Blood Always

by Ramsower, Jill

  It was a three-hour commute from Manhattan to his home in the Hamptons. Had Matteo not owned an apartment in the city, I would have never agreed to move so far away. Most of my work could be done remotely, but I still wasn’t crazy about being so far removed from the action.

  Once the movers and I were allowed through the gated entry, Matteo met us at the front door in joggers and a T-shirt. It was the first time I’d seen him dressed so casually, if you didn’t count our midnight Facetime session. He looked like an Instagram model—suave and fashionably casual—but instead of a façade, his looks were purely functional. Muscles for fighting rather than photographs, which was infinitely more attractive.

  He walked to my car, opening the driver’s door for me. “Welcome home,” he murmured, his attention snagged by my breasts squeezed into a sports bra I should have retired a cup size ago.

  “Eyes up here, tiger. We’ve got company, remember?”

  His gaze was so penetrating, my skin blossomed into goosebumps.

  “Gentlemen,” he called to the movers, not taking his eyes from me. “Let me show you around.” He led us inside, pointing out the kitchen and a room he’d repurposed as an office for me. Then we made our way to the bedroom. Our bedroom.

  I’d never in my life regularly shared a bed with anyone. Not one of my sisters. Not a man. We’d had our own rooms growing up, and I’d never found anyone I liked enough to share more than a night of sex. I could insist on having my own room, but I was willing to see where things led before I fought that battle.

  My place in New York was spacious for the city, but Matteo’s bedroom put mine to shame. “It’s huge,” I blurted, forgetting momentarily that we weren’t alone. When I glanced over at the movers, both men stared at me with furrowed brows. “Mail order bride,” I said with a shrug.

  Their eyes bulged, and I just managed to keep in the laugh that was desperate to claw its way out. The men nodded, fleeing the room and muttering about getting started.

  “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Matteo leaned against the door frame, watching me wander into the room and take in the enormous vaulted ceilings, marble fireplace, and solid wall of mirrors framing the bed. Everything was monochromatic in the exact same shade of cream. The entire house was much more Cape-Cod-Chic that I would have expected of him, but it suited the area.

  “Shiplap on the ceilings, an upholstered headboard, and faux fur ornamental chairs? Fashionable, but not exactly what I had expected.”

  “If you’ll recall,” he said dryly. “It’s technically not my house. Angelo’s wife redecorated when they first bought it.”

  I levelled a hard gaze in his direction at the mention of his boss.

  “I told you, it won’t be an issue. He lives on the second floor and uses an exterior entry. You just stay down here, and you’ll never know he’s there. He won’t even be coming to the wedding.”

  “He’s not?” I was stunned. How could the boss not attend such an important event as the strategic alliance of his family with its past enemy?

  “He has business out of state. Plus, he’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

  That was putting it mildly. Well, I would take the news as the gift it was. Angelo Sartori’s presence would not be missed.

  “Have a look around,” Matteo said. “The room is yours now, too. I’ll go make sure those idiots get things put in the proper place.” He wrapped his knuckles on the door and disappeared.

  Relieved to settle in without an audience, I took a deep cleansing breath and walked to the ensuite master bathroom. Decorated in the same monochromatic style, it could have graced the cover of the most elite home design magazine. The attached his and hers closets were each as big as my entire Manhattan bedroom. I walked along Matteo’s rows of clothes hung neatly by category and peeked into the top drawers of the built-in dresser. Undershirts, socks, and workout shorts—nothing terribly exciting.

  Heading back to the main bedroom, I glanced at the vacant doorway to the rest of the house before meandering closer to the bedside nightstand with an alarm clock. The bed was made, so it was hard to say which side he slept on, but I was guessing the alarm clock was a good indicator.

  Checking the doorway one more time, I reached for the shiny silver handle and opened the drawer. Tissues, a few random cough drops, a pen with a notepad containing unintelligible scribbles, and a small stack of folded stationary papers. Curious, I took the top paper and opened it to find the neat script of a woman’s handwriting.

  Matteo,

  I know this has been a whirlwind few months, but they’ve been some of the best of my life. You make the sun shine brighter every day we’re together, and I worry that life without you would be black as a moonless night. I’ll miss seeing you this week while you’re in the city, but knowing I get to spend the weekend with you on our trip makes it bearable.

  All my love,

  Laura

  It was a love note. My heart clenched and seized at the sight of a romantic correspondence between Matteo and another woman.

  I quickly folded the note and grabbed the rest of the stack, scanning through to find they were all similarly penned. I didn’t want to get caught snooping, so there wasn’t time to read them all, but a quick perusal told me there were no dates on them. I set the love letters back in his drawer and closed it, wishing I could do the same for my heart—close it safely inside a sealed box and try to forget it existed.

  Unfortunately, my heart wasn’t protected nearly enough where Matteo was concerned, and what I’d discovered couldn’t be unseen or forgotten. Why did he still have the letters in his nightstand? Had he been in love with the woman?

  A stab of white-hot jealously lanced my chest.

  Was he still in a relationship with her? He’d said there was no one else, but maybe he was only trying to appease me for the sake of our alliance. My father hadn’t allowed me to investigate Matteo, so I didn’t even know if he’d been married before. I suddenly felt like I didn’t know anything about the man I was soon to marry.

  My shields had lowered as I became familiar with his personality, but my knowledge had only grazed the surface. I knew nothing of his past. Of his darkest sins or deepest desires. Nothing to substantiate a foundation of trust.

  My throat tightened as I made my way out of the bedroom and back toward the kitchen where I’d left my purse. I hated that seeing the notes had affected me. I hated that I couldn’t keep myself better protected. But even worse, I hated myself for running because it reeked of weakness.

  Writing a quick note explaining my need to get back to the city, I scurried out the front and disappeared.

  Chapter 11

  Maria

  Matteo texted later that evening saying he would be in the city and suggested I stay with him. I politely declined, making excuses for myself, and he didn’t push the matter.

  Once I’d had some time to think, I realized that my gut instinct told me Matteo wasn’t a liar. If he’d told me there was no one else, then there wasn’t. But I couldn’t shake the ominous dark cloud that rained down on my mood each time the stack of notes popped into the forefront of my mind. It was like that damn Whac-A-Mole game. Every time I’d push away the image of the woman’s elegant script, another question or thought would surface, bringing my mind back to the subject. I couldn’t escape it no matter how hard I tried.

  When Friday rolled around, there was no more hiding. Matteo was hosting a rehearsal dinner, which he and my mother decided to have in the city for the convenience of everyone invited. The evening went beautifully on a superficial level. I was welcoming to our guests, affectionate toward Matteo, and ensured a smile graced my lips at all times.

  Twice, I caught Matteo studying me. I had no doubt he knew something was up, but he likely couldn’t decipher if it was general nerves about the wedding or something more substantial. I wished he’d figure it out and let me know, because I was at a loss myself.

  I was swimming in emotion, too concentrated on br
eathing to say much of anything. For the first time in my life, I teetered on the cusp of being called demure. I sipped my wine, politely answered questions directed at me, and tried desperately not to vomit.

  When it came time to call it a night, I stayed glued to my mother’s side, using her as a buffer between me and Matteo. I had arranged to stay with my parents that night, using hair and makeup for the wedding as an excuse. Mom had paid for a team of stylists to come to their house and get us ready for the big day. I could have driven over that morning, but I didn’t want to be at my apartment alone.

  Matteo would find me and demand answers.

  Like a child hiding in her mother’s skirt, I closed my eyes in the hopes that if I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. I’d have to face the issues in a handful of hours, but in the meantime, I wasn’t ready. Of course, my avoidance of the situation was its own source of frustration. Maria Genovese didn’t cower, but that was exactly what I was doing.

  Regardless, my efforts were futile.

  Matteo was giving me until the count of ten, and then there would be no escape.

  ***

  St. Andrew’s Catholic Church was situated on the northern shore of the Hamptons and only seated about fifty people. It was the one part of my wedding I had insisted upon, aside from the abolition of white.

  We couldn’t have the ceremony on Staten Island, then have people drive all the way to the Hamptons for the reception. That meant we had to pick a local Hamptons church for the service. I happened to glance at the options one night after we first got engaged and decided immediately the quaint old building with its tall white steeple was where I wanted to get married.

  I didn’t even want to get married, so I had no clue where the sentiment had come from. If I didn’t care about the marriage, why did it matter where I was getting married?

  It shouldn’t, but it did.

  The church looked like it had come straight out of a movie. I loved that it was small, so our ceremony would be limited to only the closest family and friends, and the stained-glass windows on either side of the sanctuary were breathtaking. Just the pictures of the place made me feel peaceful, and that was exactly what I would need on the evening of my wedding.

  On Saturday morning, we spent over three hours with our stylist team. My hair was coifed in a sophisticated updo that made me feel like a Hollywood elite headed to the Oscars. I had wanted to use one of my combs in my hair, but my mom had adamantly refused to allow it. She had spent hours searching for what she deemed the perfect hair accessory, and I had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. The delicate demi-tiara twinkled with jewels just bright enough to be noticed but not too much to be considered gawdy.

  My nails were the perfect shade of red to match my dress. My lips were one coat away from being permanently tattooed with lipstick. My heart no longer beat but hummed at a frenetic pace in response to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  Once all that was left were our dresses, we piled into a limo and made the long drive to the church. Mom and Alessia chatted, Sofia giggled, Dad stared at his phone, and I held a bottle of water with a white-knuckle grip as if it were the one piece of driftwood keeping me afloat in a wave-riddled sea.

  We entered the church through the back, the ladies taking up residence in a Sunday School room while Dad set out to ensure the ceremony ran smoothly.

  “That damn traffic hasn’t given us much time,” Mom fussed as she sorted through the garment bags. “Sofia, here’s yours, and here’s Alessia’s. Let’s throw these on and then we can help Maria get into her gown.”

  At the same time, a knock sounded at the door.

  I hurried over, cracking the door to keep prying eyes out. “Yes?”

  My father lifted his brows in amusement. “This is for you.” He passed an envelope to me, then turned away, shaking his head.

  My name was inked on the front in small, sharp letters. I tore open the seal and extracted a plain white stationary note card, unadorned except for the note within.

  Maria,

  This may not be how you envisioned your life unfolding, but if it’s any consolation, I think there’s a world of potential between us. The more I get to know you, the more impressed I become with your strength and loyalty. I am honored to become your husband.

  Yours,

  Matteo

  He’d written me a love note.

  As I finished reading, my eyes pricked with tears. Confused, love-sick, spiteful tears. Was this why he had notes from the other woman? Had he written her notes to begin with, starting an exchange? Was there a cherished drawer in some woman’s house full of his artful courtship?

  Why did it matter to me? Everyone had a past. Wasn’t it enough that he’d made the effort to reach out to me? No … yes. I didn’t know. I was so confused and overwhelmed.

  I shook myself, reinforcing the importance of taking one minute, one hour, one day at a time. Matteo had written me a lovely note. I would take it at face value and thank him for the gesture. Nodding, I tucked the note into my purse and located my wedding shoes.

  “Ready, sweetie?” Mom asked, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

  “I’m ready, but you know I don’t do tears. Shut off the waterworks before you ruin your makeup.” I smiled at her, softening my taciturn command.

  “I know, I know.” She shook her hand at me. “Heaven forbid anyone get remotely emotional around Maria. Normally, I would do whatever I damn well pleased, but since it is your wedding day, I figure I can keep a lid on it at least until after the ceremony. Now, come here. Let’s get this dress on.”

  She unzipped the garment bag and carefully extracted the red satin fabric. All of us watched, speechless as she held it aloft, allowing the fabric to unfurl.

  “Maria, honey. Get your clothes off and have a seat in that chair.” She nodded to an ancient wooden desk chair by the wall. I unbuttoned my blouse, tossing it onto the desk, then removed my bra and shorts before lowering my thong-clad ass into the cold chair and slipping my black patent Louis Vuitton heels onto my feet.

  When I looked up, all three women stared at me. “What?” I snapped, terrified there was a problem.

  “Matteo’s going to shit himself when he sees you.” Sofia’s cheeks grew bright red, and a devilish smile split her face.

  We all burst out laughing. Some of us with mirth, some with crippling anxiety.

  Regardless of the source, it was amazing how much relief a simple laugh could provide. When I stepped into the gown, its fortification gave me enough strength to face the waiting crowd. We all scurried around with last minute touches until a warning knock sounded on the door.

  “Five minutes, ladies,” my father called.

  It was time.

  Ring on my finger, tiara on my head, heart in my throat, I made my way to the chapel doors.

  My mother was escorted inside by one of the ushers. Alessia and Sofia followed their cues as bridesmaids, leaving only my father and me.

  He gazed down at me, and the raw emotion rife in his gaze almost brought me to my knees. “I’m so proud of you, Maria. Your grit and determination. Your strength and devotion. You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, and I will always love you.”

  The words tiptoed across my heart, burrowed into my soul, and made me feel like I’d sprouted wings.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered back, unable to say any more without an onslaught of tears.

  He gave me a nod, and I nodded back, signaling it was time.

  I had refused to wear a veil, so I had an unobstructed view of Matteo as the doors opened and his heated gaze collided with mine. Hunger, awe, uncertainty, determination. They were all there for me to see. To feel. The small chapel seemed to amplify emotions, each echoing off the steepled ceilings and bombarding me from all directions.

  Matteo wore a classic tuxedo. Impeccable. Timeless. Perfect.

  I was blinded by his lips and eyes and alluring authority. In that handful of seconds, he wasn’t my friend or my enemy. My lover
or my tormentor. We were simply lock and key, meant to come together as one.

  When we reached the dais, Dad kissed my cheek, then presented my hand to Matteo. My father’s hand had been cool, but Matteo’s blazed against my skin. His eyes raked over my face, devouring every inch of me that could be seen.

  “Absolutely stunning,” he breathed, reluctantly turning us toward the priest.

  I took in a shaky breath and tried to focus as I inextricably bound my life to the man beside me.

  Chapter 12

  Matteo

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was up with Maria, but I had other shit on my plate to deal with. Chasing after my young bride-to-be and pushing her to open up wasn’t on my to-do list. It was totally plausible her disappearing act was purely a result of pre-wedding jitters, but something told me there was more to it.

  In my experience, women only held that shit in for so long before it all came spewing back out. I had no doubt I’d hear exactly what was eating at her—there was no point rushing the matter. I even tried to convince myself I didn’t care why she was upset. That I didn’t care about her.

  Then the doors opened in the small chapel, and a wave of lust sucker punched me right in the gut. Maybe it was just the lust erasing rational thought, but seeing her flipped a switch. I would raze mountains for her—conquer cities and drain oceans. It would be rather hypocritical of me to say in the same breath that I didn’t care.

  I was absolutely fucked.

  And yet, if it meant calling her mine, somehow, I knew it would be worth it.

  I had known she wasn’t going to wear white, but I hadn’t expected the unholy seductress in red that tempted me from across the pews. It was a miracle lightening didn’t strike me down on the spot for all the blasphemous thoughts that popped into my head at the sight of her. I wanted to do dirty, unthinkable things to her right there in front of our guests and the priest.