Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Instead of saying anything, I don’t.
“Is that what we’re going to have for dinner?” I ask, staring into his big green eyes. Eyes that I can most certainly get lost in. Actually drowning.
“Since I’m trying to impress you.”
“Impress me? Why would you possibly need to impress me? You already married me.”
“That is true. Well, as I was saying, I am obviously not going to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich tonight.”
“Okay, so then what are you going to make, big shot?” I joke with him.
“Well, since I’m Italian and since you are obviously a failure.”
“Not nice.”
“Just speaking the truth. An Italian who can’t cook Italian food is a failure.” I’m about to argue when he places a kiss on my neck.
“I’ll just stop talking. I’m going to make us lasagna.”
“I can help you do that.”
“We have to get up now though, if I’m going to make the noodles.”
“When you say make the noodles, what exactly do you mean by that?”
“Viviana. I’m not eating noodles out of a box.”
“Someone’s fancy.” At that, he laughs as he stands from the bed, walks over to the chair, and grabs my robe. Yep, it’s my robe now. I have officially stolen it. He comes back to the bed where I am and hands it to me. I stand and place it around me, tying it tight.
“Let me get dressed, and I’ll be right down.”
“No getting dressed. Wear the robe, and if you complain, I’ll make you cook with me naked.”
“That doesn’t sound so horrible.”
“Only if the oil splatters.” My mouth opens and shuts like a little fish.
“Yeah, let’s not do that.” I grimace.
“Good idea.”
Once my robe is on, we head down to the kitchen.
I’m not used to how quiet the house is. Usually, somebody is walking around or at least Francesca’s in the kitchen. And although I know the security team is here, it’s as if we are the only people in the world, and at this very moment, we are.
It’s only a few minutes before I hear the sounds of pots and pans. Clanking and banging together.
“What are you starting on first?”
He turns to look over his shoulder. Unlike me, who is in a robe, Matteo after our morning romp has opted to have no shirt on and is now wearing only a pair of the infamous gray sweatpants.
The type of sweatpants that all women have deemed should be illegal because of how damn hot some men look in them. None of these women have probably seen Matteo in gray sweatpants, and I hope they never do because this is more than illegal.
He is actually like heaven dropped down to earth. From the back, I can see his muscles as he works with his arms flexing, but it’s when he turns around that I literally can’t collect enough of the drool that’s pouring out of my mouth. The damn V is present.
Mouthwatering, tempting, and everything I have always imagined it would be.
“I have to start with the sauce first.”
“As in you make it?”
“Of course, I make it. I believe my mother would’ve considered it sacrilegious if I didn’t. My father would’ve grabbed the nearest broom and hit me with it. ‘Real Italians don’t use canned sauce, Matteo,’ he would say.”
“Seriously, so nothing from a can at all?”
“The only can you can use is tomato paste, and that’s only if you need to.”
“This is so fascinating. Obviously, in my family we’ve always had someone cook for us, so I’ve never learned. My old nanny, well, the extent of her cooking for me was cookies, so unless you want me to make cookies, I really can’t contribute very much. Also, when I say make cookies, I won’t be able to make it from scratch, but I can open the container.”
He laughs at my joke.
“First thing, we need to grab the meat we are going to use for our sauce. Do you know what kind of meat we use, Viviana?”
“I didn’t realize this was a lesson. Am I going to fail? What’s the punishment?” He smirks at my comment.
“Would you like me to punish you?”
His words do their job seducing me and making me hot. My lip sucks in as soon as I start to nibble it.
“Maybe,” I answer.
“Well, that can be arranged . . .” His offer, or better yet threat, hangs in the air, making it hard to breathe for a second. What would that entail? I’d like to find out.
“Well then, you better continue with your lesson.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t.”
I incline my head and then roll my eyes. “Just tell me what’s in the damn sauce.”
“It’s a combination of pork and beef. That’s what makes the flavor so robust.”
“Fancy.”
“It’s like you want me to throw you over my knee.”
My eyes go wide. Even though I’m shocked, I kind of want him to.
He chuckles before going on.