“I’m scared that I made a mistake. That I chose the wrong man,” she says. “I miss you, and I can’t help but wish this baby was ours.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t. Thank God. And your mistake was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”
“How could you say that?” Her eyes water, but I know it’s all an act. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, and she’s not capable of feeling real emotions like regret and sorrow and guilt. “Ever since I found out, I just keep wishing I could go back. I wish we could go back to when it was just us and things were simple and uncomplicated.”
She takes a step toward me, but I take an equal step back. I hear the crowd cheer, and my jaw sets because I’m pretty sure I missed another one of Beck’s plays.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Lauren asks. “I want you back, Dante. I never should’ve left. You were the one. I just didn’t see it until you were gone.”
As much as it pleases me to hear she’s having doubts about the saggy-balled older man she left me for, I’m not going to laugh in her face again.
I’m simply going to walk away.
“We aren’t going to do anything,” I say, striding back to Maren and praying her hot chocolate is still warm.
“What took you so long?” Maren asks when I return. She grabs the drinks from my arms as I sit beside her. “Long line?”
She whips around, seeing Lauren’s gone.
“Just had to set a few things straight,” I say under my breath.
“Everything good now?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s great.”
The crowd cheers as Beck’s team scores another touchdown, and Maren squeals, grabbing my hand and standing as she whistles. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and her love for her kids is selfless and unconditional.
I love that about her.
I love that about her so much.
There are a lot of things I love about Maren.
In fact, I think I could easily see myself falling in love with her . . .
Might even be halfway there already.
Chapter 29
Maren
“Can you build me a stationery app?” I ask Friday night as we’re settled on my sofa. The boys are with Nathan for the weekend, and it’s just the two of us. I’ve been looking forward to some one-on-one time with Dante all week.
“Can I build you a stationery app?” he scoffs, mocking me. “Angel, I can build you any kind of app your little heart desires.”
“I just want people to be able to shop through an app and custom design their own stationery and monograms and such,” I say.
“Piece of cake.”
“Awesome.” I grab his arm and bring it around my shoulders, pressing my head against his chest. We’re in sweats and he’s watching a TV movie that neglects to hold my interest, so I choose that moment to pop up and grab my purse. That thing gets heavier by the hour, and I’m afraid to see what’s at the bottom, but now’s a better time than any to clean it out.
“Where are you going?” he asks as I speed off to the kitchen and return with my oversized tote.
I unzip the top and tip it upside down, letting quarters and nickels and hard mints and hair ties and receipts and lip glosses tumble onto the polished wooden surface of my coffee table.
“Sweet Jesus,” he says, sitting up. The contents continue to pour, raining out and scattering every which way. “Please don’t ask me to help you sort through all that stuff.”
I laugh. “I won’t. You just watch your movie. I’m going to organize this beast.”
He breathes a sigh of relief and sinks back into the sofa as I get to work. A quickie infomercial flashes across the screen during a commercial break, touting some water balloon filling contraption.
Leaning forward, he scans the table top.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Paper,” he says. “And a pen.”
“Why?” I chuckle.
“I want to write down the number. I’m going to buy that,” he says.
“What do you need with a contraption that fills fifty water balloons at once?”
“Not for me, for Dash and Beck,” he says. “Well, and kind of for me. I think it’d be fun. You think they’d like it?”
“Um, duh.”
Without saying another word, he pauses the commercial and reaches for the hunter green notebook sitting on the table in front of him. The one I keep on me at all time. The one filled with all my lists, even the list with all the reasons I didn’t want to sleep with him earlier this month.
Before I have a chance to say anything, he flips the cover aside. Licking the pad of his finger, he flicks through page after page of my scribbled lists, and my chest is tight. I can’t breathe. I can only pray he skips past my list about him and stops when he gets to a blank page.
Only the notebook gods fail to hear my prayer.
“What’s this?” He smirks, eyes squinting at the paper.
“Don’t read that,” I try to swipe it out of his hands but he’s faster than me. He stands up and I follow suit, jumping for the notebook as he holds it above my head. “Dante, don’t. Those are my lists.”
“Are they private?” he asks, stepping back and fanning through the pages.
“More or less.”
“Can I read them?”
“They’re stupid. Just hand it back. I’ll find you a piece of paper.”
We dance around the living room, me following him, and him towering over me, my notebook held captive.
“There’s a list about me in here, isn’t there?” he asks.
We stop at opposite ends of the coffee table, which is still littered with the contents of my purse.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
“Why do you want to see it? It’s from several weeks ago, when we first met. It’s irrelevant now.”
He pages through, and I hold my breath. Half angry, half hoping he has a sense of humor about it.
“I don’t know his last name,” he reads before looking up at me. Leaning down, he swipes a pen from the coffee table and crosses that one off my list. “Well, now you do . . . He’s eight years younger than me, and I don’t know how I feel about that . . . clearly, it must not bother you too much anymore seeing how we’re officially dating.”
I smirk, arms folded.
“He’s probably better in bed than me,” Dante continues to read. Glancing up at me, he says, “It’s not a competition, Maren. And you’re fucking amazing in bed. Don’t sell yourself short. You give me so many boners. Like an abundance of boners. A plethora of boners.”
I chuckle. “Ew, don’t call it a boner. It shows your age.”
“I’m long overdue for a wax,” he reads. “Nah. Looks like you rectified that a while ago. He’d be the second guy I’ve ever been with. So what? This isn’t high school. Nobody cares. I don’t have time for casual sex. Clearly you found a way to make time. Good for you. What if he has STDs?!”
Dante mocks me, placing his hand on his cheek.
“Well, I don’t,” he says. “Actually got tested right after Lauren left me. I’m clean as a whistle, and you’re the only woman I slept with after that. I’ve got the report in my email somewhere. I’d be happy to show you if it makes you feel better. He might think I’m terrible in bed. You’re amazing, Maren. He’s too good at flirting, and that’s got to be some kind of red flag.”
Dante presses the notebook against his chest and has a good laugh at my expense.
“Cute,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m so good at flirting. If it makes you feel better, you’re the only woman I flirt with. Haven’t flirted with anyone else since the day I met you.”
I fight a smile, tighten my arms on my chest, and wait for him to read the final reason.
“He probably has a MILF fetish. It’s the only logical explanation as to why he’s not chasing after younger, hotter women who don’t bear the battle scars of pregnancy and childbirth.” Dante cups his chin, scratching at his bristly f
lesh and glancing across the coffee table at me. “I don’t have a MILF fetish, but if we want to get technical, you are a mom and I do like to fuck you. If that makes me a MILF chaser, then I’m guilty as charged, but that’s not the reason I like you, Maren. Not even close. And I like that your body bears the battle scars of pregnancy and childbirth. It’s hot. You’re a strong woman and you do hard things, and that makes you sexy.”
“Okay, are we done here?” I ask, coming toward him and making a final attempt to swipe the notebook from his hands.
Once again, he’s too quick for me.
“No,” he says. “Now it’s my turn. I want to make a to do list of my own.”
“A list for what?”
“All the things I want to do to you.” He plops down in one of the living room chairs and kicks his feet up. Pressing the pen against the paper, he scribbles something down. Sticking the pen cap in the corner of his mouth, he appears to be deep in thought before jotting down a second item, and then a third and a fourth.
“Are you done yet?” I ask.
“No, not yet,” he says. “Almost.”
He scribbles something down again, but this time I grow impatient and I lunge for him, taking back my notebook once and for all.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished,” he says.
Running off, notepad clutched in my hands, I read his list, brows raised.
I want to watch Maren strip.
I want to lick Maren’s sweet, sweet pussy.
I want Maren’s mouth on my cock.
I want to fuck Maren reverse cowgirl style so I can watch her perfect ass bounce as she rides me.
I want to hear her scream my name as she comes all over my cock.
I choke on my spit. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so . . .”
Dante rises, coming toward me, and I let my arms fall to my sides. The notebook hits the carpet with a soft thud as his hands cup my face. Lowering his mouth to mine, he presses a hard kiss onto my lips, his tongue meeting mine.
“Come, Maren,” he whispers. “Let’s go check off that list . . .”
“Come with me next weekend,” he says as I’m breathless and lying on top of his heaving chest. He’s still inside me. My skin is on fire and my body is reeling. I lift my cheek from his chest and peer into his intense amber-green gaze.
“Go with you where?”
“Malibu,” he says.
“Malibu?” I chuckle, mentally racking my calendar. The boys are going to be with Nathan again. I guess I’m free. “What’s in Malibu?”
“Ace is hosting Thanksgiving there,” he says, “along with his fiancé. All my brothers are going to be there. You haven’t met Fabrizio and Matteo yet. Or my mom.”
“It’s September.”
“I know. We’re celebrating early. Everyone’s busy and this is the only time that worked.”
“I don’t know.” I bite my lower lip. “Don’t you think it’s kind of soon for me to meet your family?”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t care. I can’t stop thinking about how much they’re going to love you and how much I want to show you off.”
My mouth pulls at the corners as I kiss his full lips. “You’re crazy.”
“But you like me anyway.”
“I do. For some insane reason, I do.” I kiss him again because a million times feels like it would never be enough.
I watch Dante climb out of bed, eyes honed in on his perfect ass as he heads toward the bathroom.
“You’ll have to let me know when those water balloons arrive,” he says. “I’ll have my assistant order them on Monday.”
“I’m pretty sure my boys are going to like you more than they like me by the time you’re through with them.”
He smirks. “Nah. You’ll always be their number one.”
I watch him disappear into the bathroom, and a second later, I hear the spray of the shower as it hits the tile.
Popping up, I barge into the bathroom, sheets wrapped around me, and perch on the edge of the counter.
He sticks his head out. “You just going to watch or you going to join me?”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask.
He shoots me a look that makes me feel like I’m insane for asking such a question.
“What are you talking about?” he balks.
“You’re so good to me, and you’re so good with the boys,” I say. “And you’re so young. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to saddle yourself down with all of this.”
“Maren.” His head cocks.
“I’m giving you an out,” I say. “You can take it. This is your chance.”
“Stop,” he says, stepping out of the shower. Tiny streams of water trail down his naked torso and he moves to me, cupping my face in his wet hands. “Where is this coming from?”
Meeting his concerned gaze, I say, “I don’t know. I guess it just hit me. I’m falling for you. Hard. And my boys are too. And I want you to be absolutely sure this is what you want, because I can handle the heartache, but I don’t think they can.”
He presses his wet mouth against mine, and I feel him breathe me in.
“I’m falling in love with you, Maren,” he says. “I know it’s sudden. I know it’s crazy. But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to. I’m here for you. For the boys. I love being with you. I want to be with you.” He exhales, his breath warm on my skin. “Let me be with you. Can you do that? Don’t push me away.”
Chapter 30
Dante
“Hey, hey.” Ace opens the front door of his Malibu beach house, and the garlic and oregano scent of our mother’s old world red sauce wafts past him.
“Alessio,” I say. “Good to see you again.”
Arms open wide, he gives me a quick man-hug and pats my back with a little extra oomph, just like the old days. “Welcome.”
His gaze moves to Maren, standing behind me.
“Hope it’s okay with you guys,” I say. “I asked Maren to join us.”
“Of course it’s okay,” he says, pushing past me and hugging Maren. I try to hide my amusement. Ace wasn’t always the touchy-feely hugging type, not until his fiancé Aidy came along. She’s brought out a side of him, a softer side, that none of us ever knew existed. “Come on in, guys.”
Alessio calls to Aidy, who comes skipping through the kitchen, hand gripped around a ladle containing a taste of my mother’s sauce.
“Dante,” she says, throwing her arms around me. This is only the second time we’ve met since the two of them began dating a little over a year ago, but Aidy’s one of the warmest people I’ve ever met. Being around her once makes you feel like you’ve known her your entire life. “So good to see you!”
“And you as well,” I say as she releases me. “Aidy, I’d like you to meet Maren. My girlfriend.”
Aidy pushes past me and wraps her arms around Maren, squeezing so tight I hear Maren release an audible gasp just before she smiles.
“Welcome, welcome,” she says. “Will the two of you be staying here tonight?”
“Nah, we got a hotel,” I say. I didn’t want to give Maren an Amato baptism by fire. I thought it’d be good if we had our own space while we’re here. “Thank you though.”
“All right,” Aidy says with a pout. “I understand. Fabrizio’s flying in tomorrow. Matteo and Cristiano are here already. They’re down by the bonfire on the beach. You two can head on out. Oh, wait! Let me introduce you to my family.”
Aidy takes Maren by the arm and drags her to a covered patio just past the sliding glass doors, and I follow.
“Okay, this is my sister, Wren and her husband Chauncey,” she says, pointing. “That adorable little Strawberry Shortcake baby is my beautiful niece, Maeve, and that kid out there chasing Cristiano is my nephew Enzo. My mom is flying in early tomorrow. And that’s my family. Small of size and big of heart.”
“Nice to meet you all,” I say. “I’m Dante and this is Maren.”
There’s a hard tap o
n my right shoulder that demands my attention. From my periphery, I spot a dark shadow about my height, and when I turn to face it, I’m met with my second oldest brother, Matteo.
Growing up, we were always the closest, but adulthood wound up sending us on two completely different paths. I haven’t seen him in forever. Matter of fact, I don’t see any of my brothers as much as I’d like now that we’re all busy with our own lives.
“Fratellone,” I say, giving him a tight hug. He wraps his arms around me, and I can tell he’s been working out. “How’s Hollywood treating you these days?”
“See me on any silver screens yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I say, “but I will. Someday, you’re going to be huge.”
He smacks me on the back and turns his attention to Maren, introducing himself.
“I can’t get over how much you all look alike,” Maren says. “I thought Dante and Cristiano bore a striking resemblance, but the two of you look like twins.”
“We used to get that a lot,” Matteo says.
The sliding glass door whirs open and then close, and a woman prattling away in Italian comes bolting at me.
“Madre,” I say, bracing myself so she doesn’t bowl me over. She’s a whole foot shorter than me and pleasantly plump. I’ve missed her warm, anchoring hugs more than I could ever say. “I’ve missed you, madre.”
She glances up at me, happy tears in her eyes, and lifts her hand to my face. And in a fraction of a second, her face winces. “You never come see me anymore.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been working long hours,” I say, “but I’ve hired on some new developers, and they’re taking a load off. I haven’t worked a sixty-hour week in months. I’ll come see you soon. I promise. And anytime you want to come out to Seattle, you let me know. I’ll put you on the next flight.”
My mother’s face lights, and then she turns to Maren.
“And who is this bella signora?” she asks, accent thick.
“This is Maren,” I say. “Maren, this is my mother, Valentina.”
Maren smiles and extends her hand graciously. If she’s sick of meeting people by now, she certainly doesn’t show it. My mother ignores her hand and wraps her in a tight hug instead.
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