33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Luca
“I can’t wait to see how you look in the fabric my sister picked out for the party,” I say, thinking about how the form-fitting fabric will accentuate everything about my wife’s body that makes me proud. “You’re going to look stunning.”
“I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my hair for the headwrap thingy we have to wear,” she admits, frowning at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Chidi will make sure you’re well-prepared. She’s even more of a control freak than I am.”
She pauses, her hand mid-air. “I’m sorry...who now?”
I chuckle, realizing I’ve barely told her anything about the madness she’s about to walk into. “My sister. There are four of us, remember? And I’m the oldest—the sacrificial lamb.”
She laughs, nodding. “Okay. So there’s Chidi. Who else?”
“Yes, Chidinma. We call her Chidi. Her name means ‘God is beautiful,’ though she mostly uses that beauty to boss the rest of us around.”
“Okay, so Bossy-Is-Beautiful. Who’s next?”
“Then there’s Ngozi. We call him Gogo. His name means ‘Blessing,’ which was probably my parents' way of trying to stay positive after my mother’s birth control failed.”
“Here in America, we call those the ‘whoops’ pregnancies,” she says with a grin.
I laugh. “Basically. And then there’s the baby, Chioma.”
She arches a brow. “Another whoops?”
“Yes. Quite the whoops, indeed.”
“And what’s their nickname?”
I shake my head. “No nickname for her—she’s too stubborn for one. Her name means ‘Good God.’”
“Your parents sure do lean into names that celebrate the goodness of God, huh?” she jokes, but I take the opportunity to tell her more about our culture.
I look at her, my expression softening. “In Nigeria, we don't just pick names because they sound pleasant. We believe a name is a prophecy. A blessing or a purpose spoken over a child’s life from the moment they draw their first breath.”
Aspen tilts her head, considering this. “And what about you, Luca? What’s your prophecy?”
“Uzoma,” I whisper, my thumb grazing her jawline. “It means ‘the good way’ or ‘beautiful path.” And right now, looking at you, I’m starting to think that path led me exactly where I was always meant to be.”
“Are you nervous?” she asks, her voice breezy as she pumps moisturizer into her palms. She’s talking about the new episode of SightUnseen airing in fifteen minutes. Our lives are about to be public property again.
“About the fallout?” I clarify, my gaze tracking the way the silk clings to her hips.
Even though she technically wears my last name, I haven’t asked her what we are yet.
I haven’t put a label on the “forever” I’m starting to see when I look at her.
My father’s voice echoes in the back of my mind, “You don’t just marry the bride, Luca.
You marry the village,” he’d say. And we haven’t met the villages yet for each other. Not really.
As she walks past the edge of the bed, the scent of vanilla and cocoa butter trailing in her wake, I reach out. My fingers hook into the silk, and with one sharp tug, I pull her onto the mattress, right on top of me.
“What are you doing?” she yelps, her hands splaying against my chest to steady herself. “I just showered and the show starts in fifteen minutes!”
I don’t care about the show. I don’t care about the producers or the edit. I care about the fact that she’s currently straddling my lap. “It’s been two days, my love.”
“It’s been one full day and a few hours,” she corrects, though her breath is already hitching. “Get ahold of yourself, Chillmonger!”
I arch a brow, my hands sliding up the back of her thighs as I bite her nipple through the soft fabric.
“Aspen, my love. Are we really going to do this again?” My dick starts to ache as I feel the night gown bunching tin my fists.
“The part where you pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you? ”
She shakes her head with a small, defiant smile playing on her lips, but she doesn't move to get up.
I reach up, my hand tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. I pull her head back just enough to expose the column of her throat and lean in, biting the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Luca!” she gasps. It’s a protest, but her hands are already reaching for the hem of that nightie and she’s rocking into my hardness.
Seeing that she’s done with her futile protest, the gown nothing but a black cloud on the floor, I pull myself out as she raises up on her knees just enough for me to angle myself at her entrance.
The countdown to the premiere ticks away on the screen, but in here, the only rhythm that matters is the frantic staccato of her heart against mine.
“Luca, you’re… you’re too big for this angle,” she whispers, and I can see the flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
I kiss her cheeks, then her lips, before slowly inching in.
Just the tip at first. “You dictate how deep I go. How fast. How hard.” I reach down and squeeze her hips, spreading her to give us both more room for the stretch.
The beautiful, searing burn. But I feel the need to remind her as I drop my tone, “this time.”
She nods, her breath hitching as she begins to find her rhythm.
“Show me, wife. Show me exactly how you take your husband. Show me how much of me you want.”
I lean back, anchoring myself against the headboard while she grips my chest for balance. She’s moving with intention now, rolling her hips to loosen herself, her confidence growing with every slick slide.
“That’s it. Tease me, love,” I groan. “But don’t take too long. The clock is ticking.”
It’s a staggering sight—watching her shed her inhibitions in the heat of the moment.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, and I can tell she’s fighting through the last of her shyness, claiming her space.
Then, she sinks down, taking all of me. She’s buried to the hilt in her own wetness, and she’s the one driving every inch of the pace.
I’m losing my mind. I can’t just watch anymore. “Give me permission to take over, love,” I pant, my hands twitching to seize control.
“No, Luca,” she gasps, her voice raw. “Almost there!”
“Are you fucking defying me?”
“I’m taking what’s mine,” she shoots back, her eyes snapping open with a fierce, beautiful defiance.
I reach up, grabbing her face hard and pulling her mouth to mine in a bruising kiss. “I fucking love you,” I grunt against her lips as she rocks faster, chasing her release with a predatory focus.
This is her moment. Her time to take exactly what she wants from me. I come so deep inside her that the sight of her triumph practically blinds me.
As the world stops spinning, she settles her head against my chest, her breath ragged. “I fucking love you, too,” she whispers.
Aspen
What am I going to do with this man?
Seriously. I need him off the injured list and back on the field full-time because my legs and my labia are at war with my good sense.
Luca is propped up against the headboard, his leg still elevated, while I’m tucked into the crook of his arm. On the screen, the latest episode of SightUnseen is playing, and it feels surreal to watch our lives edited into a high-stakes soap opera.
“Look at them,” I laugh, pointing as one of the other couples—a fitness influencer and a real estate mogul—practically tears each other's clothes off the second they cross the threshold of their honeymoon suite.
“They didn't even check to see if there were snacks in the minibar. Just straight to the main course.”
Luca chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into my shoulder. “Meanwhile, you were trying to manufacture a lifetime of history between us before you even let me touch you.”
“I was not that bad,” I protest, though I know I’m lying. “I just have standards. I wasn't letting a stranger—even a very handsome, very persistent stranger—into my bed just because he married me! What do I look like? Some common street whore?”
He laughs. “You look like my beautiful, insanely guarded wife,” he says softly, his thumb tracing a slow circle on my bare arm. “Like you were waiting for me to trip a wire.”
“I wasn’t guarded,” I correct him, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “I was cautious. There’s a difference. Guarded means you’re hiding. Cautious means you’re watching. I wanted to see if the man in the arcade was the same man in the daylight.”
“And?”
“The jury is still out,” I tease, though we both know that’s a lie. I hate that I’m falling so deeply in love with this man and he can feel it just as clearly as me.
He groans playfully, shifting his weight. “The jury is biased. I’m going to the restroom,” he says, and I miss him instantly.
No longer needing his crutches, I watch as he walks out of the room.
His stride finding its normal rhythm again.
I settle back into the pillows, my eyes drifting back to the screen.
The episode cuts to the “Confessional” segments—the solo interviews where the producers get us away from our partners to spill our private thoughts.
Usually, it’s fluff. But then Luca’s face fills the screen.
He looks different in this clip. It must have been filmed a few days ago during one of his physical therapy sessions. He looks nervous, his usual polished confidence replaced by a dazed, weary expression.
“My family...” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. The interviewer asks him about the upcoming birthday gala. “They have these expectations. High ones. In my culture, you don’t just marry a woman; you marry her into a legacy. There’s a standard of... regality. A way things are done.”
He sighs, and for the first time, I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes that he hasn't shown me.
“I love Aspen,” he says, and my heart leaps, only to plummet a second later.
“But I’m not sure what they’ll think of her.
She’s...unconventional in my mother’s eyes.
She’s fire and sass and American independence.
My mother expects a certain kind of daughter-in-law.
I’m worried that when the two worlds collide, the explosion might take us both out. ”
The room feels like it’s suddenly lost all its oxygen.
Unconventional. Worried. The very fears Eslin had poked at while we were in Tatum’s office were now staring back at me in 4K resolution.
He wasn't just worried about his mother. He was worried about me fitting in. and now I’m suddenly worried if I’m enough for the “legacy.”
I reach for the remote and click the TV off. The silence that follows is deafening.
A moment later, I hear his footsteps returning to the room. I quickly adjust my posture, pulling the duvet up to my chest and staring at the blank screen.
“Did the power go out?” Luca asks, entering the room with a faint smile.
“No,” I say, my voice sounding tight even to my own ears. “I just... I’ve had enough of the drama for one night. I’m tired.”
He climbs back onto the bed, sensing the shift in the air immediately. He reaches out to touch my face, his fingers warm and familiar. “You okay, my love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I look at him. Behind closed doors, when it’s just us, it feels like he’d move heaven and earth for me. But judging by the look I just saw on his face, he also seems terrified to introduce me to his mother. I want to scream. I want to ask him if I’m an embarrassment or a prize.
But Eslin’s voice echoes in my head, “Give him the chance to be who he says he is.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a small smile as I lay my head back on his chest. “Just thinking about the fitting tomorrow. I want to make sure I look the part.”
“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.
I close my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I want to believe him. I need to believe him. But as I drift toward sleep, I can't help but wonder if I’m preparing for a party or a funeral for the woman I thought I was starting to become.
His.