Chapter 10 – Vespa Rides in Rome
Matteo
I spend most of the morning distracted, my mind repeatedly drifting from the meeting and Sasha. Giovanni catches me smiling at nothing, and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.
When we break for lunch, I check my phone. No messages from Sasha. Did she find my note? Is she still at the penthouse? The uncertainty gnaws at me in a way I'm not accustomed to feeling.
"You seem distracted today," Giovanni observes as we walk back to the office. "The American girl?"
"Sasha," I correct him automatically. "Her name is Sasha."
Giovanni's lips quirk. "I've known you since university, Matteo. I've never seen you like this over a woman."
"Like what?" I ask, though I know exactly what he means.
"Preoccupied. Checking your phone every five minutes. Smiling at nothing." He stops walking, forcing me to face him. "Is this still part of your arrangement, or has something changed?"
I scowl at him. "Nothing's changed."
"If you say so," Giovanni shrugs, clearly unconvinced. "But if you want my advice—"
"I don't," I interrupt.
"—you should be careful," he continues, ignoring my refusal . "Fake relationships have a way of becoming complicated."
I wave off his concern, though his words strike closer to home than I'd like to admit. I like Sasha. I like being around her. It’s easy, almost natural. As if we’ve known each other for years. Heck! I crave her presence.
"It's under control," I lie, and spend the rest of the day thinking about how much I like having her in my bed.
The afternoon drags endlessly. By six, I've had enough of pretending to focus on work. I dismiss my assistant, grab my jacket, and head out.
On impulse, I stop at a small flower shop near the office, selecting a bouquet of deep red roses. The florist wraps them in simple brown paper, giving me a knowing smile as she hands them over.
"Per una donna speciale?" she asks.
I nod. "Very special."
It's only as I'm walking away that I realize what I've done, then I quickly dismiss the feeling. It’s all part of the arrangement. Buy her flowers, take her out for dinner—It’s what I’m supposed to be doing as her “fake boyfriend”.
Except, I hadn’t thought of it until after I bought the flowers.
On my way to the penthouse, my phone pings with a message. It’s from Sasha. My heart does a little flutter that catches me off-guard.
What the hell is happening to me?
Wanna go exploring tonight?
I read the message and respond immediately, smiling at my phone.
Wear something comfortable. And a jacket. It gets cool at night. I type back as we drive to the penthouse.
I quickly shower and change and head back out.
Half an hour later, I’m standing outside Sasha’s building, waiting for her to come down.
The door opens and Sasha steps out, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing fitted jeans, a simple white blouse and a black leather jacket. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of her. She’s a goddess in the flesh. And she’s mine.
"Hi," she says, a shy smile playing on her lips.
I hand her the roses, watching her expression soften as she accepts them. "These are beautiful," she murmurs, burying her nose in the blooms.
"Not as beautiful as you," I reply, the line falling from my lips with surprising sincerity.
Her eyes meet mine, and she laughs, “thank you.”
"I thought we might see Rome a different way tonight," I tell her, gesturing to where my Vespa waits at the curb.
Sasha's eyes widen. "A Vespa ride? How cliché," she teases, but her excited smile betrays her.
"Some clichés exist for a reason," I counter, offering her a helmet. "Ready for an adventure?"
She secures the roses in her bag before taking the helmet, fitting it carefully over her hair. I help her adjust the strap, my fingers lingering against the soft skin of her neck.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"Everywhere," I answer. "And nowhere in particular."
I swing my leg over the Vespa, settling into the seat before patting the space behind me. Sasha hesitates only briefly before climbing on, her thighs bracketing mine as she settles against the leather.
"Hold on tight," I instruct, kickstarting the engine. The Vespa purrs to life beneath us.
Her arms circle my waist tentatively at first, then with more confidence as I ease into traffic. The sensation of her pressed against my back reminds me of our nights together.
My dick hardens at the thought of waking up with her in my arms.
This is going to be a long ride!
We weave through the streets, to the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, Aventine Hill, and finally up to the Gianicolo Hill where we stop for a moment, to take in the breathtaking view.
"It's beautiful," Sasha whispers, standing close enough that her arm brushes mine.
"This is my favorite view of the city," I tell her, watching her face rather than the view before us.
The way the lights reflect in her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips as she smiles in wonder—this is a view I could never tire of.
"I can see why," she says, then catches me watching her. A blush colors her cheeks. "What?"
"Nothing," I say, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just like watching you experience this for the first time."
She leans into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine. "Thank you for bringing me here."
We stand in comfortable silence, her shoulder against mine.
"I want to show you more," I say suddenly, the words emerging before I've fully formed the thought. "Not just Rome, but beyond. The places tourists never see."
Sasha turns to face me fully. "Like where?"
"I have a villa in Tuscany," I tell her, the idea taking shape as I speak. "Near a small village most people have never heard of. The kind of place where they still make wine the way they did centuries ago, where the baker knows everyone by name."
Her eyes widen slightly. "That sounds amazing."
"Come with me," I say, taking her hands in mine. "This weekend. We could leave Friday, come back Sunday night. Or Monday, if you want more time."
"This weekend?" she repeats, sounding uncertain.
"Why not?" I squeeze her hands gently. "Part of our arrangement was for me to show you the real Italy, remember? This is your chance to see it. No tourists, no guidebooks, just... Italy as it's meant to be experienced."
She bites her lower lip, a gesture I'm coming to recognize as a sign she's deliberating. "Okay. I’d love to visit your villa, Matteo De Luca.”
We stay for a while, enjoying the view and then we ride the Vespa back through Rome's winding streets, to Sasha’s apartment. Suddenly, I feel reluctant for the night to end.
"Thank you," she says, handing me the helmet, her fingers lingering against mine. "For everything. The roses, the tour, the invitation to Tuscany... it's all so much."
"It's nothing," I reply, though we both know it's not true.
I've never invited a woman to my Tuscan villa before. Not as a guest, not to stay.
It's my sanctuary, my private retreat from the world of business. Yet the thought of Sasha there feels inexplicably right.
We stand in the glow of the old iron streetlamp, neither of us making a move to part.
"I should go up," she says finally, gesturing vaguely toward her building. "It's getting late."
"I'll pick you up Friday," I tell her, stepping closer. "Pack light. Casual clothes, a swimsuit if you want to use the pool. Maybe something nice for dinner, though nothing too formal. The village is simple."
"What time?" she asks, her voice softer now that I'm closer.
"Early. Eight? We can have breakfast on the way,” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trace it.
Sasha nods, leaning slightly into my touch. "Eight it is."
I should say goodnight now. Kiss her cheek. A quick and appropriate farewell between new friends or fake lovers. But as I look down at her, lips slightly parted, eyes reflecting the golden glow of the streetlamp, I find myself incapable of such restraint.
My fingers trail from her ear to her cheek, tracing the delicate curve of her jawline.
"Matteo," she whispers, my name a question and an invitation on her lips.
I take a step, closing the distance between us.
Her body radiates warmth against mine as my hand slides to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the silk of her hair.
I'm acutely aware of everything about this moment – the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part slightly in anticipation, the pulse fluttering visibly at the base of her throat.
"I should say goodnight," I murmur, making no move to leave.
"You should," she agrees, her hands coming to rest against my chest.
The cotton of my shirt feels too thin, too inadequate a barrier between her touch and my skin. Her fingers curl slightly, grabbing the fabric, pulling me closer. The gesture is small but unmistakable. She wants this as much as I do.
I lower my head slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But instead, she rises on her toes to meet me halfway, her eyes fluttering closed just before our lips touch.
Her lips are soft, yielding beneath mine, tasting of something uniquely her. Sweet and intoxicating . I cradle her face between my palms, angling her head to deepen the kiss, savoring the quiet sigh that escapes her.
Then something shifts between us. Perhaps it's the way her body melts against mine, or how her fingers slide up to tangle in my hair. Whatever the catalyst, the kiss transforms from gentle to consuming in a heartbeat.
My arms encircle her waist, pulling her flush against me as my tongue traces the seam of her lips, seeking entrance she eagerly grants.
The world narrows to just this – her mouth moving against mine, her body pressed to my chest, the small sounds of pleasure she makes when I nip gently at her lower lip.
I back her slowly toward the building until she's pressed between the stone wall and my body. My hands roam restlessly now – down her sides, across the small of her back, cupping her face again to angle her mouth more perfectly under mine.
Her fingers tug at my hair, just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain throughout my body. It takes everything in me to pull away, and eventually when I do, I’m so fucking hard, and my mind is screaming at me not to let her go.
Sasha looks up at me with wide eyes, breathless, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen.
“Goodnight Mio dolcezza,” I take a step back, summing every last bit of my self-control. After all, we have along weekend ahead of us, and I don’t want to spoil the fun now. “pensa a me.”