Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Anya
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Matteo breathes, his words brushing against my neck. The soft beat of his voice touching my skin is almost enough to make me shiver against him. “I can’t believe you’re here. Fuck, I better not be dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming,” I assure him, holding tight while in no rush to end our hug. “I’m really here, can’t you feel me?”
“That’s the problem,” he replies, voice more gruff than before. “I can feel you and I’ve been waiting months to feel you again. I’m worried my brain is teasing me with this very realistic dream.”
“If it’s a dream, then it’s mine,” I reply seriously. “It took an almost five-hour flight to get here, and I certainly remember every moment of that. I was almost sick with anticipation, I couldn’t wait to surprise you.”
Pulling back just far enough so that our eyes can meet, he looks down at me with a mystified expression. “You really came here for me?”
“I wanted to take a turn being the one who comes to visit,” I admit shyly, finally untangling myself from him. I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. “I’m only here for a day, though. So if you still want to come visit me soon, I’d like that a lot.”
His face falls in disappointment, but he quickly smothers the emotion. “Do you leave tonight or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” I say, hoping to put his smile back in place. “Uncle Mikhail is staying with me in a hotel and taking me home tomorrow afternoon. Your Dad is with him right now.”
“I’ll come with you,” he replies immediately. “Tomorrow, I’ll fly back with you both. Tell me you want me to come back with you.”
“I…of course I do,” I rush out, eyes widening as I breathe through my surprise. “But are you sure? It’s so last minute—”
“We’ll save a flight,” Matteo says in a quick rebuttal. “It’s better for the environment, and better for my patience. I can’t have you for just one day and then say goodbye. I need like a week, at least.”
A laugh rises out of me and I smile at him. “That could be nice. We could go to the beach. I’ve been wanting to go since I got back…since before I even left, really.”
“The beach,” he agrees readily, nodding like he’s sealing the plan into his memory for later. “We’ll walk on the beach and then I’m making you chicken parm. And we can watch a movie or two this time.”
“More than two, if you’re staying for a week.”
He practically beams.
“Fuck, that reminds me. I need your dad’s phone number.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, meraviglia,” he confirms soundly. “I want to be able to get a hold of him myself if I’m ever worried about you again. I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack yesterday. And besides, now I have to ask him permission to accompany you back to Cali.”
“Okay,” I agree in a breath. He hands me his phone, and I try not to allow my hands to shake while I create a contact for my father.
“Good,” he says through an exhale, seeing the number stored safely in his phone. “I’ll call him later. Now, back to the fun stuff. We don’t have time to waste! It’s just past noon, so there’s plenty of options. Have you eaten lunch?”
“I had a sandwich on the plane. Have you?”
“Anya, the second the clock hits 12:00 p.m. I’m in the kitchen devouring my midday meal,” Matteo says, chuckling.
“Right.” I laugh in return. “You’ve mentioned that a time or two.”
Grinning, he asks, “Do you have anything you want to do?”
“I thought I would leave it up to you, honestly. It’s your city, after all.” I try not to nervously bite my lip or fidget with my fingers. “Not to put all of the pressure on you—”
His boyish grin stops my train of thought. “Put all the pressure on me, I can take it. How about a show? Would you want to go see a ballet? There’s an afternoon performance downtown in an hour and a half, we’d have plenty of time to get ready and get there.”
“You want to take me to a ballet?” I ask, almost croaking the question in surprise. “You know the ballet schedule?”
“The Philadelphia Ballet Company is doing Swan Lake,” he replies, not at all explaining how or why he knows this information. “I’m sure you’ve probably seen Swan Lake done a million times in a million different ways, but I think it could be nice. Fun, even. If you’re into it—”
“Y-yes,” I cut in so quickly that I stutter. “I want to go. But, um, I didn’t bring anything really nice to wear.”
I look down at my typically modest clothing and frown. The knit sweater and black palazzo pants combination is comfortable, but a bit too casual for attending the theater—even a matinee showing. I would feel entirely out of place if I don’t find something more semi-formal to wear.
“Believe me, that’s not an issue.” Matteo chuckles, brushing off the dilemma easily. “You can borrow something from Jade or Ana, or we can send Armani out for something. A dress like you wore to the wedding, or a nice blouse and trousers. Whatever you want.”
I bite my lip, hesitant. “I don’t want to put anyone out. And I would feel bad taking clothes from Jade or Ana when they don’t even know I’m here.”
“Armani, then,” Matteo decides. “He won’t be put out, he’ll be elated to have the task. And he won’t mind keeping the secret. I could just tell him I’m going on a date and need a dress for her, if you’d prefer he doesn’t know.”
“No,” I blurt out automatically. “No, no, he can know it’s for me.”
The idea of Matteo even pretending to go on a date with some random girl makes my stomach hurt. So much so that I put a hand over it, willing the discomfort to go away before I actually become sick.
“I don’t want to meet him, though. Not yet, if that’s okay? I can give you my sizes and I can promise to meet him another time.” I discreetly rub my clammy hands on my pants and exhale. “Do you think he can find me something that covers me up? Like the wedding dress?”
“Armani can find anything.”
Matteo’s proclamation rings true, because only forty minutes after requesting a dress from his brother, a black velvet garment bag arrives. Nico brings it in the room, and while I take it to the bathroom to get changed, Matteo informs him of our plan to go to the ballet.
We’ll leave as soon as I’m ready and arrive at the show a bit early. The Moretti family apparently has permanent box seats, so we’ll have our own space, away from any strangers or crowds. It all lines up so perfectly that it almost feels like a dream.
Especially when I open the dress bag and find not one, but two gowns.
They’re both floor-length and have long sleeves with modest necklines.
One white, and one lavender. My favorite colors that I didn’t mention in my message to Armani, meaning Matteo must have.
There’s also a pair of white Jimmy Choo kitten heels at the bottom of the bag, in my exact size.
After a bit of deliberating, I pick the white dress because I enjoy the classic design. It’s not formfitting other than at the waist and chest, but it also isn’t too big of a skirt. And despite not being tailored or tried on, the gown ends up fitting perfectly, along with the heels.
After hiding my other outfit under Matteo’s bathroom sink in case anyone is in his room while we’re gone, I step out to find two men staring at me. Nico looks me up and down and arches a brow but says nothing. Matteo, though. Matteo’s whole face glows.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “You look incredible.”
Cheeks flaming, I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear and smile. “Thank you.”
“Jesus, I look like a scrub,” he says, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Give me like three minutes, I need to put on a suit.”
“You should take more than three minutes to put on a suit if you don’t want to look like a scrub,” Nico tells him dryly.
Matteo flips his brother off and disappears into his closet, closing the door behind himself.
Again, I see Nico assess me with his eyes. “You look like a bride.”
“Thank you?” I say questioningly, a startled laugh almost escaping my lips. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
He shrugs. “Take it however you want it. I’ve never dressed up like that for a day out with a friend.”
“Have you ever had a day out with a friend?” I challenge, lifting a brow.
Nico glares, one of his eyes almost twitching. “I have friends.”
“Friends, or murder companions?”
“Is there a difference?” he challenges. “Would you commit murder with anyone you don’t consider a friend? Seems like a good way to get betrayed.”
“You can have friends who aren’t conspirators to homicide,” I point out obviously. “We’re friends and I don’t want to commit murder with you.”
“A pity,” Nico replies seriously.
Matteo comes out of the closet fully dressed, buttoning up his last cufflink. His suit is crisp, like it’s been waiting to be worn. It’s traditional black and white, with a long tie rather than a bow tie. Not a tuxedo, but a very dapper designer suit indeed.
“Did Armani dress both of us, then?” I ask, letting my eyes trail all the way down to his super shiny black shoes.
“Well, the suit is Brioni,” he quips. “But yes, Armani picked it out for me. What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”
“You look handsome,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s a good suit.”
“Armani will croak if he hears you refer to a ten-thousand-dollar Brioni suit as simply good, but I won’t tell him if you won’t.”
My responding giggle is cut off by Nico.
“Are you ready to go, then? The sooner I sneak you both out, the better. The house isn’t as full of people right now, but that won’t last for much longer. I doubt your date wants to scale down the side of the house from your bedroom window like some shitty teen movie.”
I want to correct his use of the term date, but Matteo replies to his brother before I can. And he doesn’t correct him.
“I don’t want to scale down the wall, either. I almost broke my arm the last time we tried that shit. Stupid fucking rope never cooperates for me.”
“Yeah, it’s the rope,” Nico drawls. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”