by Cora Reilly
I kept my face unaffected as I walked toward them. Aria was an apparition in her dark red dress and with her golden curls. In the past I’d often felt like I could never compete with her but I’d come to realize that I didn’t have to. Luca towered over my sister in a similar suit like Matteo, but it did nothing for me. I stopped beside Matteo and his hand immediately went to my hip. Did he even notice how possessive those small gestures were? In the past, my first reaction to them would have been annoyance followed by a rebuff, but now it seemed almost natural. I wasn’t sure why this was the case, why I molded so easily into the life that had been cut out for me even before my birth. Some people would probably seek an explanation in fate or faith. I’d never considered either option to be valid. I didn’t like the idea that some bigger outer thing controlled who I was and how my life would develop.
“Hey, where are you?” Matteo asked, squeezing my hip lightly. I blinked, focusing on him. I hadn’t even realized we’d stepped into the elevator.
I shook my head. “Thinking of all the ways this evening could end badly,” I lied.
“As long as Matteo keeps his knife in his holster and you keep your mouth in check, things should go smoothly,” Luca muttered, sending both Matteo and me a glare. “Tonight is important. Several of the attending businessmen are under pressure from the Russians. I want to show strength and make a good impression. It would be even better if you could manage not to offend the wives.”
“Why me? What about Aria?”
“Aria knows how to behave herself. She’s the perfect lady whereas you are anything but.”
Aria touched Luca’s chest. “Be nice to my sister.”
“I’m not rude to everyone. Only people I don’t like,” I said pointedly.
“Which will be everyone at the party,” Matteo interjected. “They are insufferable, believe me.” We exchanged a grin, then as if remembering our “kind of” fight from a few nights ago, looked away from each other. I could see Luca give Aria one of those secret looks they always shared.
“Just behave yourself,” Luca said. “Both of you. It’s like God’s sent you two to me to test my patience.”
Aria giggled and hit Luca’s shoulder lightly, but her eyes were sparkling with adoration. Would I ever look at someone like that? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. It seemed like she was baring her soul for everyone to see and she didn’t even mind.
Together we stepped out of the elevator and into the freezing cold parking garage. I shivered. I hadn’t taken a coat with me because I only had to walk from the elevator to the car and then from the car to wherever the party was taking place, but now I regretted it. It was mid-December after all. One month since Matteo had caught me. Sometimes it was hard to believe so much time had passed already.
Matteo let go of me, removed his jacket and put it over my shoulders. His warmth and scent enveloped me, and I caught myself drawing in a deep breath.
“Thanks,” I said half-embarrassed.
Luca had done the same for Aria despite the short way to the car. Aria and I settled in the back of Matteo’s Porsche Cayenne while Luca and Matteo sat in the front. It seemed the men weren’t worried anymore that I’d try to jump out of the driving car to escape. Maybe they, too, had noticed how easily I’d settled in.
Aria leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I know you don’t want to see it but you and Matteo are like you were made for each other.”
I shot her a look, ignoring the way my pulse sped up with an emotion I didn’t even want to think about. “Don’t even start.”
Aria shrugged. “It’s the truth. And he’s really trying. They aren’t perfect but they are trying to be good to us. You don’t look unhappy.”
I wasn’t exactly unhappy, but I tried to attribute it to Aria’s constant presence in my new life. It was the convenient explanation. I didn’t say anything, couldn’t come up with a witty reply that wouldn’t sound utterly fake.
We sat in silence after that and yet I felt like my silence was more of an answer than I liked. I was actually relieved when we finally pulled up in front of a luxury apartment building not unlike the one Matteo and I lived in. A doorman rushed toward our car and opened my door. Good thing he didn’t see both Luca and Matteo reach for their weapons, always ready for an attack.
I thanked the guy who looked like he was barely my age, and got out. Aria followed quickly. We handed the jackets back to our husbands before walking into the brightly lit lobby. Another doorman waited next to the elevator and clicked the correct button for us.
As we rode up toward the top floor, Matteo leaned close and murmured, “Don’t forget to behave yourself.” He winked at me when he pulled back and I knew we’d be in trouble. Matteo’s expression promised that he had absolutely no intention to be good tonight.
The party took place in a huge penthouse overlooking the city. It was not quite as big as Luca’s but definitely showy. The walls were covered with drawings by Picasso, Warhol, and Miró, all of them originals, and I had a feeling the furniture was as pretentious, but everything had been removed to fit two long tables for eighty guests into the room as well as a dozen bar tables where guests could mingle before dinner.
The noise level was overwhelming despite the size of the penthouse and there wasn’t anything Christmas-y about the decoration except for an abstract glass Nativity scene on the mantle and an even more abstract glass Christmas tree in one corner. Aria and I looked at each other and almost burst into laughter.
My mood dropped the moment the host and hostess, a middle-aged couple that looked even more fake than their tree, approached us. I braced myself for the disgusted once-over, but the woman smiled at Aria and me the same way.
The hostess who introduced herself as Miriam practically beamed at me, though it looked almost scary because her face was frozen from too many Botox treatments. “You must be the beautiful new bride,” she said, and kissed me on both cheeks.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, startled.
I darted a confused look at Matteo. He must have read it right because he leaned toward me while the host and hostess spoke to Luca and Aria. “They aren’t part of our culture. They don’t give a crap about our rules and morals,” Matteo whispered.
The hostess turned back to us. “Dinner starts in thirty minutes. But please help yourself to our delicious hors d’oeuvres and champagne.” She pronounced champagne in an odd French accent, which almost made me laugh again, but I pulled myself together and smiled politely instead. The woman had been kind to me, so I had to act accordingly, even if Luca thought I was incapable of pleasantness.
I glanced around, only spotting one familiar couple, that I assumed must be part of the mob or I wouldn’t have recognized them. Apart from that, we were blissfully surrounded by strangers, who didn’t call me slut under their breaths, or look down their noses at me. This was a straight-up social event that normal people, well normal rich people attended. I relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.
“Come on. Let’s fill up on some champagne. We’ll need the buzz to carry us through the boredom,” Matteo said. Luca shot him a scowl, but Matteo merely grinned and led me toward an unoccupied bar table. I grabbed a glass and took a deep gulp. That was the one good thing about living in our world; nobody gave a damn if I was of legal age to drink. The bubbles prickled delightfully on my tongue. It had been a long time since I’d had good champagne. The last time was at Aria’s wedding.
Matteo smirked.
“What?” I asked, checking my dress for any stains.
“You look like a sophisticated lady.”
“I’m not a sophisticated lady,” I said quickly and was about to take another gulp of champagne but stopped with the rim against my lips. With a glare, I set it down. “I’m not.”
“I didn’t say you were. I only pointed out that you look it.”
He was right. I fit in, which brought me back to my earlier problem. Why was I becoming more like a trophy wife every day? I downed the rest of my champagne in
one large gulp, not at all ladylike, making Matteo laugh, and I couldn’t help but do too. It felt good to laugh with him, and even better to see mirth banish some of the darkness in his eyes.
Miriam called for everyone to settle around the tables, and asked us to sit next to her with other important guests. Unfortunately Aria had to sit across from me, so I couldn’t even talk to her in case I got bored. I was wedged between Matteo and a woman I didn’t know. Luckily the first course was served almost immediately, so I had something to do. Miriam as well as the other women around us were more interested in Aria anyway, probably because she was Luca’s wife and knew how to do proper small talk.
Suddenly I felt Matteo’s hand on my knee. I shot him a look but he was immersed in a conversation with Luca and the host. I took another bite of my carpaccio but stopped mid-chew when his hand began its ascent higher, toward the lacy edge of my hold-ups. I had to suppress a small shiver at the sensations his light touch sent straight to my center. I clenched my legs together and tried to focus on the conversation Aria was having with the other women. The corners of Matteo’s lips twitched in reaction. Of course that wasn’t the end of it. When was it ever?
Matteo’s fingers slipped between my legs despite my attempts to lock him out, and then his fingertips slipped under the edge of my panties and lightly stroked the crevice between my leg and vulva. I reached for the glass and took a deep gulp of the wine.
“What do you think, Gianna? Would you be interested?” asked the hostess Miriam. Her eyebrows were raised but due to all the Botox, the rest of her face was static, and her expression resembled one of mild boredom.
My eyes darted to Aria, hoping she’d help me out. I had no clue what Miriam was talking about. Matteo’s fingers had distracted me completely.
“I know you love modern art, and it’s not easy to come by a private tour through the Guggenheim. I’m sure Matteo can spare you for a few hours,” Aria said with a meaningful look.
I could have kissed her. She always saved the day. “Yes, I’d love to—” Matteo’s fingers slipped between my lower lips, gently nudging them apart, finding me wet and aching, the stupid bastard. He was still talking to Luca and the other men as if nothing of interest was going on under the table.
Aria and the other women were watching me expectantly. I cleared my throat and kicked Matteo’s leg hard, before I said, “I’d love to take you up on that offer.” Could I sound any more sophisticated? Trophy wife all the way.
Matteo’s finger traveled up my slit until it reached my clit where he started to draw small circles. I pressed my lips together to stop a moan from slipping out. Thankfully, Miriam went on another monologue about a trip to the Caribbean and I was back to pretending to listen. Only Aria gave me the occasional odd glance, as if she thought I might not be feeling well.
If only she knew. The waiters entered the room with our main course, but I hardly cared.
Without even intending to, I parted my legs a bit more, giving Matteo more room to explore my wet folds. His fingers slipped up and down, teasing my opening, before they returned to my throbbing clit. I clutched my wine glass. It wouldn’t have surprised me if I’d broken it in two from my tight grip. My breathing was shallow. Matteo kept up the slow rhythm, driving me closer and closer toward release. I should have pushed his hand away, should have stopped this madness before this turned into the most embarrassing night of my life, but need had taken over and banished any hint of reason. After a few bites of veal, I put my fork down. I was hungry for only one thing.
Matteo slipped a finger into me and I barely managed to keep in my whimper. I was getting so close. Could I even be silent?
But I was too far gone to care. Matteo still wasn’t looking at me. Instead he was completely focused on the conversation, or at least he pretended to be. I hated him for his acting talent. He brought me closer and closer, taking his time. God, this was the most delicious torture.
His skilled fingers became the whole center of my being until suddenly, without a warning he pulled them away. Shocked, I stared at him, only to realize that the waiters had returned with our dessert, chocolate mousse. Matteo gave me a grin.
I wanted to rip his clothes off and have my way with him, bring him to the brink, only to deny him release. Matteo dipped a finger into the mousse, the finger he’d used to finger me, and slid it into his mouth, licking it clean. “Hm. Delicious.”
My body was humming with desire, but in that moment I wanted to push Matteo’s face down into the stupid mousse. He picked up his spoon and calmly started eating. Aria gave me a questioning look when I didn’t move.
I grabbed my own spoon a bit too tightly and tasted the mousse. It was delicious, creamy and very chocolaty, but now all it did was remind me of Matteo’s fingers and what they had done mere moments before. Two could play this game. Once I was done with my dessert, I slipped my hand under the table and reached between Matteo’s legs. I found him already hard and that knowledge made me ache even more. I considered stroking myself instead of teasing Matteo, but banished the idea. If I wanted to win this game, I needed to play. My fingers closed around Matteo’s erection. He sucked in a quiet breath before his eyes met mine, one corner of his mouth lifting. I massaged him through the fabric of his pants, feeling him grow even harder and bigger. Unfortunately my own body responded too.
Matteo turned his head to an older guy across from him who’d asked him a question and I used the moment to find his tip and start rubbing that. Matteo had had it easier. He didn’t have as many barriers between his fingers and their goal, but as I worked the head of his cock, I could see from the flexing of his jaw that Matteo wasn’t completely unaffected. And unlike me, he would have a hard time hiding his arousal if he got up, and an even harder time if he came in his pants. The thought made me smile.
Aria leaned across the table toward me. I really hoped she wouldn’t notice anything. “What’s the matter with you? You’re acting strange,” she whispered.
I shook my head and mouthed “later,” but my hand never stopped its work under the table. I hoped Matteo was getting close. It was hard to tell. He’d angled his face away from me and was actually conducting a coherent conversation with the old man. I squeezed a bit tighter, getting annoyed, and finally got another, albeit small reaction. Matteo tensed briefly but then visibly forced himself to relax. I could have screamed in frustration.
I was about to squeeze again, even harder when his hand found mine under the table and pulled it away. I would have clung to his erection if I hadn’t been worried about injuring him. Even if I’d never admit it to anyone, I loved Matteo’s cock, and particularly the things he could do with it. I chanced a look at Matteo and met his gaze. There was hunger in there, but also something else, something that made me want to go running for the hills, because I had a feeling I knew what it was and I was pretty sure I was starting to feel the same. I wrenched my hand away from his hold, pushed my chair back and straightened.
With a small smile at the other guests, I said, “Excuse me.” Without another look at Matteo, I headed straight toward where I hoped to find the restrooms.
It took all my self-control not to run down the long corridor branching off from the main area of the apartment. When I entered the restroom, I released a harsh breath. My cheeks were flushed, but not so much that anyone would suspect anything. That was what I hoped at least. I gripped the edge of the washbasin and squeezed my eyes shut. My heart was slamming against my rib cage. Suddenly someone gripped my hips. My eyes shot open and I stared into the mirror. Matteo towered over me, his gaze practically burning with want. He pressed his hips against my butt. “You left too soon.” His hand slipped under my dress while his other hand pulled down his zipper.
“What are you doing?” I hissed with a glance toward the door. “What if someone comes in?”
“Who gives a fuck? Let them get the show of their lives. It’s probably been years since those bitches got to see a cock.” He pushed my panties aside and thrust two fi
ngers into me. I jutted my butt out, giving him better access. My body seemed to be acting on its own accord even when my brain was screaming at me to push Matteo away.
“Matteo,” I gasped. “Lock the stupid door.”
He moved his fingers in and out in a deliciously slow rhythm. My hips moved against him, forcing his fingers deeper into me.
“Do you really want me to stop so I can lock the fucking door?” He licked my spine from the edge of my dress up to my hairline, then met my gaze in the mirror. I shivered. He slammed his fingers into me again, hitting a sweet spot deep inside of me. His eyes seemed to bore into me, trying to reveal my darkest deepest secrets. My heart lurched, and I knew I’d be doomed if I didn’t stop this madness soon. Sex, that I could deal with, but these moments of silent understanding, these long looks full of too much meaning, they were starting to chip away at the walls I’d taken years to build.
Matteo cupped my breast through my dress, kneading and pinching my nipple in an almost painful way that made me grow even wetter. I closed my eyes to avoid his eyes and soaked in the sensations. Matteo thrust his fingers into me over and over again. I bit down on my lip to keep the sounds in. Matteo’s lips clamped down on my pulse point, sucking the skin into his mouth. I arched, pushing my butt against his hand with all my might as my orgasm jolted through me.
“Look at me,” Matteo ordered, and my eyes flew open, meeting his. “Yes, like that. Fuck, you are so fucking wet and hot.”
I dropped down to my forearms with a shuddering breath, enjoying the last waves of pleasure while Matteo slowed his fingers. He lifted my skirt even higher. I heard him unbuckle his pants and then he wrapped his arms tightly around my chest, pulled me against him and rubbed his tip over my opening. Then he slipped in inch by inch. I tried to jut my butt out, needing to feel him all the way in me, but he didn’t let me. If possible, he slowed even more, edging into me.