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“Okay, honey. We’ll talk more about it tonight, but for now kiss your man.” I lean in to kiss him, it’s quick and brief, but still perfect. “Have a good day at work, baby.”
“You, too, honey,” I whisper, with one final look at my husband-to-be, I take off in a sprint.
“Bye guys!” I call without looking back. I hear them all laughing and saying goodbye and it makes me happy.
I fit in here. I belong.
Marco
My eyes stay glued to the area where Helena just disappeared from. I can still smell her sweet scent in the air and I’m already missing her.
“You seem like a different man,” Sebastian murmurs.
“I’m finally away from that bastard. My fiancée is right. We need to burn this fucking house to the ground.”
“You bring the matches and I’ll have the gasoline waiting. We’ll roast marshmallows and fix smores,” Elias mutters.
“You really have been spending too much time with Antonio and the others,” I laugh.
“I like the asshole. What can I say?”
“I do too,” I admit.
“Who knew the sister that we spent our lives protecting would be the one to help save ours by bringing her husband into the fold?” Gio adds softly.
I shake my head, taking a drink of my coffee feeling contentment sweep through me. I’ve never felt it before, but fuck me if it doesn’t feel good.
Chapter 22
Helena
I stretch as I open my eyes. I already know I’m alone in bed. Marco was meeting once more with Victorio and Lodi, then finalizing what he wanted for the new build with the architect. They’re scheduled to begin demolition in the morning. Tonight, when Marco is finished, we’ll be moving into a hotel in Athens. It’s not ideal, but anywhere Marco is, is definitely home.
It has been a few days since I shared my idea about the new home with him. I was afraid he’d be upset or laugh me out of the place. Instead, he loved my suggestion and is set on building on it. I haven’t seen the final plans yet, but he did ask me to tell him where I’d like our home together to face. Upon hearing Marco use those words, I lost it. I cried. Our home together. There was just much in those three words and all of it was monumental. I couldn’t handle it. I cried my eyes out right there, with Marco holding me. He was worried and wanted me to explain why I was upset. How do you explain that someone is making every dream you had come true? I may have been young when I set my eyes on Marco—so young that I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. That didn’t change the fact that he was giving me what I wanted most. His sweetness, his gentleness, and making me feel like I mattered. He’s giving me all of that, but he’s giving me stuff I didn’t know I needed—not until he came into my life.
There’s just one thing continually bothering me. It happened again last night. Marco got in late last night. I tried to stay awake for him but lost the fight. Still, I felt him slide into bed without a word. I curled into him, and he still had his shirt on. When I asked him to take it off He got in late last night and then without a word he crawled in bed with her but he still wouldn’t take his t-shirt off for me.
I know he has scars. I’ve seen them on his arms, they run deep. The ridges are evident even under the ink. Just from the glances I get of them, I want to cry. So, I know it is bad, but the fact Marco’s trying to hide himself from me says he’s not truly comfortable with me. If he cares about me to the point that he’s planning to marry me, why won’t he go without a shirt? It doesn’t make sense.
I get up and walk to the shower with a sigh. Oh well, I can tackle that problem another day. I smile as I slip into the shower, turning on the water and letting the heat move over me. Heaven. Marco took me hard last night. I think I’ve discovered his favorite position is putting me on my knees in the bed, ass up drilling me from behind, taking me roughly, while his hands are fisted in my hair, and using her body while simultaneously giving me all I could ever want. I don’t spend a long time in the shower. I don’t have time. I want to go find my fiancé before I leave for work. I have an early schedule today. With that in mind, I blow dry my hair and put on light makeup. Then I get dressed in my cream pants suit and secure my hair at my neck in what I hope turns out to be a sexy chignon. Incidentally, the only jewelry I wear is my ostentatious wedding ring. I don’t have her pumps on because her feet are killing me. I’ve been wearing too many of my best hooker shoes on the concrete and tiled floors of the gallery. I tag them with my fingers and walk gently from the room all dolled up and tiptoeing in my stockings. I’ll put the shoes on when I have no choice—definitely after I enjoy breakfast with my man.
