Chapter 33
Marco
Iwake up with Jess curled against my chest, her hair tickling my jaw, and for a moment I just lie there trying to remember the last time I felt this settled.
Can’t.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. FaceTime from Livia. I ease out of bed carefully so I don’t wake Jess, grab a shirt, and step into the hall to answer.
Ben’s face fills the screen. She’s got flour on her nose and powdered sugar in her hair.
“Daddy! Nonno let me make sfogliatelle!”
“Did he now?” I can’t help smiling. “How many did you eat?”
She holds up three fingers. Then four. Then shrugs like honesty is negotiable when it comes to pastries.
“Good girl,” I tell her. “Save some for me.”
“Frederick says you have to come get them yourself.”
Of course he does. That snail is a tyrant.
Livia appears behind her. “We’ll have her home Friday morning. Nine sharp.”
Tomorrow.
“Appreciate it.”
“And Marco?” Her voice drops. That tone that means she’s about to say something I won’t like. “Be careful with her when you’re out there.”
Like I need the reminder.
“Always,” I reply.
The call ends.
When I return to the bedroom, Jess is awake, watching me from the pillows.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Ben’s making pastries. Nonno’s spoiling her rotten.”
She smiles. “Good. She deserves it.”
We spend the morning like that. Easy. Domestic. I sent a text last night, informing all house staff to arrive later this morning. So we have the place to ourselves for a while longer.
After a quick fuck and shared shower, we dress, and she helps me stage the gear in the mudroom while I walk her through each piece.
Permits. Check.
Laminated rules. Check.
Shotgun cased and locked with the chamber flag visible through the small window. Check.
Ammo box locked separately. Check.
“You really are intense about this,” she observes, watching me check the ammo box for the third time.
“It’s important.”
“I know.” She touches my arm. “I get it.”
I look at the gear. “I still remember that first trip with my dad. The way he showed me how to respect the woods. How to move through the trees without fear. That’s what I want for Ben. Not fear. Respect.”
“Totally get it,” she says.
I look down at her, and smile. “I knew you would.” I plant a kiss on her lips.
And then pull away. “Staff will be arriving soon. And I have a conference call I have to hop on to.”
She’s already heading down the hall and looking over her shoulder. “And I have some Brave Bite ideas to work on. Don’t miss me too much.”
She blows me a kiss.
I’m already missing her. But I head to my home office and try to get as much work done as I can. It is a workday, after all.
Hey, I’m a billionaire. I don’t have to work if I don’t want to.
I quieten the voice.
Work builds character.
Around noon, Niamh, my house manager, informs me that Jess went home.
“Or really?” I tell her. “Why’s that?”
“Well, Ben’s away with her nonna,” she explains. “So I told her her presence wasn’t needed today.”
I nod. “Good point. Thanks, Niamh.”
She nods, and leaves.
At five o’clock, I tell all non-security staff to go home early, so that I have the house to myself again.
I text Jag, and instruct him to fetch Jess.
I also send a quick text to her. Sending Jag to pick you up.
Her reply is instant: Oh really?
You can say no, I text.
Her response: I’ll come :)
You certainly will.
Not long thereafter, the doorbell rings.
My pulse kicks up because Jess has been doing that to me lately. Making my body react before my brain catches up.
I open the door and there she is.
Jeans.
Simple sweater.
Hair down.
No makeup.
Somehow more beautiful than when she’s trying.
Yep. I’m insta-hard.
Fuuuuck.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey yourself.” I step aside to let her in. “Hungry?”
“Always.”
I want to fuck her right there but decide to feed her actual food first.
So I lead her to the kitchen where I’ve got everything staged. Fresh pasta drying on racks. Lobster prepped. Sauce reducing. The whole production. Courtesy of Rosa, before she left.
She leans against the counter and watches me work. I can feel her eyes tracking my movements. The way I plate. The precision of each element.
“You really love this,” she observes quietly.
“Love what?”
“The ritual of it. The control.”
I pause mid-plate. Look at her. “That a problem?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Just an observation.”
We eat at the island. The pasta is perfect. Rich and briny and exactly what I needed.
Jess makes that sound again. The one that goes straight to my cock.
“This is obscene,” she tells me between bites. “Seriously. How is this even legal?”
I shift, my pants suddenly too tight. “It’s not. That’s why I only make it for special occasions.”
“And tonight’s special?”
I meet her eyes. “Yeah. It is.”
She blushes. Fucking blushes.
Love it when she does that.
We finish eating. I clear the plates. She offers to help but I wave her off because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t touching her.
Yet.
I’m rinsing the last plate when the words just come out. No filter. No planning.
“I think about Vegas sometimes.”
The water keeps running. She’s quiet behind me.
“That night,” I continue. “Before the wedding. Before everything went to shit.”
“Marco.” Her voice is careful. Like I’m about to step on a landmine.
Maybe I am.
I turn off the water. Turn to face her. “I wish I’d married you instead.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut.
Her expression shifts. Something between pain and understanding.
“Does that make me a bad person?” I ask.
I want her to answer. Want her to tell me I’m not completely fucked up for thinking this.
Instead she just looks at me. Then quietly says, “But if you married me, you wouldn’t have Ben. So it wasn’t a complete loss.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Because she’s right.
And because it means I’m sitting here wishing away the marriage that gave me my daughter.
What kind of father does that?
“I should go,” she says, standing.
“Jess. Please don’t.”
She hesitates.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Then why did you?”
Good fucking question.
“Because it’s true,” I tell her. “And because I’ve been carrying it for five years and I’m tired of pretending I don’t think about it.”
She sighs. “Marco. You can’t change the past.”
“I know.”
“And you can’t wish away your marriage just because it was complicated.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” Her voice softens. “That it’s okay? That you’re not a bad person for wanting someone else?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
She smiles. Just barely. “Both.”
“I guess what I was trying to say is... you matter. Ben matters.”
She nods. “Do you have any of that red wine of yours?”
“The ‘03 Cabernet?” I stand. “That’s all it takes to get on your good side? Done!”
I make a quick dash to the wine cellar, retrieve the Cabernet, and set it on the stand. I pour it into the decanter, and serve us each a glass.
We make small talk while we drink. Safe topics. The cabin trip. Ben’s excitement. The weather forecast.
But underneath it all is the thing we’re not saying.
That wanting each other doesn’t erase the past. It just complicates the present.
By the time we both have a heady buzz, we’ve circled back to easier ground. She’s giggling at something I said about Matteo’s vendetta against truffle oil. Her whole face lights up when she laughs.
I want to freeze this moment. Bottle it. Keep it for when things get hard again.
Speaking of which...
“Ready?” I ask when her laughter ebbs.
“For what?”
“To go upstairs.”
She cocks an eyebrow. Poor choice of words.
When she doesn’t answer, I add: “If you’ll have me.”
Her mouth quirks. “That an invitation or a question?”
“Both.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. Leading me like one of those Instagram reels. The kind where some woman drags an unseen man through luxury hotels and beaches while the algorithm eats it up.
Except this isn’t for content. This is just for us.
And that makes it so much fucking better.
She looks over one shoulder at me. “Your staff are gone?”
“For the evening,” I agree. “And tomorrow morning.”
“Sneaky.” She opens the door to the main suite. I follow her inside.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say.
Her mouth quirks. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Using the bathroom?”
That makes me laugh. “Seriously. I have to take a leak.”
She shrugs, taunting: “Hurry back.”
I go to the en suite bathroom. Once my cock calms down, I take a long piss. Then I wash my hands and stare at myself in the mirror and try to remember why this is a terrible idea.
Come up blank.
When I return to the room, she’s standing by the window. Still in that sweater. Still devastating.
“You good?” she asks without turning around.
“Getting there.”
She turns. Studies me. “What do you need?”
Loaded question.
What do I need?
Her. Naked. In my hands. Under my control. Trusting me to take her apart and put her back together.
That’s what I fucking need.
But what I say is, “You. If you’re offering.”
She reaches up. Unclasps her bracelet. Walks over and drops it into my palm.
The metal is warm from her skin.
I close my fingers around it. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
I pocket the bracelet. Move closer. My hands find her waist.
“Ground rules,” I tell her quietly. “You stop me if it’s too much. Hand squeeze three times if you can’t speak. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good girl.”
Her breath hitches.
I kiss her. Not gentle. Not tentative. Claiming.
She melts into me. Hands in my hair. Body pressed tight.
I walk her backwards toward the bedroom. Slide that sweater off her back. Let it drop at her feet.
She’s wearing black silk underneath. Again.
“Did you plan this?” I ask against her mouth.
“Maybe.”
“Fucking tease.”
She laughs. The sound goes straight to my painfully hard cock.
I slip off her jeans, leaving her only in her bra and panties.
“Beautiful,” I mutter, admiring her.