Chapter 25

25

"Holy shit," I breathe as we turn onto a long driveway and a massive stone house comes into view on Sunday evening.

Scratch that, it's a goddamn castle.

I turn to face Bowie, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. "This is where you grew up?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, shifting the Escalade into park. "It's too much house if you ask me."

Hell, the place probably has its own zip code.

Opening his door, Bowie gets out of the SUV while I remain frozen in my seat, wide-eyed in pure stupor at the sheer opulence of this place. I always thought Drea's parent's house was nice, but this makes even their place look like a shack.

From what I can see, it's two stories with a turret on both ends and three balconies on the front. Perfectly manicured hedges line the walkway leading to the front stairs and a set of large mahogany double doors.

Obviously, I knew Bowie's family had money, but seeing this place has my anxiety ratcheting up. My stomach has been in knots all afternoon about meeting his parents. What if they don't think I'm good enough for Bowie? Self-doubt clouds my head for the umpteenth time today and I wonder how much weight Bowie's dad carries in his life. If he could threaten Bowie's position, could he make him leave me? That thought only makes me more nauseous than I already am.

My door opens, snapping me out of my spiral as Bowie unbuckles my seat belt, holding out his hand to help me down. I adjust the tie of my mid-length burgundy wrap dress, turning towards him to ask timidly, "How do I look?"

Desire dances in his eyes as he rakes them slowly over me, his voice husky as he answers, "Like a fucking goddess that I should drop to my knees to worship."

I feel a blush forming on my cheeks. "I'm serious, Bowie. I want to make a good impression." And for them to like me.

"Wren," he says, knuckles brushing my cheek as he tucks my hair behind my ear. "They are going to love you because I love you."

Heat pummels my insides and I swear my heart literally skips a beat at his words. He's such a smooth-talking gentleman, it's hard to believe he's also some ruthless mob boss.

His fingers lace with mine and he raises our hands, pressing a kiss to the back of my palm and tipping his head toward the doors. "Ready?"

"No," I snort.

Bowie's face splits in a smile as he leads us inside. And holy fucking shit, I thought the exterior was impressive, but the inside is like I see you and raise you double.

My eyes dart around the pristine foyer. Beautiful white marble tiles cover the floors, a grand staircase leading upstairs with an intricate wrought iron railing that curves around a modern chandelier with light refracting off the warm tan walls.

We turn to the left, down a short hall that slowly opens up into a large sitting room with people seated across four tawny-colored suede sofas. Rocco spots us first and lifts his wine glass, instantly garnering the others' attention.

"Bowie!" An older brunette woman exclaims as she opens her arms and rushes toward him. Even in heels, she barely comes up to his chest as she squeezes his face, kissing each cheek.

"Hi, Ma," he chuckles, returning the gesture.

"I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it after all," she chides.

Her eyes slide towards me, identical in color to Bowie's, and her rings catch the light as she slaps a hand to her chest with a gasp. "And who do we have here?"

Releasing my hand, Bowie drapes an arm across my shoulders. "Ma, everyone, this is Wren, my girlfriend."

"Hello," I greet, offering my hand.

His mom grasps my outstretched palm, tugging me into a warm hug. "So lovely to meet you, Wren. I'm Corrine, Bowie's mother." Teetering back to look at me again, she pulls me toward the others. "Come meet everyone. We are so excited you are here!" Leaning in, she whispers in my ear, adding, "Bowie's never brought home a girl before, so pardon my manners if I seem a bit high-strung."

I giggle softly in response, allowing her to lead me across the room. Her sweet demeanor eases some of the tension, making me feel less anxious to be here.

"This is my husband Salvatore, but everyone calls him Sal," she says, pausing in front of an intimidating older man with slicked-back salt and pepper hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. His brows crease as he strokes his stubbled chin and eyes me cautiously.

I lift a hand in an awkward wave, murmuring a hello as he eventually nods his head.

He's definitely not as warm and fuzzy as his wife.

Not deterred in the slightest, Corinne shuffles toward Rocco next. "I'm sure you know Rocco and his wife, Isa."

I've met Isa a few times in passing, but honestly, she intimidates the hell out of me. She's stunning, always dressed in designer outfits with not a single dark hair out of place. She's curled into Rocco's side as she sips her wine, not even smudging her lipstick on the glass. The lingering thoughts of whether Bowie would've chosen me if I weren't pregnant start to creep in, because everything about Isa screams perfection, and I'm anything but that.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of Bowie talking to his father. He senses my eyes on him, casting me an easy smile and shooting me a wink that somehow sets my mind at ease.

Corrine shifts me toward another woman closer to her age on Rocco's left. "This is Bowie's Zia Lisa. Rocco's mother."

Bowie told me about her on the way over, not that he thought I'd stare, but because Lisa is sensitive about her looks. She was out in their front yard when the car bomb that killed Rocco's dad went off, leaving her with some nasty scars and a prosthetic leg.

"Nice to meet you," Lisa greets with a reserved smile.

"You as-"

"Sorry, I'm late!" a female voice yells as a door slams shut.

"And that would be Nicky, Bowie's little sister."

Heels clip against the tile as Nicky comes down the hall. "Had a meeting with a distributor and it ran late, then the till wouldn't balance, and man, it was just a day." She runs a hand through her caramel highlights as she approaches Sal, kissing his cheeks and turning to do the same to Bowie.

The fitted white top and high-waisted black slacks with a flared leg accentuate her figure and leave me feeling severely underdressed. It's easy to see that the Sorrentino genes are like winning the lottery around here.

"Nicky," Corrinne waves her daughter over. "This is Wren, Bowie's girlfriend."

"So, she does exist," she muses, tilting her head to the side. She gives me a once over before swiveling her head toward Bowie and offering him a fist bump. "Nice, bro."

Bowie shakes his head at her as he crosses the room towards me. "C'mon ma, stop hogging my girl."

"Fine," Corrine sighs, squeezing my shoulders. "We're so glad to have you here, Wren. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you."

'Twenty-minute timer is up,' an electronic voice announces.

"Oh! That's the ziti," Corinne claps her hands together. "Nicky, come help me bring things to the table."

"Well," Sal grunts, pushing to his feet. "Let's eat."

Bowie's hand rests at the small of my back as he guides me towards a formal dining room. Everyone filters in, taking their seats as Corinne and Nicky bring out dinner. I take a look around, still in awe of the place. The large table probably cost more than my car. Bowie puts a generous helping of baked sausage ziti on a plate along with some salad and places it down in front of me as everyone else helps themselves to the various platters.

"Wine, Wren?" Corinne asks.

"No, thank you," I reply shyly. "Water's fine."

"Oh, nonsense. My cooking is even better with wine."

"Not true, Amore mio," Sal says with a warmth in his voice that surprises me. "My Cori is an excellent cook. So don't be shy here, Wren, eat up."

Sal is right, the food is delicious- and I'm quick to dig into it as the family falls into what seems like an easy conversation filled with Italian curses that has Corinne admonishing them and playful banter that makes everyone laugh.

The entire night, Bowie's hand rests on the back of my chair while he engages with his family, and it's adorable to see him like this. A pang of jealousy echoes in my chest when I start to think about all the family dinners that I missed out on growing up, but the phantom pain quickly ebbs when I realize that my baby is going to have this. Not just with Bowie and I, but they will have extended family as well.

"So, Wren," Sal's gravelly tone gets my attention. "Are you from Chicago?"

"Yup, as far as I know, born and raised."

A large hand with platinum rings strokes the stubble of his chin as he eyes me in contemplation. "As far as you know?"

Letting out a breath, I give the same spiel I do every time my origins come up.

He hums in response, while others offer me gentle smiles and thankfully no one tries to pity me.

"How old are you?" Sal asks.

"Twenty-three," I answer, suddenly feeling like I'm under interrogation.

"Hmm, and you were three when you went into foster care?"

"Yeah. I don't really remember much from before that point, but my social workers filled in the blanks over the years."

Seemingly satisfied with my answers, Sal takes a large gulp of the amber-colored liquor in his glass before he continues. "So, how'd you two meet?"

"Salvatore," Corinne scolds. "So inquisitive tonight."

He shrugs, shifting his attention from me to Bowie and raising a brow.

We'd known this question would be coming, and even though Rocco knows the full story, we didn't think 'one-night stand turned boss with benefits' was a good wholesome tale for a family dinner. Bowie glazes over our condensed meet-cute and everyone seems satisfied.

Throughout the rest of dinner, I feel the heavy weight of Sal's pensive gaze on me, making my skin crawl with anxious tingles. As dinner concludes, everyone starts heading back to the sitting room for a glass of Sambuca.

"We'll join you shortly," Bowie announces as he stands, linking his hand with mine. "I'm going to give Wren a tour of the house."

He leads me down a hall, up the stairs, and into the first door on the right.

"Why are we in a bathroom, Bowie?" I chuckle, admiring the polished faucets and pristine mirrors.

His strong hands rub my shoulders. "You seemed a little overwhelmed out there, thought you could use a minute to decompress."

"I don't think your dad likes me," I sigh as his hands work away some tension.

"No, he's just brash in his manners." He nips at my ear. "Let me help you relax before we go out there for round two?"

His hands cruise down my body, and I can feel the heat of his palms on my hips through the satin material of my dress. A flurry of chills run up my spine at his insinuation and I nod my head in agreement. I love how he can read me so well, always knowing exactly what I need.

"Hands on the counter, Passerotta," he directs.

The marble counter is cool to the touch as I lean forward, splaying my hands across the surface.

"Now stick that ass out for me," he growls, as I hear the familiar metal clinks of his belt coming undone.

His hands travel up my thighs, and his touch already has my body craving more. Rucking up my dress, he tugs harshly on my thong, making the fabric rub against my already sensitive clit before he drags them down my thighs.

"Always so fucking wet for me, aren't you Passerotta?" The ripple of Bowie's deep timbre makes my pussy clench with need.

I moan as he screws a thick digit inside me, pressing back to take him deeper. He pumps in and out of me, adding another finger as his thumb presses against the tight ring of muscle of my ass. The sensation startles me, but it's not unpleasant. "I'm gonna fuck you here..." My whole body goes rigid. "...But not tonight."

Anal isn't something I've done or ever given a lot of thought to before, but hell, there hasn't been something I've tried with Bowie that I haven't liked.

The sound of him spitting makes me lift my head and watch him from the large mirror in front of us. Saliva falls from his lips, warm and wet as it hits my back hole. He spreads it around with his thumb and my breath comes out in a shuddered gasp as the tip of his digit breaches my resistance.

"Relax," he husks. "Don't push me out."

I slowly blow out a breath, trying to relax my muscles.

"Good girl," Bowie praises.

He works both my holes, and the feeling of fullness winds the coil tighter in my belly. I can feel my release nearing, his skilled fingers coaxing me closer to the edge, but just as I'm about to collapse against the counter, he withdraws his hand.

"Bow-ie," my groan transforms into a moan as his fingers dig into my hips and he thrusts his cock inside, turning my objection into satisfaction.

"Fuck!" I cry out as he hammers into me at a relentless pace.

One of his tattooed hands circles my throat, pulling me back against his chest. Our eyes lock in the mirror. "Shh, I need you to be quiet this time. Think you can do that for me?"

My mouth opens to respond right as he ruts deep inside me again and another cry of pleasure tears from my throat.

Bowie's teeth graze my earlobe as he rasps, "I guess you need help with that." Flexing his grip, he restricts my airflow, and his other arm bands across my hips, holding me flush against him as he speeds up his assault.

Each time Bowie breaches a new kink with me, there's a split moment of panic that punches all the air from my lungs. But never once, not even when there's been pain in the name of pleasure, have I ever truly feared him. I know deep in my soul he'll take care of me, and the look of adoration that plays in his hazel eyes confirms it.

The lack of oxygen is making me light-headed, but just as it's about to become too much, he drops his hand to my clit and gives it a pinch as he looks at me through the mirror. "Let me see you shatter, Passerotta."

My breath returns to my body the same moment I topple off the edge, and goddamn it's fucking euphoric.

Every inch of my skin tingles and intense pleasure surges through my veins, making my legs quiver beneath me. Bowie never stops his thrusts; he fucks me right through one of the most insane orgasms of my life as he finds his own release.

After that revolutionary dicking, I don't trust my legs even a little to support me right now. So I relax back into his grip, resting my head on his shoulder and listening to the beat of his thundering heart with his cock still seated deep inside.

When the flush leaves our skin, he eases himself out, turning me and placing me on the counter, like I weigh nothing. I love how he handles me, there's just something inherently sexy about a man who can throw you around.

"How'd you know?" I ask as he moves a warm washcloth between my thighs.

"Know what?" he challenges, tucking away his softening cock and buckling his belt.

"That I needed this."

"You pick at the skin around your nails when you're anxious," he answers, helping me off the counter, sliding my panties up, and giving my pussy a pat through the fabric. "Now, let's get back out there."

Bowie escorts me out of the bathroom, my knees wobbling a little bit as he brings me into the sitting room to rejoin his family.

"There you two are!" Corinne calls out as we enter. "Come sit, I'll get you a glass of Sambuca."

"Oh, no thank you," I say as we take up a spot on one of the sofas across from Rocco and Isa.

Isa is busy talking about how her grandma has been sick and her plans to go to California soon for a visit. I've never experienced a loss like that, but something about the way her eyes glisten as she talks about her family makes my heart pinch for her.

"You didn't have any wine with dinner," Bowie's mom admonishes, offering us both a glass tumbler. "These dinners are all about relaxing and enjoying yourself, you don't have to be shy. If you're worried about getting home, my Bowie will be fine to drive when you leave, or we have plenty of guest rooms."

"Ma," Bowie's voice is firm as he takes both glasses from her and sets them aside. "Wren said no."

Corinne's perfectly manicured brows furrow together as she eyes her son. "Yes dear, you're right. I'm sorry for being so pushy, Wren."

The conversations around us fade out and heat crawls up my spine as I feel everyone's eyes land on me. I've never wished for the floor to open up and swallow me whole more than I do right now.

Sensing my discomfort again, Bowie's arm cradles my shoulders, pulling me against his form. His fingers trace gentle circles over my bicep as his brow raises in question. Inhaling deeply, I give him a small nod, knowing exactly what's coming next.

His lips curve into a soft smile as he turns to the rest of the room. "We have some news."

From the corner of my eye, I see Rocco smirk, his eyes alight with a comforting reassurance. We don't really know each other that well, but I appreciate his efforts.

"Well?" Corinne asks eagerly. "What is it?"

"Wren's pregnant."

My stomach bottoms out as I stand there, feeling the full weight of everyones in the room's gazes bearing down on me, and it feels like the silence stretches a lifetime before the reactions start.

Sal's eyes round in curiosity as he drums his fingers on the arm of his chair- not the reaction I was expecting. Rocco smirks, Isa and Lisa have genuine smiles across their faces. Nicky spits her drink out, and Corinne's mouth rounds in surprise as she gasps, "Che buono!"

"How far along are you?" she asks, eyes glossing over as they ping between Bowie and me.

"Around ten weeks," I answer softly.

"That's just wonderful, I'm so happy for you two!" She holds open her arms, flapping her hands at me for a hug. My cheeks heat as I move to accept her congratulations, her flowery perfume filling my nose as her arms wind around me, holding me tightly against her. I swear my arms are about to go numb when she finally releases me. She latches onto Bowie next, whispering something in Italian.

Just like Bowie promised, everyone is excited for us, showering us with well wishes, more questions, and of course, more hugs.

Bowie's absolutely beaming with pride right now. That same stupidly handsome smirk that got us into this situation splits his face as his father slaps his back in congratulations. He may not be my biggest fan, but he at least seems pleased by this news.

I can't say I hate all this attention. As much as I prefer to blend into the background, the outpouring of love and support from these people- who don't even know me- has tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.

Over the years, I've spent a lot of time focusing on all the things I didn't have and how my life never seemed to measure up to other kids'. It's stupid, I know that, but I'm fucking human, and that empty gap in my heart- the piece missing from my soul- never stopped aching. I just got better at forcing down the pain.

I'm not going to sit here and say how this was just meant to be, or part of a bigger plan because it wasn't. It was an accident; a beautiful, wonderful accident. And I refuse to believe that you have to go through something bad in order to reap the rewards.

Excusing myself, I head toward the kitchen, needing a minute to breathe and a glass of water. I take a sip, staring out at the twinkle lights strung around the pergola. Thick, corded forearms circle my waist, Bowie's heady scent overwhelming my senses as the warmth of his body seeps into mine.

"I think you're Ma's favorite now," Bowie says as he gently sways us side to side.

Maybe I'm being a sappy bitch or the pregnancy hormones are just messing with my mind, but his words have a tear slipping out the corner of my eye. It hardly makes it to the crest of my cheek before Bowie's lips intercept it, branding me with a kiss that sears me to my core.

I fell hard and fast for this man, and though I still won't buy into the idea he's some consolation prize for a shitty childhood, he heals my broken pieces every time he holds me, spreading light into the darkest corners of my self deprecating soul.

It's an intoxicating sensation to feel deserving of love, and after tonight, I might just be addicted to it.