Chapter Thirty-Three Sophie #2
While Michael decided to become a lawyer, focusing on family law, Theo had dived right into the family business, hoping to one day step into his father's role. Michael was the easy-going, extroverted twin, while Theo was more private, quiet, and very serious.
That's clear to me now. While Michael seems to have a perpetual smile on his face, Theo's brow is furrowed as he speaks harshly to someone on the phone.
They were no doubt identical in looks, with the same dark hair, the same-colored eyes, the same height, and the same build.
However, Theo wears black-rimmed glasses and is completely clean-shaven, while Michael has a bit more scruff on his jaw.
He's dressed in an expensive black suit, his posture straight and a little tense as he stalks across the lobby like he's on a warpath.
"G-Good morning, Mr. Salvatore," Francesca stutters.
"Hold on!" Theo barks into the phone, then mutes the call before glancing up at Francesca.
"Good morning, Francesca," his voice is smooth and sounds a lot like Michael's, though his tone is more severe, a little gravelly, as if he's been talking all day.
But it's the look in his green eyes that gives him away completely—they are tender and soft as he looks at the blushing girl. "Is there anything that you need?"
"No," she shakes her head, a small smile curving at her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Salvatore."
He nods but grunts, as if he's displeased with something, and then does a double-take when he looks at me. "Sophie, right?"
I blink, "Uh, yes, how did you—"
"Bailey's article," he cuts me off, reaching out and shaking each of our hands. "Welcome to our hotel. We hope you enjoy your stay."
"Thank you for having us," Callum says, squeezing my hand still in his.
Theo narrows his eyes, "Francesca, is the Verona still available?"
Francesca nods. "Yes, sir."
"Book them," he says immediately. "Our treat."
Francesca's eyes widen, and she smiles brightly, quickly typing on her computer. I realize that he must have given us some kind of upgrade. Bailey had been the one to book the room for us—obviously—our only request was that it have a King-sized bed to accommodate Callum's size.
When she said the room was on her, I protested that she shouldn't have to pay for it for us, but she joked, "Why else would I marry a handsome, sexy, and loving hotel heir if not for free rooms for my friends?"
On reflex, not wanting to inconvenience anyone or take too much, I start to say, "Oh, you don't—" my protest dies as Francesca shakes her head and Theo raises a dark eyebrow over his glasses, daring me to continue.
Callum squeezes my hand once more, a silent communication that I interpret as 'let people do things for you'.
So, I wisely snap my mouth shut and smile, "Thank you, Mr. Salvatore."
He nods once, satisfied, and what I assume is supposed to be a customer service smile flits across his face and then is gone in an instant.
However, his gaze lingers on Francesca for a moment longer, still with that same tender look he had, before he lifts the phone back to his ear and continues on his way.
Francesca exhales and smiles at me. "The Verona is our best suite," Francesca whispers to us, her eyes sparkling as she glances back to Theo's retreating form. "Mr. Salvatore is... so kind."
"I don't care what it costs, my mother wants it for the gala—" Theo barks into his phone, his Italian leather shoes stomping against the marble floor. "—so make it happen!"
"Kind," I echo, nodding my head and sharing an amused smile with Callum.
◆◆◆
There's no doubt that the Verona suite is the nicest in this hotel.
When we walk in, the floor-to-ceiling windows immediately catch our eye, offering a gorgeous view of the Boston skyline. Inside the suite was all Italy—warm and romantic.
A dozen perfect red roses sit in a crystal vase on a console table near the entrance, the subtly sweet scent catching my nose when I walk by.
More bronze accents scattered throughout the room, beautiful lamps lit the room in a warm glow, and a black-framed print of intricate gold handwriting hung on the wall, 'In Fair Verona, where we lay our scene. .. '
The bedroom feels dreamy. A king-sized bed dressed in a deep red duvet sits in the center of the room, surrounded by rich dark wood and muted bronze tones.
Above the bed hangs a romantic painting: a man and a woman, their lips locked in a loving embrace, holding each other with desperate devotion. It feels like a hint.
Callum and I oblige—collapsing on the bed, tangled together and giggling through kisses.
We decide to take a nap, but not before Callum pulls my little otters from the bag and hands them to me with a grin. I didn't even know he had grabbed them for me before we left my apartment.
I gasp in delight as I cuddle them to my chest, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, my otter."
"Figured you'd want them to see the big city too," Callum teases, and I grin, reaching up to slide the wig from my head and place it on the collapsible wig stand Callum pulls out of our bag.
Bailey told me that Sasha would be coming to do our hair and makeup around five-thirty, so we'll have a good couple of hours to nap. I quickly wrap my head in the red silk head wrap from Maeve, then strip down to my pink bralette and boy shorts.
Callum's eyes are on me the whole time, his warm gaze reverent and also a little hungry. I will admit that I do enjoy the effect I have on him. At thirty, I've grown confident in myself, my body, and my sexuality. I've always enjoyed sex for the most part, but...
Callum and I haven't even rounded the bases, and everything we have done together has been more meaningful—not to mention more erotic—than anything I've ever experienced before. I feel like I'm tethered to him, completely in tune, always in alignment. His pleasure is my pleasure.
Yeah, because you're in love.
And that's the weird thing about it, because I've been here before. I've been in love before—with Paul, with Spencer in college. But that was just the feeling of being in love, without real reciprocal action. Those relationships, when they were good, they were good. I was generally happy.
This, though, with Callum, isn't good.
It's amazing. It's calm. It's fire. It's true. It's peaceful. It's hope. It's simplicity. It's complex.
It's safety.
Pure joy. Every single day.
Love isn't just a feeling. I've learned that a relationship and commitment cannot sustain themselves on feelings; there needs to be action to back them up, and with Callum, there's action—mental and physical.
Listening, not just hearing. Doing, not just promising. Seeing, not just looking.
I worried before that when I got into a new relationship, I would be tainted by Paul's betrayal and find it hard to trust someone with my heart again.
That I would become the paranoid girlfriend, demanding to know where they were at all times, who they were talking to, and insisting they hand over their phone so I could look through it.
I feared I would ruin the relationship through a self-fulfilling prophecy because I couldn't open my heart to trust again.
But this man of mine is the most reliable, trustworthy, honorable man I've ever met.
Callum never gave that fear an opportunity to rise because he built trust with me as a friend first. Presence and follow-through, promises made and kept, and complete open communication.
Those are the things that tended the garden of our relationship, and that allowed it to bloom naturally and beautifully.
And now, I don't have any doubts about Callum and his fidelity.
I've witnessed how women check him out when we're out together—on the boardwalk, in the store, at restaurants, even in the hotel lobby earlier. He got a couple of looks from some incredibly beautiful, no doubt wealthy women.
He's objectively incredibly handsome—tall and broad with a smile that causes my heart to stutter.
More than his looks, he's a successful business owner, holds deep respect for his mom and all the women in his life, is a great friend, and he's not afraid to be vulnerable.
He's a total catch, and any woman on this earth would be lucky to hold his attention.
And yet, when we're out, and those women are looking at him, he's looking right at me.
Even when he didn't know I was there, watching when Elise was at the store, he didn't pay her any mind. Not until he found out that she hurt me. I can never doubt Callum, because his words and actions match.
Trust is a funny thing. Strong, yet fragile. It can take a long time to build, and can be broken in moments. Irreparably so.
But my trust in Callum is unshakable.
I grin at Callum's slightly glazed look and lift up the covers, patting the bed for him to hurry in. "I'm cold," I pout, and Callum smiles at the played-up pathetic tone of my voice.
"One minute, baby," he tells me before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. When he emerges after a couple of minutes, he suddenly asks me, "Do you like baths?"
"Yeah, I love baths..." My voice tapers off on the last word because Callum's shirt is off and he's unbuttoning his jeans.
Handsome, handsome man. I clear my throat and look back up at his rather smug-looking face, his chest puffed out a little.
He doesn't say anything else, though, slips his jeans off, and I smile as he places the clothes in the laundry bag I brought with us, so we don't mix our dirty clothes with our clean clothes in our suitcase—I'm a particular but expert traveler, and my considerate man respects that.
He slides into bed, wearing just his boxers, and I look at him expectantly. "Any particular reason for that question?"
He blinks innocently. "Can't I just get to know what my otter likes?"
I narrow my eyes, and he just smiles.
"Alright then. Keep your secrets," I huff and turn my back to him, Callum immediately wrapping his big arms around me from behind and kissing my neck, melting me into giggles.