25. Summer
Summer
Standing before the full-length mirror in the primary suite, I smoothed the fabric of my flowy white dress. It fit like a glove, a beautiful creation featuring lace appliques and long enough to cover the scars on my leg that would serve as a permanent reminder of the night I almost lost my life.
Matteo had snuck out before the sun came up this morning, but when I woke, there was a stack of velvet boxes resting atop his pillow. Inside, there was an array of glittering diamonds fashioned into drop earrings, a choker necklace, and, most ridiculous of all, a freaking tiara.
That particular piece of jewelry resting atop my head now was a reminder that today, I would officially become his queen. Though it was a far cry from the type of royalty portrayed in fairy tales.
There was a knock at the door, and I turned in time to see it cracked open and a tiny head poke through.
Bianca’s eyes widened, and her lips parted on an exhale. “Wow. You look like a princess.”
Smiling, I stepped toward her and dropped to one knee. “So do you.”
A blush rose to her cheeks as her eyes dropped to the ground, and she fidgeted with the skirt of her pink dress. “Papa said he’s not allowed to see you before the wedding.”
Who knew the mafia man was so traditional? Certainly not me before today.
“Did he send you in here to get me?”
She peeked up at me through her thick black lashes, “Mm-hmm.”
Rising to my full height, I extended a hand to the little girl whom I would love like my own until my dying day. “Then we better not keep him waiting.”
Since I wasn’t involved in the planning, I let Bianca lead me to where the private ceremony would be held.
The doors to the main balcony off the living room were thrown open, and my heart tumbled over in my chest when I caught sight of Matteo standing near the railing.
He was dapper as ever in one of his custom-tailored suits, holding Serafina, who wore a dress identical to her older sister’s.
Like he could sense my presence—or more likely, having heard my heels click on the marble flooring—his dark eyes lifted, and when they locked on mine, the most dazzling smile split his face. I swear I fell in love with him all over again.
“Here are your flowers.” Bianca’s voice had me breaking eye contact with Matteo.
The little girl handed me a bouquet containing an assortment of roses, ranunculus, and peonies in various shades of pink, interspersed with white. It gave off a soft, romantic vibe, and I couldn’t help but bring the blooms to my nose to inhale their intoxicating fragrance.
We might essentially be in hiding, cut off from the rest of the world, but Matteo had gone out of his way to make this day special, one we would never forget.
Bianca, holding a basket of loose petals in her hand, looked up at me and confessed, “It feels like there are butterflies in my belly.”
That makes two of us, kid .
A smile tugged onto my lips. “Are you more excited or nervous?”
She scrunched up her little nose. “Both?”
“How about this? We go out there together?” I offered. “You can even hold my hand if you want.”
“But how will I throw my flowers?”
I gestured to the makeshift aisle with scattered rose petals down the center. “I think your daddy already took care of that. Just in case.”
“Okay, I’ll go with you, Mommy.”
Be still, my heart.
“Problem, ladies?” Matteo’s voice carried over the distance separating us.
Shaking my head, I replied, “We’re good.” I dropped my voice to a whisper and gave Bianca’s hand a squeeze. “Right, B?”
“Yep,” she chirped, all traces of her earlier anxiety having seemingly vanished.
Inhaling deeply, I let the breath out slowly, silently bidding farewell to the past as I moved toward my future at the end of the aisle.
When we reached where the other half of our little family stood at the makeshift altar, Matteo leaned in to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his warm breath caressing my cheek as he breathed out, “ Bellissima.”
“ Grazie .“ He’d taken to teaching me more words and phrases in Italian, and when possible, I tried to use them in my replies.
Go figure, the priest didn’t know any English, so though the ceremony sounded beyond beautiful, I didn’t understand any of it. Thankfully, Matteo translated the important parts, like our vows and when it was time to exchange rings.
Then the officiant gestured between me and Matteo, uttering a final phrase before he stopped speaking.
A wolfish gleam entered Matteo’s eyes as he stepped into me, the hand not holding Serafina coming up to cup my cheek.
“What did he say?” I had a pretty good idea, but I wanted to hear him say it.
Voice dropping an octave, he rasped, “That I can now kiss my bride.”
Automatically, my teeth descended on my lower lip, but Matteo was quick to tug it free with his thumb. “Mine, Mrs. Bellini,” he growled.
“Yours,” I whispered breathlessly.
His mouth crashed down on mine, stealing my breath away as his tongue drove inside, staking his claim, our union sealed with a passionate kiss.
By the time he pulled away, I was swaying on my feet, practically lightheaded. With a steadying hand on my elbow, he provided support as we headed up the aisle and into the house.
It was wild to think that not even four months ago, I hadn’t held back as I tore this man to shreds after rescuing his daughter from a near-drowning, and now, I was his wife.
Even though my head was spinning with how quickly my life had changed course, I’d never been happier.
With frosting smearing their lips, both girls were out for the count. I latched the door to Serafina’s bedroom as Matteo walked out of Bianca’s.
I leaned one shoulder against the wall. “The cake was a nice touch.”
Matteo moved closer with a predator’s grace, eyes darkening with each step. “Wasn’t nearly enough.” He reached where I stood and hauled me against his chest. “I hate that I couldn’t give you the big, fancy wedding you deserve. When we get back to Chicago, we’ll have a proper ceremony.”
My arms snaked around his neck. “It was perfect with just the four of us. I don’t need or want a big blowout where it’s more about the guests than us.”
“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll save that for when Bianca gets married.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Marrying off our four-year-old already?”
“Hell no.” He shook his head so violently that it dislodged a lock of dark hair, and it fell over his forehead.
“She’ll need to be at least forty before I allow whatever guy who definitely won’t be good enough for her to steal her away.
But I get a natural high even thinking about spoiling my girls.
” A finger trailed up my arm before tracing the line of the diamonds encircling my neck.
“Speaking of spoiling, I can’t wait to fuck my wife wearing only this. ”
There was no containing the full-body shiver that rolled through me.
“My beautiful wife likes that idea, doesn’t she?”
My eyes slid closed, and I let out a breathy “uh-huh.”
The tip of his nose grazed the crook of my neck, his lips brushing against the skin there. “Or maybe it’s that she likes being called my wife. Is that it, dolcezza ?”
A moan slipped past my parted lips as that verbal claim settled right between my thighs.
“What’ll it be tonight, bella ? Do you want me to treat you like my wife, my queen, or my whore?”
My knees buckled, forcing Matteo to tighten his hold around my waist to keep me upright.
Jesus fucking Christ.
A husky chuckle rolled through his chest, the vibrations making my nipples tighten painfully. “Want to know what I would choose?”
“Please.” Lust swirled so densely in the air that I could barely see straight.
“I was thinking I’d like to go for the trifecta. Sample all three. How does that sound?”
My swallow was so thick, it was a wonder I didn’t choke on my own saliva. “Yes.” The word was drawn out on a hiss.
When he pulled back, his burning gaze seared right into my soul, setting it on fire. That was one blaze I was more than happy to let consume me, to destroy me, until there nothing was left but ashes.
“Champagne? I had a sixty-year-old bottle delivered for the occasion.”
Heat flooded my cheeks as memories of the last time we’d brought bubbly into the bedroom flashed before my eyes.
“Dirty girl,” Matteo murmured, reading my mind. “I was planning on using it for a toast to commemorate the day, but if there’s something else you’d rather do . . .”
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I shook my head. “A toast is good.”
“As you wish.” He threaded his fingers with mine, and together, we walked into the kitchen, where he proceeded to pull what was undoubtedly an obscenely expensive bottle of champagne from the fridge and popped the cork.
Pouring the gold liquid into two crystal flutes, he offered one to me, and my fingers pinched the dainty stem between them.
Matteo held his own glass up, his eyes locked on mine as he said, “To fate, to family, and to forever with you.”
We clinked and drank.
My eyebrows lifted when the liquor flowed over my tongue, lighting up my taste buds.
Having gauged my reaction, Matteo asked, “You like it?”
I took another sip, licking every last trace that clung to my lips and humming. “It’s delicious. Though I’m not sure it’s worth what you probably paid for it.”
“I would have to disagree,” he countered. “Watching you practically purr in pleasure as you enjoyed it is worth every penny.”
It was a toss-up as to which was smoother, Matteo’s line or the champagne.
He held up the bottle, shaking it gently. “More?”
My head was already swimming, and I didn’t want anything to muddy the memories of tonight—my wedding night.
“No, thank you.”
“So polite,” Matteo mused, his thumb tugging on my lower lip as he held my chin in his grasp. “I sure hope you remember those manners when we make it into the bedroom. I would prefer to worship you, but if you start begging for a punishment, I’ll have no choice but to give you one.”