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At least that explains how they found out about Matteo. I knew there was no way my father had told them.
“If you were so sure, why didn’t you ask me on a date? Or give me your number?”
“Because, Emma, I wanted you to have the college experience you had been dreaming about. Once I got my hands on you, once I got to spend more than a stolen hour with you, I wouldn’t have been willing to let you go. While I’m thrilled you never slept with someone else, I wouldn’t be upset if you did because I let you go willingly. You didn’t know I was waiting. But I already belonged to you, and it would have been wrong to be with someone else.”
His voice raises as he goes through his speech. His eyes plead with me to believe him
“Enzo,” I whisper. I want to call him a liar, but the honesty on his face stops me. Anyone else, and I wouldn’t have hesitated. It isn’t reasonable to wait for someone who doesn’t realize you’re waiting for them. A rational person would have reached out if they wanted a relationship. But this is Enzo.
“Now that I have you, no one else will get you. You had your freedom, you’re mine now. I’ll give you all the experience you need.
Enzo grabs my face between his hands and puts his lips against mine. I melt into the kiss, letting him lead me into a sinful dance as his hands explore me. They start off innocently enough, rubbing up and down my arms in a comforting gesture.
I can’t help but to glance through the open door and to Matteo’s closed door right across the hallway from mine. He won’t wake up. It’s late in the night and the painkillers they gave him at the hospital have a calming effect on him. Enzo follows my gaze and closer the door behind him. “We’ll hear him if he wakes up and everything stops. You might want something to help keep you quiet, though.”
I’ve never had trouble being quiet. Living in close quarters with my child meant everything has to be quiet, or not only will my personal time end, but I’ll have a child in my bed for the rest of the night.
Enzo wraps his hands around my thigh right under my butt and lifts me up. The sudden movement has me grabbing onto the back of his neck with both of my hands and wrapping my legs around his waist. I can feel his hardness press into me when he returns his lips to mine, grinding up against me as he walks me backwards through the mess I’ve made and onto the bed.
He isn’t slow when he lower us down on the bed and I expect to feel the entirety of his weight on me, but he catches himself by his forearms and holds himself up over me but just a few inches.
“You’re going to make yourself come with the toy, and then I’ll make you come with my mouth and you can tell me which one is better.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply, his lips landing on my neck and trailing kisses down to my still-clothed chest. I shiver at the thought. Him watching me get myself off. The idea feels dirty. It probably shouldn’t, not compared to the other things we’ve already done.
“I don’t know what you’re picturing, but the reality isn’t sexy. I put this little part on my clit and leave it there. When I’m feeling lazy, I can use my underwear to hold it in place so I don’t have to.”
“I bet it’s sexier than you give it credit. Any time you orgasm is sexy. Fuck, the face you make is enough to get me off.”
Enzo turns on the vibrator and my cheeks flush as he experiments with the different modes. When he finds one he likes, a tortuously slow thrum with a strong pulse, he flashes me a wicked smile and pulls down my pants, leaving on my underwear.
I need to get sexier underwear.
He slides the vibrator into my panties, using the waistband to hold it in place like I described to him while he expertly places the pulsing head over my clit.
“Now princess, show me what you do.”
Chapter Thirty-One- Emma
The engagement party is being held in one of the many properties owned and controlled by the Lombardi family. A high-class, members-only club with yearly fees that could end starvation. Something tells me Alice planned this party, and the subsequent wedding, long before I ever entered the picture.
It’s quite an event with a striking venue, beautiful decorations, and the menu that’s designed specifically for this event with a celebrity chef flown in from Europe. It makes the best Hollywood attempt at portraying wealth look, well, cheap.
The guest list is a mixture of people who live in the public eye, celebrities and politicians, and those who run the world from behind the scenes, mobsters and corrupt businessmen. Enzo’s introduced me to them with my arm looped in his. There have been so many names, I won’t remember them all. The ones rememberer aren’t because the names are notable, it’s because of how Enzo reacts to them.
He keeps a pleasant smile on no matter who he’s talking to, but there’s a certain tightness reserved for some of his acquittances. His smile becomes more forced. He holds himself straighter, and he reaches over and places his other hand on my arm as if to make sure his claim is coming across.
As if the ring on my finger isn’t enough. Or the collection of hickeys that run down the side of my throat. Or the party being held in honor of our engagement.
“A party is kind of ostentatious, isn't it? Don’t most people just update their social media to status to say engaged?” I asked him earlier in the week when his mother had been going on and on about her plans for the party, which turned into her ideas for the wedding. My suggestion of eloping in Vegas earned me a small chuckle from Enzo and gasps of disbelief from his mother, two of his sisters, and his cousin-in-law.
“Social media,” Enzo scoffed at the suggestion. “Have you ever read over those terms and conditions? Like hell I’m going to give Zuckerberg that much of my information.”
The engagement party does little to inform the people in my life of my engagement. Except, I don’t have many people in my life I need to inform. Despite living in Manhattan for four years, I had put no real effort into putting roots down there. My friendships were shallow at best. The only person who had bothered to check in on me had been Derek, and our relationship barely breached the surface of superficial. And something told me he wouldn’t be sending a congratulations card if I told him I was engaged.
Can I even call Manhattan my home if I’ve been keeping one foot out the door the entire time? I might not have been doing it consciously, but now I can see the only thing tying me back there is my schooling. Other than that, I’d been able to pack up the most important things in my life in a carry-on suitcase and take off to New York at the drop of a hat.
The idealistic side of me, the romantic part that spent too much time thinking life is a romance book, thinks maybe I’ve been keeping myself available for Enzo. The thought is too daunting, so I stuff in back into the little box it came out of.
