Chapter Three

Lore

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting of Renzo Lombardi’s home. I guess I’d imagined something very cold and modern. Sharp lines, dark colors, lots of chrome and glass.

I hadn’t been prepared for how warm his apartment actually was.

I realized as I stepped inside that Renzo had the entire top floor of the building to himself, creating a sprawling, open space.

The red brick on the outside of the building was a dominant feature inside, giving the large space a cozy vibe.

The nearly floor to ceiling windows were curved at the tops with black casings, and lining one entire wall of the space.

The concept was open, so the kitchen was closest to the door with more exposed brick, black cabinetry, an oversized island, butcher block countertops, and cement floors.

The apartment flowed from there into a dining space with a long table, and then the living room area that featured several seating areas. One had a conversational, intimate vibe with a small loveseat and three black leather chairs all facing each other.

Beside that was a larger seating area with off-white tufted couches facing a large framed TV on the wall.

Then, finally, on the far end of that was a game area dominated by a sleek wooden pool table with black felt. One side of the pool table was lined by hightop tables and chairs. The other side had a large, fully stocked bar and a stereo system.

There were rooms off of that space.

But they were slightly cut off from view thanks to a large staircase leading up to the loft area that surrounded the whole apartment.

It seemed as though each end of the house featured bedrooms with one long hallway that overlooked the lower level between them.

“Mrs. Lombardi,” a newly familiar voice said to me, making me turn to see the man who’d come to the bridal suite at the cathedral, who’d led me toward the aisle.

I’d been too distracted to pay him much mind before. But with nothing else that I wanted to think about right then, I took a second to take him in.

Like Renzo, he was tall and fit in his suit with a square jaw and a brooding brow over golden-brown eyes.

“Yes?” I asked, still trying to come to grips with how that sounded.

Lore Lombardi.

It had a nice ring to it, I guess.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, waving toward the bar where Renzo was downing his second drink.

I tried not to worry that he was drinking because of me. Because he was disappointed in this arrangement, in me as a wife.

I’d only ever really had sips of wine in my life. You could say that being the only girl in a family with five brothers, and a widowed father, I had been incredibly sheltered in my life.

Someone was always keeping an eye on me, making sure I never got into any trouble, never did, well, anything at all.

So having a drink to calm my nerves or after a long, hard day had never been an option for me.

I didn’t think tonight was the night to give that a try.

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m Elian,” he introduced himself. “You can ask me for anything you need or want. I’m always around.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice a small sound. “You can call me Lore, by the way,” I said.

“No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re Mrs. Lombardi.”

“Oh,” I said, confused that someone who seemed close to Renzo would be forced to keep up those kinds of formalities. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to show you to your room?” he asked. “Your luggage arrived earlier,” he added.

Right.

Yeah.

I’d forgotten all about that.

Along with my ring and the money for my dress had been a number I could text for and a man who would show up to fetch my things.

Which he’d done yesterday, I’d been up the whole night before, fretting about how much of my old life I could bring into my new one.

I glanced over to see Renzo striding across the apartment, then closing himself in one of the rooms on the other side of the game room.

Well then.

“That would be great, thanks,” I said, getting a nod from him as he moved ahead of me, leading me through the apartment and toward the stairs, waiting for me as I gathered my skirts, then taking up the steps two at a time as I struggled to do each one in my heels.

I wasn’t a woman who dressed up often. Or ever, really. And I never wore heels.

But a girl had to make sacrifices for her wedding day, right? Not that this felt anything like an actual wedding day, though.

No kiss at the altar.

No reception.

Hardly even a glance from my husband.

Outside of the door, my luggage was lined up neatly against the wall, and as soon as Elian pushed open the bedroom door to let me in, he started to grab each of them, moving them inside the door instead.

“Anything else, Mrs. Lombardi?” he asked.

“I… no. Thank you, Elian,” I said, giving him a small, forced smile as he nodded, moved out, and closed the door.

So.

This was Renzo Lombardi’s bedroom.

It smelled like him, was my first thought.

That smoky leather scent with a hint of tonka bean.

It had been pleasant up close at the altar.

But it was almost dizzying in this space.

There was another wall of windows with black casings and exposed brick. But the other walls, which I figured must have been erected sometime after the original brick, were smooth cement.

The floor was a rich hardwood with a distressed gray rug under the bed, so you stepped onto something warm the first thing in the morning.

The bed itself was massive. Bigger, I was sure, than any king-sized one I’d ever seen. Were there bigger types than that? There must be. Because Renzo had one.

It was set a little lower to the ground with a dark gray leather headboard and a bunch of lush gray bedding.

It was a far cry from my bedroom back at home. With the same white four poster bed I’d had since I was a little girl, and shades of beige and pink all around.

That was the point, though, wasn’t it?

A new life.

New things.

I would get used to the changes eventually.

Unsure what else to do with myself, I found the massive walk-in closet, and tucked all my things along one wall, figuring I would unpack slowly over the next few days.

Uncomfortable in my wedding gown, though, I went for a specific bag I’d packed. Inside, still gently wrapped in the tissue paper, was my new robe and matching nightie that the designer boutique had referred to as a ‘babydoll.’

I took that package as well as a small toiletry bag with me across the primary suite toward the open door of the bathroom.

Back at home, I had my own bathroom. A luxury, for sure. But my father had insisted as we were growing up that being the only girl in a house full of boys, that I deserved my own bathroom space.

But it was a little shoebox room with a pedestal vanity with no storage for my things, and shower niche barely big enough to turn around in.

No bathtub.

And I can’t say how many times I’d fantasized about having my very own deep soaking tub to submerge in.

Apparently, my dreams came true with Renzo’s en suite bathroom. Which, honestly, might have been as big as my bedroom at home.

There were more exposed brick walls and wood tile floors, a double sink vanity, and a massive walk-in glass shower big enough for ten people to stand comfortably.

And, right near the tinted windows, there it was.

The soaking tub of my dreams.

Better, even.

Because I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen one this oversized before

I considered drawing a bath, of sinking in and letting the stress of the last few months wash away.

I didn’t know if I had time, though.

This was my wedding night.

There would be… activities.

And I didn’t know when Renzo would come to bed.

I didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Sliding the bathroom door closed, I removed the headband that had been stabbing me in the skull since I’d put it on, then set it and my veil aside as I stretched to unzip my gown.

Beneath, I had on a strapless bra that I immediately reached to remove, remembering the sales clerk reminding me how it would leave creases in my skin, and I wanted to give it time to level out to create the best ‘presentation.’

I stood there for a moment in my barely-there creamy pink panties, trying to see myself through eyes not as fault-finding as my own.

A futile task, it seemed, as I averted my eyes and set to slathering on lotion to every inch of my skin before, finally, unwrapping my babydoll in the same color as my panties, and sliding the soft, cool silk material over my head.

It cut scandalously low in the front, and the thin material did nothing to hide the peaks of my breasts, thanks to the cool air in Renzo’s apartment. The hem barely came a few inches down past my panties, and I was glad to reach for the matching robe to offer me a bit more modesty.

Modesty, I scoffed to myself.

I was about to get naked in front of a man for the first time. And I was worried about a little too much thigh showing.

The thought had a strange wobble moving through my belly, a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Because, while I would never tell a soul this, I’d been fantasizing about this night for a long time. When Renzo would peel my clothes off of me, would run his fingers over my skin, would kiss and tease, and make me his own.

That said, there was no shaking the anxiety of the first time, so I tried to keep my mind on other things. Like cleaning up the mess I made. Like brushing my hair and teeth. Like carefully unmaking the bed in such a way that it would be easy to slip into it.

I was just finishing that task when, suddenly, noise from below started to drift in from under the door.

Confused by the cacophony of voices, of laughter, and what seemed like music, I made my way to the door, inching it open, and looking down below.

To find the apartment flooded with people.

Drinking, eating, laughing, playing pool.

Had I gotten this wrong?

Was there actually a reception planned that I hadn’t been aware of?

But… no.

Because I didn’t recognize a single face from down below. Save for Elian and the driver from earlier.

And, of course, Renzo, who had a hand around a glass of amber liquid, and his head thrown back as he laughed at something someone said.

I’d never seen him so relaxed.

There was a tug inside me, familiar and no longer forbidden, making me wish I could be the one making a smile stretch across his handsome, but often too severe, face.

He hadn’t changed, though it seemed like everyone else was dressed casually.

Not really a reception then.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling as I stood there spying on their gathering, that I wasn’t invited.

I slunk back into the room, my nerves now mixing with a sick, sour feeling of being excluded.

Tears threatened again, and I took myself into the bathroom to wipe away my eye makeup before I could smudge it with the silly, but seemingly uncontrollable emotion.

I was overwrought. Overtired.

I needed to get myself together.

Luckily for me, though, the party seemed to rage endlessly, no one seeming concerned with my absence, least of all my husband. So I had plenty of time to pull myself together.

I got into the bed.

Then out.

Paced the room.

Sat on the chair shoved in the corner, not knowing what to do with myself.

Until, finally, I plopped myself down on the edge of the bed.

And waited.

And waited.

I’d all but lost hope as the party noise continued to swell.

Until, suddenly, the door was opening.

And there he was.