Chapter 39 Stefan
STEFAN
The villa is perfect. I knew it would be when I booked it, but seeing Olivia’s face as we pull up the winding drive makes every euro worth it.
And believe me, it cost a lot of them.
“Stefan,” she breathes, “this is...”
“Too much?”
“I was going to say ‘incredible.’”
The driver opens her door and she steps out, tilting her head back to take in the sprawling stone structure.
Ivy climbs the walls and terra-cotta roof tiles glow orange in the late afternoon Tuscan sun.
The gardens stretch out on either side, row after row of cypress and olive trees that were already ancient when my great-grandfather was born.
“I’ve never been to Italy before,” she says.
“Just one of many firsts I plan to give you,” I say with a wink.
Truth is, I want to give her everything. If I could, I’d lay the whole goddamn world at her feet and watch her face light up like this every day for the rest of our lives. It’s a sickness. An obsession. The kind of weakness that gets men like me killed.
I no longer give a fuck.
The staff greets us at the entrance. Mariolina, the housekeeper, is a round woman with happy eyes and laugh lines that suggest she’s spent far more time smiling than frowning—a concept so foreign to me it might as well be fucking witchcraft.
She speaks very little English but her hands paint pictures her words can’t quite capture.
Giancarlo, the chef, is tall and lean with a silver mustache and an apron already tied around his waist. He gives Olivia a kiss on the cheek that lasts a little too long for my liking, and I growl low in my chest until they separate.
Christ, I need help.
They show us through the villa. It’s cool, even in the summer heat. The master bedroom overlooks the hills of Tuscany, vineyards rolling out like a patchwork quilt. It’s almost beautiful enough to make a sinner like me start believing in a higher power.
Olivia walks to the window and presses her palms against the glass.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. My hands rest on her stomach, the growing swell there. In a few months, she’ll be huge with my child. The thought does something primal to me that I don’t have words for.
“I wanted you to have this,” I explain as I kiss the top of her head. “A break from everything.”
We stand there until the sun starts to dip and ribbons of gold and rose and violet drip down the sky like it’s melting. Then Giancarlo knocks softly and announces dinner will be ready in an hour.
We shower—separately, because if we’d showered together we’d never make it to dinner—and change. Olivia emerges from the bathroom in a white dress that makes her skin glow. The fabric clings to her breasts, skims her hips, and ends just above her knees.
Simple. And simply devastating.
I keep it simple with linen pants and a shirt I don’t bother buttoning all the way. The Tuscan heat is oppressive even as evening approaches, and when Olivia’s eyes darken as she sees my chest, I know I made the right choice.
The veranda is set up beautifully, with candles flickering on a table set up next to the pool. I make a mental note to get Olivia in that water before the night is over.
Preferably naked.
Definitely naked.
Giancarlo serves us himself, one dish after another.
Fresh pasta with lemon and herbs. Grilled branzino that flakes apart at the touch of a fork.
Tomatoes that taste like they were picked this morning, probably because, as Giancarlo informs us, that’s exactly when they were picked.
The focaccia is so good I eat three pieces before Olivia gives me a look.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re going to spoil your dinner.”
“This is my dinner.”
“Okay, fine, what about your abs?”
I touch her knee under the table. “We’ll do some working out later to make up for it.”
She laughs and steals a piece from my plate.
We eat slowly, like we have all the time in the world. Maybe we do. Maybe this week exists outside of time, suspended in amber like those insects you see in museums.
When we finish, Giancarlo brings out tiramisu and espresso. Olivia takes one bite and closes her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“Good?”
“I could live here. Just for this dessert.”
“We can arrange that.”
She opens one eye. “You’d buy a villa in Italy just so I could have tiramisu whenever I want?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation. It’s the truth, and we both know it.
“You’re insane.”
“And yet you love me anyway.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
After dessert, Giancarlo and Mariolina clear the table and disappear into the house. We’re alone on the veranda with the stars coming out overhead.
Olivia stands and walks to the edge of the pool. She slips off her sandals and dips a toe in the water.
“It’s warm,” she remarks. She turns to me. The lights catch her hair and turn it gold.
“Want to swim?” she asks.
“I didn’t bring trunks.”
“Neither did I.” Her smile turns wicked. “Guess we’ll have to improvise.”
As if she read my mind earlier, she reaches back and unzips her dress. It falls to the ground in a whisper of fabric.
She’s wearing nothing underneath.
My mouth goes dry. My cock goes hard. My brain short-circuits.
She’s perfect. Her breasts are fuller than they were a month ago and the curve of her belly might just be the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
She steps into the pool without looking back. The water rises to her waist, her hips, her shoulders. Then she turns and floats on her back, hair fanning out around her like spilled ink.
“You coming?” she calls.
I’m already unbuttoning my shirt.
The water is perfect. I swim to her and she wraps her legs around my waist. We float together, her head on my shoulder, my hands on her hips.
The only sounds are the gentle lapping of water against tile and the distant chirp of crickets. It’s peaceful in a way my life has never been peaceful. In a way I didn’t think was possible for men like me.
“Can I ask you something?” she says suddenly.
Fuck. Here it comes. “Anything.”
“When you think about our baby, what do you see?”
Not what I expected. I consider the question, really think about it instead of giving her some throwaway answer. “I used to always picture a boy.”
“Used to?”
“Now, I think about a girl more. A little girl with your eyes and your smile.” I tighten my hold on her. “Smart like you. Stubborn like you.”
She laughs softly. “God help us both if she’s stubborn like me.”
“I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
“I’ve handled you so far, haven’t I?”
She splashes me. I retaliate by dunking her under. She comes up sputtering and laughing, water streaming down her face, mascara smudging under her eyes.
“You’re dead,” she warns.
“Bring it.”
We wrestle in the pool like children. She’s slippery and quick but I’m stronger, bigger, and far more ruthless. I pin her against the edge and kiss her until she stops fighting.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I want our baby to have a full family,” she says. I feel her tense against me. She knows she’s stepping into dangerous territory.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Love.” She pauses. “A real family. Not what we had. If we… We can do things right, Stefan. We can offer this baby grandparents.”
“Your parents have some things to change first. But if they do, I’m open to it.”
“Them, yes. But also—”
“No.”
“Stefan—”
“No, Olivia.”
She pulls back to look at me. Her eyes are serious. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do. And the answer is no.”
“Your mother—”
“—is not a topic for discussion. Not here. Not now. Not ever.”
“But—”
“Drop it.”
Her mouth sets in a stubborn line. “I just think—”
I kiss her, hard and deep, until she forgets whatever she was about to say. She puts her hands on my chest to make me slow down. “Stefan, please—”
“Didn’t learn your lesson? Alright then. Round two it is.”
I kiss her again. My hands slide down her sides, over her hips, between her thighs. She’s wet, and not just from the pool.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
“Distracting you.”
“It’s working.”
“Good.”
I lift her onto the edge of the pool in one smooth motion. She’s exposed now, vulnerable, dripping wet and gorgeous in the candlelight. I spread her legs and settle between them, my shoulders wedging her thighs wider.
“Stefan, I’m serious. We should talk about this—”
“Later.”
I put my mouth on her and she stops talking.
Her hands tangle in my hair. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders. I take my time, savoring every gasp, every moan, every broken plea of my name. “Stefan—oh, God—Stefan, please—”
I love it when she begs.
I flatten my tongue and drag it around her lips, savoring the taste of her. I get closer and closer on every pass, teasing, never quite giving her what she needs. Her hips buck against my face and I press her down with one hand splayed across her lower belly.
“Stay still,” I growl against her.
“I can’t—”
“You will if I fucking tell you to.”
Then, right as my tongue finally presses directly on her clit, I slide two fingers inside her. It’s instant combustion. I hook those fingers towards her belly button and suck her clit into my mouth.
She comes with a sputtering moan.
After she’s done, I pull her back into the water. She clings to me, a limp pile of flushed skin and tangled hair.
“That was unfair,” she murmurs. “Using sex to shut me up.”
“I fight very dirty.”
I push off from the side and we go floating into the center of the pool in contented silence. The stars are fully out now. I can’t remember the last time I looked up and actually saw them. Boston’s too bright, too busy.
Here, it’s just us and the night and the future stretching out ahead.
“I love you,” I say.
Her eyes shine. “I love you, too, Stefan.”
I kiss her, slow and tender, tasting the words on her lips.
By the time we finally get out of the pool, the night air is cool on our skin. We wrap ourselves in towels and head inside.
The bedroom is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows. We don’t bother turning on the lights. We make love slowly, without a care in the world. Just us, skin to skin, heart to heart.
When it’s done, she goes to sleep tucked against my side.
I stay awake a little while longer, watching her. I think about what she said earlier. About family. About grandparents.
The truth is, I want that for our child, too. A full life. Love from every direction.
But my mother?
No. I can’t go there. Can’t open that door. She made her choices. I made mine. And now, we all must live with the consequences.
I nestle Olivia closer and close my eyes. For the first time in weeks, sleep comes easy.
I dream of a little girl with amber eyes and a smile that could light up the world.