Chapter 29 #2
“I don't think he wanted to say, dude.” Rio's grinning away like a fiend. I pray that Raquel will suddenly appear and drag him away.
“I'm going to a friend's wedding,” Elizabeth explains. “We thought we'd travel to Europe together.”
“You don't need to explain the entire travel itinerary to these two.” I grind down on my teeth.
I imagine Rio going straight to Dex's place and spilling the beans. Enzo won't say anything, but I feel bad that I’ve let him down. I should have at least told him.
“Okay, well, that's ... cool.” Rio says, brightly, attempting to melt the chill in the air. “Enjoy, and have a great time.”
“Yeah.” Enzo nods, his gaze ping-ponging between me and Elizabeth, like he's trying to recalibrate his thoughts about us being together. “Call when you get there, and we can all Facetime.”
“Maybe we can grab a drink before I go?” I offer, feeling bad for Enzo, that he’s been clearing his schedule. Why the hell didn’t he say anything earlier?
Because ordinarily, if I was just going to see Mama, like I occasionally do, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But me, with a girl, serious enough that I’m traveling with her, is a big fucking deal.
“Yeah, sure.”
“That was awkward,” Elizabeth says, as I open the door to my apartment.
“Tell me about it.”
No sooner than I step inside, I get a text from Rio.
Rio: Dude. You’re introducing her to Mama?
“Mind if I use the washroom?” Elizabeth asks.
I look up, distracted. “Uh, yeah. You don’t need to ask for my permission to do anything, babe.”
She disappears, and I begrudgingly text back enough information:
Matteo: You heard. She has a wedding in Europe
I receive a flurry of texts in quick succession:
Rio: Makes sense
Rio: NOT
Rio: Since when do you plan a trip around your employee’s vacation?
Rio: We need to talk
Rio: Alone
Rio: We need the low down
I don’t bother to reply, because I know he’ll only get more information out of me.
So much for wanting to keep this quiet and between me and Elizabeth.
I understand it—their curiosity and shock.
My brothers didn’t even know that we were together, though I thought Enzo had an idea that something was going on.
Still, this is rare, and unexpected, me going on vacation with someone I haven’t known for long, and someone who happens to be an employee.
Now they think it’s got to be special if I'm taking Elizabeth to visit Mama.
Except that I’m not.
But I’d like to, and it did occur to me to ask Elizabeth if she wanted to come with me, but in this instance I need quality time with Mama. I need her advice on donating my kidney to the man she despises.
I set my phone to silence, not wanting Rio’s nosiness to ruin my evening.
Hours later we've had dinner, and brochures and paper are strewn all over the kitchen island. Elizabeth and I sitting on bar stools, side by side. She's on her phone, finalizing last-minute details. We're flying the day after tomorrow, but I have a secret planned for her.
“I finally get to meet the mysterious Vlad.” From my periphery, I can see her glancing at me. “Does he know about me?” I ask, when she doesn’t say anything.
She shifts, curling her hair around her fingers.
“Only that you're coming. I don’t know much about his fiancée either, so ...” She peers at me. “What are you wearing to the wedding?”
I slide my elbow onto the countertop, resting my jaw on the flat of my hand and flashing a cheesy grin. “What do you want me to wear?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Will it be a formal wedding? Informal?” I ask her. “I don't have much to go on and I'm flying blind.”
“With Vlad, I never know.”
Questions hurtle through me but Elizabeth turns to her phone again. I'm convinced she’s doing that because she doesn't want to discuss this further, but how can she not know? He’s supposed to be her close friend. Someone whose wedding she feels compelled to attend.
What does ‘With Vlad, I never know,’ even mean?
“I have smart suits. I can do smart, if you need me to.”
“Hey, no. I mean it,” she says, suddenly giving me her full attention.
She swivels on the stool, turning to face me, her legs positioned between mine.
“You can wear what you want. I love your chains and your bracelets ...” One hand encircles the bracelets on my wrist, and the other goes to the chain around my neck “Wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”
I dip my head and drop a kiss on her lips. “With you, I’d rather be naked.”
She rests her forehead against mine. “Wouldn’t be practical.”
“No.”
“What time is the flight?” she asks.
I’ve been wanting to tell her. “About that ...” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and brush my lips against hers again.
“I need to know what time we're taking off.” She swipes her tongue along my lower lip.
“We can leave any time we want.” We slip into another wet and lazy kiss, which makes my cock stiffen. She moans against my mouth, and I know exactly how tonight will end. Just like every other night, and the mornings, when we're unable to get out of bed to go to work.
“Matteo.” She finally pulls away. “I need to know! I have to go home and pack.”
“We can leave at any time you want.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? What time do we take off?”
“You can pick a time, because I’m taking the private jet.” I wait for her reaction, because I’m unsure of what to expect.
“You’re doing what?”
“I thought it would be easier to take the private jet,” I say carefully. This isn’t me trying to impress her—not too much. It’s more that it would make it easier for us to spend more time together.
She almost splutters in disgust. “How? Why? When did you decide this?”
I suddenly find myself in the awkward position of having to explain a surprise I assumed she’d love.
“It will be easier, for one thing. I have to go to Soave, after the wedding, and this way we get to spend more time together instead of wasting it at airports.” That's the main reason why.
I don't like taking the private jet. It's not my vibe, but I honestly thought this would just make things easier for us.
She stares at me blankly.
“It means we can go to the wedding together,” I say, not liking her reaction, “and then I can fly to visit my mom, and return to Dubrovnik the next day. It means less flying and more time together.”
In that instant it hits me. She told me I didn’t need to wine and dine her, but this, taking the jet, was purely for timing and ease.
Elizabeth presses her lips together, saying nothing, but shaking her head like she’s so mad she can barely articulate her words. My heart sinks as I realize I've messed up. I try to justify my actions again. “We get to spend more time together this way. I thought you'd be pleased.”
“No, Matteo.” She swivels the stool, turning away from me, and I feel the distance between us, emotionally, not just physically.
“It’s too much, isn't it?” I say, reluctantly.
“You don't need to impress me.”
“I'm not doing it to impress you. I didn't think I needed to. I thought it would help, that's all.”
She pauses for a second, then, “It doesn’t.”
Stony silence fills the room.
“Fine then. No private jet,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “I'll book the flights.”
“You don't have to. I can get my own ticket—”
“I'll get the flights,” I say, determined to not let her punish me in that way. She made her point, and I get it. But she looks as if she’s about to protest. “You insisted on taking care of the hotel, so I’ll book the flights,” I insist. “At least we get to sit together.”
She folds her arms, like it's difficult for her to agree to this. “I also don't do first class, so don't go booking that for me, either.”
That’s going to be a pain in the butt for me, but I relent. “Understood. No first class.” I stride towards her. She’s still defensive, arms still folded like a shield. I lean towards her, cupping her face gently, my thumb swiping her lips.
“Are we arguing?” I ask, softly, because I hate it when we do.
She slowly loosens her arms. “We're not arguing.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No. I wasn’t angry, just … irritated.” Then, after a beat, “Thank you.”
“For not taking the jet?”
“For listening.” She swivels the stool and turns towards me again, leaning closer and giving me a long and languorous kiss.
My insides fire up, and I groan, my hand skating under her short skirt.
But it's almost impossible for me to get through the armor of her opaque tights and gain entry into her panties.
Fucking Fort Knox.
“Take your panties off.”
Her eyes pop wide open. “W-what?”
“Your panties. Off.”
She blinks a few times, but does as I say, slowly peeling off her pantyhose, then her panties.
“Might as well lose the skirt.”
She obeys immediately, then sits back on the kitchen stool, naked from the waist down. My cock jumps for joy, straining at the fabric of my jeans.
“Sit back,” I command, positioning the stool so that the back of it rests against the kitchen island.
She obeys. I hop off my stool, slowly push her knees apart, then I drop to the floor and gawk at her glistening folds.
I lick my lips, my cock steel hard as I plant my face between her legs and kiss her there slowly.