Chapter 26 Sierra
SIERRA
It’s been a few days since Matteo told me about his stepdad, and things have been... quiet.
Not bad. Just careful. He leaves early for business he won’t explain, comes home late, and when we’re together, there’s a distance I can’t quite bridge. Like he’s waiting for me to see him differently now that I know what he’s capable of.
I don’t. If anything, I understand him better.
But I don’t know how to tell him that when he barely meets my gaze.
This morning, I woke to another sparse text: Business. Back later.
I stared at that text for way too long, trying to decode hidden meaning that probably wasn’t there.
So I did what any reasonable woman avoiding her feelings would do. I put on a swimsuit and threw myself into his pool.
The water is perfect. Cool enough to chase away the desert heat, warm enough that I don’t gasp when I sink beneath the surface.
I float on my back, staring up at the endless blue sky, and try very hard not to think about how comfortable I’ve become in this house.
In his space. In this life that isn’t really mine.
The waterproof bandage on my arm pulls slightly as I float. I try not to think about that either.
I’ve been in the water maybe twenty minutes when the sliding glass door opens. I right myself, treading water, and there he is, my fiancé. Swim trunks slung low on his hips, that broad chest on full display, scars and ink and all that dangerous muscle moving toward me.
My mouth goes dry despite the fact that I’m literally soaking wet.
“Hi.” I aim for casual. I probably miss by a mile.
He pauses at the pool’s edge, studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it, because some of the tension in his shoulders releases.
“I usually start the day with a swim,” he says. “Had to leave early. Need to get some laps in.”
“Don’t mind me.” I gesture vaguely at the water. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
He dives in with barely a splash and starts cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Back and forth. Back and forth. Muscles flexing, water streaming off his broad shoulders, all that controlled power on display.
I try to give him space. I really do. But it’s honestly unfair how good he looks doing something so mundane, and watching him is the kind of thing that scrambles a girl’s brain.
Ten laps in, I’m bored. Restless. A little reckless.
I drift into his path, timing it perfectly so he has to stop or crash into me. He pulls up short, standing in the shallow end, water streaming down his face.
“What are you doing?”
Instead of answering, I splash him.
He splutters. It’s the most undignified sound I’ve ever heard him make, and I’m cackling before I can stop myself.
He wipes his eyes. I splash him again.
“Sierra.” It’s a growl, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. The predatory gleam in his eyes makes my pulse kick.
I squeal and try to escape, but he’s faster. So much faster. His hand closes around my ankle and drags me backward through the water. I thrash and kick, but it’s useless. He dunks me with zero ceremony.
I come up gasping and immediately dive under again, trying to knock his feet out from under him. I might as well be trying to move a concrete pillar. The man doesn’t budge.
When I surface, he’s smirking. That smug, infuriating, devastatingly attractive smirk.
I splash him one more time, just on principle.
His hands find my ribs, and suddenly I’m shrieking with laughter as he tickles me without mercy. I’m twisting and writhing, trying to escape, but he’s everywhere.
“Let me go!” I gasp between laughs.
The sound that rumbles out of him hits me right in my core. Deep and rich and so rare that it feels like a gift. His laughter.
Our eyes meet, and everything shifts.
The playfulness bleeds into something else. Something hotter. I feel it the moment he feels it too, because his hands still on my ribs, and his eyes darken, and the air between us goes thick with wanting.
I throw my arms around his neck. Wrap my legs around his waist. His hands slide down to cup my ass, and his mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes like chlorine and desire.
I open for him. Let his tongue sweep against mine. Press myself closer until I can feel exactly what this is doing to him, hard and insistent against my center.
His grip tightens. I make a sound that might be a whimper, and—.
“Matteo? Hello? Are you here?”
I jerk back so fast I nearly drown myself.
A woman’s voice. Coming from the side of the house. Comfortable enough to just show up.
Jealousy slams into me with enough force to steal my breath. Acidic and ugly and completely irrational. The water that felt perfect seconds ago now seems to press against my skin, cold and unwelcome.
We never talked about this. Never discussed fidelity or exclusivity or what this fake engagement actually means. I assumed we were only seeing each other, but assumptions make idiots out of everyone.
Would Matteo invite another woman here?
Of course he would. He’s gorgeous and dangerous and probably has a different girl for every day of the week. I’m just the one he’s using to get to Viktor. The one who was stupid enough to catch feelings—
“You look like you’re about to commit murder,” Matteo says.
I blink. “What? No. I’m just surprised.”
“Me too.” He pulls away from me and climbs out of the pool, grabbing his towel and wrapping it strategically around his waist. “I didn’t know she was coming, and now I have to hide my erection from my mom.”
I nearly choke on my own tongue.
His mom.
His mom?
I want to laugh. At him, grumbling as he adjusts the towel. At myself, for going from zero to jealous rage in two seconds flat.
Pull it together, Sierra. This isn’t you.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know who I am anymore. Not with Matteo. Not in this situation that started fake and is starting to feel terrifyingly real.
I climb out of the pool, suddenly grateful for my one-piece. Meeting my future mother-in-law for the first time is awkward enough without adding a skimpy bikini to the mix.
Matteo opens the gate, and a tiny woman breezes into the backyard. She’s almost comically small compared to him, barely reaching his shoulder, with short dark hair and a smile that transforms her whole face when she sees me.
“You must be Sierra!” She’s already halfway across the patio, arms open wide. “I’m Matteo’s mom, but you call me Ma. You’re going to be part of the family, after all.”
She hugs me before I can respond. Her arms wrap around my wet torso without hesitation, not caring that I’m dripping pool water all over her.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” Matteo’s voice is gruff, and I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. He’s positioned himself behind a lounge chair, towel still firmly in place, looking for all the world like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Well, I had to.” Ma pulls back but keeps her hands on my arms, studying my face with sparkling blue eyes. “You tell me you’re getting married and nothing else? What choice did I have?”
Her tone is pure maternal guilt trip, and watching Matteo duck his head under the weight of it is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. This massive, dangerous man, reduced to a chastened boy by his tiny mother.
“Go get the groceries from the car,” she tells him. “I’m making you two an authentic Italian dinner.”
He goes without a word of protest, and honestly? It’s adorable. This massive, dangerous man, doing exactly what his mama tells him.
I think I might love her already.
Once he’s out of earshot, Ma turns back to me. Her expression softens, and she cups my cheek with one hand.
“Don’t worry, dear. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry?”
“Matteo told me the truth about the marriage.” She says it gently, without judgment. “But that doesn’t matter to me. I can tell by the way he talks that he likes you. And I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
I don’t know what to say. I expected disapproval. Disappointment, at least. Not this open acceptance.
“I thought you’d be upset,” I admit. “That your son is marrying someone for... business reasons.”
“My son has his reasons for everything he does.” Her eyes hold shadows I recognize. The same shadows that lurk in Matteo’s. “And those reasons are usually about protecting people he cares about. If he’s marrying you, fake or not, it’s because you matter to him.”
I want that to be true. I want it so badly it scares me.
But wanting things has gotten me hurt before.
We change into dry clothes, and then the three of us crowd into Matteo’s kitchen. Ma takes command immediately, directing us like a tiny general marshaling her troops. Matteo chops vegetables with surprising precision while I stir sauce and taste everything she hands me.
“More garlic,” she says, watching me sample the marinara. “Always more garlic. Never less.”
She chatters while we cook. Stories about Matteo as a child. The neighbors who drive her crazy and the ones she adores. She mentions Matteo’s father once, briefly, a man who died when Matteo was young. But she doesn’t say anything about her second husband, and I don’t ask.
Over dinner, Ma and I do most of the talking. Matteo listens, offering the occasional grunt or one-word response, but he seems content to watch us bond. His eyes follow my movements. Track my expressions. Every time I look up, he’s already looking at me.
Ma asks about my job, my family, my dreams. When I mention the flower shop I want to open someday, her whole face lights up.
“That sounds lovely, dear.”
“Thanks.” I twist my napkin in my lap. “It’s something I’ve wanted for years. Small, nothing fancy. Just a little shop where people can buy arrangements for birthdays and anniversaries and I don’t know, maybe just because they want something beautiful.”
“That’s lovely.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “You have good dreams, Sierra.”
“I haven’t told my parents yet.” I don’t know why I admit that, but she’s so easy to talk to. “They already think I’m impractical enough.”
“Parents always worry. It’s our job.” She glances at Matteo, and something passes between them. “But a woman who knows what makes her happy is not someone to worry about. She’s someone to admire.”
Warmth spreads through my chest like melted honey.
I could get used to this. Weekly dinners and authentic Italian food and a mother-in-law who treats me like I belong.
The thought terrifies me.
Not because it isn’t real. But because I think I might want it to be. And I have no idea if Matteo does.
I clear my throat, grasping for safer ground.
“I’m going wedding dress shopping with my family on Thursday,” I announce. “Would you like to come with us?”
Ma’s face lights up. “Oh, I’d love that!”
Matteo catches my eye across the table. He holds my gaze longer than usual.
After dinner, we clean up together. Ma washes, I dry, and Matteo puts everything away without being asked. It’s so domestic it makes my eyes sting.
When it’s time for her to leave, we walk her to the door together. She hugs Matteo first, murmuring something I can’t hear. He nods, jaw tight.
Then she turns to me, pulling me into another warm embrace.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say. “And for... everything.”
She pulls back, hands on my shoulders, studying my face. “It was my pleasure, dear. I’m so glad I finally got to meet you.”
Then her expression shifts. Something knowing settles into the lines around her eyes. “You two keep telling yourselves this is pretend.” A smile tugs at her lips. “I’ll keep pretending to believe you.”
Before I can respond, she kisses my cheek and heads for her car.
I glance at Matteo. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“She likes you.” His voice is quiet.
And the way he’s looking at me right now makes me wonder if he’s still talking about his mom.