Dirty

by Ella Miles

  I glare at him, but even in my haze, I know he’s right.

  I sink back down onto the couch, hating myself for getting drunk again today. It takes me far too long sitting on the couch to realize what my next move should be.

  “I need you to get me the number to the florist. I should at least send her flowers,” I say to Dierk, who has been standing over me to ensure that I don’t do anything crazy.

  He nods. “It’s going to take a lot more than flowers to get her back.”

  “I know, but it’s the best place to start.”

  After I sent her flowers every day for a week, I decide to step foot inside the coffee shop. I figure it’s safer to show up during the day, instead of waiting until she goes back to her hotel room where she’s alone. She’ll probably shoot me without a second thought if I show up there.

  The bells chime as I step inside the quaint tiny shop that only has two small tables, both of which are occupied. Most people just come in to grab a cup of coffee and then go out to the local park to drink it or head off to work.

  There is nowhere for me to hide in the shop and take my time by studying her first.

  She spots me the second she hears the chimes.

  Her face is expressionless. She doesn’t react. She must have been expecting me after all the flowers. She looks good, despite her expression. Her body is curvy, just beginning to show signs that she’s pregnant.

  She’s still pregnant. My insides warm seeing her still pregnant. I thought she would have gotten rid of the baby by now if she hated me.

  I walk slowly to the counter, not sure how to handle this. I haven’t asked a woman for forgiveness, ever. I don’t date. I don’t know how to make up with her. I don’t know how to make any of this better.

  “What can I make for you?” she asks, when I get to the counter like I’m any other customer. I understand now what the expression on her face is - indifference. That’s at least how she’s trying to appear. Like she doesn’t care about me.

  But if she didn’t have any feelings for me, whether it be love, or caring, or hatred, she wouldn’t still be in Italy.

  “I’ll have an espresso.”

  She types it into the computer and then turns to make my coffee. When she finishes, she sets the mug down with a thud, letting a couple of drops of the coffee spill out onto the counter.

  She takes my credit card and swipes it, before handing it back to me.

  “Why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone back to the US yet?”

  She frowns. “Because they won’t let me back without a passport. And since I don’t have one of those, I’m stuck here for a while.”

  I sigh. A passport. Of course. “I’ll have Dierk get you a passport by the end of the day.”

  I take the espresso to go drink it on the small patio outside when I see, out of the corner of my eye, the flowers that I sent her sitting in the far back of the coffee shop. She didn’t immediately toss them. There is still hope for us yet.

  I show up at her coffee shop every day for a week. Every day I go, I expect her to be gone. She has everything she needs to leave now. A passport. Money. I even bought her a suitcase and packed up all her things from my house so that she had whatever she needed to leave.

  And yet she still hasn’t left.

  She hasn’t spoken more than two words to me or smiled at me, either. But I figure it will take a long time for her to be accepting of me, let alone start to forgive me for what I’ve done.

  I stole her from her life.

  I’ve threatened her life and her best friends.

  I raped her.

  I knocked her up.

  I shouldn’t ever be forgiven.

  Today, though, I have to try. I can live with myself if she leaves, as long as I’ve tried everything I can to keep her, while also giving her her freedom.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when she hands me my cup of coffee.

  She doesn’t look up. She keeps staring down at the cash register.

  “I’m sorry for being a monster. I’m sorry for stealing you. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for raping you. You shouldn’t forgive me, ever. But I’m not going to lie. I want you back. And I’ll do anything to make that happen.”

  Her breath catches.

  “But I won’t steal you again. I won’t take you against your will. I love you, Eden. I don’t know what that means or even how to love you, but I will work hard every day to love you more than I did before. I will become the man that you deserve.”

  I take my coffee, walk out, and then I pull out my cell phone. She needs a grand gesture to come back. I know that. This phone call is the first step in making that happen.

  21

  Eden

  I don’t know what I’m doing at Matteo’s doorstep with my luggage in my hand. All I know is I won’t run. I don’t know what’s going on between us. I doubt we can ever work through the damage we have caused each other, but if I leave without trying to figure this out, it will feel like running.

  He will come after me eventually. He might be trying to change, but he hasn’t changed that quickly. And he will continue to haunt my dreams as he has for the past few weeks.

  Our child will grow up without a father, and I won’t have a reasonable explanation as to why, other than he was a monster once and I never gave him a chance to change.

  So I guess that’s what I’m doing knocking on his door. Seeing if he can change. And seeing if I can forgive.

  I’m not sure if one or either is possible. But the growing baby in my stomach convinces me I need to try at least.

  The door opens, and I’m shocked Matteo is the one that opens the door, but then I remember he has plenty of security to tell him who is standing at his door.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice sounding weaker than I’d hoped.

  “Hi, would you like to come in?” he asks, his voice just as weak.

  I nod.

  He takes my suitcase from my hand and holds the door while I step in. It’s strange walking in the front door instead of the side from the garage. It was strange ringing the doorbell. His house had started to feel like home the last time I was here.

  “Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?” Matteo asks. He’s nervous.

  So am I. I wanted to pretend he didn’t affect me when I stepped inside this house. That’s not possible.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He tries to be patient with me, but it’s clear he can’t be.

  “What do you want then?” he asks.

  “Let’s go out back and talk.”

  He nods and places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the house to the back patio. I like having his hand touching me, even if his hand has done wrong, monstrous things.

  We take a seat on couches, opposite each other. I want him sitting right next to me, touching me, comforting me, but it’s not what this conversation needs.

  I sit in silence, watching him squirm, trying to remain calm and patient with me. I like watching him squirm, so I take my time before I speak.

  “I can’t forgive you,” I say.

  He sucks in a breath, and his eyes turn sad.

  “But I can try. Maybe I can’t forgive you, but we can start from here and grow into something better. Or maybe we can’t. I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to run. I want to stay and figure this out. I want to see if the man that sends me flowers and love notes every day is possible of actually loving this baby and me. I think he can.”

  “I can. I love you more than I want to keep breathing.”

  “I have a couple of conditions.”

  He nods, his eyes glaring into mine as his hands grip the armrests to keep himself glued to his seat.

  “I’m not a slave. I’m free—”

  “You’re free. It’s not something I want anymore. I don’t want to trap you or kidnap you ever again. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

  I smile and nod. “Good. You don’t get to tell me what to do or
boss me around in any way. We make decisions together. Understand?”

  “Yes, together,” he says, smirking a little as I smile at him, giving up a little of my authority.

  “And you give up searching for Nina. You leave Nina and Arlo alone.”

  This is the one condition I expect to be the hardest for him. I don’t understand what his connection is to her. I don’t know if he still wants her or wants revenge. I don’t know.

  When I was free, I called Nina a few times. I didn’t tell her what happened. I pretended I was still back in the US and had just been busy working. But she didn’t seem that shocked I hadn’t called in a while. She understood I was busy with work.

  “I won’t go after Nina or Arlo. I give you my word,” Matteo says without hesitation.

  I listen to his words looking for any deception. But I believe him. I have to if I’m going to give whatever crazy relationship we have a shot again.

  It doesn’t mean I won’t want him to continue proving it to me over and over.

  But to be honest, something changed when I found out I was pregnant in the hospital. Matteo changed. He set me free. And I realized what I wanted, more than my freedom was to be with him. How fucked up is that?

  “Can I show you something?” Matteo asks.

  I nod.

  He holds out his hand, and I take it automatically, feeling his warm grip comfort me with just his touch.

  He leads me inside, and we walk to his bedroom. I smirk, he’s going to show me his cock. He’s such a guy.

  He opens the door that isn’t locked and holds it open while I step inside.

  It’s so bright. Light shines in through the large windows that he usually keeps hidden beneath the drapes. The bed and furniture are gone and replaced by white antique furniture with a light gray comforter and turquoise and pink pillows.

  “Pink?”

  He shrugs. “I had Gia help. She said you would like the pink.”

  I laugh. But my laughter soon turns to tears when I see the bassinet he put in the corner next to the bed. I walk over and run my hand across the white lace fabric draped over it.

  I turn to Matteo who has his hands in his pockets. He does that when he wants to touch me but won’t let himself do it.

  “I started clearing out the room next door for a baby’s room, but I thought I should wait to see if you’d come back before I decorated it. I thought you might enjoy doing that. And I had no idea what color you would want it to be.”

  “Pink.”

  He chuckles. “It can be pink, or whatever color makes you happy.”

  I shake my head because he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. I walk over to him swaying my hips just to torture him.

  “There is a reason I want it pink, and it’s not because I like the color.”

  He frowns. “Why?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing hysterically. He’s so clueless; he doesn’t even understand what I’m saying. “I’m having a girl.”

  I don’t know how he will respond. If I had to guess which gender he would prefer, it would be a boy. A boy to follow in his footsteps and his father’s before him. A boy that will become as ruthless as him. He would have taught him how to shoot a gun at the same time he learned to walk most likely.

  He grabs me by the waist and twirls me around before kissing me firmly on the lips. “We are having a girl.”

  I nod. “We.” I like the sound of that.

  He kisses me again, and his hands are all over my body, feeling my curves like he hasn’t felt them in years instead of weeks.

  I moan because I’ve missed his hands just as much. Honestly, I’ve yearned for everything about him. Even the darkness.

  I throw my hands around his neck, not thinking of anything but Matteo. I want him, and he wants me. I don’t care that I haven’t forgiven him yet. I don’t care that I still don’t know what I want and he’s still the devil. I don’t care about any of our problems.

  I want him. Naked. Worshipping my body. Making it so that all I can think about his tongue, his hands, and his cock.

  He gets the message immediately and pushes us back on the bed. We fall in a heap, our arms and legs tangling together, refusing to let go of each other.

  I grab for the hem of his T-shirt, jerking it off his head so that I can see and taste his hard skin. He helps me pull off his shirt before his lips land back on mine again, not giving me enough time to ogle his body as I want, but when his tongue sweeps over mine, I forget about hot his body is. I can look later. I only want this. So much more of this.

  His hands slide under my shirt, careful over my belly, and push my flowy tank up, as his hands caress my swollen breasts.

  Every time he touches me it feels like more. More intensity. More caring. More energy. More love.

  He pushes the shirt off my body and stands to remove both of our pants until we are both naked, our bodies pulsing with blood and filled with aches that need satiating.

  “Tie me up. Spank me. Whip me. Claim me,” I beg, needing to see the darkest side of him again. He might think that is one of the reasons I ran, but it’s not. It’s one of the things I surprisingly like about sex with him. He’s not afraid to be himself with me. Even the darkest parts.

  But his darkest parts allow for me to be free.

  His eyes deepen, and his throat growls. At first, I think he’s going to give me what I want.

  Instead, he spreads my legs wide, and his head buries between my legs, licking my most sensitive of areas as he worships my body. I grab his hair, needing to touch him, as he drives me wild with his masterful tongue.

  “God, yes, Matteo. I forgot how good that feels.”

  He grins against my lips as he continues to lick until I’m screaming his name and coming around his tongue.

  My legs fall to the bed, exhausted from coming. But I know we aren’t done. I need his cock, and he needs me.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  I stare up at him with wide eyes, not sure what he’s asking, but if it has to do with tying me up or spanking, then yes. I trust him completely.

  “Yes,” I whisper, still in my sex coma from coming once already.

  He scoops up my body and starts carrying my naked body. I think he’s going to carry me out of the bedroom to another room where he thinks he can fuck me better. He doesn’t.

  He takes me to the couch where he raped me.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath as he forces me to face the worse in him. I expect the butterflies and the pain in my heart to overtake me. I wait for the tears to pour. But they don’t come.

  He lays me down, ever so gently on the couch and then carefully nests himself between my legs.

  “I want to fuck you. Make love to you,” he says, waiting for me to respond.

  “Fuck me,” I respond, knowing we both need this if we are ever going to have a shot at moving forward together.

  He leans down and kisses me tenderly as his cock slides into my pussy. I arch my back at the invasion, wanting him deeper as he intensifies the kiss and tangles his hand in my hair.

  His eyes are open as he kisses me and thrusts inside. I keep my eyes open as well, not willing to miss one moment of the emotion oozing out of his eyes.

  His eyes tell me everything as he fucks me sweetly. I’m sorry. You’re beautiful. You’re my everything. I love you.

  I never thought that someone could say so much and my heart would melt so quickly.

  He kisses my favorite spot on my neck making my toes curl before he says, “I love you, Eden. More than anything.”

  I suck in a breath as he starts bringing me to my climax again.

  My body convulses exploding around him as he comes inside me. “I love you, too.”

  He stays inside me holding me on the couch for what must be hours as we both drift to sleep. The couch used to represent so much pain. He tied me up here. He raped me here. But now, I can’t think of this couch without thinking about what just happened. We made loved and fo
und the first step toward what could be a forever kind of love here. The beginning of forgiveness.

  Our love and forgiveness continue to grow over the next month, as our baby grows large in my stomach, making it clear how pregnant I am when I’m wearing anything other than a baggy T-shirt to cover up my bump.

  Our days are filled with normal things that normal couples do. Dates. Fights. Cooking. Sex. And a lot of decorating the baby’s soon to be room.

  Matteo painted the walls pink for me. I hated it, so he painted it this beautiful gold sparkly color. But then I saw this gorgeous crib that was a silver color that would have been perfect, and he offered to paint it again. He might have to, but for now, I’ve settled on gold with pink accents.

  Our life has been simple. Good. But we haven’t talked about any of the big stuff. I figure if we can get through the little things like what we are having for dinner and what movie we are watching on our dates, then the big stuff will come.

  Am I ever going back to the US and my old life? Do I want to start a new career here? What are we going to name this baby? What life do we want for her? Is Matteo going to continue killing people? Am I okay if he does? Are Nina and Arlo ever going to be safe to come out of hiding?

  I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. All I know is that I’m desperately in love with Matteo. And he’s equally in love with me. And both of us are smitten with our baby that’s due in a few months. What else could we need?

  It’s early in the morning when Matteo slips out of bed, throws on some clothes, and sneaks out of our bedroom without kissing me goodbye or letting me know he was leaving.

  He rarely does this. But he has done it a handful of times over the last month. He doesn’t tell me where he is going and I don’t ask. But I know what he is doing. Working.

  Just one of the many topics we should discuss and be honest with each other, but we don’t. I guess we aren’t doing as well as I thought we were.

  I try sleeping, but I know it is a useless endeavor. I can’t sleep with him out of bed.

  I get out of bed and put on a robe, deciding I should head downstairs to get some coffee and drink it out on the back balcony to watch the sunrise and think about how we should handle all the things we are too afraid to talk about.