Chapter 19
Mia
I walk into the kitchen hoping to see Santino sitting at the counter, but there’s a note instead.
My beautiful Mia,
I wish I didn’t have to work today. I already know I won’t be able to focus when I can’t stop thinking about last night.
I’ve left you the name and number for a spa nearby. I’ve booked you in for the day, so choose whatever treatments you’d like.
My driver, Vince, will escort you to and from the spa, but then I’m taking you to dinner tonight and a surprise afterward, so be ready at 6:30, looking sexy. That shouldn’t be hard for you at all, farfalla.
Santino
A spa day? How thoughtful of him. And he’s taking me on a date tonight? Smiling, I clutch his note to my chest. Today is going to be a good day. The first I’ve had in what seems like a lifetime.
* * * *
I spent longer than I should have getting ready for dinner with Santino, but the butterflies in my stomach are telling me I’m just a girl who wants to look good for her husband.
My husband.
I’m going on my first date with my husband, and it’s my first date ever. EVER.
After last night, there’s no going back. Not that I want to, but now the butterflies of excitement are taking flight, leaving in their place a tangled knot of nerves.
I don’t know how to date Santino. I don’t know how to date anyone.
My breathing starts to become shallow and I grip the edge of the bathroom counter. But before it can become a full-blown panic attack, Santino appears in the doorway, freshly showered and dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit that’s tailor-made for him.
He looks amazing, delectable, handsome, sexy.
He looks…like he’s mine. All mine.
“Farfalla,”
he says seductively, the low timbre of his voice making that knot in my stomach loosen, “you’re breathtakingly beautiful. Stunning.”
I feel my cheeks heat under his awe-filled gaze, and it reminds me of how he looked at me while I was walking down the aisle – wanted, desired, and without a doubt, beautiful.
“Thank you,”
I say softly, letting my eyes travel over every inch of him. “You look really handsome.”
His answering smile momentarily stuns me. This gorgeous man must have hit his head at some point to want me the way he does.
“Thank you, my bride,”
he purrs, and my insides completely melt and pool in my panties. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.”
He holds his hand out for me to take and I stare at it for a beat before slowly placing mine in his. He squeezes it and then laces our fingers together.
I grab my purse from the bed, but before we leave, he takes me into the kitchen where a huge bouquet of pink lilies are on display on the counter.
“Santino,”
I breathe. “They’re gorgeous. Do they mean something too? Like the white ones?”
I touch their soft petals and Santino wraps his arm around me to tell me, “Pink lilies represent grace, beauty, compassion, femininity, and admiration. You possess the first four, and I feel nothing but admiration towards you, farfalla.”
“Santino,”
I whisper. “I love them. The spa day was wonderful too. Thank you.”
Santino plants a soft kiss to the spot below my ear and then takes my hand again. “You’re welcome, my bride. Now come, we have reservations.”
As we’re waiting for the elevator to arrive, Santino’s brothers happen to show up and Albie whistles appreciatively. “Look, Emilio, the newlyweds are all dressed up. Date night?”
Santino’s jaw flexes and I squeeze his hand, getting him to look down at me. I offer him a reassuring smile because I know his brother is just trying to get a rise out of him.
“Santino’s taking me to dinner,”
I tell his brothers.
“How nice of him. And may I say, you look ravishing tonight, Mia.”
“No, you may not say that,”
Santino growls. “Don’t look at her.”
Emilio and Albie laugh together. “Then maybe you should hide her away if you don’t want anyone to look at your wife.”
“Please don’t give him ideas,”
I chime in. I wrap my free hand around Santino’s forearm and he looks down at me again, his eyes softening immediately. “They’re your brothers and they know what to say to set you off. Relax.”
His shoulders drop and his eyes roam over my face. “Maybe I should hide you away,”
he says with a smirk, his eyes full of humor.
“You promised me dinner and a surprise, and I’m starving. You should know if I’m left hungry too long, I can’t be held responsible for what I do or say.”
Santino barks out a sexy laugh and swoops down to kiss my cheek, catching me by surprise. “Alright, let’s go.”
His brothers step back. “We’ll take the next one,”
Emilio says when the elevator arrives.
“It’s okay, you can ride down with us,”
I tell them, but Santino ushers me forward and punches the button for the garage level before Emilio or Albie can even try to join us.
“Thank you, Mia, but we’ll wait. It was nice to see you again,”
Emilio says, and I smile at the two of them as the doors slide closed.
“Your brothers are nice. Funny, too.”
“They’re not,”
Santino says through gritted teeth.
“They are.”
I laugh. “And in case you have some weird thoughts on me wanting them in any way simply because I’m nice to them, then we should nip those in the bud right now.”
“I know you don’t want them.”
“You do? Then why are you so tense around them and defensive?”
“Because they should be more respectful of my wife, that’s why. I don’t like them looking at you the way I do.”
“To be fair, no one looks at me the way you do,”
I say without thinking, and Santino flashes me a wolfish grin, like I just gave him all the bait he needed before going in for the kill.
“Damn fucking right no one does.”
He backs me up until my back hits the cool metal of the wall and lifts my chin with his finger while pressing his other to the spot against the wall beside my head. “I want to kiss you so damn badly, farfalla.”
It’s all I’ve thought about today, and honestly, I don’t think I could get through dinner without kissing him again.
I give him a small nod in agreement.
The only place he’s touching me is his finger under my chin as he presses his lips to mine in a kiss so soft, I almost feel like I’m dreaming he’s kissing me at all. It’s magical, but I need more, so I lift up onto my toes and kiss him harder, forcing him to give us both what we want.
Santino growls and kisses me back with a fierceness that has the air leaving my lungs and my legs ready to give out. Except before I know it, he tears his lips away and steps back, leaving me to sag against the wall.
He looks at me with eyes that have me knowing exactly what he’s thinking, so I look at my feet, needing to gather myself again. I can hear his heavy breathing as he does the same, and when the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached the garage, he grips me lightly above my elbow and walks us toward a sleek, gunmetal grey sports car, and opens the passenger door for me.
“Thank you,”
I whisper, maneuvering my way inside the low car in my tight dress without flashing him. He’s already seen all of me, but I’m wearing a special lingerie set tonight that I know will drive him crazy once he sees it. I was feeling bold after the spa and picked it up on my way home, using the credit card he left me, of course.
The moment we pull out of the garage and onto the street, Santino places his hand on my thigh, and my mind can think of nothing but the searing heat of it through the fabric of my dress.
I went with a tight black dress that has a plunging v neckline and hugs my every curve. It’s not short, and hits me right below my knee, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel his touch right now as if he were touching my bare skin.
By the time we pull up to the restaurant and he removes his hand so he can give the keys to the valet and open my door for me, it feels as if I’ve lost a vital part of me without his touch. Like he’s suddenly an extension of me, and without him touching me in some way, I feel a little…empty.
I think I’m going crazy.
I think I’m under some kind of hex or spell that has me suddenly needing this man like I need to breathe or function.
I could freak out – and I should be freaking out – about this and hide away somewhere in his apartment where we can continue to not speak or interact, but what would that get me? Hiding only delays the inevitable.
Santino places his hand on my lower back as we walk into the restaurant and I feel centered again.
Maybe dating my husband won’t be such a bad thing. I just need to let go of what I think I should be feeling and instead just let myself feel.
I want to be here with him, and I like that his hand is on me to show everyone in here I’m his and I’m with him.
He makes me feel special.
He makes me feel wanted.
I’ve been on auto-pilot for so long, that the moment Santino pulled me into his arms in the club, it felt as if I were bolted awake by a strike of lightning.
I can’t go back to how I was. I can’t unknow what it’s like to kiss him and have his hands, lips, and tongue all over me.
“Are you alright?”
he asks in my ear as he pulls my chair out for me at our table.
“Yes. Just lost in my head a little.”
“Good or bad?”
I smile. “Good.”
“That’s what I like to hear, my bride.”
My bride.
He says it in such an old-fashioned way that it’s endearing rather than condescending.
I sit down, and Santino helps me scoot forward before taking his seat across from me. Our server hands us menus and I thank him, and he gives me a little bow before walking away.
I look over the menu and tell Santino my choices, and when he orders for us, he takes on that commanding tone he has that gets me all hot and bothered.
I have the urge to run my fingers through his hair. I want to mess up the styling he did before mapping his every feature with my fingers as if I were a sculptor and needed to make sure I got every plane and line exactly right.
“What are you thinking right now, Mia?”
he asks me when the server leaves, shaking me from my vision.
“That I want to touch you,”
I tell him honestly before I second guess myself, and Santino’s answering smoldering look tells me he would like that very much.
“You want to touch me,”
he echoes, his voice lowering to a sexy register that has my core pulsing.
“Your face, yes. And your hair. That’s what I was thinking about while you ordered. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Oh wait, yes, I would.”
He smirks.
I missed when he ordered a bottle of wine because of my little fantasy, and once my glass is poured, I’m grateful for the distraction and take a small sip.
“You do realize I’m not even 21 yet, right? That doesn’t bother you?”
I inquire, half joking.
“If it did, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Does it bother you?”
“That you’re older? No.”
I shake my head. “Of course, I’ve spent a while wondering why you’d want me when you could have anyone, but I have a feeling any girl who’s with you would wonder that.”
Santino’s lips lift, fighting a grin, and I realize what I just admitted. “Mia,”
he says smoothly, “I don’t care what any other woman feels but you. And to put your mind at ease, I haven’t even looked at another woman since I saw you at Leo’s wedding. And before that… Well, let’s just say it’s been a long time since any woman has captured my attention, and none ever have like you have.”
“How many serious relationships have you been in?”
I need to know. I need to know if he’s given his heart to anyone, or more likely, how many hearts he’s broken.
“One.”
“Really? Just one? How old were you?”
“Thirty-four.”
He takes a sip of wine and I stare at him, puzzled.
“You’re thirty-four now.”
He looks back at me without saying anything, and my brain finally catches up. “Oh, you mean me?” He nods. “But we’re not really… We haven’t been together long, or not together… I mean…” I shake my head and look away, not knowing where I was going with that.
“We’re married, Mia,”
Santino says. “We’re together. And yes, not for long, but you know I’m serious about you and us.”
“And I’m the only one? That’s hard to believe.”
“Women have wanted me to be serious about them, but the feeling wasn’t mutual.”
“You know,”
I start, sitting up a little straighter, “I don’t know if you think I should automatically feel flattered or thank you or what, but I’d be naive to believe the first man who pursues me is always telling me the truth or is the one for me. And if you’ve never been serious about any woman before me, how do I know I can trust you’re serious now?”
“You think I’m lying to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me start by saying that I’m not telling you things so you’ll feel flattered. I’m just being honest with you. Everything I’ve said to you has been the truth, and it will continue to be. I don’t believe in playing games. I don’t have time for games. And as for me being the first man to pursue you, that’s simply because every other man who’s been interested was a coward.”
I smile at that and take a sip of wine. I always did want a man who would be able to stand up to my brothers and not be intimidated or scared away by who they are.
How could I bring any normal guy into this world? He’d never fully be trusted by my family for them to include him in the business, and then he’d end up resenting them and me for something out of my control.
“Is that amusing?”
Santino asks me.
“Not amusing, just an interesting choice of words.”
“In what way?”
“I always told myself a man would be worthy of me if he could stand up to my brothers to be with me.”
Santino’s broad smile has my core clenching and my heart beating faster. He looks younger when he smiles like that. Like he has nothing in this world weighing him down.
“Your family doesn’t scare me, farfalla.”
“Oh, I believe you,”
I say on a laugh, “and I like that.”
“I’m glad.”
If possible, his smile widens, stunning me. I think he knows what he’s doing to me, too, because his eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam, and I’m glad he doesn’t ask what else I like about him, because I’m not ready to admit anything else just yet.
Clearing my throat, I look down at my napkin in my lap. “Have you traveled much?”
I ask, needing to steer the conversation into more neutral territory.
“Not as much as I’d like. My father saw no point in family vacations when there was work to be done, and my mother believed in her alone time and vacations and spa weekend trips by herself or with her friends.”
I frown. “Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been disappointing.”
“It was fine.”
He shrugs. “I always knew my mother didn’t love my father and was only with him for his money and status. She had three kids just to appease him, and she got lucky by having three sons. Because my father had three sons to pass his legacy on to, he didn’t care what my mother did with her time after we were a certain age. She gave him what he wanted and that was that.”
“That’s so… I’m sorry,”
I say lamely, not knowing the right words to convey how heartbreakingly sad that is. “You and your brothers shouldn’t have had to feel like you were an obligation fulfilled rather than a gift to be loved and cherished.”
Santino’s eyes soften. “It’s alright, farfalla. Thank you for saying that, but I had my brothers. We learned early on that we needed each other, and we were there for one another in every aspect that mattered. No matter what.”
“I wish I had a sister for that reason. I’m close with my cousins, Aria and Gia, but it’s not the same as having a sister. Plus, they’re twins, so they already have a freakishly close bond that I will never be a part of. They’re who took me to the club that night.”
I smirk. “They have connections all over the city through their modeling agency.”
“I should send them a thank you gift.”
“Why?”
“For taking you out that night.”
He places his hands on either side of his place setting and leans forward, telling me in a quieter voice, “And for giving me the chance to”–he pauses, lifting one side of his sexy mouth in a devilish smirk–“dance with you.”
A nervous little laugh leaves me and I place my hand in front of my mouth to try to combat it.
“I love that sound,”
he says, his voice smooth and seductive.
“Then you should make me laugh more,”
I reply sassily, sitting up straighter and taking another sip of wine.
His smile returns, this time playful. “I’ll try my best, my bride.”
“Good.”
I lift my chin and study his eyes. “Because I can’t be with someone lacking a sense of humor or that is without a fun bone in their body. I’d say you’d be a terrible husband for me then.”
“Mia.”
He says my name in a low rumble that has my insides melting. “A day will never be dull or boring when we’re together. And, baby, I’m the perfect husband for you. But if I’m ever being a terrible one, I have no doubt you’ll tell me, just as I’d want you to.”
I fight a smile. “I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
He winks, and my insides melt further, making me think I’ll be nothing but a puddle of mush for him by the time dinner is over.
We make it through our appetizers and entrees, talking about where I’d like to travel if I had the chance, our favorite songs and artists, and our favorite places around the city. By the time our server hands us dessert menus, I’m tipsy from the wine and drunk from listening to my husband talk about the things he loves and seeing his eyes light up every time I tell him something about myself he didn’t know.
It turns out we both love Frank Sinatra, to which he promptly promised to take me dancing at a place he knows in Hoboken that’s right on the water and has the best Sinatra impersonator and food.
We both love Chinese food at one in the morning because we think it’s made fresher than during the day. We both have a love of early 2000s R&B and rap music. Him because he was the right age to listen to it when it came out, and me because my brothers and cousins always played it when I was growing up. We both love and hate New York City with the same passion. I’ve never met someone who felt the way I did, but we both also know we’d never want to live anywhere else.
He's promised to take me to all his favorite restaurants and I promised to take him to my favorite cafés. He even promised to go to my favorite museum with me so he could see what I find beautiful.
I am one hundred percent falling in love with my husband.
That thought hits me as I’m studying the dessert menu, and I breathe in a shaky, deep breath, hiding my face behind the menu for a moment.
“What looks good to you, farfalla? What’s your favorite dessert?”
Santino asks casually, but the sweet familiarity to the endearment, and his need to know my favorite of everything tonight, has me wanting to jump his fucking bones and beg him to take me home and have his way with me.
Instead of that, though, I say, “I think I’ll get the tiramisu.”
“Is that your favorite?”
“No.”
I smile. “My favorite dessert isn’t anything I’ll find on a restaurant menu.” His brows furrow. “I love a double or triple scoop of cookies and cream ice cream in a waffle cone, smothered in rainbow sprinkles. But I also need an extra little dish of sprinkles on the side so I can continuously dip my cone in it after I’ve already licked them all off. Growing up, my dad would take me on special ice cream dates that were just him and I, and I guess I never outgrew it.”
“Why should you?”
He smiles. “I’d be willing to try your sprinkle method, but my favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip.”
“That’s my second favorite flavor.”
“Huh. Fate, it seems.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “That your favorite ice cream is my second favorite? I’d hardly call that fate.”
“Yes, because cookies and cream is my second favorite flavor. Our freezer will always be stocked with one we love and we’ll both love the taste of each other’s mouths when we kiss after we eat it.”
I gasp at his bluntness, then giggle. “Plus,” he adds, lowering his voice, “I now need to know which flavor tastes better when licked off your body.”
Oh, my God.
I feel my cheeks flush and Santino smirks. “Would you let me do that one day, farfalla?”
I don’t have any words, so I give him a small nod that has his dark eyes flaring with new heat.
He clears his throat when our server returns. “The tiramisu for my wife, and the ricotta cheesecake for me.”
“Can I try yours?”
I ask Santino when they arrive.
“Of course.”
He pushes his plate towards me and I do the same with mine.
I take a forkful of his cheesecake and a little moan escapes. “Mmm, this is so good. So creamy.”
Santino’s fork freezes on the plate while his eyes burn into mine. He doesn’t look away for a long moment, and then he gives his head a little shake and finally tries my dessert.
Teasing him is fun. Especially when I don’t even do it on purpose.
We finish our desserts and he pays, and when he places his hand on my lower back to guide me through the restaurant again, it feels more intimate than when we arrived.
I find myself wanting to be closer to him. I want him to put his arm around me. I want his hand to slide down to my ass and give it a little squeeze. I want him to brush my hair over my shoulder and kiss me below my ear before whispering how he’s never been on a better date.
Outside, Santino hands the valet his ticket, and as we wait for his car, I shiver, prompting him to take his jacket off and drape it over my shoulders like they do in the movies.
“Such a gentleman, Mr. Antonucci,” I tease.
“For you I am, Mrs. Antonucci.”
“I’m a lucky girl, then.”
I smile, and his eyes widen, taking the compliment as it was intended. “This was the best first date I could’ve asked for. Thank you.”
“Oh,”
he says, his face falling.
“What?”
“This was our first date, but this was also your first date. I should’ve made it more special. I should’ve flown you to Paris on a private jet and rented out the Eiffel Tower for a private dinner.”
I can’t help but laugh at his wild idea of a first date. “Santino, while that sounds very special indeed, not to mention incredibly expensive for a first date, it wasn’t necessary. What made dinner so great wasn’t the location or food. It was you. It was us talking and getting to know one another.”
His cocky grin has me smiling right back at him. “Huh, well, isn’t that fortunate?”
Santino leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek and then whispers in my ear, “This was the best date of my life, Mia, but one day, I will take you on that incredibly expensive and so-called unnecessary date to Paris because it is necessary to me.”
“If you insist.”
“I do. But our date isn’t over yet, farfalla. I still have that surprise I promised you.”
I lean my face against his. “Show me, then.”