Chapter Two
Meg
My feet are killing me.
Mateo unzips my dress, lightly trailing a finger down my back behind the zipper. Gooseflesh rises all over my body and I turn back, meeting his dark eyes and offering a tender smile.
I love this man.
Normally when I think that, it’s a pleasurable thought. Of course I love this man. He’s mine. We’re engaged. We’re having a baby together. Of course I love him.
Only tonight, for the first time, I started to wonder if he deserves all the trust I give him. A known liar is a hard person to trust to begin with, but one such as Mateo—unapologetic, without remorse, so long as it meets his needs, his desires?
Well, I’ve never much minded. I like his ruthlessness, to a certain extent.
Because it’s never applied to me. I could trust him. He loved me.
Loves me.
As far as I know, he still loves me.
Only it didn’t feel like he did when I watched him dance with Mia earlier tonight. It didn’t feel like his faithfulness, a thing I’ve always counted on, was as much a given as I’ve always believed.
I know things have shifted between Mateo and Mia. I’m not blind. I can see that. It’s been manageable, though. Mateo isn’t stupid and Mia isn’t selfish; attraction happens, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Nobody has to act on it.
But Mia couldn’t even look at me. She completely avoided me after they danced tonight. That’s not normal.
And then there was after our dance, when Mark hauled Mia out on the dance floor while Vince sulked. We all know each other from the bakery, so it wasn’t exactly remarkable, but Mark kept her out on the dance floor for a long time. He held her close for slow songs, goofed around with her during fast songs. He got her laughing. The sad cloud that seemed to hang over her earlier was replaced with cheer, because despite apparently also being mobbed up, Mark is fun. Mateo sat at our table and watched them. Not casually, not his gaze sweeping the floor and occasionally landing on them—he watched unceasingly, like a predator with his prey in sight.
It made me uncomfortable.
Me.
Rolling my shoulders, trying to ease out the tension, I remark, “Long night.”
“Yes,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt.
“I wish we would’ve been home to read the girls their bedtime story,” I remark.
Smirking, he says, “I doubt Francesca would’ve found that a suitable reason to miss her wedding.”
“I’m glad she’s happy. Even if she and her hubby tried to get me killed,” I add brightly.
He comes up behind me, catching my shoulders, and starts dropping kisses along my nape. It’s a small comfort, but it shouldn’t be a comfort at all. It should be a given that this man, my man, wants me.
I would like to hop in bed with him and forget about tonight. It was probably nothing. That’s probably the right thing to do. But I need to take the temperature of this thing.
“Mia and Vince seemed… not good,” I remark.
The kisses stop. His hands remain on my shoulders, but he’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s going to last much longer.”
This makes my heart sink for some reason. I blame the baby. Not for moving my heart, but for the emotional vulnerability of this damn pregnancy, putting me in this icky emotional place where I stand here like a goober, wondering if my fiancé is as devoted to me as I am to him.
Gross.
I glance across the room at the bed, reconsidering this whole talking thing. Maybe I should stop looking for trouble and just jump into bed with this sexy man, and just… you know, ignore.
God, it’s like Rodney all over again, just with better sex. This time, instead of ignoring his gambling, his debt, I have to ignore this?
No.
It’s shamefully tempting, but no. I won’t do that.
Turning to face him, I ask, “What happens then?”
Mateo watches me carefully. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re paying for Mia to go to college because she’s with Vince, right? So, if she’s not with Vince anymore…?”
His eyes remain on me, searching. I have the feeling I’m taking a test, only I didn’t study for it and I’m not sure what subject. “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t have to anymore. But I don’t have to now. I still do.”
That doesn’t answer my question. And it doesn’t make me feel better. “So, you’d keep supporting her? Would she stay at the house? It’s Vince’s lease, right? So she would probably have to move.”
“Would you like her to move back here?” he asks, point blank.
No. I don’t say it, because it’s impulsive and colored by this evening. If I had a chance to sleep on it, to recover from this horrible episode of doubt I’m currently experiencing, I don’t know what I’d say. There was a time I wanted Mia to move back here—but with Vince. With her boyfriend. Not unattached, when I’m ballooning out like a pregnant whale, and my fiancé is giving her bedroom eyes on the dance floor.
Jesus Christ, what is this life?
“What if I don’t?” I challenge, holding his gaze.
He shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter. His gaze slides away from mine, his handsome face the very picture of casual acceptance. “Then I’ll get her an apartment in the city, somewhere near campus.”
Why does that make me feel worse?
It brings to mind Victorian mistresses, kept in townhouses, lavished with gifts, visited by the married men who fuck them on the side. I don’t want him to get Mia her own place, where he has access to her anytime he wants and I would never even know.
Manufacturing a playful smile, I toss out, “Would you visit her there?”
“I imagine she’d visit us here, like she does now,” he replies, intentionally misunderstanding.
Oh, my god. Is this what normal women feel like? Is this jealousy?
Since I’m frowning off at nothing, Mateo takes hold of my shoulders, bringing my attention back to him. “You’re being weird tonight.”
I feel sad. Insecure. Ew.
Shaking my head, trying to keep those icky, unattractive feelings off my face, I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Mateo.”
That’s weird, so it takes him a minute to put his arms around me and answer, “I love you, too.”
“Please don’t make me regret trusting you.”
He tenses when I say this. I know it’s a ballsy thing to say to him—in so many ways. He’s not a man you want to challenge. He’s not a man you tell what to do. He’s also not an idiot, so he knows why I’m saying it.
Finally, as if I’m somehow the one in the wrong, he says, “You love Mia.”
It doesn’t feel like a statement, but a question. He wants to know why I’m acting like such a head case, when I’m usually the cool one. He wants to know if I still love Mia, or if his renewed interest in her has shifted my feelings. The thing is, I’m not sure myself. I don’t know what he’s warming me up for, and I don’t know what page she’s on. It’s actually the last thing I want to do right now, but I’m going to have to meet Mia for lunch tomorrow to see if she’s still behaving suspiciously, then go from there.
Instead of answering his question, I pull back and offer a light, breezy smile. “So do you.”
Since my tone is casual and I haven’t said this like a shrill, suspicious fish wife, he cautiously nods. “Yes.”
That’s probably good. He’s not lying. It’s worse if they lie, right? If he got defensive and angry, started denying and gas lighting me? At least, that’s what Rodney used to do when he was guilty. But Rodney was a coward who couldn’t take responsibility for his actions. Mateo isn’t.
Does Mateo Morelli experience guilt the same way? Does he experience it at all?
If he does, I can’t tell.
He drops this topic like an item of clothing as he undresses, gathering his discarded items and placing them on a chair for someone else to deal with tomorrow.
I grab a sleep shirt and slip it on. As soon as I do, I wish I would’ve grabbed something sexier, but I’m not feeling sexy. I know logically that’s when I should step it up, not sink into it, but I’m also feeling annoyed by the baby bump. It didn’t pop so fast with Lily, so I thought I’d stay slim longer. Maybe I’ll make Mia meet me for a walk instead. We can go to the mall. I’ll buy the bitch some shoes.
God, I’m grumpy.
I need to get some sleep. I do feel completely exhausted. Just existing while pregnant is hard enough, and today with the wedding and the weird feelings… I need to just call this day and start fresh tomorrow. Get my shit in order.
I’m allowed to have an off night. That’s all this was, for all of us.
Just an off night.
Everything is fine.
Mateo shuts off the lights and I climb into bed. I watch the moonlight on his bare chest as he comes around to his side and climbs in beside me. He’s so beautiful. He still makes my stomach do somersaults.
Once he’s lying beside me in bed, tenderness sweeps over me. Memories of all the nights we’ve spent here, of the nights spent reading to the girls, of the nights spent making this baby—we’ve had a lot of good times in this bed. I’m lucky. And I love him. I love him so much. And he loves me.
I reach out and caress his face, leaning in to kiss him goodnight. I just want this. I just want his love. I don’t want to consider any unpleasantness. I just want him.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I tell him.
He offers me a smile, his fingers curling around my wrist. “Of course. I can start taking you out again, now that all this shit’s behind us.”
I brighten. “I’d like that.”
“I never did take you to that speakeasy.”
“Maybe after the baby,” I suggest, since I can’t do much at a speakeasy right now.
His hand leaves my wrist, coming to rest on the curve of my belly. I snuggle up close to him, not dislodging his hand, but then impulsively I cover it with my own, guiding it lower. Catching my drift, he smiles at me, moving between my legs to see if I’m wearing panties. I’m not. Just the touch of his fingers turns me on, and then he climbs over me, that sensual, sexy smile on his lips before he comes down to kiss me, and my heart is so. Damn. Full.
I will not give this man up.
Not for anything.
Not for anyone.