Page 51 of Tempting Tessa

I glare, but it’s not like she’s wrong. “Matteo is not—” I start, but Natalia cuts me off with a snort.

“Matteo is not what, babe? A Daddy Dom? Please. The man’s rearranging your guts and you are living for it.”

I want to argue, but the image of Matteo’s hand on my throat and his voice in my ear makes my cheeks hot, so I take a vicious gulp of coffee and try to change the subject. “How’s work? Any new partnerships?”

She shrugs. “Things are slow right now, and the most excitement I’ve had all week was fantasizing about choking him out with the Medusa prototype you gave me.” She gives me a wicked grin. “By the way, the new models? Top fucking notch, bitch. I took the Ares for a spin last night and I think I saw God.”

I snort, relieved I’m not the only one who can’t listen to her own internalized monologue without wanting to crawl under the table. “The Ares is a beast.”

“Understatement of the year. I squirted so hard I almost had to call an ambulance.” She leans in, hands cupping her face as if she’s reliving the moment. “I literally had a vision. I was floating above my body, watching myself get absolutely ruined by a sex toy with your name on it. Bravo, babe. You’re going to make millions.”

The waiter drops a tiny mountain of breakfast tapas in the middle of the table: deviled eggs with caviar, mini pancakes drowning in honey, a bowl of whipped feta glistening with olive oil, and a single avocado slice toast that’s half the size of my phone. There’s also a cast-iron skillet of “Italian Eggs Benedict,” which is just eggs and prosciutto on polenta instead of a muffin. Natalia goes feral, immediately forking one of the eggs and dragging it through the caviar.

We load up our plates, and for a blissed-out minute it’s just coffee, carbs, and the kind of silence that only happens when two best friends are inhaling food instead of trauma-dumping. I’m halfway through my first run at the polenta when my stomach does a full 180 and decides to mutiny.

It starts as a weird, icy flip—like someone just poured a bucket of slush straight into my guts.

“So, you’re staying with him officially now? Or just letting him parent you for a bit?” She waggles a forkful of eggs at me. “I’m not judging, just curious if I can borrow your apartment this weekend for some lifestyle content.”

I try to breathe through my nose and focus on her question, but the smell of hollandaise threatens to finish me.

“I mean, technically, yes. But it’s not…I don’t know. He’s just being extra. Keeps acting like I’m going to faint if left unsupervised.” Even as I say it, I feel sweat break out along my hairline.

Natalia doesn’t notice my distress. She’s too busy demolishing her eggs. “He’s obsessed, Tessa. It’s hot. Also, you look a little pale. You good?”

She narrows her eyes and takes a sip of her own coffee. “You’re sweating.”

I wipe my forehead and try to laugh it off. “Is it that obvious?”

She leans in, voice dropping. “Are you hungover?”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the weird tunnel vision creeping in at the corners. “No. I swear. I didn’t even drink last night. Matteo’s got me on this insane health kick—vitamins, hydration, no more tequila shots at two a.m.” I try to laugh, but it comes out hollow, like a wet cough. “Honestly, I think my body is still recovering from the food poisoning.”

Natalia eyes me, all the mirth sucked out of her face, and for a second I think she’s about to go full Dr. House on me. Sometimes she gets like this—dead serious, hyper-focused, as if she can will the truth out of your bones with nothing but a stare.

“Contessa.”

My spine stiffens. She hasn’t called me by my full name since college, when I nearly overdosed on energy drinks and passed out in the middle of a final.

“How late are you?”

I blink. “Late for what?”

Natalia puts down her fork, wipes her mouth, and leans over the table so close her bun almost dips into the hollandaise. “Your period, Tessa. When was your last one?”

I reach for my phone, scroll to my cycle tracker app, and see the little red dot blinking, overdue.

I drop the phone. My mouth is suddenly filled with cotton. “Oh.”

Natalia’s eyes narrow, then widen, and she claps a hand over her mouth. “Wait. No. Are you really⁠—?”

“No!” I snap, panic rising in my chest like a tsunami. “No, Nat, I’m not. I can’t be.”

My hands are shaking as I stare at the app, at that blinking red dot mocking me.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “It’s just stress. And the food poisoning, or whatever it was. That can mess with your cycle, right? Plus, I’ve been taking my pill religiously. Every day, same time.”

Natalia reaches across the table and grabs my hand, her eyes boring into mine. “Tessa, honey, the pill isn’t 100% effective. Especially if you’re fucking an older mobster who’s obsessed with you.”