Chapter 25

Atremor ran over my body causing my teeth to rattle before I clamped my jaw tight. The musky taste of him still on my tongue.

Matteo pulled me onto his lap. As he swept his hand over the side of my cheek to brush my hair back, he said, "What am I going to do with you, mia piccola colomba?"

Too busy fighting the comforting feel of his powerful arms wrapped close around me, I didn't respond.

Matteo leaned to the side and grabbed the gold quilt that was still neatly folded at the end of the bed. He then swept the soft, heavy folds over my shoulders. "Let's go get you something to eat."

Clamping the edges of the blanket over my breasts with my fist, I shook my head. "I'm not hungry," I whispered.

He must not have heard me because he stood, and after adjusting the waistband of his gray sweats, he secured the blanket more firmly around my body before lifting me in his arms.

As he carried me across the bedroom, I said more loudly, "I'm not hungry."

He winked at me. "I heard you the first time."

I huffed out a sigh. "Then where are you taking me?"

"To the kitchen."

"But…"

"No more arguments tonight."

For once, we were in agreement.

I was too tired, too emotionally and physically worn out, to argue anymore.

Easily navigating the narrow back servants' stairs, we emerged into a spacious kitchen. At first glance, it appeared like a rustic, country kitchen with its exposed brick and the rough wood ceiling beams with hammered copper pots dangling from wrought iron hooks. But on closer inspection, it was easy to spot the high-end appliances and luxurious details.

Matteo set me on the polished stone kitchen island.

I shifted my hips forward, intending to hop off, but a dark look of warning from him stopped me.

He reached over my head and pulled down a heavy cast-iron skillet. After turning up the flame on the gas oven range, he warmed the skillet while he retrieved a loaf of fresh ciabatta from the bread bin. After cutting the entire loaf into thin slices, he drizzled a healthy amount of olive oil into the now heated skillet, and tossed them in.

As I looked on silently, he used his fingers to gingerly flip the slices, exposing the golden-brown toasted side glistening with olive oil.

I inhaled sharply when his arm brushed my hip as he reached past me.

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes when his own gaze focused on mine. Of course he would have heard my soft gasp. There wasn't the smallest detail this man ever missed. It was super annoying.

The corner of his mouth lifted as he held the dishtowel he had reached for aloft. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

My eyes narrowed. "Said the wolf to the lamb."

With a laugh, he leaned over and kissed the sensitive space just below my jaw. "When you're not being a pain-in-the-ass little brat, you really are adorable."

My lips thinned as I leaned over to my left and rubbed my hip. "I don't know what you're complaining about. I'm the one who has a literal pain in my ass."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, technically not in your ass… this time."

Heat radiated off my cheeks to rival the cast-iron skillet.

Thankfully, I was saved from a response when his attention returned to the skillet. With the towel wrapped around his hand, he grabbed the hot handle and slid the toasted slices onto a nearby pewter platter.

Matteo then opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a mason jar filled with what looked like whipped ricotta cheese and then a similar mason jar of dark honey from a nearby cabinet.

He placed both items on the counter near me then opened a drawer and retrieved two spoons before closing it with his hip.

My mouth watered as I watched him spoon a light and fluffy dollop of rich, creamy ricotta cheese onto the warm crostini. He then lifted the wooden dowel out of the honey and spun it, drizzling the whole thing with a thin stream of sweet honey.

Turning to me, he held the crostini up to my lips. "Open your mouth."

I turned my head. Knowing I was risking another punishment, my hunger and lack of sleep got the better of me. "The last time you said that, I nearly choked to death on your… your thing."

He grasped my jaw and turned my head to face him. "It's called a cock."

I blinked as I clamped my teeth together.

His fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of my cheeks. "Say it. Cock."

I breathed through my nose. "No. It's not ladylike," I replied, keeping my jaw clenched.

"Says the lady who's repeatedly propositioned me to fuck her ass."

Repeatedly?

God, I really hated my sister sometimes.

Like now. Now was a really good time to hate her for this mess she shoved me in.

He raised his eyebrow again. "I'm waiting."

Shifting my gaze to the ceiling, I bit off, "Cock."

"Brava ragazza. Now, take a bite before it gets too cold."

"I told you, I'm not hungry."

He released my jaw and leaned back against the counter across from me. Staring straight at me, he sank his sharp, white teeth into the whipped ricotta crostini. His eyes closed, and he gave a moan while he chewed.

With my hands balled inside of the blanket, I wrapped my arms tightly around my middle to keep my stomach from growling.

He moaned again. "This is so good. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

The second half of the crostini was held up to my mouth again. Drips of honey threatened to fall off the sides, making me want to flick them with the tip of my tongue.

Distracted by the simple, yet decadent, treat taunting me, I didn't notice at first when Matteo slipped his hips between my knees as he moved closer. "Come on, baby. Take just a small bite. For me."

He brushed the toasted crust of the crostini, with its drips of honey, against my lower lip.

The tip of my tongue swept out to taste the golden sweetness. With my guard down, my stomach rumbled when I forgot to continue to clench my abdominal muscles.

"That's it, little one. Just open your lips and let me slip it inside."

My gaze clashed with his at his erotic double entendre.

Mesmerized by his dark gaze and the allure of the crostini, my mouth opened, allowing him to push the final bite inside.

Like him, I closed my eyes and groaned as my teeth crunched down on the crostini, releasing the earthy flavor of the olive oil just as the whipped ricotta melted onto my tongue. Complimenting the rich creaminess was the burst of sweetness with a touch of floral from the honey.

My eyes still closed, the rough edge of another crostini brushed my lower lip.

"Open," he commanded.

I obeyed.

This time cutting the crunchy yet chewy crostini in half with my front teeth. As I chewed, I opened my eyes in time to see him place the rest of the bite into his mouth.

Outside of sex, I couldn't imagine there was anything more intimate than sharing food.

The corner of my lips tickled as a drizzle of honey escaped my mouth. Before I could flick my tongue out to capture it, Matteo brushed the pad of his thumb over the droplet. He then pushed his thumb inside my mouth.

An instant connection to him doing the same motion earlier, as he made sure I swallowed every drop of his come, made me lightheaded. In my mind, I tried to blame my exhaustion and hunger, but knew it was a lie.

Rattled, I reached for my own slice of crostini and spooned some ricotta on it before shuffling my hips a little further down the kitchen island.

Matteo followed me with the jar of honey.

Reluctantly, I held it out as he spooled a thick drizzle onto my slice.

As he did so, he said, "I know your secret."

My world tilted off its axis.

Afraid my now shaking hand would drop it, and needing time to think before I responded, I shoved the whole crostini into my mouth. Forcing myself not to groan as the sweet creaminess hit my tongue.

He knew my secret?

He knew I was Ella and not his intended fiancée, Antonia?

How much did he know?

When had he figured it out?

Matteo chuckled. "Careful, little one. Dirty talk in the bedroom is fine, but I don't truly want you to choke."

With wide eyes, I nodded as I struggled to chew. My fingers gripped the edge of the island. When I had finally swallowed, I rasped, "I can explain."

No, I couldn't!

I couldn't come remotely close to explaining any of this madness.

Where would I even start?

What if I confessed to being the one on the boat with him that time, when he assumed I was Antonia?

What would I say if he asked where Antonia was?

Or why I was taking her place?

Or worse, why I let him practically fuck me, more than once, when I knew he was promised to my sister.

Sciatiri e matri!

Was he going to kill me now for trying to trick him?

I was all alone in an empty villa with Matteo Cavalieri in the middle of Abruzzo. Helpless.

My head swam as a fevered lightheadedness once again took over.

If I fainted and cracked my skull on the slate floor tile, would he take pity on me?

His knuckles brushed my neck as he pushed my hair back over my shoulder and lifted the blanket higher after it slipped down my shoulder. "There is no need for any explanation."

There isn't?

With embarrassing swiftness, my mind spun out an alternative tale.

Was it possible Matteo had known from the beginning, but went along with the deception because he preferred me to my sister?

My heart leapt at the thought.

Was it possible that the moment we shared in the gazebo was real? Like really real?

It was almost inconceivable to imagine someone preferring me over my sexy and outgoing sister. All my life, I had played the shy wallflower to her bold, attention-getting personality.

The lesser twin.

Always overlooked.

Always compared and found wanting.

Always the poor man's Antonia.

Was it possible that for once, someone had decided I wasn't just the other sister, but had truly seen me as an individual?

"There isn't?" I squeaked.

Matteo placed his hands on either side of my hips. "Of course not. You're safe here, Antonia."

My heart fell.

Antonia.

He didn't know I was Antonella. My so-called secret was safe.

I should have felt a rush of relief, but instead a weariness that was bone-deep caused my shoulders to droop as I lowered my head.

Matteo once more pushed back the cascade of blonde curls I was attempting to hide behind. "I know why you and your sister, Ella, insist on starving yourselves. And why you acted out with all those men."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat as hot tears filled my eyes. I had to clear my throat before answering. "Do you, now?"

He stroked my cheek with the backs of his knuckles. "It was your father. The man should be shot for using his own flesh and blood as trinkets he dangled before his men. He should have been sheltering and protecting you both, and instead he berated and taunted you with cruel memories of your mother."

My lower lip trembled as I raised my chin and stared up at the ceiling to try to keep from crying.

I was hanging on by the thinnest of threads. If Matteo continued to mention my poor mother, I'd lose it.

He continued. "I know the truth. How you behave is all an act. You're really more like your shy, sweet sister. You've just been forced to conform to the bullshit demands of your father as a coping mechanism. But you're safe now. You don't have to pretend anymore."

If he only knew. Everything and nothing about my sister was an act.

She was just as superficial, selfish, and toxic as my father.

That Matteo called me sweet only twisted the knife in further.

I sniffed as I pushed my blanket-covered fists against his shoulders. "Thank you for the crostini. I'm exhausted. I'm just going to head back up to bed. Alone."

Matteo sighed. "Very well, but this isn't finished."

I swiped at a traitorous tear. I really needed to get the hell out of this kitchen. After hopping off the island and stepping out of the shelter of his arms, I backed away. Tightening the blanket around me, I said, "Yes. It is. I don't talk about my family with strangers."

His arm shot out to snatch the folds of the blanket between my breasts.

With a sharp tug, he yanked me to his chest.

Releasing the blanket, he fisted my hair and pulled as he towered over me. "We're not fucking strangers."

I had no choice but to open my arms to try to push him away, which only crushed my naked breasts against the warm skin of his chest. "Neither are we family."

"You're my wife."

I pushed, but he didn't budge. "Not yet, she's not. I mean… I'm not."

The pointed edges of his canine teeth were exposed when his upper lip curled in anger. "I'm warning you. Whatever you're planning in that adorable little head of yours? Don't. You won't like the consequences."

My eyes widened. "Is that a threat?"

"You're goddamn right it is."

My gaze narrowed. Throwing his own words back at him, I sneered. "So much for being safe here."

He leaned down low and pressed his lips against my cheekbone as his hot breath caressed my chin. "You are safe. Safe from that piece of shit you call a father's toxic influence. Safe from being pawed at by one of his cronies. Safe to eat as much as you want without judgment. What you're not safe from are my rules."

Before I could object, his mouth claimed mine, both of his hands cupping my jaw, holding me prisoner.

We both tasted like sweet honey and sex.

I was breathless when he finally released me. "Let me go."

"This is your only warning, baby. Drop the act and start behaving. I won't tolerate any more of your games. This is my family's ancestral home. You will treat it, and the people here, with respect."

Finally having a use for channeling Antonia, I flipped my hair and laughed without mirth, cocking a hip. "I have news for you, future husband. It's not an act."

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, there was a burst of laughter from down the hall.

Someone from his family must have returned.

The moment Matteo turned his head toward the sounds, I broke free and bolted for the stairs.

I froze on the first step as he called out. "Antonia."

Not wanting him to see the tears that had already fallen, I only tilted my head to the side but refused to turn to face him.

He growled, "For your sake… it had better be a fucking act."

Without responding, I bolted the rest of the way up the stairs.