Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
A beaming smile passes over Clarissa’s lips. I’m acutely aware of the eyes watching us, though I pretend not to notice that Matteo is buckling his own seatbelt while Emma watches the two of us. Despite her insistence that the two of us sleeping together was a mistake, she’s about ready to attack a woman for standing too close to me.
The stewardess isn’t a technical requirement on flights of this size, but it is handy to have one around in case of an emergency. She’s a trained professional, capable of providing emergency medical attention or in-air support to the pilot. I’m sure Emma sees her as another nicety, an advantage of being rich, but she’s a professional.
“Why don’t you take your seats, and I’ll finish my checks? We’ll by off shortly,” Captain Martin assures me.
The plane has two seats in each row on each side of the aisle. That leaves Emma with the option of sitting next to Matteo and leaving an open seat next to me or admitting she wants to sit next to me. I can see the battle happening in her eyes. Matteo’s seat is next to the aisle. It makes sense to me since the aisle gives us more room to buckle him in and get him out. But that means if Emma sits next to him, she won’t be near me. It also leaves a seat the stewardess might take. Not that she would. She knows better. Every staff member who comes into my service is aware of the fact that I will promptly dismiss anyone who tries to flirt with me.
Emma doesn’t know this.
After a few seconds of indecision, she sits down in the seat across the aisle from Matteo, and right next to me.
“Don’t think too much about this. This is just easier than trying to squeeze past his car seat.”
The satisfied smirk on my face fails to waver at her announcement. She puts on her seatbelt before turning her attention to Matteo. I suggested we get him a tablet to entertain himself during the flight, but Emma scoffed at the idea. She had made it this far in parenting with no tablet. She doesn’t intend on starting now. So instead, she has brought little toys and trinkets to keep him entertained and insisted we fly at night to give Matteo the chance to sleep on the plane.
“My house is nothing like yours,” she tells me once we’re up in the air. As if I expected her to have a mafia mansion in the middle of Kansas. I don’t tell her she doesn’t need to tell me because I’ve already seen it. My father’s men are thorough, and when he learned about the possibility of Matteo, he had the entire house documented to make sure it was safe.
Not safe enough if our men could break in.
Chapter Twenty-Eight- Emma
The house in Kansas isn’t much. It’s two bedrooms and one bathroom, tucked away in a little cul-de-sac. The real estate agent had called it a combo living/dining room and thrown around words like open concept, but really, it’s tiny. In the back, there’s a small plot of grass with a single tree that is technically considered a yard. I strung a swing from the tree, and Matteo can happily spend hours in it. Even in the winter, when every piece of exposed skin feels like it’s going to fall off from frostbite, Matteo insists I bundle him up in his warmest winter gear so he can sit on the swing for a few minutes.
I feel an almost devout respect for this place because it’s always going to be Matteo’s first home. He took his first steps here. Said his first words. It feels like I’m leaving behind a piece of my heart on the doorstep.
I don’t know what my father is going to do with the property since it is technically in his name. I doubt he’d be willing to hold on to it. Despite his robust bank account, he can’t picture holding onto something for sentimental reasons. And to an extent, I understand. There’s no reason for a house to sit here empty when I’ll be back in New York. There are families that could benefit from having this house. It just makes me sad to see it go. My father’s intentions have nothing to do with the usability of the house, but simply the extra money to go into his account.
Matteo wiggles out of my arms and runs into the living room, where he left behind some of his favorite toys. Enzo has already arranged for a moving truck and some boxes to be delivered to the house in the afternoon, so for now we need to organize and get things cleaned.
Enzo looks over everything with curiosity, like he’s cataloging our life before him. I let him. The house isn’t a mansion, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Matteo had a good life here, and he always knew how loved he was.