Starter Wife (The Jilted Wives Club Book 1)

by Bethany Lopez

  “Yeah, and I gotta say, I looked at Luca in his tight jeans the other night, and I think he’s gonna be just the man to show it to you,” Summer added.

  “You checked out his package?” I asked, shocked.

  “Sure, didn’t you?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  Margo placed her hand on mine and gave it a pat.

  “Stick with us, babe, and we’ll make sure you, and your vagina, are taken care of.”

  Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

  Fourteen

  Luca

  After some flirty, but relatively tame texts with Whitney, I’d bitten the bullet and asked her to my place for dinner.

  I’d seen her a couple times during the week, but since I was busy meeting my dad’s clients, as well as taking care of my own, we’d barely said more than a dozen words to each other.

  I’d found it wasn’t enough … texting and passing each other in the halls … I wanted more time with her and was eager to get to know her better. It was funny, because I’d always been more of an out of sight, out of mind kind of dater.

  But with Whitney, I found myself thinking about her more often than not.

  I hurried around my studio apartment, making sure everything was put in its place. My ma had been a stickler for cleanliness and organization growing up and it was something that had always stuck with me, so cleaning for company wasn’t something I ever really had to do. But since this was Whitney’s first time coming over, I really wanted to make a good first impression.

  Still, all that meant was some light dusting, folding and putting away my laundry, and lighting a few candles.

  I’d also stopped at the florist and gotten an arrangement.

  Satisfied the studio looked good, I moved to the kitchen area to check on the sauce I’d had simmering for the last few hours. It may have been too soon for me to introduce Whitney to my mother, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appeal to her tastebuds.

  When I lifted the lid, basil, oregano, and spicy tomato filled my senses. Pleased, I dipped a spoon into the sauce and gave it a taste.

  Perfetto.

  I was putting the lid back on and about to put the spoon in the dishwasher when there was a knock on my door.

  Excitement flooded me as I went to greet Whitney.

  I opened the door to find Whitney on the other side, her head turned to the left as she glanced at something down the hall. I peeked around the corner to see Mr. Bracco, my neighbor, looking back at me from his doorway.

  Mr. Bracco was a nice man, but nosy as hell.

  “Hey, Mr. B,” I called, before looking back at Whitney and saying, “Please, come in.”

  Whitney walked in and I quickly shut the door behind us.

  “Sorry about him. Anytime he hears a knock on any of the doors on this floor, he pops his head outside. He’s lonely.”

  “It’s fine. He didn’t bother me.”

  “Let me take your coat,” I said as Whitney looked around.

  I took her coat and purse and hung them on the rack by the front door, then turned to follow her gaze.

  “Not much to it, but it’s home,” I said, trying to see the space through her eyes.

  The décor was minimalist and contemporary. Lots of grays and dark blues. I liked clean lines and bare surfaces. It was a studio, so the fact that you could see my bedroom, living room, and kitchen all from the front door only drove home my need for things to be tidy and visually appealing.

  “It’s beautiful,” Whitney said easily. “And something smells amazing.”

  “That’s the sauce I was telling you about. We’re having a caprese salad, gnocchi with my ma’s red sauce, garlic bread, and some homemade tiramisu ice cream for dessert.”

  “You made ice cream?” she asked, her eyes conveying her surprise.

  “Sure, I made everything. My ma wouldn’t have it any other way,” I began as I moved to the counter to pour the wine I’d had breathing. “She taught all of us to cook, although Charlotte and I weren’t as enthusiastic about it as Vanni was. I prefer to order out for the most part, but I can throw together a meal that would make Ma proud when I want to.”

  “What do you mean you made everything?” Whitney asked, accepting the wine with a thank you. “I mean, when I cook, I cook. But the pasta is store bought, and so is the ice cream. Are you saying everything you are serving is from scratch?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I didn’t make the cheese, but I made the gnocchi and the bread, in addition to the sauce and the ice cream.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” Whitney said, and I felt pride swell my chest. “And now a little nervous to cook for you.”

  I grinned at her mention of a future date, one where she cooked for me, but didn’t remark on it for fear of scaring her off. Each step felt like a hard-won victory and I’d realized I needed to treat Whitney differently than I had women in my past. She was wary of starting something new, even though I could tell she was as intrigued by me as I was by her, so I needed to use more finesse and less arrogant confidence.

  “Is the Pinot Grigio good for you?” I asked.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Great. If you’d like to be seated, I’ll bring over the first course,” I said, moving to my small glass table set for two and pulling out her chair for her.

  Once she was seated, I grabbed the chilled caprese salad out of the fridge and the balsamic reduction off the counter and joined her at the table. I’d prepared everything beforehand so we could enjoy our meal together, rather than having my attention divided between Whitney and the kitchen.

  “Mmmm, this is so good. I love a nice, fresh caprese salad,” she said after her first bite.

  “You’ll have to try my mothers in the summer after her tomatoes are plump and ripe from her garden. Those, along with her fresh basil, give the salad a remarkably robust flavor.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Do you like to garden?” I asked, curious to know everything I could about her.

  “I do,” Whitney replied. “I don’t plant as much as I used to, but I still like to grow my own tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh herbs every year. We also have some fruit trees that we planted when we first bought the house, which are now mature and bear fruit.”

  “You live in the same house?” I asked.

  “Yes. Marcus and I bought it when we first got married and raised our kids there. When he left, we agreed I’d stay in the house at least until the kids graduate … I’ll figure out what to do from there. I’m guessing I’ll sell and get something smaller.”

  “Makes sense. And I’m sure it made the transition a little easier for your kids, to be able to stay in their home.”

  “Yeah, I think it was the one good thing that happened during that whole time … at least in their eyes. I did my best to help them and be there for them, but it was still very difficult. Luckily, with time they’ve been able to adjust and are both doing really well now.”

  Whitney glanced at me and pursed her lips. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my ex or divorce.”

  I waved her apology off and said, “Don’t worry about it. I asked. It’s part of your life and how you got to be who you are today. And I am very interested in learning all about you.”

  She gave a slight nod and said, “Okay … thanks. We were together for so long that it’s still hard for me to eliminate him from the conversation, you know. Plus, with the kids, he’ll never fully be out of my life.”

  “Totally understandable,” I said as I pushed back my chair and stood. “I’m going to plate the gnocchi. Would you like more wine?”

  I waited, hoping she’d say yes. Not because I wanted to liquor her up, but because I didn’t want her to feel like she needed to eat and run. I was hoping she stay and hang out a while even after dinner was over.

  When Whitney said, “Yes, please,” I let out the breath I’d been holding and gave her a relieved smile.

  Fifteen

&
nbsp; Whitney

  I eased down into Luca’s surprisingly comfy couch with a sigh.

  “Dinner was amazing,” I gushed, probably for the third time because, seriously, the food had been incredible.

  I’d never had tiramisu ice cream before but now it was one of my favorite things ever.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Luca said as he sat down next to me.

  His apartment was really nice, as I’d expected it would be, but rather than feeling pretentious, it was quite welcoming and homey. It was the opposite of my house, with its lifetime of kids’ arts and crafts and knickknacks that had been purchased and forgotten.

  You could tell everything had been placed with intention, but also that everything had a use … a purpose.

  “There’s no way I could eat like that every day, but I’m sure happy I ate it today,” I said, stifling a groan and the urge to unbutton my jeans.

  Luca chuckled. “There’s a reason Char, Vanni and I were on the larger side growing up. My ma didn’t believe in portion control when we were kids. She was of the feed them until they’re full to bursting school of thought.”

  “My mother wasn’t a cook, so we ate a lot of TV dinners and boxed dinners when I was a kid. If it ended in Roni or Helper, it was going on our table.”

  “You know I’ve never eaten any of that?” he said, gently swirling the wine in his glass.

  “Eaten what? A meal from a box or freezer?” I asked, disbelievingly. Seriously, I would have starved as a child without those things.

  “Nope. No Chef Boyardee or Kraft macaroni either.”

  “Not even when you went to a friend’s house?”

  Luca shook his head.

  “Most of the kids on my block grew up in the same kind of house I did, with their mom spending her days in the kitchen cooking all three meals, and their dads going off to work. Old school, traditional, whatever you want to call it … it’s just the way it was.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I mean, even with my kids … I didn’t work outside of the home, but with all of the volunteering, school sports and functions, I was lucky to get dinner on the table most nights.”

  “I’d see kids bring paper bags with sandwiches and Ziplock bags with chips and I’d be eating leftover pasta or lamb,” Luca said, a small smile playing on his lips at the memory. “I did try this boy Kevin’s bologna sandwich one time.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It was disgusting,” he said with a grimace and we both laughed.

  “Yeah, I’ve never been a fan. Of bologna or any type of wurst or loaf.”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  Luca’s eyes were on me, his expression one of humor and something else. Something that made my blood heat and nipples harden.

  He looked so handsome sitting there, totally comfortable in his own space, obviously enjoying spending the evening with me.

  “It’s funny. I never imagined I’d be here after talking to you by the jukebox,” I told him, inching a little closer.

  “I hoped,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “Hmmm,” I murmured, willing my eyes not to glance down and check him out to see if Summer was right.

  Luca leaned forward to place his glass on the table before reaching for my hand and saying, “Come here.”

  “You want to watch a movie?” I asked, letting him pull me so I was right next to him.

  “Watch a movie and make out?” he asked, arching one eyebrow playfully.

  I laughed nervously and asked, “Can we stick to just making out? I’d love to kiss you, but I’m not ready to go any further.”

  My breath caught as I waited for his reply.

  “I’ll happily just make out with you, for as long as you’d like.”

  Suddenly nervous, my tongue darted out to wet my lips and I wondered if I was supposed to make the first move or if he would, when Luca gave my arm a tug and I fell forward with a squeal.

  In a move that would make any lothario proud, I went from sitting next to Luca to being flat on my back with him sprawled half on top of me, without even knowing how I got there.

  Before I could verbalize a response, his mouth was on mine and I no longer had the ability to speak.

  Somehow it was better than the elevator. Maybe it was the full-body contact or the fact that his apartment smelled of Italian food and bamboo, which was comforting and an aphrodisiac apparently.

  While his lips tantalized, I moved my hands to explore his back, first over his shirt, and then, unable to help myself, underneath. His skin was silky soft and warm. I arched against him when his lips moved from my mouth to the tender spot just under my chin.

  “Luca,” I moaned as my libido went from zero to one hundred.

  My senses flooded with the scent, feel, and taste of him as I searched greedily for any expanse of skin I could find. I dug my fingers into his back as my teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder and I wanted nothing more than to rub myself against him as my body began to burn.

  “Whoa,” Luca whispered, like he was talking to a startled horse, and I realized I’d once again ignited like a match when he’d barely touched me.

  I tucked my chin, mortified, and said, “Sorry.”

  “Hey,” he murmured gently. “You never have to apologize to me. I want you so bad right now I’m shaking and the fact that you enjoy my touch as much as I enjoy yours is an incredible turn-on. I love it.”

  “You do?” I asked, chancing a glance at him.

  The look on his face conveyed his desire and was frankly sexy as hell.

  “Absolutely. We just need to cool it so we can slow down the pace a bit, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe it’s best if we go back to sitting up and make out from that position. This one’s a little too intense.”

  I was about to make a joke when Luca shifted to get off of me and that’s when I felt it. Oh boy, Summer was right. I swear I could measure the length of him covering the expanse of my thigh.

  Luca was huge!

  Sixteen

  Luca

  “I’m about to head home, Mr. Russo, do you need anything else before I go?”

  I looked up, distracted, then glanced at the clock to see it was already almost six.

  “Sorry, Pam, I didn’t realize it was so late. You could have left an hour ago,” I told her.

  “That’s okay, Boss, I had some work to catch up on,” she said easily.

  My parents were currently living the good life in Italy, so I, and in turn, Pam, had twice the case load this week. We’d been burning the candle at both ends, not just this week, but last week as well, since we’d wanted to get ahead of the game as much as possible.

  “You know I appreciate it,” I told her, knowing I’d be drowning if I didn’t have her to help me stay organized and on task.

  “Thanks. Don’t stay too late.”

  I nodded in response and turned my attention back to my work as she walked away.

  Sometime later, a knock on the door had me once again checking the clock and looking up.

  “Hey,” I said with a smile when I saw Whitney standing in my doorway with a takeout bag in her hand. “You aren’t still working?”

  If she was, I’d be having a talk with Paula Dixon. It was seven o’clock, after all, and it wasn’t tax season, so there was no reason our associates should be working so late.

  “No, I went home. But I figured you’d be working straight through dinner again, and since my kids are with their father, I thought I’d pick something up and bring it by,” she said, lifting up the bag as evidence.

  We’d had a few dates, lots of phone calls, and some pretty racy texts over the last few weeks. Our relationship hadn’t necessarily progressed, in that I still hadn’t met her kids and she hadn’t met my family, but I was feeling really optimistic that both events were on the horizon.

  The more time I spent with her, the harder I fell, and she was way more comfortable and open with me than she’d been initial
ly.

  This is new though, her bringing me food … taking care of me … I like it.

  “I hope there’s enough for two,” I said as I got up from my desk and rounded it to meet her at the small table by the window.

  “There is,” she replied shyly. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay. Come here,” I said, taking the bag from her and placing it on the table before moving to gather her in my arms. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I saw you at lunch,” she said with a laugh as I nuzzled her neck.

  “That was hours ago,” I joked.

  We kissed for a few moments, but when I felt things start to heat up, I broke off the kiss.

  “What are we having?” I asked, resting my forehead against hers while we both caught our breath.

  “Indian. After you told me about that place across the street I just had to try it out.”

  “You are not going to be disappointed,” I said, my stomach growling at the scent of food.

  We opened the bag and took out the containers of delicious, spicy food and opened them all up. Whitney had the forethought to get plates and plasticware, so we dished out the food and took our seats across from each other.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I said as I dipped my naan in to the Tikka Masala.

  “Well, you said last night you forgot to eat and by the time you got home all you had to eat was a jar of pickles and some leftover soup. I didn’t want that to happen again.”

  “How was your day?” I asked, loving the normalcy of the moment. I’d never been in a relationship where I’d liked the person so much that I wanted to enjoy the simplicity of having a meal and talking about my day with them.

  “It was good. After lunch I went over the account Mrs. Dixon gave me. I’m pleased she’s starting to trust me enough to handle my own accounts.”

  “Yeah, Paula has a hard time loosening the reigns and giving over control, but she means well. And she’s smart as hell.”