Page 240 of The One
When he disappears down the hall, I finally exhale and turn to my wife. For a few precious moments, it’s just us.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you just then.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry for not telling you,” she says, remorseful.
“Forget about it,” I sigh.
“You okay?” she asks, stepping closer, her arms sliding around my waist.
“Yeah. I just can’t wait for this day to be over.” I brush my fingers along her cheek, letting them trail down her arm. “After you’ve seen your mother and sisters come back here. We haven’t even talked about where we’re going to live.”
Her brows pull together. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that either.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have a place nearby and another in Palermo. Or we can find something new. Whatever you want.”
She tilts her head, considering. “Your place nearby makes the most sense, given you need to be close to here. And I’d rather be where you are.”
I let out a breath, relief settling in my chest. “No matter where we live, I don’t want you stepping into our home for the first time alone.” My fingers trace the curve of her jaw. “All your firsts belong to me, this one included.”
I cup her face, my thumb grazing her lower lip before I lean in, kissing her softly. It’s slow, lingering like we’re both trying to hold on to the last couple of days a little longer.
“And a groom always carries his bride over the threshold of their home.”
When I pull back, she stays close, her forehead resting against mine, her smile warm and sweet. “I love that you love all these traditions.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll see you soon.”
I nod, but no matter how soon, it won’t be soon enough.
Chapter Ninety
Mateo
Rom and I step into my home office, and I shrug off my suit jacket, tossing it over a nearby chair. Every muscle in my body is tired as I sink onto the leather sofa, rubbing a hand down my face.
It’s been a week from hell. Though Antonio’s funeral was somewhat of a highlight.
Rom moves to the side table, reaching for the decanter. He pours two generous drinks and hands me one.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking the glass. “I need this after the day we’ve had.”
“For the week we’ve had,” Rom corrects, exhaling sharply as he drops into the chair across from me.
Seven days. Seven relentless, brutal days since Mari and I returned to Sicily. And in that time, I’ve been fighting one fire after another, sometimes literally.
“Tell me about it,” Rom grumbles. “I don’t even have time to fuck.”
I chuckle, taking a sip of my drink. “That’s not like you. You always make time. The little waitress in Rome wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would she?”
He doesn’t answer, just swirls the whiskey in his glass.
I arch a brow. “How is she, anyway?”
“Still married,” he huffs.
“Oh. And faithful by the sounds of it.” I smirk. “Not many resist your charm.”
His mouth tightens into a thin line before he knocks back the rest of his drink in one go.
“Guest room for me tonight,” he says, standing. “See you in the morning to rinse and repeat.”
