I wait for her to come to me the rest of the way, to initiate the moment. I feel like a fucking teenager still, the sensation hasn’t gone away since I laid eyes on her in the fucking casino tonight.
Holding my breath, I only relax when her hesitant lips touch mine. She whimpers, the sound so low that I almost don’t hear it. Her lips fit against mine as if they were made to kiss me. They were, just as she was—made just for fucking me.
PIPPA
It’s strange, going from living completely alone for a few years to having someone here again. Even stranger when that man is your husband, your husband of five years. A perfect stranger. He watches me from the kitchen island as I make breakfast.
We’re both dressed, my body so sore, and yet I like the feeling. Massimo’s phone rings behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I smile as he brings the device to his ear. He doesn’t say anything as a greeting, and the only thing he does eventually say is just a muffled grunt.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I flip the bacon, then move the eggs around in the skillet as I try, unsuccessfully, to eavesdrop on his conversation.
“That’s what you found? Are you fucking kidding me?” he barks.
My spine stiffens at the tone of his voice, the anger that he emanates. I try to ignore it and continue cooking, but it’s too much. It’s almost suffocating. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply before I let it out on a long exhale.
I want some pills and wine. It would be the only thing that will calm me down at this point. I don’t reach for them though. As much as I want them, I know without a doubt that Massimo would disapprove so I’m either going to have to consume both in secret, or give them up completely.
Both options feel pretty shitty.
“Pippa?” Massimo’s voice calls out. My entire body jerks and I look back over my shoulder at him. “You need help?” he asks, his brows furrowed in the middle.
Shaking my head, I turn back to my food and quickly finish cooking it before I load it up onto plates.
Taking the plates of bacon and eggs to the table, I grab the bowl of fruit that I cut up earlier from the fridge, then remove the pan from the oven that has warm brown buttery biscuits ready to eat on it.
“Do you want juice, milk?” I ask as I make my way back into the kitchen from setting the biscuits down on the table.
“Coffee,” Massimo grunts.
Reaching for the pot, I pour him a cup, then one for myself. Carrying the mugs into the breakfast room, I pause at the sight before me.
Massimo is just sitting at the table, but it’s a sight that I dreamt about for years. One that I never thought would actually exist, yet here it is. He’s there, is face is tilted up, his eyes on me and there is a small smile playing on his lips. His eyes aren’t smiling, though I’m not surprised, I doubt that mine do either.
Gently setting his coffee mug in front of his plate, I sink down in my seat across from him before I put my own mug down. I can feel his gaze on me as I stare at my empty plate. Slowly, I lift my eyes to meet his.
He doesn’t say anything right away, his eyes just searching mine, looking for something, but I’m not sure what. He nods once as if he sees it, as though he finds exactly what he’s looking for.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs a shoulder before he starts to load his plate up with food. I watch him, surprised by how much he put on his plate, but happy to see him do it all at the same time. Reaching for the food, I put some fruit and eggs on my own.
Massimo picks up his fork and shoves a huge chunk of scrambled egg into his mouth. I pick around my plate, feeling nervous, too nervous. I shouldn’t be.
We’ve had sex twice and it was fantastic both last night and this morning. He’s here, and he seems to want to be here, something that I wasn’t sure would happen.
Massimo grunts, my eyes lift to his and I wait for him to speak. He doesn’t say a word. What he does is reach for a biscuit and tosses it across the table. I watch as it lands on my plate, he grabs four slices of bacon and does the same.
Frowning, I look down at my plate, then lift my eyes to meet his. “You’re too thin. I’m fixing that. You need carbs.”
“Massimo, I don’t,” I try to argue, but he cuts me off with a glare.
“You know I like to fuck, hard, Pippa. I can’t do that when I’m afraid I’m going to snap your fucking bones in half. Besides, you can’t carry a healthy baby being so small, yeah?”
“Oh, and you’re an expert on women’s health?” I snap.
His lips curl up into a smile, one that if I’m not mistaken almost reaches his eyes. “No. I never claimed to be that. I do know that women aren’t meant to be so small that you see every fucking bone, yeah?”
“What if I’m naturally this way?”
He shakes his head. “Except I know that you aren’t, dolcezza. If you were, that’d be a different story. But I know you aren’t, this is all your own doing and whatever you need to rectify it, I’ll give you. Rehab? Counseling? Whatever it is, I want you healthy, I want us healthy.”
My heart actually bursts a little at his words. I
