Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“You made this for me?” Tears threaten, but thankfully, I manage to keep them at bay.
“Yes, just a little something.” His tone is humble, like this is no big deal. But he sculpted us. Us.
“This is beautiful. I love it.”
“I’m glad.” Though he acts like the gift is insignificant, his expression tells me that he cares very much what I think about it.
Despite my best efforts, a tear finally escapes and, seeing it slide down my cheek, Fiero responds immediately. “What’s the matter, Daniela?”
“I got you a box of chocolates.” I’m half laughing, half cringing at how inadequate my gift is compared to his.
He smiles and raises my chin so that I have to look at him. “You’ve given me much more than that.”
He brings his soft lips to mine in a kiss that quickly dissolves my worries. My body fires back up instantaneously, and we’re heading toward another round in the sheets when sounds come from elsewhere in the house.
“Merda! Matteo is early.” Fiero kisses me once again, and with a softer tone, adds, “Again, soon. Very soon,” before he reluctantly crawls off the bed.
I watch as he puts his clothes back on. His body is still a thing of wonder, even now that I have intimate experience with it. Especially now.
“Take your time here,” he says. “I’m going to make dinner.”
There’s a bathroom attached to Fiero’s bedroom – thank goodness – so I can get dressed and try to make myself look a bit less like I’ve just been thoroughly fucked. It doesn’t really matter, though, because Matteo is sitting in the living room when I emerge from Fiero’s bedroom after leaving his chocolates and card on his pillow, and he wouldn’t need to be a math scholar to put two and two together.
Best Birthday Ever
“Daniela.” Matteo smiles at me, but it’s strained. What a strange situation. It’s not as though I’ve ever slept with two men in one day, so I have no idea how to make this less awkward. Dating them both wasn’t my idea, I remind myself.
“Hi, Matteo.” The last time I saw him he had me bent over his desk. I have a nearly overwhelming desire to pull him into his bedroom and spend some unhurried time alone with him, but that would definitely not help the rest of the evening go smoothly.
Saving me from my indecision, Matteo pats the cushion and I happily take a seat next to him.
“I missed you this afternoon,” he says.
“I missed you too.” And it’s true. Despite being very busy – and very happy – with Fiero, part of me missed Matteo. And when I’m with him, I miss his brother. The two of them are so similar, yet so different. I’m not sure how I’m going to stop wanting either one of them. Especially after today.
He retrieves a small parcel from beside him. “This is for you.”
I slip my fingers inside an edge of the red wrapping paper and open it carefully, since the gift appears to be a book and I don’t want to damage it. In fact, it turns out to be a journal, a pink marble-patterned cover enclosing its lined ivory pages.
“Thank you, Matteo. This is really nice.”
He smiles down at me. “It’s not entirely blank.”
My eyebrows lift as I flip to the front and find writing on a page. They’re lines of Italian, but structured like a poem rather than a letter. I quickly scan the words, tears threatening yet again as I make my way down the page.
A few words are unclear to me, but I understand enough to know that it’s a love poem. It’s full of his admiration for me, but also describes the dilemma of us not being able to be together openly. Near the end, it resolves with a dream he has of us walking through an orchard, hand in hand, golden sun shining down on us.
For several long moments, I have no words.
Italian men may be romantic, but this, along with Fiero’s sculpture, is so above and beyond any gesture I could have imagined. Surely, these aren’t the type of gifts they would give to someone with whom they’re just having a casual fling.
Do these gestures stem from their sense of competitiveness? Are they trying to outdo each other? I quickly dismiss that idea. I know them both well enough by now to know that they wouldn’t toy with my emotions in an effort to one-up each other.
So what are their intentions with these symbols of love?
My eyes brimming with emotion, I look up at Matteo. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
He’s as graciously humble as his brother. “You bring out the creative side of me.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Matteo smiles. “Do you understand all of it?”
“Most of it.”
My amazing day gets even better as he reads the poem to me, first in Italian – and did I ever mention that listening to Matteo speak in his native language is the sexiest thing ever? – and then translated, line by line.