Chapter 19

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Anya

S averio bulldozes ahead with the preparations for the wedding. It’s difficult to plan a ceremony when you don’t have a date. It’s like doing everything in reverse, deciding on the decorations and flowers and cake without knowing when it will take place. He shortlisted a few venues so that he has options if one or more aren’t available. Every day, he asks me for a date, and every day, I tell him I’m not ready.

While he meets with caterers and event organizers, I continue my search for three-cylinder tubular keys. I refuse to get involved in Saverio’s plans. Instead, I leave all the work to him. He may be forcing me into matrimony, but I won’t submit willingly by acting like a bride even though that’s what he wants from me. Let him do whatever the hell he wishes. This wedding is for him, not for me. We could’ve just as well gotten married by a marriage officiant, but as this is my first and only wedding—his words—he insists on giving me a reception with all the bells and whistles.

Despite my disinterest, he shares all the details over dinner with me, telling me which caterer he approved and what the menu will be as well as the flowers he’s importing to go with the color scheme.

I bear everything in silence, unable to focus on much more than the Braxton Hicks contractions that keep me up at night and the constant ache in my back. It’s difficult to move and impossible to bend. I can’t even tie my laces, so I’m wearing slip-in shoes or ankle boots.

It feels as if the skin of my stomach is stretched beyond its limits. It’s itchy and uncomfortable. Sleeping is a challenge unless I lie on my side with a pillow between my knees and another one beneath my belly. My nightmares are also getting worse. Sometimes, I dream I wake up with flames leaping around the bed and my mother throwing a lit match into the kitchen where gas is leaking from the stove. On those nights, I jerk awake with sweat-soaked pajamas.

I don’t tell Saverio about any of the things plaguing me, but he’s always there with a warm cup of herbal tea or a cool cloth to press against my forehead. He massages my feet and rubs my back, but he’s not less demanding even though sex becomes more challenging the bigger my baby bump gets. He likes to rub ointment to prevent stretch marks onto my stomach when we lie next to each other in bed. He keeps his hands over my belly to feel when the baby kicks. He can never get enough or grow used to the sensation. Every time a perfect little footprint appears, he stares at it in wonder until the baby settles and the tiny toes disappear.

As the pregnancy takes more from my body, I grow increasingly tired. I work extra hard to fix the books so that I don’t have to deal with a mess during the first weeks after the birth. I’m so exhausted that I hardly go out with Tersia and Livy, but during the days before Christmas, I have a sudden boost of energy.

I do a little shopping, buying a glitzy dress for Livy, a special pre-birth spa voucher for Tersia, and luxury bath products and delicatessens for my mom. As Saverio settled my overdraft and credit card and I don’t have to worry about living expenses, I can splash out a little without turning over every penny.

During the shopping sprees on which I accompany Tersia, I stock up on baby clothes ranging from zero to six months. At home, I wash them with a special baby detergent before packing them carefully into the nursery dresser with the clothes Saverio has already bought.

I debate a long time whether I should get a gift for Saverio, but in the end, I give up on the idea. Our relationship isn’t like that. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Besides, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable if he doesn’t follow the gift tradition. More so, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea—such as that what we share is or will ever be normal. We’re not a doting couple who leave gifts selected with care and bought with love for each other under the Christmas tree.

As Saverio did with the baby room brochures, he leaves leaflets of wedding dress designers all over the house, and as I did with the nursery, I don’t look at them. My heart hurts too much to care about what I wear. I’m not a bride, so why bother? I’m just a means to an end for Saverio.

Cornering me one morning in the kitchen, he grips my chin and tilts back my head so that I’m forced to see the steely will in his glittering blue eyes. “Not choosing a dress isn’t going to change anything. You are going to marry me. It’s happening in two months, so if you don’t pick something you like, you will walk down the aisle in a gown I will choose for you.”

Two months.

My throat constricts at the thought.

“I suppose that means you chose a date,” I say in an uninterested tone, but a bite comes through in my words.

He flexes his jaw. “I gave you time, as much as I could, but we can’t put it off any longer. The baby will be here in three months.”

“Why not marry me after the birth?”

He lets me go and simply watches me.

“Are you still hoping I’ll let you give my baby your surname so that my child will be legitimate and born in wedlock ?”

“You can throw around those terms as if they are archaic and meaningless, but in my circles, illegitimate children don’t have the same rights or respect as legitimate children. My name will give him protection as well as recognition. He’ll have a rightful claim on my fortune and my position the day I’m dead that no one in the family will dispute. If not, the profits from the business I run will be passed down to Giorgio’s firstborn, and if he doesn’t have children, it will be given to Rachele’s son. You’ll be left with enough money to live comfortably but not nearly enough to protect yourself.”

As always, the thought of him dead makes my chest hurt. “Please, Saverio, don’t pretend your intentions are honorable.”

He locks his hands on my hips and holds me fast. “Goddammit, Anya. I’m not going to steal your child. What will it take for you to believe me?”

“Excuse me for not trusting you when you haven’t been honest with me. ”

“Fine.” He tightens his fingers on my hips. “I hid the facts from you, but I didn’t do it to deceive you. I don’t talk about it. The subject is off-limits for me.”

“Like your divorce.”

“I answered every question you asked me,” he says with mounting anger. “What more do you want from me?”

I turn my face away. “To leave me alone. We’re getting nowhere with this argument.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Why can’t you play golf like Richard every Saturday?”

“I’m not a pretentious prick.”

I look back at him. “Are you sure about that?”

He leans forward, forcing me to bend backward. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, treasure. Is that what you want?”

“No, but danger comes with the title, doesn’t it?”

“What title?”

“Mrs. De Luca.”

Satisfaction sparks in his eyes. “I like the sound of that. It suits you.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he says in a husky voice, brushing his lips over mine. “In time, it’ll grow on you.”

“In your dreams.”

“Are you always going to make me work this hard for you?”

“I didn’t choose you, Saverio.”

He kisses me again, softly, and delivers a solemn promise that dooms me to my fate. “No, tesoro , but you will. In two months, you will say yes.”

“Saverio,” I say, uttering the protest as he lowers his head to kiss my neck .

“But this…” He nips the tender skin before sucking, no doubt leaving another mark on me. “This, you want.”

I can’t argue the fact when he slides a hand between my legs. My body is eager for his touch while my mind is eager to forget, and nothing makes me forget like his hands on my naked skin.

He traces my slit with a thumb through the cotton fabric of my leggings. “You’re wet.”

There’s no point in denying it. I grew accustomed to his touch. If he doesn’t fuck me at least once a day, I’m like an addict who suffers from withdrawal symptoms.

He rubs circles around my clit before cupping my sex with enough force to lift me onto my toes. I cling to his shoulders for balance as he lets me down and works the leggings with my underwear over my thighs. He goes down on his haunches and frees my feet before dragging a palm up the inside of my leg as he straightens.

When he pulls off his sweater to expose his chiseled chest, I remove mine too. He unclasps the bra at my back while I unbuckle his belt. All the while, we stare into each other’s eyes with a hunger that consumes.

His breathing quickens as he pushes the straps off my shoulders with a finger. He’s tender when he weighs my breasts in his palm.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, bending down to place a gentle kiss on my stomach. “I wish I could make you pregnant. I want that more than anything in the world.”

His melancholic words move me to wrap my arms around his neck when he straightens. My nipples brush over the hard expanse of his chest, the light friction hardening the tips. He unzips with a hurried movement and shoves his jeans and briefs down to free his cock.

Without warning, he bends his knees and enters me .

“I want you like this,” he says against my lips. “All the fucking time.”

At least that’s one thing we agree on.

His grunts as he spears into me are savage, but his thrusts are controlled. He’s careful not to hurt me.

My stomach is already big enough to get in the way, hampering his movements a little.

He kisses me deeply, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth before giving it a nip. His voice is pure seduction when he orders, “Turn around.”

He pulls out and gives me space to move.

I turn in his arms.

He takes my wrists and places my hands on the edge of the counter. Supporting my stomach with one arm wrapped around me, he pushes in from behind. I moan as he stretches me, arching my back and rubbing against him when he hits that sweet spot deep inside.

He fucks me with a leisurely pace, driving me higher too slowly.

When he leaves me empty, I strain my neck to look over my shoulder. He spits in his palm and lubricates the broad crest of his cock.

My pulse picks up. Anticipation tightens my muscles.

He grabs the root of his cock and positions the head at my dark entrance. Holding me close, he applies steady pressure until the tight ring of muscles gives and my body yields to the invasion. The burn stings. The pain flares when he moves, but I push back, taking more.

It feels so much fuller than before. He goes a lot slower this time, penetrating me inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside. My arms start shaking when he pumps. He plants a kiss between my shoulder blades and slips his free hand back between my legs. I moan when he rubs my clit in circular movements. Tension builds in my lower body until I can’t tell the pleasure from the pain.

When he plunges a finger into my pussy, I come with a cry that tears from my chest. My inner muscles clench around him, sucking him deeper.

“Goddamn,” he groans, uttering a string of unintelligible curses as his body goes taut behind me.

Warmth bathes me inside, adding to the sensation of being overly full.

He keeps still for just a moment before giving me reprieve. The pressure lifts as he pulls out. His seed runs down the crack of my ass and my thighs, marking me as his in the most primitive of ways.

“Stay,” he says, kissing my shoulder.

I bend my elbows and lean my cheek on my arm. He strips naked, getting rid of his jeans, and grabs a roll of paper towels from the counter to wipe his cum from my thighs before scooping me into his arms and carrying me to bed where he cleans me more thoroughly with a warm, wet washcloth. Then he lies down next to me and pulls me into his arms. The gentle kiss he presses on my shoulder warns me that I may not like what he’s about to say.

Stroking my hip, he confesses, “I confronted Rachele.” A beat of silence follows. “She’s pregnant.”

“I’m happy for her,” I say honestly even as my heart aches for Saverio.

He falls quiet, and I don’t stick my finger in that wound by asking him hurtful questions such as how he feels about that.

We fall asleep like that, holding on to one another, each of us easing our pain as best as we can.