Hot Mess (Messy Love Series Book 1)

by R. Linda

  “You know I’m naked, right?” I wiggled against him and his body tensed behind me.

  “Well aware of that.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve created a monster,” he mumbled and sighed, not moving.

  “HOW DO I LOOK?” I strolled out of the bathroom and asked Tate. I’d spent the past hour getting ready. Something I never did. I styled my hair, took my time doing my makeup and made sure to put on clothes that followed the Vatican’s dress code.

  Tate folded one arm across his chest and placed his other fist under his chin as he looked me over.

  “Well?” I pinched the flowing material between my fingers and twirled on the spot.

  “Is this a trick question?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together.

  “No.”

  “Babe, we’re visiting Vatican City. You need to cover your shoulders and legs—”

  “I know, that’s why I’m wearing this.” I swished the material around.

  “You don’t need to wear a nun’s habit. Where did you even get that from?”

  “A girl is always prepared.”

  Truth be told it was just a Halloween costume from a few years ago that was shoved inside my suitcase and forgotten about. I didn’t even know it was in there until a couple of days ago when I found it hidden inside a zipped compartment.

  “You can’t go out like that.”

  “Fine.” I pulled the headpiece off my head and then removed the robe until I was standing only in my underwear. “Better?”

  “Fuck, no. Put the habit back on,” Tate growled.

  I rolled my eyes, picked up the jeans and t-shirt I had set on the armchair earlier and pulled them on. “There.”

  “Perfect.” He came over, snaked his arm around my waist and kissed me. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your date with the pope.”

  “Do you think he’ll like me? What if I make a bad impression?”

  “Impossible.”

  I knew I wasn’t really meeting with the pope. I’d have more chance of becoming an astronaut and being sent to live on Mars than I did of meeting the pope, but it was fun pretending.

  St. Peter’s Square was jam packed with people by the time we arrived, all waiting patiently for the pope to arrive. Disappointment filled my stomach as I realized I was never going to get close enough to see him. I guessed the big jumbo screens were going to have to be enough.

  Tate held my hand and led me through the square. I followed blindly, gripping his hand tight so I wouldn’t lose him in the hordes of people. He pushed his way through to the front where he approached a guard and showed him our tickets.

  The guard nodded and pointed Tate in the direction of the steps. The steps where the pope would be.

  “Close enough for you?” Tate wrapped an arm around my waist as we took our seats.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Thought you’d like an audience with the pope.”

  “No way?” I slapped his chest. We were so close I could almost reach out and touch the pope.

  “I was just going to take a selfie in front of the jumbo screen,” I admitted, making Tate chuckle.

  Tate

  VATICAN CITY. It was unreal. Wren was mesmerized by the art, the architecture, the beauty of the entire place.

  The Sistine Chapel was just… mind blowing.

  We walked in and Wren was at a loss for words; good thing too since you weren’t allowed to speak in there.

  Or take photos.

  But, I may have sneakily taken a few for her.

  She caught me and raised an eyebrow, so I gave her an innocent grin and continued admiring the ceiling. The detail was incredible.

  By the time we left the chapel, my neck was sore and cramped from craning my head back for so long. I really felt for Michelangelo. Poor dude spent four or five years in the position. Guy must have had all sorts of neck and back problems after that. I hoped he was compensated for it.

  “What did you think?” I asked Wren when we returned to the hotel.

  “It was incredible, Tate. I loved every minute of it. And I think I got a pretty good selfie with the pope too.”

  She handed her phone to me, and I laughed. She was blowing a kiss to the left and had angled her phone in front of the jumbo screen so it looked like the pope was on the receiving end of it. “Lucky bastard,” I muttered.

  “Aww don’t be jealous. You get the real thing,” she said as she kissed my cheek. “But right now, I need a bath and a wine and to relax. Everything hurts,” she groaned and walked into the bathroom.

  I poured her a wine and grabbed a beer from the fridge before taking them both into the bathroom.

  Wren was sitting on the side of the tub in a bathrobe letting the water flow over her hand as it filled. She smiled sweetly at me and took the wine from my grasp.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” I lifted my chin toward the door, indicating that I was going to leave, but she reached out her hand and wrapped her fingers around my wrist.

  “Stay,” she asked, placing her wine down.

  I nodded, and she stood up, slipped off her robe and climbed into the tub.

  There was a heaviness in the air. Like a fog had settled over us and something cold was gripping at my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that when we left tomorrow, all this would be over.

  I peeled off my clothes and slid into the water behind Wren. Reaching for the loofah, I ran it gently over her skin, washing her back and shoulders, chest, stomach, her thighs.

  Wren sighed and linked her fingers with mine.

  Did she feel it too? The weirdness in the air. The tension. The fear that it was all an illusion and tomorrow we’d go back to reality and realize this entire trip was a dream.

  “I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she sucked in a trembling breath.

  “Me either.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and gripped her hips, turning her to face me.

  “Things are going to change when we get back, aren’t they?”

  I ran my fingers through her hair, brushing the strands out of her face and cupped her cheek. “They don’t have to.”

  She gave me a sceptical look as though she didn’t believe me.

  “What do you want?” she asked, fear in her eyes as she chewed on her bottom lip and studied me.

  “Something I’ve never wanted before,” I told her truthfully.

  “What’s that?”

  “Pre-scheduled pizza deliveries. Creepy doll’s head wine stoppers in my bar.” I kissed her cheek. “Purple lacy thongs hanging from my ceiling. Slumber parties in the swimming pool.”

  Her smile was soft and hopeful, but she narrowed her eyes and glared at me accusingly. “You like me.”

  “I do.” I laughed.

  Wren tapped her lip. “Well see, here’s the problem. I already have one lover, we’ve been pretty steady for a long time now,” she mused, and I rolled my eyes. “I can’t just end things.”

  “I’m willing to share.” I tilted my face up and pulled her bottom lip between my teeth.

  “Do you think it’s possible to be in love more than once simultaneously?”

  “No. But I’ll make you love me more.”

  “Think you can put a lid on your jealousy at least twice a week and let me have my fling?”

  “Only if I get invited.”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped. “You want to watch? Kinky.” She slapped my chest and laughed briefly before her eyes sobered and a serious expression took over her face. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Tate.”

  I stared at her. She never swore. Well, except for when I had my face between her legs.

  “I’m serious. Don’t hurt my heart. There’s not much left of it, but if you want it, it’s yours.” For the first time since knowing her, she looked fragile, breakable, and so beautiful that I wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe.


  “I want you in my life. In my bed. In my kitchen wearing fuzzy socks. I want your brand of crazy; I need it. And if you give me your heart, I’ll cherish it and keep it safe and never break it.”

  She studied me with narrowed eyes, pushing a finger into my chest. “You love me.”

  I winced and lifted my shoulder and made a non-committal noise before pinching my thumb and forefinger together and squinting at them. “Little bit.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Okay what?” I didn’t ask anything, did I?

  “Let me sprinkle my crazy all over your life.”

  I chuckled and brought her mouth to mine. “Can’t fucking wait.”

  Wren

  Three months later

  THE DOOR TO the basement opened and footsteps approached, the sound soft and barely audible over Freak Me by Silk playing on the stereo.

  Tate’s feet came into view first, followed by those gray sweatpants and abs that somedays just needed to be licked. He stood in front of me, arm across his chest and fist under his chin as he looked me up and down.

  “Could you put a shirt on?” I snapped. “Before I get too distracted by all that and hit my head on the floor?”

  Tate chuckled. “You know I would, but it seems you’ve taken all of them. My closet is empty except for sweats and basketball shorts. Any idea why?”

  I gave him my best innocent smile before reaching out one hand to him. He leaned down, wrapped an arm across my chest, grabbing a breast in the process and held me so I didn’t fall when I unhooked my leg from the top of the pole.

  I stood up straight. Maybe a little too fast because the room spun, and I fell into Tate’s hard chest.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. Is there a reason you interrupted my routine?”

  “This.” His arms slid around my waist and pulled me flush against him as he captured my mouth with his. I would never get sick of his kisses. It’s like he was made solely for the purpose of kissing me, all the time.

  “What did you do?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Who said I did anything?” He had the nerve to look shocked.

  “That was your ‘I did something stupid and can’t tell you kiss.’” I pushed out of his arms and walked over to turn off the music.

  “It was not,” Tate argued as he followed me out of the room and back upstairs so I could shower. “It was my ‘I have a surprise for you’ kiss. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Tate.” I folded my arms across my chest and rolled my eyes when Tate’s gaze zeroed in on my cleavage. Though I couldn’t complain, I stared at him the same way. I did steal all his shirts after all.

  “We’re going out. Have a shower. Wear a pretty dress. Eva is coming to do your hair and makeup.”

  “Eva, why?”

  “Because as much as I like the food-in-your-hair-look you seem to wear so well,” he shook his head slightly, “tonight requires a little more finesse.”

  I narrowed my eyes and pointed a finger at him. “You owe me—”

  He cut me off with a kiss. “Nico is on his way.”

  I grinned at him. “You know me so well.”

  Joe’s number was programmed into Tate’s phone too, on speed dial and under the contact of Wren’s Lover. He tried to delete it, but I promised to withhold certain things he liked if he did. He agreed to leave it as it was pretty quick.

  With a slap on my butt, he pushed me into the bathroom to shower.

  By the time I was out, Eva was there, dressed to the nines and ready to make me glamorous. She blow-dried my hair, curled it, and pinned it up in a messy bun that looked exactly the same as it always did. Only I could do it in three seconds, not an hour. Then she set about doing my makeup.

  While she was covering my face in war paint, Nico dropped off a pizza for me, and Tate came in to grab his suit and tux. I snorted and tried to cover it up with a cough.

  “What was that for?” Tate asked.

  “Nothing. Enjoy your shower.” I picked up a slice of pizza and shoved it in my mouth so he couldn’t ask any more questions.

  Tate disappeared into the bathroom and Eva turned around the moment we heard the shower running, “What did you do?”

  “You’ll see.” I snorted again and tilted my face back. “Make my eyes dusty. I want to look hot.”

  “Smokey babe. It’s a smokey eye. Not dusty.”

  “Whatever.”

  The shower stopped, and I waited. Time dragged on. How long did it take to dry yourself?

  And then…

  “God dammit, Wren!” Tate yelled from behind the door.

  Eva stopped and stared at me before turning to the bathroom as Tate ripped the door open, looking gloriously disheveled with his wet hair dripping onto his brand-new white shirt.

  I bit my lips to stop from laughing but I couldn’t help it. It started with a giggle, then a chuckle, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard.

  “It’s not fucking funny,” Tate growled.

  “But it is.” Eva laughed too, attempting to cover it with her hand.

  “Where is my shirt?”

  “I bought you a new one. Don’t you like it?” I asked between laughs.

  Tate glared down at his shirt. “I look like a fucking idiot.”

  “I think it’s lovely.” I pressed my lips together.

  He was wearing a white t-shirt, because I had hidden his dress shirts, with a photo of his chest and abs printed on the front and a bow tie around the neck. The back of the shirt had an arrow that pointed to the left and the caption, ‘I belong to crazy.’

  “I have a matching one,” I told him and jumped off the bed and rummaged through my bottom drawer until I found mine. I slipped it over my head and spun around to face him with a proud smile.

  Eva lost it. She fell onto the bed laughing. Tate gave me a blank look and shook his head. My shirt was essentially the same, only it was a t-shirt dress and instead of a bowtie around the neck, I had my hands and arms photoshopped into the image holding a slice of pizza over where his crotch should be. And the back of the shirt had the word ‘Crazy’ and a picture of me with crossed eyes and a lopsided smile.

  “Where did you get the picture from?”

  “Instagram.” I shrugged.

  Tate smiled. It was a predatory smile. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “I know I am.” I pretended to flick my hair over my shoulder. “You should totally wear that tonight.”

  “Fine. I’ll wear it,” he said. “Only if you do.”

  “Tate…” Eva warned.

  “She can dish it out. She can take it. Can’t you, babe?”

  “Sure.” I shrugged. Not a big deal. I’d wear it. Though he did tell me I needed to be dressed to impress tonight. “But is there a dress code where we’re going?”

  “There is, but…” Tate pulled on the neck-line of his abs-printed t-shirt, “I have a bowtie.”

  “What about me?”

  “Payback for taking all my shirts.”

  I ran my fingers over my t-shirt dress over the image of Tate’s abs and chest. “Totally worth it.”

  Tate smiled and walked into the closet where he pulled out a pair of stilettos and threw them on the bed. “Wear those.” Then he walked into the bathroom to grab his jacket and shoes.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. Better hurry, though. Car will be here in five.”

  THE CAR PULLED up out the front of wherever it was Tate was taking me. Both of us stayed true to our word and wore the ridiculous shirts I’d had made. I had paired mine with the silver stilettos and matching clutch. Tate had leather dress shoes and a suit jacket over his.

  I couldn’t see where we were because he’d blindfolded me the moment we got into the car and refused to tell me anything about what he had planned.

  I only
knew that whatever it was had taken him a couple of months to plan. There was lots of secret phone calls going on between him and Steve. Coded messages; they spoke in tongues when I was around so I couldn’t decipher what they were saying.

  But I was about to find out.

  Threading his fingers through mine, Tate pressed a kiss to my temple. “You look beautiful.” He chuckled.

  “You’re only saying that because it’s your body on my shirt.”

  He laughed. “You’d look beautiful in a potato sack.”

  I placed my hand over my heart and swooned at his words. “So romantic you are.”

  “Come on.” He led me gently forward, stopping to pull open a door, and I stepped into a room that was much cooler than the warm night air outside. People’s voices were so soft, talking in hushed tones. Classical music played over the speakers, not too loud, just enough to set a mood.

  Tate placed a champagne glass in my hand and gripped my hip. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” I breathed as his fingers pinched the edges of my blindfold.

  “Welcome to Keller Art.” He lifted the blindfold, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the blinding white light.

  My mouth dropped open. I didn’t know where to look first. Tate was standing right behind me, which I was thankful for because my legs buckled beneath me. His strong arms wrapped around my waist and held me upright.

  People clapped.

  Someone whistled.

  I didn’t know who. There were too many faces to place.

  “You did this?” I whispered.

  We were in my gallery. Surrounded by our friends. And all my art. The white walls were decorated with my paintings, and shelves were filled with figurines. Photos from our photo shoot with Giovanni Russo covered one wall, and I gasped in surprise. I hadn’t seen them yet. It was all top secret, and he wasn’t unveiling his new line until next month, but there they were on the wall of my gallery, along with the man himself. He was talking to someone I didn’t recognize but raised his glass in my direction with a smile.

  “Do you like it?” Tate asked, his voice rough and shaky. Was he nervous?

  “I love it.” My voice was thick and full of emotion as I tried to hold back the tears that wanted to spill. No one had ever done anything like this for me before. I turned in his arms and cupped his cheek with my free hand, leaning up on my toes. I kissed his mouth and smiled. “I love you.”