I can’t help smiling as his lips move to my neck, love for this man consuming me like a wild fire. “I always have.”
“And if I have my way, you always will.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth to mine. He eagerly accepts my invitation, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and exploring. Every inch of me belongs to this man. There’s no one I would rather spend the rest of my life with.
Gazing up at him fondly, I point out, “You are a man accustomed to getting what you want, so I’d say there’s a decent chance.”
“Decent?” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my jawline so he can tenderly assault my neck again. “That’s not good enough.”
“Yeah, I was just being coy. You’ve got a money-back guarantee right here,” I assure him.
Grinning, he kisses his way back up my neck. “I like those odds.”
“I’m your sure thing.”
His lips brush mine. “I’ve always wanted a sure thing.”
“I’ve always wanted you.”
Mateo catches my hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. “I have always been yours.”
Chapter Thirty Seven
Mia
My long blonde hair clings to the back of my neck as we ascend the stone staircase alongside the deli where we just picked up a few groceries. Various fruits peek out of the Marc Jacobs bag slung over my shoulder, my pretty new Italy sandals on my feet. I’m wearing the breezy summer dress I envisioned wearing with them, but instead of breezy and cute, I feel sticky and gross because it’s so hot today.
Mateo walks beside me in street clothes—the absolute weirdest part of vacations. Even his street clothes are classy, but seeing him not wearing a suit and tie is still weird, even after all these years.
As we trek up the narrow stone staircase, I let my hand brush Mateo’s, then I catch it and lace our fingers together.
“What’s so important?” I ask, nodding at his cell phone.
Normally he’s off his phone during vacations, but he’s already been on it more today than he usually is over the course of our whole trip. He turns the screen to flash me a picture of three blobs with lines coming out of various shakily drawn circles. “Rosalie drew a picture of us in Italy.”
I snort, grinning. “She’s the next Picasso, for sure. What’s the third blob?”
“The sun?” he suggests. Shrugging, he uses just the one hand to type something back, then slides the phone into his pocket.
“We should send her a real picture of us in Italy,” I suggest, indicating at the scenic town all around us.
“You and your damn pictures,” he remarks.
“Any excuse to record your overall sexiness is a chance I’ll jump on.”
Smirking, he lets go of my hand and puts his hand on my hip, tugging me close. “I’ll give you something to jump on.”
I wink at him. “I’m counting on it.”
The beach was packed today, so we decided just to get some groceries and head back to our room. We’ll have lunch between rounds, then we’ll head out later for a nice dinner.
Tomorrow begins Mateo’s long-awaited favorite part of this trip—the Amalfi coast, a yacht, and me in a teeny tiny bikini. I’m a little more self-conscious about the last part now that my waist is filling out with my very own baby Morelli, but when I critiqued myself in the mirror last night, Mateo rolled his eyes like I was being ridiculous and proceeded to show me just how sexy he thinks I am in my bikini, even pregnant.
“Did you ever bring Beth here?”
Mateo glances over at me. Surprisingly, just like the last couple times, mentioning Beth doesn’t seem to irritate him. He shakes his head. “No. We were going to come once, but she pouted until I agreed to go to Paris again. Fucking Paris.”
I smile faintly. “I like Paris, but I’m happy to go wherever you want to go. I can’t really complain about a two week honeymoon in Italy, regardless.”
“Beth could complain about anything,” he says, dryly.
“She’s a cow and I hate her.”
Flashing me a grin, he remarks, “She’s not even worth your hatred. She’s ancient history now and I’m glad.” Giving me a little squeeze, he assures me, “I’ve come to the conclusion that in every regard, you blow Beth right out of the water.”
I feel like he just handed me all the shoes in the world. I beam at him, then wrap my other arm around his chest and hug him while we walk. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
I can’t see his face, but his tone is dry as hell. “I hope so, given the vigorous tests I put you through in order to arrive at this conclusion. You deserve some kind of payoff.”
“Eh, what’s a little mental torture between lovers? Some couples have rough patches, we have explosive mind wars.”