Chapter 11 - Escape to Tuscany
Sasha
"A private jet?" I stare at Matteo in disbelief as we approach the small hangar at the airport. "You said we were driving to Tuscany."
"I said we were going to Tuscany," he corrects with a mischievous smile. "I never specified how."
The sleek white aircraft waiting on the tarmac gleams in the morning sunlight, the name "De Luca" plastered in elegant script on the side. A uniformed pilot stands at attention near the steps, nodding respectfully as we approach.
"This is excessive," I protest weakly, though I can't suppress the thrill that runs through me. "It's what, a three-hour drive?"
"Forty minutes by air," Matteo counters, his hand warm against the small of my back as he guides me toward the plane. "More time for enjoying Tuscany, less time traveling."
The interior of the jet is everything I imagined a billionaire's private aircraft would be—all cream leather and polished wood, with just eight plush seats arranged in pairs facing each other. A flight attendant greets us with champagne flutes as we board.
"Buongiorno, Signor De Luca," she says with practiced warmth. "Everything is prepared as you requested."
"Grazie, Claudia," Matteo replies, taking the champagne and handing me a glass. "This is Sasha. She'll be joining me this weekend."
"Welcome aboard, Signora," Claudia says with a smile.
I settle into one of the buttery-soft leather seats, trying not to look too impressed as Matteo sits across from me. "Do you always travel like this?"
"Only when I'm trying to impress beautiful women," he replies with a wink, clinking his glass against mine.
I would be lying if I said that I’m not nervous about going away with Matteo for the weekend. I’ve been thinking about it all night.
Well, that and his kiss last night.
I was so turned on, so ready to beg him to take me right there and then. And when he stepped back, I was disappointed and surprised at how badly I wanted him.
I couldn’t sleep all night. A cold shower didn’t help. And right when I wanted to touch myself to relieve some of the tension, I got a text from Matteo, warning me against my actions.
It’s infuriating, exciting and God! so confusing. With Brandon, I don’t remember being so horny all the time, but with Matteo, I get wet simply by being around him.
I swear the man has some kind of spell on me.
The girls were taken away when I told them about the trip. Gabriella told me to pack my slutiest bikini’s, Isabella made me promise to send pictures, Naomi wanted details about the kiss, and the ever protective Erina told me to be careful.
I’ve had to remind myself severally that this is all fake. An agreement and not a relationship. I can’t afford to fall for another man so soon.
Eventually, we land at a private airstrip, and another surprise awaits; a gleaming red Ferrari parked on the tarmac.
"No way," I breathe as Matteo leads me toward the car. "This weekend just keeps getting more ridiculous."
He laughs, tossing our weekend bags into the trunk before opening the passenger door, "Wait until you see the villa."
Matteo drives with confident ease, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally resting on my thigh as we wind through the Tuscan countryside.
"It's exactly like the postcards," I marvel at the landscape unfolding before us.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm my face as we speed along the winding roads.
"We're almost there," Matteo says. "Just over this hill."
I open my eyes as we go down the hill, and my breath catches in my throat.
Spread out before us is a valley of breathtaking beauty.
Vineyards stretching toward a distant stand of cypress trees, a small village of stone buildings clustered around, and perched on a gentle slope overlooking it all, Matteo's "villa. "
"That's not a villa," I gasp as we approach. "That's a palace!"
Matteo chuckles, steering the Ferrari through the iron gates that open automatically at our approach. "It's been in my family for generations.”
The driveway curves through luscious green gardens before ending in a circular courtyard fronting the main house. Calling it a villa seems almost insulting.
It's a three-story Tuscan mansion, with arched windows, terracotta roof tiles, and a columned veranda stretching across the front.
"Signor De Luca! Bentornato!" An older man in a crisp uniform approaches with a warm smile. "It has been too long since your last visit."
"Marco," Matteo greets him with genuine affection, clasping the man's shoulder. "This is Signorina Moretti. Sasha, this is Marco Ricci, the villa's concierge and manager. His family has looked after this property for three generations."
Marco bows slightly, his eyes twinkling. "Welcome to Villa De Luca, Signorina. It is our pleasure to have you here."
I notice others moving through the villa – staff carrying fresh linens, a young woman arranging flowers in a massive ceramic vase, and what appears to be another couple being led through a doorway to the gardens.
The presence of other guests makes me relax slightly; I'd been nervous about being completely alone with Matteo in such an intimate setting.
"Are there many guests this weekend?" I ask Marco as he leads us through the great room toward the staircase.
"Just a few, Signorina. The Baroni family from Milan are here for their annual visit – they take the east wing. And Signor Rossi arrived this morning."
"Giovanni is here?" Matteo asks, sounding surprised.
Marco nods. "He mentioned something about documents requiring your signature before Monday."
Matteo grunts. "Of course he did. Even in Tuscany, I can't escape work entirely."
“Your suite has been prepared as requested," Marco informs us as we reach the second floor. He leads us down a corridor lined with more artwork and antique side tables topped with fresh flowers.
At the end of the hall, he opens double doors to reveal a suite that takes my breath away.
The space is massive. There’s a sitting area with comfortable-looking sofas and chairs arranged before a stone fireplace, a dining table beside windows that frame the spectacular view of the valley, and beyond that, a bedroom visible through another set of double doors.
"This is... incredible," I manage, turning slowly to take it all in.
“I hope you don’t mind us sharing a room,” Matteo whispers behind me, his arms coming around my waist and pulling me to him. “I want you to take in the views as I fuck you.”
I swallow hard, my body already tingling with excitement. I wiggle my butt against him in response, and gasp when I feel his dick hard against me.
“Let me first deal with Giovanni. Freshen up then I’ll meet you at the pool,” he says, planting a small kiss on my neck.
I whimper in protest. my desire flogging up my brain. What has this man done to me? Why can’t I get enough of him?
“Patience mio dolcezza,” he whispers against my neck, then he’s gone.
Get a grip, Sasha, I reprimand myself in an attempt to cool down.
After Matteo leaves, I take a moment, wandering through the suite and marveling at every single thing. It’s all very grandeur. Luxurious. Nothing I would have ever dreamed off.
I’m so glad I left Brandon.
The thought comes as a surprise. After I saw him with Alyssa that day, something has changed. I’m no longer sad about the marriage that didn’t happen. I haven’t thought of him in days, and honestly, I no longer care about him.
All thanks to Matteo.
After a while, I unpack and hang up the few nice pieces I brought, a sundress for dinner, a lightweight cardigan for cool evening, and place my folded clothes in the antique dresser. My cosmetics bag looks almost comically ordinary on the marble vanity in the bathroom.
I take out my phone and snap a few photos of the suite, the view, the bathroom with its ridiculous tub. Then I sit on the edge of the bed and open the group chat.
Me: So I'm in Tuscany for the weekend...
I attach one of the photos of the view. The responses are immediate.
Naomi: WHAT???
Gabriella: OMG IS THAT REAL??
Erina: With him?
Isabelle: I'm dying. I'm actually dying.
I smile, sending a few more photos—the suite, the Ferrari, a selfie with the villa in the background.
Me: Matteo has a "villa" here. Which is actually a MANSION.
Gabriella: I can't even process this. You're living in a rom-com.
Naomi: Please tell me you packed that black bikini.
Isabelle: The one from our Miami trip? YES.
Erina: Be careful, Sash. This is moving really fast.
I pause at Erina's message. She's right, of course. This is moving at warp speed. But then again, it's not real. It's an arrangement, a temporary fantasy. And if I'm being honest with myself, I'm enjoying every moment.
Me: Don't worry, I've got this under control. And yes, I packed the black bikini.
Gabriella: GET IT GIRL
Naomi: We expect DETAILS
Isabelle: Photos of him shirtless or it didn't happen.
I smile at their enthusiasm and set my phone aside.
Time to prepare for the pool. I unzip my bag and pull out the infamous black bikini that I bought for my honeymoon.
It's barely there—two triangles of fabric connected by thin strings for the top, and a Brazilian-cut bottom that shows more than it covers.
I'd packed it on impulse, half-convinced I'd never have the courage to wear it.
But now, holding it up in the golden Tuscan sunlight streaming through the windows, I make my decision. I want to see Matteo's face when he sees me in this.
I slip into the bathroom, first for a very long shower, then I lather by body with oil and finally put on the bikini.
The black fabric contrasts sharply with my skin, making it look creamier than usual.
The top pushes my breasts together, creating cleavage that's impossible to ignore, while the bottoms accentuate the curve of my hips.
I turn, checking the view from behind. The bottoms reveal most of my backside, the cut highlighting the dimples at the base of my spine. It's daring—more daring than anything I'd have worn with Brandon, who always preferred "classy" over "sexy."
I let my hair down from its ponytail, the waves falling around my shoulders.
A touch of tinted lip balm, a spritz of perfume at my wrists and neck, and I'm ready.
I grab a sheer cover- up; to maintain some modestly walking through the villa and before leaving, I snap a quick mirror selfie and send it to the group chat with a simple message:
Me: Wish me luck!
The responses flood in immediately:
Gabriella: HOLY SHIT
Naomi: He's going to COMBUST
Isabelle: I'm setting a timer. You won't make it 10 minutes before he's all over you.
Erina: ...okay I take back everything I said. GET IT.