Ache for You (Slow Burn Book 3)

by J. T. Geissinger

  I look at Gio. “You know, he was never this kumbaya, touchy-feely, let’s-sit-in-a-circle-and-share-our-deepest-darkest when he was with me. You’ve been a good influence on him.”

  Gio blushes, which is deeply appealing. “Grazie.”

  “Watch out for the gambling, though,” I warn. “And he can never figure out what he wants to eat at a restaurant. It’s the worst. You’ll be there all night. You’ll age years before he decides on an appetizer.”

  Brad makes a sound of impatience. “Enough about me, we’re talking about you!”

  I have to close one eye because the room is gently spinning. “Oh, me? Let’s see. Where to start? I was dumped at the altar by my fiancé. Well, you know that part. My father died. I inherited everything. My dress shop burned down. I moved to Italy and took over my father’s business. I hated my new stepmother, but then I didn’t. My fiancé came out of the closet—oh, you know that, too. Then I fell in love with my stepbrother—”

  “What did you say?”

  I blink, startled by Brad’s loud interruption.

  “That last part,” he insists. “About your stepbrother.”

  I think about it, then realize my mistake. “Oh right. My ex-stepbrother.”

  Brad groans, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “What about him? The other part!”

  “The falling-in-love part?” I say faintly, a wash of tears blurring my eyes.

  Jenner and Brad shout, “Yes!”

  I grumble, “Geez, guys, dial it down a notch. Man down over here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  When they both glare at me, I relent. I have no idea what’s happening anyway. These drugs are marvelous. “Yes. I’m in love with him. I didn’t want to fall in love with him, but how could I not? He’s very . . . he’s just so . . .” I sigh again, wistfully this time. “Wonderful. He’s the most wonderful man in the world.”

  Brad is grinning like he just won a bet. He probably stopped at some gambling hall on the way to the hospital. “So he wasn’t a rebound.”

  “No. Oh. Are you looking for some credit for dumping me so I could find someone better? Is that what’s happening here?”

  Brad looks vaguely insulted. “Better? I mean, he’s a great guy, but better?”

  Jenner says sharply, “Let’s not get off track, Satan.”

  “You know I don’t like it when you call me that!”

  “Fine. I’ll demote you to Beelzebub. Happy?”

  Poor Gio looks totes confused by all the demon references.

  “Even if he did use all my designs in his show, I still love him.”

  That makes the conversation come to a screeching halt, but I’m on a roll now. A drug-induced emotional roll that doesn’t want to be stopped, so I blather on, feeling numb and sad and more than a little pathetic.

  I wave my good arm through the air. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. It’s silly. But it’s the truth. Even if he’s been lying to me, and using me, and planned it all from the beginning, he still has my heart. It’s like that thing you said, Jenner, what was it? Oh yes. ‘Because I’d rather die than live a single day without him, come what may.’ It’s not the dresses that are important, or my pride, or anything else. It’s him.”

  I inhale a deep painful breath. “I accidentally walked in on his backstage area when I was looking for the bathroom. I saw all my dresses on his models . . . and I was so angry, and shocked, but most of all hurt. I was devastated. I ran away. Then I got to the top of the stairs and couldn’t take another step. I wanted to hear him out. I wanted him to explain because even though I saw it with my own eyes, I didn’t believe he’d betray me. My heart wouldn’t let me believe it.”

  My voice breaks. “Then I tripped on the hem of my dress and went ass over teakettle, and that’s the end of that sad story right there.”

  Matteo rips aside the curtain. “Only it’s not,” he growls, his eyes a luminous, incandescent blue. “It’s just the beginning.”

  I stare at him, more confused than Gio about all the demon talk.

  I’m not entirely sure Matteo’s really standing there, so beautiful and wild-eyed, so incredibly intense. I’m pretty drugged up. This could be another hallucination. Though he is wearing different clothes from last night . . . but that doesn’t prove anything—I had Brad in a leisure suit on a unicorn a few minutes ago.

  Then he speaks, and nothing matters except what he’s saying.

  “I wasn’t lying to you. The only thing I planned was to make sure your talent got all the accolades it deserves. Because I love you, too. More than I want my next breath. More than anything. More than life itself, bella, I love you.”

  “Oh,” I say faintly, my heart doing somersaults inside my chest. “That sounds like a win-win.”

  Matteo and I gaze at each other, Brad does this weird little dance of glee, and Jenner rises from his chair and herds Brad and Gio out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

  Matteo gently clasps my hand, leans over the bed, and kisses me on the forehead. “I thought you’d gone back to Brad,” he murmurs tenderly. “I thought you’d decided you didn’t want me.”

  “Oh, Brad’s gay,” I say happily, hoping I’ll remember all this when I’m out of my drug coma.

  He chuckles. “Yes, I got that. You enjoyed watching me get jealous over him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes! Boy, that was fun. Your show was gorgeous. The roses, God. Must’ve cost a fortune. Was it a success?”

  Matteo’s forehead creases. He looks faintly alarmed by my cheerful babbling. “The press is calling it my best show yet. Everyone is raving about my collaboration with the electrifying new American designer.”

  Me, he means. He’s talking about me. I grin at him, so joyful I could levitate.

  “Did you guess the theme?”

  “Um . . . roses are red?”

  He kisses me softly on the mouth. “True romance,” he whispers, gazing at me with his heart in his eyes. “After us.”

  “I don’t know, we’ve had a pretty busted-up love story so far, Count.”

  He kisses me again, making my lips tingle in a wonderful way. “I’d spank you for calling me Count, but given your current condition, I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Spanking.” I sigh blissfully.

  “You’re as high as a kite, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. How come you told me you wouldn’t use my designs but then you did?”

  “I said I wouldn’t use them and not give you credit. That’s very different. Your name was on the program, in all the promotional materials, everything. I was going to make this whole speech at the end about how love inspired the new collection and the collaboration, but there was an empty seat in the front row, and I was so depressed I dropped it.” His voice grows rough. “Are you angry with me?”

  I consider it. “Normally I don’t like surprises, but this one seems pretty good. Maybe you should tell me everything, starting from the beginning.”

  He kisses me again, sits on the edge of the bed, and tells me the whole story as he holds my hand, all about how he was trying to get me to fall in love with him from the start by challenging me. Something about appealing to my infamous competitive nature. He never wanted to take over my father’s business, or use my designs without giving me credit—he only wanted to aggravate me into falling in love with him and make me famous in the process.

  I’m fuzzy on the details, but I think that’s the gist of it.

  “I can’t believe it worked,” I say, grinning at him. “I am so predictable.”

  He smiles. “Not exactly. More than once I thought you were going to castrate me.”

  “How did you find out I was here? Jenner?”

  He shakes his head. “Brad called me and told me what happened. He told me you were in love with me but were too scared to admit it because of what he’d done. Then he told me he was gay, and a lot of other things suddenly made sense.”

  “Whose idea was it to hide you behind the curtain so yo
u could hear my teary confession of love?”

  Matteo tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, smiling down at me, so handsome it hurts. “You have him to thank for that, too. He’s more clever than I would’ve given him credit for.”

  Son of a gun. Brad played cupid with Matteo and me.

  Guess he really did want to make it up to me after all.

  “Honey,” I say, hit by a strong new wash of happy warmth. “I think you sat on my drug button.”

  Matteo leaps up and looks down. “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah,” I say, beaming, watching the room spin around his beautiful head. “You should probably kiss me before I pass out.”

  He obliges, taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips against mine. He whispers, “Ti amo, bella. Ti amerò per sempre.”

  “Right back atcha, hot stuff. I love you forever, too.”

  Hey, I think I’m learning Italian!

  I sink into unconsciousness with a body covered in plaster, a heart bursting with happiness, and a huge grin on my face.

  EPILOGUE

  ONE YEAR LATER

  No matter how plump, plain, or poor a man is, the right tuxedo can make him look more dashing than any fairy-tale prince.

  Right about now, I’m thinking Prince Charming can kiss Jenner’s dashing ass.

  Not that he’s any of those other P words, but the general idea stands.

  He steps out from behind the dressing room door in a fantastic midnight-blue silk tux that took me two months to make, and spins in a circle, waiting for my reaction. He’s immaculate, the picture of perfection, right down to his gleaming patent leather DiSanto loafers.

  I’ve recently expanded into menswear. You wouldn’t believe the profit margin in men’s shoes.

  “Winston Churchill’s hairy balls!” I shout, leaping from the divan I’ve been sitting on as I’ve waited for him to get ready.

  Jenner shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re always stealing my best lines.”

  “I’ve been saving that one for a special occasion. Today seemed particularly apropos.”

  He smiles and holds out his arms. “Come give us a hug.”

  I cross the short distance between us and nestle into his arms, resting my head on his shoulder, being careful not to smudge my makeup on his jacket. We stand in silence for a long moment until he gives me a light squeeze and pulls away.

  “Isn’t it strange?” he murmurs, toying with the lace on one of the cap sleeves of my dress.

  “What?”

  He meets my eyes, and I’m surprised to find his misty. “Life. I never would’ve thought in a million years I’d be here, now, getting ready to walk down the aisle toward the man of my dreams to take vows that aren’t recognized by the legal system of this country. If you’d told me a year ago any of it would be happening, I’d have laughed you out of the room.”

  “You would have scorned me out of the room, with withering disdain that would’ve left permanent scars.”

  He brightens, as if I’ve paid him a great compliment. “Yes, I would have. But here we are.”

  “Here we are.” I smile at him, tapping his chest. “Who knew you had a real heart hidden away under all that tin?”

  “Tundra,” he corrects sourly. “And don’t get cheeky with me, darling. It’s my wedding day.”

  “I’ll get as cheeky as I want, my friend, considering if I’d never broken three-quarters of the bones in my limbs, you’d never have met the man of your dreams.”

  “True.” He fakes a groan. “But a nurse. I couldn’t even land a doctor?”

  “The heart wants what it wants,” I tease, grinning at him.

  “Indeed it does.” He swallows, blinking back tears. “Oh, Poppins. This is the happiest day of my life.” He pauses for a moment, then says forcefully, “If Toni stops the ceremony to announce he’s straight, I expect you to break his nose!”

  I burst into laughter, and Jenner joins in. We both know Toni isn’t about to have a change of heart, on either his gender preference or his choice of partner. He’s been gaga over Jenner since they first locked eyes over my pathetic cast-covered body in the hospital a year ago. Jenner has been equally gaga over him.

  Now that’s what I’d call a silver lining.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Chin up. Back straight. Tits out.”

  “God, you’ve got a memory like an elephant,” he says with affection.

  We walk arm in arm from the room, headed toward the staircase.

  Over the past few months, all the rooms on the second floor of Il Sogno that had been closed for so many years have been opened and redecorated. The exterior of the house, along with the gardens, has been given a face-lift, too, and even the fountain of Aphrodite and her lover has been restored to working order.

  Thanks to the recent success of DiSanto Couture, there’s money for that sort of thing.

  As Jenner and I pass through the living room on the way to the backyard, the strains of a classical violin trio grow louder. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” When I snort, remembering it was the exact song playing as I walked down the aisle toward Brad, Jenner murmurs, “That ghastly song. We can never get away from it, can we?”

  “If I ever get married again, I’ll strangle the musician who dares to play it.”

  Jenner glances at me, a knowing look in his eye, but doesn’t comment. He knows I’m not in a rush to walk down the aisle again—present occasion excepted, of course—though things between Matteo and me are about as perfect as they could possibly be. I’ve learned that happily ever after doesn’t have to include a wedding.

  All it requires is the right person at your side.

  We walk through the open French doors and out onto the lawn. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and clear, idyllic. The guests rise from their chairs as we approach. Matteo is in the front row, smiling, devastatingly handsome in a blue suit and tie. The marchesa is two seats down from him, holding Beans in her arms. When the dog spots me, she bares her teeth.

  Toni’s waiting for us at the end of the aisle, grinning like mad when he sees Jenner.

  The ceremony is simple, moving, and utterly beautiful. I sit beside Matteo and try not to cry, but he keeps handing me tissues for my leaking eyes. Brad and Gio are in the row behind us, and at one point, Brad reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.

  They had their civil union ceremony two months ago. The senator and Mrs. Wingate didn’t attend, but from what I understand, the blow of their son being gay was mitigated by Gio’s family’s vast fortune in real estate.

  I’ll never understand some people’s priorities.

  When it’s all over and we’re showering Jenner and Toni in rose petals as they make their way back down the aisle toward the house and the party about to begin inside, Matteo pulls me against his side and kisses my hair. Into my ear, he whispers, “How soon can we get you out of this dress?”

  I smile. “Weddings make you horny, do they?”

  “You make me horny.” He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, then says something in Italian. I know for sure it includes the words “lick” and “forever” because I’ve been studying the language in my spare time.

  What little spare time I have. Matteo’s show last year rocketed the DiSanto Couture name from obscurity to massive popularity so fast my head is still spinning.

  The only downside is that Papa isn’t here to see it. He would’ve been so proud.

  “You’ll have to keep it in your pants until after the toasts, hot stuff. I’ve got the best man speech to give. Maybe we can have a quickie in the bathroom between that and the first dance.”

  “You know I don’t do quickies,” he says huskily, his eyes burning.

  I smile at him and wind my arms around his neck. Yes. That I know.

  “Hey, lovebirds, are you coming inside or what?”

  Along with the marchesa, Brad stands with Gio at the end of the rows of chairs. The two of them are holding hands, smiling at us, a
nd God, life is bizarre. Unexpected, wonderful, and bizarre. I can’t wait to see what other twists it’s got up its sleeve for me.

  “Yes, we’re coming.”

  We follow them in, laughing when Cornelia bounds out from inside and starts to run around us in circles, barking.

  The rest of the afternoon is a blur of dancing, speeches, food, and champagne. At one point, late into the evening when everyone is soused and the band is playing a slow song, I see Dominic and the marchesa quietly conferring in a corner. I nudge Matteo with my elbow and lift my chin in their direction.

  “You’re a better person than I am,” says Matteo, watching Dominic with narrowed eyes. “I never would’ve forgiven him for taking money from your father.”

  I lean against his shoulder, and he drapes his arm around me. “Though it’s my personal specialty, grudges aren’t something Papa believed in. I know he would’ve wanted me to work it out. And Dominic did apologize and offer to pay the money back, so he got credit for making an effort.”

  Matteo says stiffly, “Until he apologizes to my mother for the way he’s treated her, he’ll always be on my shit list.”

  I smile at the man I love. “Why do you think I invited him, Count?”

  He slants me a sour look. “What is it you have against my title?”

  My smile is brilliant. I turn and wind my arms around his waist. “Nothing at all. I just love how much it annoys you when I call you Count.”

  “So it’s not that you’d rather be a countess than Marchesa Moretti.” Wrapping his arms around my back, he gazes down at me with love shining in his gorgeous blue eyes.

  I laugh, glancing over at his mother. “I think someone already has dibs on that title.”

  “And I think it’s time we had another marchesa in the family,” he says softly.

  Startled, I look at him. His lips curve up as I stare at him in shock. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

  “Uh . . . I, uh . . .”

  “You ‘uh’ what?” he teases, brushing his lips against my cheek. “You ‘uh’ want to see the ring before you decide?”

  “The ring?” I say breathlessly. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice over it. My knees are made of rubber.