33. Lars
The elevator opens to the floor of my Chicago penthouse, and I feel the relief of being home sink into my bones. I step out first, scanning the entry before I let Neomi follow.
Two men are already positioned in the private corridor outside. Another rotation downstairs in the lobby and around the perimeter. Everything was organized while we were in the air.
Neomi steps into my space slowly and I watch her take it in.
The ceilings are high, with exposed dark wood beams. Floor-to-ceiling glass along the far wall.
The city spreads below us in long grids of light and movement.
The furniture is lush and comfortable—deep charcoal upholstered sofas, low leather chairs, and a rug that softens the concrete underfoot.
Art lines the walls, pieces I’ve collected over the years.
A massive abstract canvas dominates the far wall with dramatic reds and blacks cut with streaks of gold.
She doesn’t look impressed—just curious.
“It’s cozier than I expected,” she says.
“My world is harsh,” I reply. “I need comfort when I’m at home.”
Her mouth curves. “Makes sense.”
I follow her into the living room.
“This floor is mine,” I tell her. “Violette’s right above us, but she spends most of her time at the family estate right outside of the city. Then Enzo and his wife, Zara, have the top floor.”
She turns toward me. “You all live in the same building?”
“My family owns this building. We like to stay close.”
She walks toward the windows, hands sliding into the back pockets of her jeans as she studies the skyline.
I stay where I am for a moment, watching her in my space.
I’ve never had a man or woman in my home since Leilani.
It’s been my sacred space, my safe haven, and I never felt any emptiness in it until now.
Her presence here makes me realize it was waiting for her.
“You can see the river from here,” she says, snapping me back to reality.
“Yes.”
She turns away again, absorbing the layout.
I cross the room, take her hand and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”
The kitchen sits off the main living area, a wide space with marble countertops, a professional six-burner gas range, double ovens, wine storage built into the wall. Everything is functional but top of the line.
She runs her fingers lightly over the counter.
“Is this where you create your culinary masterpieces?” She smiles.
“When I’m home, yes.” I nod.
“And when you’re not?”
“I eat wherever Enzo drags me.”
She smiles at that.
We move down the hallway. Guest suite first. I show her my office next, with windows that can be frosted with the touch of a button. A dark wood desk with monitors sits in the room with a bookcase-lined wall behind it.
She pauses at the doorway.
“You work from here?”
“Sometimes.”
She doesn’t step inside, just nods, so I lead her up the stairs to the second level. My bedroom door sits at the top of the landing. I open it and let her walk in first.
The room is large but not excessive. Dark walls and a low king bed centered against an upholstered headboard.
Soft lighting built into the coffered ceiling.
A sitting area near the windows with two wide chairs and a small table between them.
Thick curtains pulled back to reveal more glass and another view of the city.
She stops near the foot of the bed.
“This feels…” She searches for the word. “Comfortable.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
She walks to the dresser, then to the closet doors. She opens one and she scans the space. I keep my shirts aligned by color. Suits spaced evenly, my shoes in neat rows. A newly empty space is along one side.
She looks over her shoulder at me. “You’re so organized.”
“I don’t like looking for things.” I shrug, then point to the empty column of drawers and shelves. “I had my housekeeper make some space for your things.”
She turns to face me, cupping my jaw with her soft hands. “You made space for me?”
I dip my head and brush her lips with mine. “This is your home now. If you need more room, let me know. It’s only been me here for years, so I might forget how having a roommate works.”
She barks out a laugh and I love the sound. “Is that what we are? ‘Roommates?’”
I place my hands on her hips and guide her out of the closet and onto the bed. She goes down willingly, a laugh escaping her lips as she bounces on the mattress. I lower my body onto hers and place featherlight kisses along her jaw.
I push up on my hands, caging her in and look down at her. Her golden hair bright against my navy duvet, eyes sparkling. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“No, Bella. We’re not just roommates.” I press my hard cock against her core, hating the layers of clothes between us. “I’ll fuck you through this goddamn mattress to prove it to you if I have to.”
She hums and grinds her hips up to mine, reaching for my belt. “I think we should christen the bed, husband.”
I reach for the hem of her T-shirt and that’s when I hear the beep of notification that the door to the penthouse has opened.
“Lars Salvatore Marchetti!”
My forehead drops to Neomi’s shoulder and I sigh. “Fuck.”
“Who is that?”
I rise from our bed, adjusting my cock that’s quickly deflating. Neomi sits up, adjusting her shirt.
“That would be Violette.”
Vi calls again from the kitchen, “I know you’re here, Lars. All the lights are on.”
Neomi slaps a hand over her mouth to contain her laugh.
I take her hand. “Let’s rip off the Band-Aid.”
We walk down the hall toward the kitchen, Neomi right behind me, hand still in mine.
When we get to the main room, Violette stands by the island, phone in her hand.
She hears our footsteps and lifts her eyes.
She smiles like she always does when she sees me, but as Neomi comes to my side, her eyebrows shoot up.
She walks over to me, her gaze lingering on Neomi as she wraps me in a quick hug. I barely have time to return it before she pulls away and turns her full attention to my wife.
“Lars,” she’s still staring at Neomi, as she speaks to me, “who is this beautiful creature?”
Neomi stretches out her hand. “I’m Neomi.”
Violette’s face morphs into a Cheshire grin as she bats away my wife’s hand and pulls her into her arms. “We don’t shake hands, Amore. We’re huggers in this family.”
I can’t help the smirk on my face as Neomi forces a smile over Violette’s shoulder. When the hug lasts a little longer than necessary, I place my hands on Vi’s shoulders, guiding her away.
“Give her space, Aunt Vi.”
She shakes her head and taps her red lips with a manicured fingertip. “Lars, why is Neomi in your home?”
“Vi, sit down. Neomi, go to the other side of the island, please.”
I need to put some space between my overzealous aunt and my wife before I answer that question. Both women do as they’re told and I position myself at the end of the island between them.
I plant my hands on the marble and blow out a breath. “Neomi is—”
Violette’s eyes catch the band on my finger and she grabs my hand. “Your wife? You got married?”
Neomi raises her hand to show Vi her matching ring. “That’s me…the wife.”
The room is silent for a few seconds, both women looking at each other and then me. Neomi slowly lowers her hand just as Violette launches herself out of her chair.
“Oh my God, dolce ragazza!” She grabs my cheeks. I’m a foot taller than she is, but she easily pulls my face down and places a loud kiss on my cheek. When she’s done, she doesn’t just release me, she pushes me back to get to Neomi.
“Violette, be gentle,” I warn her.
“Oh hush.” She waves me off and then stands in front of Neomi. I swear there are tears forming in her eyes.
“How did you meet? How did this happen?” She pauses, then turns to me, her expression sharpening as she lifts her hand and brings it down hard against my arm.
“Ouch,” I say, more amused than anything.
“Why—” smack, “—wasn’t—” Smack.
“Vi—” I start, trying to catch her wrist, but she slips free.
“—I—” smack, “—there?” Smack.
She plants her hands on her hips, glaring up at me like she didn’t just beat the hell out of my arm.
Neomi’s eyes go wide and she places her hand on Violette’s shoulder, diverting her attention.
“Don’t be mad at him, Violette.” She looks at me with soft eyes. “It was sort of my idea. From what we can remember.”
Violette relaxes and puts her full focus on Neomi. She takes her hand, stepping back to examine her from head to toe.
“You must be a very special woman, Neomi.” She wraps her arms around her in what must be a tight embrace, judging by Neomi’s bulging eyes. “Welcome to the family, sweet girl.”
“Thank you.”
Violette finally releases her and returns to her seat at the counter. “I won’t ever judge you for a whirlwind romance. I think it’s very romantic.” She smiles at Neomi. “And you’ll find that Marchetti men know what they want when they find it and they will protect it to their dying breath.”
Neomi glances at me, wrapping her hand around mine where it rests on the counter. “I believe I’m finding those points to be quite true.”
Violette gets misty eyed again. “Oh, you’re perfect.” She waves her hand toward Neomi. “Wonderful tits, childbearing hips and observant. Just absolute perfection.”
Neomi’s mouth gapes at her comment, but before I try to wrangle Violette in, I hear the lock on the door to the penthouse disengage again.
I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Guess we’re having a fucking party.”
Enzo’s tall frame strides into the kitchen with Zara right behind him. As soon as he assesses our situation, his face breaks out into a mischievous grin.
“Ma beat us here. We were hoping to soften the blow.” He crosses the space, hand outstretched across the kitchen island. “You must be Neomi, I’m Enzo.”
Zara swats his hand. “Enzo, how dare you shake hands with our sister.” She walks right past me to Neomi, wrapping her in a hug. “Welcome to the family.”
Neomi smiles at me over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
I’m next in line when Zara releases Neomi. I hug her tightly.
“Hi, Zara. Missed you.”
“Missed you too, Lars.”