I touch the side of his leg and hold on to his pants. “Check it, it might be important.”
He exhales with a grumble but lets go of my face to get his phone out.
His fingers swipe over the screen a few times before he puts it away again. His gaze is pensive as it locks with my eyes. “Your dad will be back tomorrow evening.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs. “Why didn’t I realize I was in this amazing bubble this whole time, thinking everything would just solve itself if I pretended it didn’t exist?”
The corners of his mouth tip up, but it looks like one of the saddest smiles I’ve ever seen.
“Trust me, if I could, I’d keep you in that bubble for the rest of eternity because I like seeing you happy and carefree.”
I shake my head. “No, that wouldn’t be fair to you either.”
We’re both quiet, and my thoughts are buzzing so fast in my head, I can barely make sense of them. “Will you do something for me?”
“Depends.”
I wasn’t expecting him to give me carte blanche, so I barrel on, “Will you get me up to speed and tell me what’s going on with Nikolai and Ally, with my dad, everything?”
“Right now?”
I raise a shoulder. “Why not?”
He grabs my hand and touches my ring finger. “Maybe since we just got married, and I hoped we could consummate our marriage for the rest of the day?”
I take a step closer and put my hand on his shoulder. “What if I tell you, you can fuck me six ways to Sunday after our conversation.”
Matteo leans in, brushing his nose along my jaw all the way to my ear, and whispers, “I’d say you have a deal, passerotta.”
A shiver runs through my entire body at his raspy tone and those light, little touches. They drive me insane, and he knows it too. As if to prove my point, he kisses his way down my throat, gently sucking on my skin. My head falls back to give him more access, and he chuckles.
Then his lips are gone, and he’s tugging on my hand so abruptly, I stumble for a step.
“Come on, passerotta, let’stalk.”
I huff and follow him to the large sectional on the side of the open living room area. I kick off my shoes and curl my feet under me while Matteo walks to the kitchen. My dress isn’t necessarily meant for this position, but I don’t care at the moment. I’m too lazy, and too eager to talk to Matteo, to change my clothes.
Plus, I did imagine him peeling my wedding dress off me, and I definitely don’t want to miss out on that.
“Champagne or something else?” Matteo glances over his shoulder, standing next to the open fridge door.
“Champagne, please.” All things considered, we do have things to celebrate, despite the shitstorm that’s probably going to be unloaded on me in the next few minutes.
By some miracle, he manages to carry a bottle of scotch, a bottle of champagne, a water bottle, two flutes, and a glass back without dropping anything. He puts it all on the table, and I jump in my seat when he pops the champagne cork.
My pounding heart slowly calms down, and I take the filled glass from him. “Thank you.”
Matteo sits next to me and turns my way. “Happy wedding day, passerotta. To you.” He raises his glass. “Mrs. Santarossa.”
I swallow. I’m Mrs. Santarossa now. It’s not just a strange concept, or a wish anymore; it’s my reality. For once, something I wanted became true, so I clink my glass to his. “Happy wedding day, Mr. Santarossa.”
The champagne flows easily down my throat, the bubbles and sweetness adding to the warmth in my stomach after it hits my taste buds.
Matteo finishes his glass and sets it down on the table to switch to his drink. Did he just have some champagne with me so we could toast on our marriage?
He picks up the bottle of scotch and says, “So, what do you want to know?”
I exhale harshly, staring at the ceiling in an effort to clear my mind enough to see through all the fog in my brain that’s been created by denial and ignorance.