Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“I vehemently disagree with both of those statements,” he says, catching the weight of my breast in his hand.

“I promised Bella we’d bring back a souvenir.”

He sighs, extracting his hand from my bikini top. “This is supposed to be your birthday trip and you’re worried about getting gifts for everyone else.”

I turn in his arms, gazing up into his beautiful brown eyes. He’s even more tan than usual from spending six days down here in the sun, and he’s still as sexy as ever. I could’ve spent the whole vacation just staring at him and left satisfied.

“You’re my birthday gift,” I tell him, grinning like a cheese ball.

Rolling his eyes, he says, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I sure am,” I agree, leaning up on my toes to steal a kiss before I break away from him and head back in the hotel room. “Now come on, get a shirt on so we can go buy stuff.”

He pulls the balcony door closed behind him and watches me find a dress from the closet and pull it on. I go in the bathroom to fix my hair—we spent the afternoon in bed and I probably should’ve showered again first, but my mind won’t be at ease until I have something to take back for Bella. She was so envious of this vacation. Many nights she spent lying tummy-down on my bed, scrolling through websites on my laptop, not-so-subtly pointing out all the cool family things we could do if we brought her with us. I even suggested it, but Mateo said no.

Typically our family vacations are the whole family—Meg, Lily, and Rosalie, as well. It’s not that we never have them; just not nearly as often. In four years, we’ve been on family vacations three times. Romantic getaways he usually alternates between me and Meg. This is the longest one he’s taken though—usually it’s two or three days, but for my 23rd birthday, he gave me a whole week alone with him in the Bahamas.

Seven amazing days.

At least, six of them have been. I have no worries that the last day will be, as well.

Everything is perfect with him.

—

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Morelli.”

I squeeze Mateo’s hand unconsciously, a helpless grin creeping across my lips. I love this part of vacations. I’m regularly referred to as his wife by staff. Any hapless onlooker would think that—why wouldn’t they? They don’t know us here.

It’s wonderful. No bodyguards, no work, no sister wife, no well-known reputation. We’re just a man and woman who love each other. That’s it.

It’s nighttime now, our last night here. Mateo got us a reservation at a majestic beachfront restaurant. The waves lap at the shore right beside us. I can smell the salty ocean breeze as we follow the host to our table.

God, I don’t want to go home. It’s not even the beach; I’d go on vacation with him to a Motel 6 in the sticks—I just want to keep him all to myself.

That’s selfish, though. Surely Meg felt the same way when she had to suddenly open up her life to me, and she did that for both of us. It’s not always easy to share, but nothing about love is always easy.

The hostess seats us at a table for two, covered with a white linen cloth, a flickering candle at the center. Mateo pulls my chair out for me—he always does when we go out. Then he takes his seat on the other side, looking out over the ocean.

“We should get a beach house someday. When the new baby’s old enough to run things back home. That way he won’t have to kill me to take my power,” he adds, a little dryly, as he unrolls the silverware on the table.

“Adrian wants a beach house when he retires, too. Maybe we can be neighbors.”

Mateo smirks at me, relaxing back in the chair. “You and Adrian make plans for when he retires, huh? Does Elise know about this?”

I roll my eyes at him. I know he’s only teasing, but the idea that I’d ever want anyone else is so ridiculous, I can hardly even humor him. “Obviously I’ve been using you to get to him.”

“I knew it.”

“It was a very elaborate plan,” I continue.

“Too elaborate,” he determines, grabbing the menu and flipping it open. “You could never pull off a long con like that. Meg might be able to. Not you.”

“I could totally pull off a long con,” I tell him, even though I’m completely full of shit.

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

I wrinkle up my nose at him in mock-displeasure, but he turns his attention back to the menu, clearly amused by the mere idea. I’m only half-joking when I tell him, “Everyone always underestimates me.”

“That’s because you’re surrounded by people more wily than you. You’re an angel in the underworld. We can generally see right through you.”