"Is everything okay?" I asked, biting my lip. His free hand left my waist, darting into his pocket. The thumb of the hand that held mine captive stroked over my left ring finger as he stared at it in fixation.
The smile he gave me when our eyes met again was breathtaking. A full, disarming smile that stole the air from my lungs. He held my eyes with his, and the cool touch of metal against the skin of my finger made my body freeze.
"What—what is that?" I asked, eyes darting down to the huge teardrop shaped diamond settled around my finger in two intricate, diamond studded bands of rose gold.
"Pick a date. I want to know by tomorrow."
"I—what?" I asked, feeling like my jaw was on the floor.
"A date, Angel," he chuckled. "I'd prefer a summer wedding, so we need to make arrangements quickly."
"A year is plenty of time—" I started to explain, because I had no need for a big wedding.
Wedding.
"You misunderstand me, Cara mia. I'm not waiting until next year to make you my wife."
"But it's already the end of May!"
"As I said, pick a date." He gave me that beautiful smile again, and I almost wanted to smack him for the way he enjoyed my floundering.
"You can't just put a ring on my finger, you know? You didn't even ask me if I would marry you!" I argued, shrinking back into the counter as much as I could.
"Asking would imply you have a choice." He smirked, giving me a glimpse of that dark possessiveness that always seemed to linger beneath the surface.
"Matteo," I warned. "I think we should slow down."
"I'll not waste another moment of my life without you as my wife, Ivory. Pick a fucking date," he growled, and I winced. With a sigh, I nodded. I was learning. Maybe I wasn't the fastest learner, but I knew well enough to know when to push and when not to. This was clearly one of those moments I shouldn't touch.
He smiled again, pleased with my concession. "Thank you. Don't overcook the Strozzapreti," he said, turning and striding back to his office like he hadn't turned my world on its head again.
Like marrying me had always been a foregone conclusion, and I suppose for Matteo it had. After all, he didn't care if I said no.
We were getting married.
His wife.
Ivory Bellandi.
Fuck.
Twenty-Six
Ivory
"Where are we going?" I grinned at Matteo as he swerved the Aston through the highway traffic just outside the city. We'd spent a few days in bliss, ignoring the world and getting lost in each other whenever we could manage. Matteo still worked, I had a feeling that would never change, but I'd finally set foot in his office long enough to work from the couch.
Offices no longer seemed terrifying.
Was he perfect?
Absolutely not.
He was dominating, controlling. He manipulated me to get his way and forced my hand when I didn't do something he wanted, but I realized that everything he'd done was to protect me.
Could I really be angry that he loved me enough to keep me safe?
He was all I'd never dared to dream for.