I keep my gaze on Massimo. He doesn’t look up, he doesn’t even acknowledge me at all. His focus is on the menu, then he reaches for the phone and I watch as he calls down to order the food. Never once does he lift his eyes to look at me or ask me what I want to eat from the menu.
Turning away from him, I head upstairs to shower and change into something suitable to eat dinner in. Starting the water, I wonder if this is my future. He claims that he’s not like the man that I assume him to be, but every single action proves my assumptions completely correct.
Closing my eyes as soon as the warm water washes over my face, I let out a sigh. What have I done? I could have sold my virginity and already be looking for a place of my own while trying to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
Instead, I’m standing in a shower of a twelve thousand dollar a night room, on my honeymoon, if that’s what you want to call it. I’m married to a stranger who doesn’t even give a fuck what I want for dinner. He disappears after he fucks me for the first time for hours and I’m supposed to accept his excuse of… business.
Once I’m clean, the scent of sunscreen washed from my skin, along with the sweat from laying out all day off and on. Wrapping a towel around my wet hair, I wrap another white fluffy towel around my body before I make my way back into the bedroom.
My entire body comes to a halt when I see Massimo sitting in the chair in the corner. He has his elbows on his knees, his fingers clasped together and his chin resting on them as his eyes flick to me.
“Massimo,” I say, keeping my voice low, but unable to hide my hesitancy.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I look down at my body, then turn my head back to look at the bathroom before I shift my eyes back to meet his. “I took a shower,” I say.
Though I don’t understand why I even have to say the words, it’s pretty fucking obvious what I’m doing. He shakes his head, as though that’s not the answer he expected nor wanted. I decide to stay quiet and wait. He’ll eventually have to tell me what he’s talking about, what he expects from me. I’m not a mind reader.
“You’re upset. You walked away from me. Left your water on the counter and just, walked away.”
Pressing my lips together, I fight the urge to tell him exactly why I walked away, not wanting to risk sounding a little too crazy. Clearing my throat, I shrug a shoulder.
“You looked busy, I decided to get ready for dinner.”
He nods his head once, his eyes still focused on mine. “I looked busy,” he repeats.
Rolling my lips, I stand with my towel still wrapped around me as I wait for what he’s going to say next.
“Pippa,” he sighs. “There is something you’re not telling me. I’d like you to tell me now, please,” he says. His voice is low, it sounds dangerous, and a chill runs up my spine.
Making my way over to the bed, I sink down, sitting on the edge and twist my fingers in my lap. Inhaling deeply, I let my breath out on an exhale and lift my head before I shift my gaze up to meet his own.
He looks like he’s patiently waiting for me to speak, but I have no doubt that inside, he’s seconds away from losing that cool that he’s attempting to hold on to. I sigh, then shake my head once before I finally speak.
“I want to trust you. I married you, I needed security and you provided that for me and I’m grateful, but I want this to be real.”
He smirks, shaking his head, then stands. I watch, my lips parting as he makes his way toward me. He sinks down to his haunches in front of me, lifting his hands, he curls his fingers around the sides of my thighs.
“This is real. It cannot get more real than what we have, Pippa. You will not know every move that I make. Sometimes I will leave you in the night, sometimes I will be gone for hours without contact. You will need to accept that and not always assume the worst, yeah?”
Rolling my lips, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I give him a short nod of my head. “I want to be okay with it all. I’m sorry that I’m not, yet.”
His hands dance up my sides until he reaches the towel wrapped around my hair. Slowly he unwinds the terry cloth, tossing it to the side as my wet hair falls all around my shoulders with a soft slap to my bare skin.
“You will be,” he rasps. “I agreed to this because I couldn’t imagine you sharing yourself with another man, let alone a line of them,” he explains as he wraps his hands around the sides of my neck. “You were meant to be mine the moment those big blue eyes of yours met mine in the SUV, dolcezza.”
“Why me?” I ask softly.
He smirks. “Why not you, Pippa? You’re breathtakingly beautiful. You’re soft and sweet, you laugh freely and it’s mesmerizing.”
My lips twitch into a small smile. “I don’t,” I mumble.
“You do. I’ve seen you from afar with friends in cafés. I shouldn’t admit that I’ve kept tabs on you, but I have and everything I’ve ever seen has been a beauty that I know without a doubt I am not worthy enough to have to myself.”
“Except you do.”
His eyes twinkle and I think that he’s finally going to smile and that it will reach his eyes, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward and his lips touch mine briefly.
“I do. Now, put on something sexy. I’m sure Lenora set you up with more than just the number you wore last night.”
“For dinner?” I breathe.
He hums. “I want to look at my gift all evening before I unwrap it,” he rasps against my lips.
Chapter Fourteen
PIPPA
Walking into the townhome in Brooklyn Heights, I wonder immediately how he has everything that’s here. Not only does this building have its own one-car garage, it is three stories with so much space, I don’t think I’ll ever feel even slightly claustrophobic.
The outside is brick with black accents, which also spill over into the interior, black accents with warm woods and white walls and ceilings are everywhere and I love it. The townhouse immediately feels like home.
“Your things have already been brought over from the club,” Massimo announces as soon as I walk into the master bedroom. “You can decorate any way you like, keep in mind, I like the mattress and the sheets.”
He sounds so matter of fact, almost bored as he tells me about the sheets and mattress. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at him and watch as he starts to unpack his small bag.
“Massimo?”
He stops, lifting his head slightly, his eyes finding mine as I turn around to face him completely. Massimo doesn’t speak, his brow arching after a couple of seconds when I don’t say anything immediately.
“Who decorated this place?” I ask.
He lets out an exasperated sigh before he goes back to separating his clothes from his small bag, obviously annoyed with me. I wait for him to answer me, knowing that he’ll do it on his own time, if at all.
Massimo is a pretty cliché Made Man in a lot of ways. I’m honestly not seeing this big difference between the new generation and the old like Luciana and Nicola claimed. Massimo is exactly as I thought that he would be.
He orders my food for me, demands that I eat what he’s given me. He makes demands of my body, does what he wants when he wants. Goes where he wants when he wants as well.