Page 45 of Savage Vows

“Absolutely not,” I say primly.

His face is in shadow as he captures my gaze. “Are you sure?”

Without waiting for an answer, he moves us up the steps.

When we reach the door, he keys in a code. Instantly light floods the area, and he steps aside. “After you.”

My breath catches as I enter.

He follows, locking us both in.

The open-concept loft is both spacious and intimate, with vaulted ceilings and exposed wooden beams. The light wood floors gleam, their finish inviting and practical, while the air carries a faint scent of lavender and paint. “What …?”

“Your studio.”

“This is …” I turn to him, my voice catching. “You did this? Forme?”

“For you,” he confirms, his tone unreadable.

“But…” I’m so confused.

“I know how much your art means to you. I want you to have a place that belongs just to you.”

“It’s perfect.” A wide drafting table rests against one wall, its surface stacked with pristine sketch pads and an array of pencils, brushes, and paints. On a nearby workbench, paint tubes are lined in neat rows. There are jars filled with brushes and an empty corkboard waiting for inspiration. An easel is positioned to catch the light from the skylights above.

The kitchenette gleams in one corner. In addition to a small refrigerator, there’s an induction burner, along with an espresso machine that I imagine will be my new best friend. A cozy corner seating area beckons, its armchair upholstered in soft, neutral fabric. On the low bookshelf beneath it, I catch sight of titles—art books, some I’ve longed to own.

He’s even provided a comfortable couch, a stool, and several options for chairs.

I can barely breathe.

Matteo, the mobster who dragged me across an ocean, had this—thisdreambuilt for me. For a moment, I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to reconcile the man I’ve seen with the one standing before me. “How did you do this?” To my knowledge, he knows nothing about art.

He quirks his lips into a triumphant smile. “Artemis.”

I turn to stare at him. “Are you kidding me?” After what happened at Elysian Hall, I would have bet big money that she wouldn’t have taken his phone call.

“Everyone has a price. And a generous donation to their scholarship fund went a long way to helping her get over her…” He pauses. “Shall I say, hesitation?”

I’m sure it was more than that.

“You have a balcony.” He indicates the French doors.

Curious, I set down my glass in the kitchenette and walk outside. Even in the dark, the view is beautiful.

Beneath me, the estate’s gardens stretch out in perfect symmetry. The pool is there, twinkling, and palm trees soar toward the sky. Beyond that, there are magnificent trees: evergreens and magnolias.

He’s even thoughtfully provided chairs, a chaise, and a small table.

When I turn back to him, Matteo is nearby, watching me closely, his arms crossed, his presence commanding as ever. “You like it?”

I swallow back a knot of emotions. “It couldn’t be more perfect, even if I designed it myself.” I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. I’ve never received a gift like this. “I really don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll use it.”

I glance back at the studio, its light glowing invitingly. Already I have the urge to create. “You know I will.”

“That makes me happy.”

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