Chapter Thirty-Eight
chapter thirty-eight
CAIO
It’s been two weeks since family dinner at the D’Angelo’s, when Isla and I decided to be completely transparent about our feelings for each other, and since then we’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm.
She basically lives in my apartment now, only going back to her original room to visit May every now and then, and it’s perfect. Well, I think so anyway.
We’ve created an almost daily routine. We have breakfast together every morning. She heads to the gallery in the late mornings while I work here at the hotel. I offer to walk her to the studio most mornings, but she refuses every time, not wanting to risk me seeing any of her art, which I hate. I want to see what she’s spending all of her time on, but she keeps hitting me with “not yet.”
She works her shifts at the bar at night, bringing home some form of takeout that we devour before we devour each other every night. Fuck I’m addicted to touching her, there hasn’t been many nights where I haven’t fallen asleep next to her naked body.
We talk about going out for dinners or getting out during the day, but never get around to doing anything but hiding out in my apartment together in our “love bubble.”
May’s words, not mine.
Not that either of us has officially said those three little words. I want to, I almost have multiple times. The syllables just want to tumble out of my mouth, but I stop myself every time. There are enough big feelings going on, I don’t need to add another revelation and freak Isla out if she doesn’t feel the same way about me.
Our friends have been nagging us to come out with them again. Okay, that’s a lie, the only person I can say is nagging would be Marina. She can’t stand Rafael and May’s bickering; it’s gotten worse without Isla and me there as buffers. But all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with my girl, watching one of those silly true crime documentaries that she loves and learning more about her.
I love learning how her brain works.
Like how she hates wearing socks. She said she feels like her toes are suffocated, and that she likes the feeling of her bare feet on cold tiles, or the grass between her toes because it reminds her of running through Central Park with Miles as a child.
Or how she always gets hot in bed and throws the sheets off of both of us in the middle of the night in a heat induced tantrum.
Or how she will only eat ice cream with a teaspoon, because eating it with a dessert spoon just feels wrong.
We get more comfortable with each other every day and we actually talk about us. We spent half the night the day after family dinner hashing everything out.
“What if I move all the way over here for you and it doesn’t work? Then I’ll just have to move all the way back.” Isla’s head rested on the back of the couch as she voices her fears.
“Why would you have to leave?” I asked.
“I couldn’t stay here, it would be uncomfortable for you, the thought of running into me at the bar or at the bakery…”
“If you decide that this is where you want to be, regardless of me, it will be your home too. I would never expect you to leave.” I shook my head. “This is irrelevant anyway. I believe we can get through anything that comes up between us. Honest communication, remember? Always?”
“I…” she looked away. “I never had this kind of communication. I never truly had a partner that I could rely on.”
I pulled on her arm dragging her over to sit on top of me. “I never want you to doubt where you stand with me,” I wrapped her arms around my neck. “Before you this was my list of priorities: First, my social life,” I put my hand out flat in between us, before dropping it all the way to where her leg sits on top of mine, earning a precious laugh from her. “The D’Angelo’s,” I brought my other hand out putting it a step above the first one. “And work,” I brought my first hand back bringing it up to eye level in between us.
“These are my priorities now. Everything other than you,” I put my hand down low. “And doing anything I can to make you smile at me like you are right now.” My hand rose up as far as I could reach. Isla’s eyes sparkled with joy, and she giggled in that way that warms up my soul.
I smile as I lay here in bed, replaying our interactions over the last couple of weeks. I feel high, like nothing could burst our little love bubble.
Isla stirs beside me in my king bed, her feet tangling with the sheets as her eyes flutter open.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” I press my lips to her forehead.
She mumbles a satisfied noise, a sleepy smile curving her lips.
“How do you feel about waffles?” Her eyes shoot open. “With bacon?” She nearly starts drooling right there.
I can’t help but chuckle at her, fucking adorable. “Why don’t you hop in the shower, and they’ll be ready when you’re done?”
Her smile is dreamy as I make my way to the ensuite to turn on the shower for her.
“Oh my god, could you be any more perfect? I think I’m in love with you.”
I stop dead in my tracks. My heart doing a flip in my chest. I look back at her and her face is just as shocked as mine, as if the words just slipped out.
“Did you…?”
“I think I did.”
“It’s okay if you didn’t mean it.” My heart fractures a little as I say it, but I’ll do anything to take the pressure off.
“No, yes.” She presses a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes, clearly flustered. “No, ugh. I mean…I think I did mean it.”
I’ve never moved faster than in the two quick strides it took me to be sitting beside her on the bed. “You think or you know?”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes unsure as she twirls a strand of her long hair around her finger. “Is it okay if it’s I think for now?”
I twine my own finger in the strand, unwrapping it from her finger and softly tucking it behind her ear.
“Of course it’s okay, because I know I love you, sweetheart. And I’m so tired of holding those feelings in as if every cell in my body doesn’t call to yours, like you’re not the only source of air that my body will accept into my lungs.”
Her eyes quickly flood, and a tear escapes her eye, but I wipe it away before it trails down her rosy cheek. Not a flicker of doubt crosses my mind as her watery eyes shimmer up at me, portraying every word she’s too afraid to say.
“I can know it enough for the both of us.”
I couldn’t not worship Isla after she told me she thinks she loves me. I worshipped her with my tongue, with my fingers and with my cock. Filling her up all the way until her voice was hoarse from screaming my name, and now I’m in the kitchen making those waffles I promised her this morning while she takes a cold shower, cleaning herself up.
Tonight is the night of the gallery fundraiser, Isla and I have spent countless hours with Stefan getting everything in order for tonight, and I’ve got to say I think it’ll be a success, but I don’t want to set my hopes too high.
I open the waffle maker to check the progress. Not quite golden enough yet. I drop the lid shut when the elevator dings, scaring the shit out of me. Who the fuck is here?
Stefan’s voice echoes through the apartment. He’s speaking abnormally loudly. “Look, this really isn’t a good time for Mr. Marchetti.” He sounds out of breath, like he’s been talking for a while, is he on the phone or something? I round the corner from the kitchen, ready to ask him why the fuck he’s intruding on my previously peaceful Sunday morning.
I nearly skid to a stop when I see him standing there with two people I’ve never met in the middle of my apartment, and I’m wearing nothing but my boxers.
Shit .
My hands fly in front of me as if that really helps. “Stefan? What the hell are you doing here?” I ask through a gritted smile.
Two sets of eyes stare back at me seemingly judgy as I stand here suddenly very aware of all of my bare skin.
“Uh…Caio,” he sounds nervous. Why is he nervous? He looks towards his company. “This is Mr. And Mrs. Beckett.”
Double shit .
“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you,” I go to extend my hand towards Isla’s father in front of me but think better of it. “Give me one moment and I’ll be right back.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder before I scoot away into my bedroom and head straight for my ensuite.
“Oh, so now you want to join in?” Isla has a teasing smile on her face.
“You better get out , now. ”
“I haven’t washed my hair yet, what’s the rush?”
“Your parents are here.”
“WHAT?” Her eyes widen as she wipes her hand over the foggy glass between us so she can see my face. “Here?”
I nod.
“Here as in Ruby Cove?”
“Here, as in right on the other side of that wall, so you better wash up quick, sweetheart, cause they just saw me in my underwear.”
“So this is where you’re staying,” Isla’s father looks around the apartment, seemingly taking it all in without meeting my eyes. He hasn’t looked at me once since Isla and I came back into the kitchen after we got ready.
“Uh, yeah.” Isla’s demeanor is completely different around her family. Any trace of the relaxed, bubbly girl I’ve fallen in love with is quietly hidden away. Now I just see concern etched in the lines between her eyebrows, and uncertainty in her eyes as she looks at her parents in front of her.
“Caio owns this place, so we get a pretty good view from up here.” She tries for a smile, but it looks all wrong.
I just want to go wrap my arms around her and bring her some form of comfort. But she asked me to take a back seat, so that’s what I’m doing. Even if it’s taking every shred of my self-control to keep my ass planted on this stool.
“Hm,” her father mutters. The tan skin of his forehead crinkling between his brows. “And are you staying here for free or do you have some little deal going on with your lover here.”
He doesn’t realize how spot on he is with that statement, but not in the way he thinks, and my blood boils at his implication. Surely, he should know that his daughter would never sell herself off.
“Graham!” His wife scolds under her breath.
“What? Who knows what she’s doing over here? How she’s making money, it’s not like she’s been in contact with us.”
Isla lifts her chin in defiance. “I’m painting,” she snaps back.
That’s my girl.
“That’s lovely honey,” her mother Emily says, going for the good cop angle. “But it’s not a career.”
“You know, I’m getting really tired of hearing that.”
“Why? Because it bursts your little pretend bubble you’ve got going on here?” Graham's temper flares. “News flash, Isla, this isn’t your home, these people aren’t your family, and painting is not a career you can sustain. You need to come home and make up with Brandon. He can give you a good life, Isla. You’d only have to work for a couple more years at that.”
Isla flinches with every snap of Graham's voice, and I’m getting really tired of hearing him talk to my girl like that in my house. I don’t care who he is to her.
“Mom,” her eyes quickly flood with unshed tears. “I think my artwork would sell. I’m really good.” I hate that she has to convince them. But I love that she’s sticking up for herself.
“I’m sure your art is good honey, but you still need to come home, this isn’t the place for you.”
“I think you should go see for yourself,” I interrupt, my voice harsher than I anticipated. “I’m going to organize a room for the two of you. I think you should stay a while, give your daughter a chance to show you the life she’s living here.”
I get up from my seat and make my way over to Isla before planting a kiss on her lips. A generous one. I don’t give a fuck that her parents are watching.
My hands cup the sides of her face as I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to give you guys some space okay, I need to meet Stefan, but if you need me, call me. I’ll come right away.” She nods before I do as I said and leave her with her parents.
It takes all of me to get in that elevator and leave them alone, but I know that Isla needs to talk to them and if I don’t have everything perfect for tonight Isla will just feel worse, she needs a win and that’s what I’ll give her.