Chapter 30 #2
"I do," Matteo answered calmly. "You said before, when Sofia's a bit older, you wanted a yard with flowers and trees. In spring, you could cut flowers, in summer, you sit and drink coffee, in autumn, you help her dig and plant bulbs, and in winter, you hide in the greenhouse."
I couldn't speak. All those little thoughts I'd almost forgotten myself—he remembered them all. Remembered for a year, maybe longer.
"Do you like it?" he asked softly.
I turned and threw myself into his arms, my arms tight around his waist, burying my face in his chest, my voice muffled. "I love it. I love it so much."
Matteo held me, his palm gently smoothing down my back twice. "That's good. I was afraid you'd think I was too over the top."
"Way over the top." My nose stung, but I couldn't help smiling.
He lowered his head and kissed the top of my head, leading me further in. At the far end of the garden was a white magnolia tree just past flowering, with a long bench underneath and a small plot of empty ground beside it, clearly not yet planted.
I glanced at the empty plot. "Why is this empty?"
"It's for you." Matteo said, "You decide what you want to plant."
"Matteo," I called him softly, gripping his hand and looking into those deep black eyes. "If you keep doing this, I really won't be able to leave you."
He looked at me, a smile pressing at the corner of his lips, his fingers tightening. "Perfect. I never planned to let you leave anyway."
He led me deeper into the garden, stopping before a rose-covered arbor, and took out a very small velvet box. He opened it. Inside lay a ring quietly. Not any of those styles I'd seen in jewelry magazines—those gaudy ones set with huge diamonds. This one had only a small, teardrop-cut emerald.
"Rachel Kane." His voice even trembled a little. "You're the one who made me see light again. You healed me and saved me. I don't know how to tell you what you mean to me. I can only prove it with every day of the rest of my life."
"So... will you... marry me?"
Tears poured from my eyes. I couldn't hear another word he said after that.
I just knew to nod, nodding desperately.
Matteo let out a long breath, a brilliant smile like a child's breaking across his face.
He took out the ring and carefully slid it onto my ring finger.
Then he stood, swept me into his arms, lifted me up, and spun wildly in place.
"I love you, Rachel." He repeated it over and over in my ear, tirelessly. "I love you."
Our wedding wasn't grand. It was on that same beach that had witnessed our beautiful memories. No countless guests, no flashing media cameras, no complicated pretentious ceremonies.
Just two families and a few closest friends. Camilla flew over from Sicily. Leona brought a few longtime employees from the restaurant, arriving from New York two days early to personally arrange the wedding venue and supervise the hotel kitchen, making sure every dish matched my taste.
George came with his wife and their six-month-old daughter. Luca wore a light gray suit designated by Camilla—the officiant—properly, with a small white lily of the valley pinned to his chest. He tried hard to stand straight, attempting to look more reliable.
When the ceremony began, the sea breeze was warm.
Leona took my arm and walked me down that sandy aisle covered in white rose petals.
"Rachel," she said by my ear, her voice catching slightly. "Be happy. You have to be."
I squeezed her hand and nodded. At the end of the aisle, Matteo stood waiting for me. He wore a white suit, his silver-gray short hair coated with a soft glow in the sunlight.
Leona brought me before him. She released my hand, then solemnly placed it into Matteo's palm. Eyes red, she looked at this man about to become my husband and said, word by word:
"Take care of her."
"I will." Matteo gripped my hand. "Always."
He led me forward by the hand. Sofia bounced ahead of us. Cassius followed beside Sofia, wearing a small black bow tie around his neck, looking utterly proud.
Under the witness of the minister and all our loved ones, we exchanged rings and made our vows.
After the ceremony ended, the guests gradually dispersed.
I walked alone to the far end of the beach, holding up my dress.
The sunset was slowly sinking into the horizon, dyeing the whole world a tender gold.
I suddenly thought of that first night. A stranger who appeared suddenly, descending like a deity, and that low voice pressed with anger that cut through all fear: "Let her go."
I never would have imagined then that that moment would be the beginning of a long storm, but also the starting point of an even longer journey home.
A pair of warm arms encircled me from behind, that familiar scent mixed with cool wood wrapping around me. Matteo rested his chin gently in the hollow of my shoulder, watching with me that distant stretch of sea dyed gold by the sunset's afterglow, calm and waveless.
I turned my head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
"It feels so good to be home."
Matteo's arms tightened around me, pulling me flush against him.
His mouth found mine again, this time harder, hungrier.
The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding past my lips with deliberate slowness before claiming me with rough strokes that made my knees weak.
I gasped against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as the world tilted.
The sea breeze whipped my wedding dress around us, tulle and silk tangling between our bodies.
Matteo broke the kiss just long enough to curse under his breath, then swept me up into his arms in one fluid motion.
My startled laugh turned into a breathless sound as he strode toward the cabin, his grip possessive, fingers digging into my thigh through layers of fabric.
The door barely had time to swing shut before he had me pressed against the wall, his body a wall of heat caging me in.
His hands found the zipper at my back, yanking it down in one rough pull.
The bodice loosened, and he shoved the fabric off my shoulders without ceremony, letting it pool around my waist.
"Matteo." His name came out shaky as my hands fumbled with his shirt buttons, trembling fingers sliding over warm skin and hard muscle as I worked them free one by one.
He didn't wait for me to finish. His head dipped, mouth hot against the curve of my neck, teeth scraping. Then lower. His lips closed over my breast, and he sucked hard, tongue working the peaked flesh until I arched against the wall with a broken moan.
My hands flew to his back, nails digging in through the open shirt, holding on as he worked me over with his mouth, each pull of suction sending sparks straight between my legs. My hips rolled forward instinctively, seeking friction, but he held me pinned.
"Matteo, please—"
He released me with a wet sound, then lifted his head just enough to catch my eye, his pupils blown wide and dark.
Without a word, he scooped me up again and carried me to the bed, dropping me onto the white sheets.
Before I could catch my breath, he was over me, his weight settling between my thighs as his knee shoved my legs apart.
His hand slid up under the bunched fabric of my dress, fingers skating over bare skin, higher and higher until—
I gasped, body jerking when he pressed against me, finding me already wet and ready. He made a low, satisfied sound in his throat, then his fingers pushed inside, two at once, rough and demanding. The stretch made me whimper, and his eyes darkened even more.
"Already this wet for me," he muttered, voice rough as gravel.
His fingers worked in and out, each thrust deliberate and hard, curling to hit that spot inside that made my vision blur.
My legs fell open wider, and I hooked them around his waist, hips lifting to meet each stroke.
The wet sounds were obscene, filling the quiet room along with my ragged breathing.
Just when I thought I'd shatter, he pulled his hand away. I made a desperate sound of protest, but he was already undoing his pants with quick, jerky movements. He freed himself, hard and thick, and gripped the base as he lined up.
Then he slammed home.
The cry that tore from my throat was raw, unrestrained.
My hands flew to his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as he filled me completely, stretching me to the edge of too much.
He didn't give me time to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way, then drove in again, setting a brutal rhythm that had the headboard knocking against the wall.
"Fuck, Rachel—" His voice was guttural, words punctuated by the snap of his hips. "So tight. So fucking perfect."