Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

I’m his now, entirely and eternally. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I couldn’t sleep in this bedroom while you were gone,” he informs me. His voice is quiet, tender, and his affection for me warms his eyes. I dip forward, wanting to kiss him, but he keeps me pinned against the wall. “There are pieces of you in everything that’s mine now. When I walked down this hall, I saw you here, pretty and crying, looking at up me with those sad blue eyes, struggling to accept how I’d hurt you.”

“Nice memory,” I murmur lightly.

“You were never supposed to linger in my life,” he tells me. “You weren’t even a game piece; you were a spot on the board. I was supposed to play my hand, step over you, and move on.”

“God, you’re romantic,” I tell him, grinning.

This makes him smirk, and now he finally lets me have a kiss. He releases my arms so I can wind them around his neck, reveling in the way his tongue sweeps into my mouth, leading me down a pleasurable path—hopefully. I’d follow this man anywhere, even into the fires of hell, but I think right now we’re heading somewhere nice.

Withdrawing from my mouth, he pulls back to look at me again, but I keep my arms secured around his neck, keeping him close.

“I’ve tried to shake you so many times, and I could never stick to it. No matter how many times I tried to fuck this up, you never let me.”

I run my hands down the lapel of his jacket, smiling faintly. “Your powers of destruction are no match for me, Mateo Morelli.”

He smiles at that, tenderly cupping my face in his hand. “You’ve let me break your heart a million times, Mia. Every single time, you’ve let me put it back together.”

I probably shouldn’t tell him this, but he already knows. “I always will.”

It’s rare to see pure, uncomplicated love in Mateo, but for a moment I do. Even though I already knew he loved me, a swarm of butterflies break free in my tummy. It’s exhilarating to hold this man’s heart, and I do. His grip on mine may be the most obvious, but when it’s just us, I know I’m the keeper of his, and it’s the greatest honor I’ll ever know.

“I love you so much, Mia.”

I close my eyes, pulling him close so I can hug him. “Even after all these years, it makes my stomach hurt when you say that.”

“Good hurt?”

“The best kind of hurt,” I verify.

This makes him smile. He reaches down to tangle his fingers together with mine and tugs me away from the wall, leading me toward the bedroom.

Once we’re inside and he closes the door behind us, he tells me, “I got you a few presents.”

Rubbing my hands together in an exaggeratedly greedy manner, I tell him, “I love presents.”

An indulgent smirk plays around his perfect lips. “I know you do.”

I hop up on the bed and watch him open the walk-in closet, bending to pick up three boxes and bring them over to me, kicking the door shut behind him. They’re shoe boxes, so I get excited. Mateo buys the best shoes.

I flash him an eager grin, grabbing the top shoe box off the stack.

“Those are my favorite,” he tells me, before I can open it. “I saw them and thought of you.”

I pull the white lid off the box and set it aside. As soon as I see the shoes, I can’t hold back a little gasp. I’ve acquired a lot of pretty shoes over the years, but these are straight out of a fairy tale. They’re rose gold in tone with gold filigree leaves climbing up the heel of the shoe like a vine. Delicate pink flowers accent the vines, and the shoe itself has fantastical embellishments along the sides.

“These are absolutely incredible,” I tell him, grinning as I look up at him. “You should’ve saved these for last. There’s no way can you top these.”

Chuckling, he nods to the next shoe box. “Look at them all, then you can decide which ones you want to wear.”

Reluctantly I tuck my enchanted fairy tale shoes back into their box, setting it aside so I can grab the next one. “I want to wear all of them, obviously.”

Oh man, the Jimmy Choos I open next are fantastic, too. Soft pink and silver peep-toe sandals with my shoe-weakness—delicate, intricately crossed straps.

“These look like they want to be worn in Italy,” I inform him. “With a breezy summer dress, on our way to get gelato.”

Nodding, he says, “Sounds good to me. We’ll take those out of the running, then.”

“Out of the running for what?” I ask, tucking the shoes back into the box. “What are these for, specifically?”

He nods to the next box, and I grab it, putting it in my lap. This one’s more familiar—a Louboutin box. I have lots of Louboutins. We’ve probably bought that man a vacation home by now.