Page 17 of Her Italian Wedding (Sweet Treats 9)

I whistled, impressed. Our sweet girl isn’t just an animal in bed, but she’s also incredibly accomplished and intelligent. Within a short time, she’s made herself useful at her Lodge, and even gotten herself sent overseas to help with our Italian expansion. Knowing her penchant for business, Matteo and I have decided to take her on a tour of the lot.

We walk on a dirt path, heading to one of the smaller buildings.

“So what are you going to build out here?” she asks, breathing in deep. The smell of pine and citrus greets our senses, and the chilly air is refreshing as it blows over our skin.

“Just another house,” growls Matteo. “We want more than one place to sleep. It’s great to have a main Lodge, but it’s also important to have overflow accommodations in case we get more visitors than anticipated.”

Melissa nods wisely.

“Yes, we definitely do that at my home club too. We don’t get that many out of town visitors because we’re sixty miles from the nearest big city. As a result, the truckers generally don’t detour from their routes to stay at the Lodge because it will cost them time and money. But sometimes, there’s a big event nearby and we’ll get a crowd. That’s when the extra accommodations come in handy.”

We stroll further into the forest as birds chirp overhead. It’s peaceful, and I take her small hand in mine. It feels right there, and we stroll companionably.

“What kind of events will draw a crowd?” I ask, as Matteo takes her other hand. “Truckers are notorious for being hard workers, so it seems unlikely that they’d deviate from their routes.”

Melissa grins.

“Yeah, it takes a lot. Once it was a Rolling Stones concert. Isn’t that hysterical? Mick Jagger is in his seventies and so craggy looking, but evidently a lot of dads listen to the Stones and adore him. We had a packed house that weekend.”

Matteo chuckles.

“Sure, we love the Rolling Stones too. I love Bob Dylan even more.”

Melissa giggles.

“You guys definitely have old fogey tastes in music. Personally, I prefer Billie Eilish or Ariana Grande. They’re totally different performers, but so artistic and cutting edge in their own ways.”

I smile at her. A shaft of light has cut through the forest canopy, and highlights her brown curls. It forms a golden halo around Melissa’s head, and she looks positively virginal while strolling through this pristine wilderness.

“Well, I don’t know who Billie Eilish is, but I know Ariana Grande,” I say dryly. “I even know that she can hit the whistle register the way Mariah Carey does.”

Melissa’s entire face lights up.

“I know! She’s super talented, and it’s incredible to listen to, isn’t it? Of course, Mariah is the queen and those high notes are her ‘thing.’ But Ariana Grande can do it too, and I love her look with that signature high ponytail.”

Matteo grins.

“I prefer your curls, cara. Italians like their girls saucy and full-figured, and you are perfect, Melissa.”

She smiles and ducks her head.

“You don’t think I’m too big?”

Matteo and I both snort.

“Of course not,” I growl. “We like our women full and ripe, with bodacious bodies that they’re willing to share. You, cara, are exactly a Perfect Ten, as they call it in America.”

Melissa’s cheeks grow red.

“I’ve never even thought of myself as a Perfect Ten,” she begins hesitantly. “At most, a five. I’m busty in all the wrong places and –”

That’s when Matteo cuts her off.

“No sweetheart, you’re busty in all the right places,” he rumbles, those blue eyes gleaming. “You have big Double Ds as well as a fleshy bottom that’s exactly right for our cut-outs. If you were as thin as a coat rack, we’d never be able to get those glory holes to work.”

“We love you the way you are,” I add meaningfully. “In fact, if you gained twenty pounds, you’d be even more beautiful.”

Melissa smiles shyly, and then she spots something ahead on the road and brightens.

“Oh, a porta-potty!” she says with a relieved smile. “I need to go, so this is perfect. It’s so weird that there’s one in the middle of the forest, but I guess it makes sense. There’s a lot of construction going on, so I bet the workers put one here so that they could visit it when the need arises.”

Matteo and I share a glance.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your average porta-potty,” I begin.

“You know us,” adds my friend with an amused look. “We like things a certain way, and we’ve incorporated holes in this porta-potty as well.”

Melissa stops dead in her tracks to look at us with wide eyes.

“Are you kidding?” she gasps. “You put glory holes in a porta-potty?”

“It’s not a real porta-potty,” I say quickly. “No one does any business in it, nor are there chemicals or any plumbing hook-ups. It’s a structure designed carefully for outdoor pleasure.”

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