"Good. Now go get dressed. Our reservation is for eight."
I turned to him, my reflection shining off the stainless steel of my fridge in the kitchen. "Are you insane?"
He shrugged, seeming to genuinely consider the answer. "It's possible."
"Get out," I scoffed, shaking my head and moving around him to get to the front door. I swung it open quickly, gesturing him out the door. When he just raised a brow at me and didn't move, I sighed to keep myself from stomping my foot.
"I made reservations at Vecchio," he said pointedly. I knew in that moment he'd done his research on me. The only time a man would rub reservations at the hottest new restaurant in town in a woman's face was if he knew she was a food-addict.
I eyed him suspiciously. "They're booked six months out," I argued, crossing my arms over my chest. "Did you blow off some other girl to harass me into going with you?"
He chuckled. "No, sweetheart. It is safe to say that I do not take women to dinner."
"Oh well, keep with that tradition then, yeah?"
"I know you want to go. I can see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours." His voice lightened to genuine amusement as he watched me struggle to ignore that temptation. Everyone talked about that place, but it was impossible to get in.
"Unless you're willing to let me take someone else there and use your reservation? I'll pass," I hissed, and the amusement fled those harsh features.
"You go to dinner with another man, and we will have a very, very serious problem, Cara mia." I flinched back at the menace in his tone and felt my brow furrow as I stared at him. There really was no trace of the boy I'd loved in the man in front of me.
And something about that drained all the fight right out of me. I fought back tears, unwilling to let him see just how much he still affected me. "Please, just leave," I begged.
He was indifferent to my deflation, or he just didn't care. He stepped forward, crowding into my space and shoved the door closed again. "Go get dressed," he whispered, and I thought I might have caught a moment of regret in his blue eyes as he looked down at me more gently.
I shook my head, chewing on my lip and suddenly finding my floor fascinating.
I needed to mop.
"I don't want to scare you," he whispered, his fingers catching under my chin and lifting until I met his intent gaze. "But you will go to dinner with me. Now, you can either change, or you can go in pajamas. Your choice."
I glared at him, jerking my face out of his grip. "Go to Hell."
He sighed, biting out a "fine." The next thing I knew his hands were on my waist, and he lifted me off my feet. My stomach hit his shoulder, and I breathed out a sudden oof.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, squirming on my perch as he turned for the door. "Matteo, I'm not even wearing shoes!" He shrugged, jostling me as he pried the door open. I couldn't believe he'd hauled me over his shoulder like I was nothing, the fucking N
eanderthal. "Okay!" I relented. "Put me down, and I'll change!" He closed the door, and I could feel the smug grin on his face even before I saw it.
"Ten minutes." I widened my eyes at him, turning and fleeing up the stairs to my room to hunt down something that would be appropriate for Vecchio without looking like I'd put in effort. I didn't even have time for effort.
Because I had ten fucking minutes.
???
It ended up being a good thing I didn't have time. Matteo couldn't wonder if I'd gotten ready for him or if I'd tried to look my best.
He already knew I hadn't.
I'd grabbed the first little black dress I found in my closet, and it was really a gamble which one I’d throw over my head.
I might have had a slight addiction to them.
I'd only had time to swipe on quick eyeliner and mascara, thanking the eye makeup gods that for once they both cooperated. A red lip tint followed, and I tore my hair from its bun to fall loose around my shoulders. A change of underwear and bra, and I shoved the dress on over my head and slipped my feet into my favorite strappy yellow heels for a pop of color. I couldn't ever go all black with my clothes.
I didn't stop to think about my dress until I started walking down the stairs, using the railing to secure myself when my legs felt like they'd collapse beneath me. But the moment Matteo looked up from the phone where he'd been typing vigorously, I could feel the way his eyes trailed up every inch of my bare legs.
I glanced down at my chest, feeling my breathing constrict when I realized I wore that dress. The one every woman had in her closet - the one that existed purely for the purpose of seducing a man. A sweetheart neckline, with everything above it disguised with a delicate and feminine lace. The dress was sleeveless with an asymmetrical hem lined in a wide band of lace. One side? Appropriate length, but the ruched and shorter side was the shortest thing I owned. The lace on that side was wider, offering some level of modesty that wouldn't have been there otherwise, but the color of my skin was unmistakable as it peeked through. It wasn't scandalous, and was entirely appropriate for Vecchio, but I shouldn't have worn it for Matteo.