it from me to deny him.

For now, a Sunday practicing our dancing routine, watching Love Basketball in bed as we eat cereal like kids, exploring each other intimately—emotionally dumping on him, however one-sided—it feels like enough.

Until my phone pings with a text from Mommy, informing me she’s dropping off my kid in less than five minutes.

“Crap! Get up!” I panic, staring wide-eyed at Stefano as I rush to my closet to grab an easy sundress. “Hurry, put your clothes on. My mom is dropping off Ace, like now.”

To his credit, he looks horrified.

Stefano jolts out of bed and yanks on his slacks and dress shirt. I kick over his tie and shoes, for the first time grateful he’s a suit-and-tie guy. Nothing like a man who my son and my mother will suspect I’ve been repeatedly doing the nasty with.

Nope, he simply dropped by after a riveting Sunday morning church sermon to…

“I’m going to go put two coffee mugs on the counter.” I gnaw on my fingernail, my mind still whirling around ideas. “Let’s say you dropped by to discuss wedding plans. Which…we need to go over the catering and wine, so yes, that’s perfect…”

He’s fully dressed, now.

Unaffected and put together as we rush into my kitchen.

After I grab the mugs and set them on the counter in front of the barstools, I spin around, expectantly.

“How do I look?” I ask.

“As beautiful as you did the moment we woke up.” He chuckles, stepping closer to unravel my twisted bra strap. But then he traces his teeth over his bottom lip and slips his hand under my dress. Sliding his hand between my thighs, he dips his fingers into my panties and inside me like he knows I’m shamefully, mentally calculating if we’ve got time. Again.

I’m halfway considering it, too, when a car door slams shut outside.

“You are trouble.” Guiltily jerking away, I rush over to the front window, and yup, it’s them.

Close call.

Stefano settles on a barstool looking like a sexy cologne ad. Totally cavalier with his easy smile and endless charm, he flits a glance between the two empty mugs and my dusty Keurig.

“Should I make us some coffee, or…”

“No time.”

After smoothing my hands down my dress, I settle one hand on the doorknob.

The second the bell rings, I swing the door open.

“There’s my Ace of hearts.”

He drops his cars and backpack on the floor, and rushes into my arms like it’s been months since we’ve seen each other instead of yesterday afternoon.

“Grandma got me ice cream!”

“She did?” I shoot Mommy a chastising stare.

She knows what she’s doing hopping him up on sugar before she brings him home, so he’ll be bouncing off my walls.

But then Stefano laughs, and it’s like a theatrical spotlight shifting as he enters stage right.

Half an hour passes, and I might as well not even be in the room.

Mommy and Ace aim and shoot rapid-fire questions at him. How’s the wedding planning? How was the Champagne Sip? Did anything “eventful” happen?

I don’t miss the sidelong glance Mommy gives our coffee-less mugs.

Even as Stefano responds impressively quick, I know we’re doomed, the second I spot the misaligned buttons on his shirt.

That’s what it’s come down to.

One missed button, and boom! Mommy knows I’ve been doing the horizontal tango.

Soon, she and her conspiracy eyes go home. By the time Stefano stands to leave, too, I’m fighting back a horrible case of feeling-shaped things. For a moment, I allow myself to get lost in the fantasy. This gorgeous man, falling head over heels in love with me and my son. Us, growing together. Them, bonding over cars and attending Dads and Donuts together at daycare. Our families and friends blending seamlessly. How can I not fall for him? Then again, who falls for the first person they connect with after marriage ends—one way or another?

Stefano grins.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says loud enough for Ace to hear in his room.

We both laugh quietly.

But then Stefano pulls in a long breath through his nose and slowly releases it from his mouth, signaling his exit.

My inner voice and my gut perk up at his soft, downcast gaze.

Reading his energy, I expect a sneaky kiss or sly thigh graze before he invites me for a real cup of Joe later. Or, maybe, to ask if we can meet in person this Monday, instead of video chatting. Anything.

So, when he grabs his wallet off the hearth beside Justin’s shadow-boxed burial flag, pulls me in for a side hug, and leaves without asking to see me again, it feels like a gut punch.

I know this is me, over-feeling. The man runs a conglomerate of companies; he could have a ton of work on his plate. I’ve, for sure, piled on planning projects. Who knows? It could be any one of a million reasons, but after last night and this morning, I was hopeful I’d be one.

But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe, we just needed to have fun, and get it out of our systems. Maybe, neither of us is ready, and we should focus on the wedding. That way, no one gets hurt.

My heart recoils.

Theoretically.

Ten minutes later, Cars is queued up, and I’m back in the kitchen, scrolling through Instagram to quiet my loud insecurities as I make a strong cup of coffee for real.

Out of curiosity, I search for Stefano’s profile.

Hey, I’m a glutton for punishment.

It’s nothing more than a bunch of goal-slaying, work-ethic quotes and pictures of the Fortemani Vineyard Winery. Except for one, two years ago, which I gingerly expand with my thumb and forefinger, careful not to like it, lest this man think I’m now a new-age cyberstalking fatal attraction villain.

In the photo, he and Carina are standing side by side, smiling. But it’s hard not to notice the canyon-sized gap between them.

Like it’s any of my business, now I’m wondering why he didn’t post about her. Did he value work more? Or maybe privacy is important to him. Maybe, social media wasn’t his thing. Maybe, he loves deep and out loud but doesn’t need external validation.

Naturally, my busy brain needs answers.

Sugar and French vanilla creamer swirling in my steaming cup, it feels like go-time.

Now, being the thorough detective that I am, of course, I must tap Carina’s profile for more pictures to corroborate my ridiculous—extremely nosy—interest in Stefano’s marriage.

“Oh my God!” I gasp.

Ace comes zipping out of his room, immediately taking inventory of his lined row of cars, like that’s the bomb-drop shock that almost made me scald my hand.

“What happened, Mommy?”

“I accidentally spilled my coffee. It was hot.” My rudimentary explanation satisfies my kid, but I’m still unable to close my mouth as I take in Carina’s Instagram post.

She’s already pregnant by that fitness model?

Lord.

I’m all set to make an emergency Sister Circle call to gossip, when I zero on the time she posted.

Yesterday.

Like a Back to the Future rewind, scenes from the Champagne Sip, domino-style and in sequential order, fall across my mind.

Carina’s post.

Marcello unnaturally quiet and whispering with Stefano before he ducked out into the alley.

The hurt and shame smeared across his face as he tucked his phone away when I walked out.

Us, in that dark doorway, working out his stress. Having fun…

It makes perfect sense.

Stefano wasn’t just nervous about being with me. We didn’t release weeks’ worth of sexual tension. He was trying to forget about his ex-wife’s baby news.

Keep it casual so no one gets hurt, right?

I guess I stand corrected.