38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mateo
I drive to the port in a daze, Romeo unusually quiet beside me. It’s so unlike him. I need to figure out what’s going on. It has to be that waitress from the club the other day. He’s been off ever since.
Now would be the ideal time to ask when he can’t evade my questions, but my mind is too busy replaying the last hour with Mari.
That kiss!
I’ve kissed many girls, but this one?
It had more of an impact on me than I’d care to admit.
All I want to do is repeat it over and over and then over again.
Mari’s touch lingers, as does her taste. That sweet mouth of hers!
One kiss and I’m like an addicted teenager.
And the way her perfect, soft body felt against mine.
The sounds she made.
The way her hands caressed my face.
I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life.
I’m so far gone for this woman.
At first she seemed like a girl, shy and innocent. But the more I get to know her, the woman inside her shines through more and more. She has depth and a fire and passion that are intoxicating me.
I want her.
In my arms. In my bed. Marked as mine alone.
“So what’s with you and Mariella Accardi?” Rom breaks the silence and I glance at him, his usual cocky grin back on his face.
“What do you mean?” I ask, not ready to get into this with him, not yet, anyway. For now, I just want to savor it on my own.
“You’re spending a lot of time with her,” he says.
I certainly do in my head. She’s constantly on my mind.
“Not really. I couldn’t just leave her alone after the attack yesterday. She was in shock.”
“And now you’re teaching her self-defense? How to drive? And how did you both end up soaking wet?”
“Tiero put her in my care. I’ve only done what Antonio should have a long time ago,” I say, deliberately ignoring his last question. “Talking about girls, are you finally going to tell me what’s going on with that waitress you dragged out of the club the other day?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies drily.
I take my eyes off the road briefly and pin him with a stare.
“Come on, spill it. I’ve never seen you worked up over a girl.”
“I’m not worked up over her,” he says defensively.
I lift a brow. “Really? Could have fooled me.”
He mutters something under his breath I can’t make out.
“What was that?” I chuckle. It’s fun seeing my best friend all riled up.
“She’s someone from back home,” he eventually says.
“You haven’t been home since you came to Sicily when you were sixteen.”
“I know.”
“So? Who is she to you?”
“She used to be my neighbor. And maybe, I had a little crush on her back then.”
I chuckle, amused. I can’t imagine Romeo having a crush.
“Don’t laugh, asshole. It was just teenage hormones. We practically grew up together. And that last year before I left… you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
He sighs, exasperated, adding to my amusement.
“She became all womanly, and I started to see her…” He waves his hands in the air as if he could pluck the right words from the ether. “… in a different light.”
He sighs again, but this time it seems filled with regrets. “But then I left and that was that.”
“So you were an item?”
“No, she resisted my charms.”
“Wow,” I say with mock seriousness.
“What?” he asks annoyed.
“There was, is, a woman out there who’s told you no? That’s something. What is she doing in Rome?” I ask. “It’s a long way away from the hinterland of Milan.”
He groans. “Her husband got a job in the city.” He spits out the word husband, and I’d bet my Ferrari that he has already looked him up.
As if to prove me right, he continues, “He’s some low-life who can’t even provide for his wife and has her work in a club where anybody can ogle her. I mean, really? She is stunning. She could have her pick of men and she settled for him?”
I bite my lip to suppress my laughter. “There’s such a thing as love. She might not care about his status or money.”
“Please! All women do,” he huffs.
Not Mari.
She doesn’t seem materialistic at all. She refused when I wanted to buy her designer clothes and seems happiest when she can play the guitar or design a new dress. And she wanted to try pizza when I could have taken her to a Michelin star restaurant.
“No, I disagree. Not all do.”
He huffs again but doesn’t reply.
“What are you going to do?”
Again, he doesn’t answer.
“Are you going to stay away from her?”
He remains silent, staring out of the window while rubbing his chin.
“Rom?”
He clenches his jaw and then moves it from side to side.
“Not until I know for sure she’s being looked after.”
I sense there is much more to this story than he lets on, but as we arrive at the port, I let it go for now.
“Women,” Rom mutters as he throws open the car door and gets out, grumbling under his breath. I smirk.
Speaking of women, I wonder if Mari opened her present.
I wish I’d been there to see her face, to witness that flash of joy and surprise.
I pull out my cell and text her on her brand-new phone, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Me: I’m going to one of our clubs tonight. Come with me.
I stare at the screen, waiting.
Within seconds, it’s marked as read, and before I can stop myself, I’m grinning. She opened it. Then those three little dots appear.
Dolcezza : Thank you for my new phone. It’s beautiful!
I knew she’d like it. It’s a dark moss green. She uses that color in her designs a lot, so I had Uberto track one down and then had the case engraved.
Me: The club tonight? Will you come with me?
I really want her to.
Dolcezza : I’ve never been to a club. I have nothing to wear.
Me: I’ll take care of it.
I remember her eyeing that silver Gucci dress on Via dei Condotti. She’ll look stunning in it.
Me: See you tonight.
Hmm, who could I get to collect it?
My tailor is a couple of streets away from the shop. He can send someone.
I shoot off a text to him when my car door flies open. Rom is scowling at me.
“You coming? Or am I the only one working today?”