21. Matteo
Matteo
I’ve let her play office princess for a week, watching her work herself into exhaustion from a distance. The weekend wasn’t much better, considering, in her words, she needed to catch up. But now I’m done with this.
It’s Monday morning, and Contessa’s perched on my kitchen counter, legs swinging, purple hair pulled into a messy bun, looking fucking gorgeous even in her oversized sleep shirt.
I lean against the opposite counter, watching her devour the breakfast I made. Eggs with Gruyere cheese, whole wheat toast, and fresh fruit. I’m just glad she’s finally able to hold eggs down.
“You’ve got some meetings today,” I say casually, like I’m commenting on the weather instead of orchestrating her entire fucking day.
She nods, mouth full of eggs. “Three calls, then I need to approve the final packaging designs for the Immortal collection.”
“Cancel them.”
She nearly chokes on her toast. “Excuse me?”
I slide a cup of ginger tea toward her—the only thing that seems to calm her morning sickness—and fix her with my most unyielding stare. “We have an appointment at eleven.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” She takes a sip of tea, eyeing me over the rim of the mug.
“You and I. With Dr. Chen.”
The color drains from her face so fast I’m half-concerned she might pass out. “Who’s Dr. Chen?”
“The best OB-GYN in the city. Possibly the country.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You need to see a doctor, Contessa.”
She sets the mug down with a sharp clink. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”
“You’ve been puking every morning for weeks, you’re eating like a bird, and you’re carrying my fucking baby.” I step closer, caging her between my arms on the counter. “You’re going to see Dr. Chen.”
“No, I’m not.” She tries to slide off the counter, but I block her path. “Move, Matteo. I have work to do.”
“Work can wait.” I grab her hips, holding her in place. “Your health can’t.”
Her eyes flash with that stubborn fire I love so much. “I’m not sick. I’m pregnant. There’s a difference.”
“Which is exactly why you need a doctor.” I lean in, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes her pupils dilate. “You think I’d let you go through this without the best medical care money can buy?”
“Let me?” She pushes against my chest, but I don’t budge. “I don’t need your permission, Matteo. I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”
I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “A grown woman who’s been avoiding this conversation for over a week. A grown woman who hasn’t even considered seeing a doctor about the baby growing inside her.”
Her face flushes red with anger or maybe shame. “That’s not true. I’ve been busy.”
“Bullshit.” I tighten my grip on her hips. “You’re scared, and you’re using work as an excuse.”
“Fuck you,” she spits, but there’s no heat behind it. Just fear, raw and exposed.
“Later, maybe.” I brush her hair back from her face, gentler now. “First, you’re going to the doctor.”
She shakes her head, chin jutting out in that defiant way that makes me want to kiss her and spank her at the same time. “I have deadlines, Matteo. People are counting on me.”
“And I’m counting on you to take care of yourself and our baby.” I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. “The doctor is expecting us at eleven. I’ve cleared your schedule for the entire day.”
“You what?” Her eyes widen with outrage. “You cleared my schedule? Without asking me?”
“I didn’t need to ask.” I let my hand drift to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of who’s in control. “I own that company, remember? I can clear whatever schedules I want.”
“You manipulative bastard,” she hisses, but her pulse jumps under my fingers.
“Call me whatever you want, stellina.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “But you’re going to that appointment.”
She struggles against me, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You can’t just—”
“I can.” I cut her off, voice hardening. “And I did. You can talk until you lose your voice, but you’re still going.”
Her shoulders slump in defeat, but I know better than to think she’s given up. This is just the first battle, not the war.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, voice small.
I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Because you’re mine. Because that baby is mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I silence her with a kiss—deep and possessive, my tongue sliding against hers until she melts against me with a soft moan.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed. “Go get dressed,” I tell her, giving her ass a firm smack. “Wear something comfortable. We leave in thirty minutes.”
She glares at me, rubbing her stinging ass. “This isn’t over.”
“Of course it isn’t.” I smirk, watching her slide off the counter. “This is just the beginning, Contessa. Get used to it.”
As she storms out of the kitchen, I allow myself a small smile. Stubborn, bratty, and absolutely fucking perfect. And mine—all mine.
Dr. Chen’s office is exactly what I expected.
It’s expensive, private, and discreet enough to ensure no paparazzi will ever get wind of who’s inside.
I stand beside Contessa in the exam room, my hand resting on the small of her back as the door opens and the doctor enters.
A petite woman with silver-streaked black hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
She introduces herself, shaking both of our hands with a firm grip.
Instantly, I like her, and I know my stellina does also.
“So,” she says, flipping through a chart, “I understand you’re about eight weeks along based on your last menstrual period?”
Contessa glances at me, then back at the doctor. “I think so? I’m not exactly sure.”
Dr. Chen nods, making a note. “That’s common. We’ll get a more accurate dating today with the ultrasound.” She sets the chart aside and looks at Contessa with gentle directness. “How have you been feeling? Any concerns?”
Contessa’s fingers are still wrapped around mine, and I can feel her pulse racing through them. “Morning sickness,” she says. “Pretty bad, actually. And I’m exhausted all the time.”
“Also common in the first trimester,” Dr. Chen assures her. “We’ll talk about some strategies to manage that.” She stands and moves to a machine in the corner. “Let’s take a look, shall we? This is going to be a transvaginal ultrasound since you’re still early in your pregnancy.”
Contessa’s grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain, but I don’t pull away. I’ll let her do anything if it helps her get through this.
“An ultrasound?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Chen nods, already preparing the equipment. “We’ll get a clearer picture of how far along you are, check that everything looks good, and hear the heartbeat if we’re lucky.”
I feel Contessa tense beside me. Her eyes are wide, those gorgeous brown pools reflecting her fear and uncertainty. I squeeze her shoulder, trying to offer silent support, but she’s staring straight ahead at the ultrasound machine like it’s about to deliver a death sentence.
“Remove your clothes from the waist down and lie on the table,” Dr. Chen instructs, pulling on a pair of gloves. “I’ll step out while you get comfortable.”
The moment the door clicks shut, Contessa rounds on me. “I don’t want to do this,” she hisses.
“You need to,” I say firmly. “This isn’t optional, Contessa.”
She glares at me, but starts unbuttoning her pants with shaking fingers. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Forcing me to do things I don’t want to do.”
I step closer until we’re almost touching. “I’m enjoying taking care of you, yes. There’s a difference.”
She scoffs but continues to undress. I help her onto the exam table, my hand steadying her when she wobbles. Her skin is cold to the touch, goosebumps rising on her thighs.
“Matteo,” she whispers as I drape a blanket over her lap. “What if something’s wrong?”
“Nothing will be wrong.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “And if there is, we’ll handle it. Together.”
Dr. Chen returns, carrying a small device with a wand attached.
Contessa’s face pales.
“That goes…inside?”
“Just a little,” Dr. Chen assures her. “It won’t hurt.”
I take Contessa’s hand as Dr. Chen positions herself at the end of the table. Her fingers are ice-cold in mine, trembling slightly.
“Ready?” Dr. Chen asks.
Contessa nods, squeezing my hand so tight I feel my bones grind together. I don’t flinch. She can break every bone in my hand if it helps her get through this.
The room fills with silence, broken only by the soft whir of the machine. Dr. Chen works with practiced efficiency; her eyes focused on the monitor. Contessa stares at the ceiling, her breathing shallow.
Then I hear it—a rapid, rhythmic sound filling the room. My heart stutters in my chest.
“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Chen says, smiling. “Strong and steady at about 160 beats per minute. Perfect for this stage.”
I look at the monitor and there it is. A tiny, pulsing light, no bigger than a grain of rice. My child. My future.
“Look,” I tell Contessa, my voice rough with emotion I didn’t expect to feel.
She turns her head toward the screen, tears welling in her eyes. “Is that...”
“That’s our baby,” I confirm, squeezing her hand.
Dr. Chen points to different parts of the image. “This is the gestational sac, and here we can see the yolk sac. Everything looks exactly as it should for about eight weeks.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from that pulsing light. Something primal and fierce rises in my chest—the need to protect, to claim, to ensure nothing ever threatens what’s mine.
“The baby measures right on track,” Dr. Chen continues, taking measurements. “I’d estimate you’re about eight weeks and two days along.”
Eight weeks. That means it happened the first time I fucked her without protection. The first time I pumped my cum deep inside her, claiming her in the most basic way possible.
“It’s really in there,” Contessa whispers, her free hand drifting to her still-flat stomach. “I’m really pregnant.”
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Yes, you are. And you’re going to be amazing.”
Dr. Chen prints several images and hands them to Contessa. “These are your first baby pictures.”
Dr. Chen finishes the exam and gives Contessa instructions about prenatal vitamins, nutrition, and when to schedule her next appointment.
We sit in silence as Contessa stares at the ultrasound photos. Her tears have dried, leaving streaks on her cheeks. I should say something comforting, but words seem inadequate.
“Let’s go home,” I finally say, helping her sit up.
She nods, clutching the photos to her chest like they’re precious jewels. I help her dress, my hands lingering on her skin longer than necessary, memorizing every curve and plane of her body that will soon change with our child growing inside her.
In the car, she’s quiet, staring out the window at the passing city. I reach across the console and take her hand.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
She turns to me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “That I’m going to be a mother. And that baby is going to have your eyes.”
Something cracks open in my chest—something I’ve kept locked away since my brother died. Hope. Future. A reason to be better than I’ve been.
“They’ll have your stubbornness too,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
She laughs, the sound watery but real. “God help us all if that’s true.”
I bring her hand to my lips again, kissing each knuckle. “I’ll protect both of you. Always.”
She studies me for a long moment, then leans across the console and presses her lips to mine. It’s not the hungry, desperate kisses we usually share. This one is tender, full of promise, and something that feels dangerously like love.
When she pulls away, I’m left wanting more.
“Take me home, Matteo,” she says softly.
I start the car, my heart pounding in a rhythm that matches the heartbeat we just heard. Our baby’s heartbeat. My heir. My future.
As we drive, I make a silent vow to protect what’s mine. Both the woman beside me and the child growing inside her. No matter what it takes.