“Don’t you want that many?”
She laughs, uncertainly, probably praying I’m not serious. “She was talented. She painted it?”
I’m tempted to lie, but I promised to do better with her. “No, I did.” Matilde’s eyes widen with surprise. “She taught me, an amateur teaching the inept. She gave me that piece after my grandfather diedand before her own death. I was surprised she’d kept it all that time.She said it was a piece of peace, and I should enjoy that when I could,”I finish in Italian.
“It is good, Nico. Do you still paint?”
I scoff. “It’s not a pastime for Made Men. I stopped playing with paints when I was thirteen.”
“Why then?”
“My father found out. He punished me for wasting my time with something that wasn’t fight training, strength conditioning or practicing with weapons. My grandfather warned my grandmother not to encourage me again, and that was that.”
She frowns. “The name is sad.”
“I suppose it is, but the cascades hold happy memories for me.”
“Tell me,” she commands, and how can I refuse this lovely girl?
“My grandfather owned a farm in DuPage County. My father’s youngest brother manages it now. When we were children, I spent my summers there with Dante and my cousins since our parents couldn’t let us go to a traditional summer camp for security reasons.”
“Did Caterina not go?”
“When she was old enough. By then, Father mostly kept me close to learn from him and prepare for my life in the Trio. The farm has many acres, and there are woods and a stream and…”
“A waterfall,” she finishes for me, smiling so sweetly my heart stutters in my chest. “Are there farm animals?”
“There were always chickens and a couple of grumpy goats. They were my favorites.”
She laughs. “You learned from them, I see.” I scowl with fake outrage, treasuring her laughter. “I miss my lambs.”
“Yes. Matilde, the shepherdess,” I murmur, unable to resist leaning in.
Like magnets, our lips are drawn together, and there's a faint hope that I’m afraid to indulge. I love the taste of her, the way she doesn’t shy away from kissing me, from looking at me. I’m surprised at how this simple act can fuel my lust while feeling more significant, too. A sweet lingering heat builds until I can hardly keep from tearing her robe away and claiming more of my lovely wife.
“I like kissing you,” she declares when we part for a breath, surprising me again. “This is my… fourth kiss? Yes, four.” She holds up four fingers. “When will I lose count of them?”
So open, so earnest, so fucking addictive. My mouth runs away from me. “I don’t know. It’s only my fifth.”
“Fifth?”
I cover her mouth with mine again, not wanting to talk about the past. My hands fumble with the ties of her robe, and she quickly matches my enthusiasm, tearing at my shirt. “I shopped today,” she mentions when I stand to remove my belt and shoes.
“That’s what the card was for… Jesus fucking Christ.”
She laughs, the sweet sound imprinted on my brain as she points to the sexy nightgown she’s wearing that matches the robe. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? What man wouldn’t love it?” She grins, obviously pleased with my response. “Matilde, are you sure about having sex again?”
“After the way you left me this morning, you dare ask me that?”
Chuckling, I flick off the light switch before stripping out of my clothes.
“Why do you do that?” she asks as I tug the nightgown over her head.
I slide her panties down, my mouth watering in anticipation. “Because I’m shy.”
“Are you lying, Nico?”