Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
"Sleep, mi amore," he whispers. "You're safe here."
The words wrap around me like a blanket, and for the first time in weeks, I believe them.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Daphne
The first thing I register when I wake up is the warmth of Matteo’s body pressed against mine.
The second thing is the complete, disorienting darkness.
My eyes blink open, but the room remains pitch-black. For a moment, panic grips me. I sit up abruptly, heart racing, and grope around for some sense of orientation.
"Relax, bella," Matteo’s sleepy voice murmurs from beside me.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back down.
"It's just the blinds."
"The blinds?" I ask, breathless.
"Black-out blinds," he explains, voice thick with sleep. "Helps me sleep in after late games." He nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. "No idea what time it is."
I grope for my phone on the nightstand, squinting as the screen lights up.
"Oh my God," I say, sitting up again. "It's nearly ten a.m."
Matteo groans and tightens his hold around my waist, effectively anchoring me to the bed.
"Exactly. Too early to get up."
"Too early? It's practically lunchtime!"
"You needed the rest after last night's workout," he says with a teasing grin.
I swat lightly at his bare chest. "I hate you."
"No, you don’t," Matteo murmurs, voice low and gravelly.
He rolls me beneath him in one fluid motion and presses a lazy kiss to my lips. His hair is a mess, and the rough stubble on his jaw scratches deliciously against my skin.
And, of course, the arrogant bastard is right.
I don't hate him at all.
"Come on," he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Let’s go have breakfast. Then maybe a swim."
I stretch beneath him, already feeling the pull of sore muscles from the night before.
"You mean another workout?"
He laughs as he moves to stand, stretching his arms over his head. The sheet slips down his body, and my eyes can’t help but follow the line of his torso.
The sharp cut of his abs, the V of muscle that disappears into his boxers…
Yeah, okay; maybe I'm not so opposed to another workout after all.
"You're staring," Matteo says, not even bothering to hide his smirk.
I yank the pillow from behind me and throw it at him.
"I was thinking about how unbearable you are."
"Uh-huh." He catches the pillow mid-air and tosses it back onto the bed. "Shower, breakfast, swim. In that order, mi amore. Let's go."
*
After a quick shower, I wander downstairs to find Matteo already in the kitchen.
The room is massive, with sleek marble countertops and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden. The morning sunlight streams through the glass, and outside, the shimmering turquoise pool glistens beneath the bright blue sky.
Matteo stands barefoot at the counter, clad in gray sweatpants and nothing else. He’s fiddling with an espresso machine that looks more complicated than the entire kitchen setup in my London flat.
"That thing looks like it belongs in a spaceship," I comment, crossing to lean against the island.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes lighting up at the sight of me.
"Don’t insult La Signora. She's delicate."
"La Signora?" I echo. "You named your coffee machine?"
He shrugs, turning back to the machine with exaggerated focus.
"Certo. She takes good care of me. Best espressos in Rome."
I laugh softly as I watch him work. The domesticity of the moment hits me unexpectedly - this international football star, standing here in his kitchen, making me coffee while the morning sun streams in.
This doesn't feel like something fleeting. It feels natural.
Easy.
"Okay," Matteo says after a moment, turning toward me with a cappuccino in one hand and a small pastry in the other. "For you, bella. Freshly made, no sugar. Just the way you like it."
I blink at him, surprised.
"How did you know?"
He smirks.
"I pay attention."
Warmth spreads through me as I accept the cup.
The coffee is perfect - rich and strong, with just the right amount of creamy foam. I sip it slowly while Matteo makes his own, then we move to the terrace and settle into the cushioned chairs.
The view takes my breath away.
The city stretches out below us, the rooftops of Rome glowing under the morning sun. The dome of St. Peter's Basilica peeks out in the distance, and far beyond that, the faint silhouette of mountains form a hazy blue backdrop.
"Wow," I breathe. "I don't think I'd ever leave if I lived here."
"That’s the trick," Matteo says, watching me over the rim of his cup. "You don’t ever have to leave."
The words linger between us, heavier than they should be.
I take another sip of coffee to distract myself from the implications.
"Okay," he says after a moment, breaking the silence. "You ready for a swim?"
"Mmhm," I nod. "Good thing I packed my bikini."
Matteo’s smile turns wolfish.
"A bikini, eh?"
"Yes," I reply, narrowing my eyes. "And no, it’s not for your benefit."
"Of course not." He stands, stretching again. "Though I'll enjoy it all the same."