26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mariella
W e sit there, eyes locked.
The mood shifts, growing heavier, charged with something unspoken. My pulse stumbles and my breathing slows, as if my body is trying to steady itself against this pull to him.
The world around us feels smaller than before. Or maybe it’s just me, leaning in without realizing it. My focus narrows to his eyes, his face. He’s so close.
A shiver moves through me, warm tingles spreading in its wake. I bite my lip, and his gaze follows the movement before lifting to meet mine again.
Is he going to… kiss me?
Oh yes. Please.
I’ve dreamed about this man for so long, about a moment like this.
I’ve never been kissed. And I want him to be my first. Desperately.
Everything in me pulls toward him. It would take nothing, just the smallest shift to close the distance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement. It’s barely noticeable, but enough to make my body tense.
What if that was Father?
I pull back instinctively. We’re out in the open where everybody can see us.
Glancing over my shoulder, I push a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.
What if Father or one of his men is lurking in the bushes, watching me with Mateo?
I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d think I’m playing into his insane plan.
The thought sickens me, like an icy shower, shocking, but not invigorating.
Argh.
Was he really going to kiss me ?
A knot of uncertainty twists inside me.
Why would a man as powerful and commanding as Mateo De Marco want someone like me? He’s used to confident, beautiful women. Experienced women.
Is Father right? Am I just a temporary distraction, something to pass his time until another challenge comes along?
My mind is a jumbled mess.
I bite into the flaky sfogliatelle I’m still holding, hoping to distract myself. The crisp layers crackle between my teeth, giving way to the creamy, sweet ricotta filling. A faint hint of citrus melts on my tongue.
Oh my God. This is good.
A moan slips from my lips. I can’t help it.
Mateo shifts on the grass and crosses his legs.
“Ohhh,” I groan again, taking another bite and letting my head fall back. “This is like tasting a piece of heaven.”
I savor every flaky layer, every sweet burst of flavor, grateful for the distraction from my swirling thoughts. This moment, right here, is pure happiness.
“I think I found my new favorite dessert,” I mumble after swallowing the final bite.
I glance at Mateo, and his eyes are still fixed on me, watching my every movement.
Self-conscious, I wipe my lips with my fingers and brush the top of my dress, in case I have crumbs on me.
His gaze tracks my motions, lingering a little too long on my chest, which, in his presence, is heaving far more than I’d like. When his eyes finally lift to meet mine again, the air between us practically sizzles, stronger than before.
I swallow hard and drop my gaze to the treat in his hand. “You don’t want yours?” I ask, my voice somehow coming out huskier than expected.
I’m ready to take his if he doesn’t. Any diversion from the electricity crackling between us will do.
He clears his throat and finally looks away, shifting his gaze to the pastry in his hand.
Phew.
Feeling a bittersweet reprieve, it’s my turn now to watch him, and I’m mesmerized.
Mateo takes a bite, his face lighting up.
“Sweet and flaky, just like they should be,” he hums in approval, licking a little ricotta off his lips.
Naturally, my eyes follow.
Those lips! I almost kissed them, I think.
They would taste even sweeter now.
Stop it, Mari.
There will be no kissing Mateo. I refuse to become his plaything or another pawn in my father’s power games.
But just one? One kiss wouldn’t change anything. Would it?
No. No, Mari. Use your brain. Think about what’s best for you in the bigger picture.
We finish our treats in silence, the distant hum of traffic mingling with the sounds of the park, children’s laughter, the soft chatter of people passing by, and the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze.
Every now and then, we steal glances at each other, and each time our eyes meet, my heart skips a beat. The sweetness of the cannoli and sfogliatelle lingers on my tongue, but that’s nothing to the thrill I’m feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Mateo crumples up the brown paper bag and turns to me.
“Now, what would you like for dinner?”
My eyes light up. He really meant it when he said he wanted to eat together.
“Well, as we’re eating things I’ve never tried before, I’ve never had pizza. I want to know what all the fuss is about.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never had the most basic Italian food?”
I shrug. “You said it yourself. It’s basic. Hence not good enough for the Accardis.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I know just the place.” He glances down at his suit and smirks. “But I should change, unless you want all of Rome staring at us instead of their pizza.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as we drive through the narrow streets of Rome, excitement bubbling up inside me. I’m out and about with Mateo. Just him and me.
“Via dei Condotti,” he replies easily, his focus steady on the road. “I need to find something more casual for dinner.”
“Via dei Condotti,” I repeat, unable to hide my thrill or my grin. He’s taking us to Rome’s high-end fashion street, the place my fashion designer heart has always dreamed of.
As we turn onto my dream street, I catch my breath. High-end stores line both sides of the street, and it’s like I’ve stepped into the pages of a fashion magazine.
My heart drums faster. I’m about to go inside one of these iconic stores. I’m nearly beside myself.
Mateo stops the car outside Ermenegildo Zegna, a store that caters specifically to men. Before I can process it, a sharply dressed valet is at my door, holding it open with a polite nod. I step out and glance at Mateo, who’s greeting the valet by name and handing him the keys with his usual effortless confidence.
Wow, he must be a regular here. I watch as the black Ferrari disappears down the street as Mateo steps up beside me and places his hand lightly on my back to steer me toward the store’s entrance.
Even though the touch is innocent, I’m hyperaware of it.
We walk in, and the first thing that hits me is the understated elegance. The lighting is soft, highlighting the racks of finely tailored garments without being overwhelming. The rich scent of leather and the warmth of high-quality fabrics fill the air. My eyes dart around, drinking in the sleek displays of soft wool coats, perfectly pressed trousers, supple leather jackets.
“Signor De Marco,” a well-dressed attendant greets Mateo with a respectful nod, then turns to offer me a friendly smile. “How can I be of service today?”
Mateo explains what he’s looking for, and the attendant leads us to the men’s casual section. Even though it’s all men’s fashion, a rush of giddiness bubbles up inside me. This isn’t just any clothing, it’s from one of Italy’s finest designers.
Mateo’s hand brushes a pair of cargo pants, and he picks them up for closer inspection. They’re perfect, sleek, slim-fit, but still relaxed. The soft wool blend makes them feel luxurious even though they’re casual. He holds them up for me to see, one brow raised in silent question.
Surprised he’s seeking my opinion, I suppress a grin.
“Those are great,” I nod. “But don’t pair them with that.” I point to a shirt he’s looking at.
I’ve already seen a long-sleeve shirt in a deep charcoal gray that matches the texture and feel of the cargo pants, and I point it out.
“That one. The color complements the pants better. Trust me, the contrast will look amazing.”
Mateo turns, eyes me with a curious smile, and then picks up the shirt.
“You’ve got a good eye,” he remarks, impressed. “You should be in fashion.”
Warmth rises to my cheeks. “I want to study fashion design, actually,” I admit, heart pounding. “I designed the dress I’m wearing.” Glancing down, I feel both proud and a bit shy under his gaze. “But my father isn’t exactly supportive of the idea. ‘ No child of mine is making clothes’. ” I mimic his words, drawing quotation marks in the air with my fingers.
His eyes soften as he looks at me. “Yeah, that sounds like something Antonio would say. I’m sorry. I wish our world was different for you, for women in general. You clearly have talent. I’d love to see some of your designs. This dress looks stunning on you.”
Cue my blush.
Avoiding an awkward moment, Mateo grabs a sleek leather jacket off the nearby rack, the dark brown perfectly complementing the outfit.
“What do you think?” he asks, holding it up for me to assess.
My grin is wide. “Perfect.”
He chuckles and drapes the jacket over his arm. I watch as he heads to the dressing room, and the moment he disappears behind the door, I finally exhale.
This whole experience is like a dream.
A few minutes later, Mateo steps out, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
The cargo pants fit him like a glove, and the shirt adds a casual elegance that suits him perfectly. The leather jacket? It’s the finishing touch.
He looks mouthwatering, but when does he not? He’s effortlessly chic, like he stepped off a runway.
He spreads his arms, palms up, as if inviting my verdict. His eyes sparkle when they meet mine.
“So, is it good?”
I bite my lip, letting my gaze sweep over him, head to toe. Damn, he’s a fine specimen of a man. The finest, actually. I could stare at him all day.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I tease softly.
He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got you to thank for that.”
Not really. He’s always dressed to impress. The man needs no help at all.
Still, his comment makes me blush even hotter. God, I really wish I could stop doing that.
He turns to me then with a quizzical look on his gorgeous face.
“Hmm, something isn’t sitting right about this…”