Page 335 of Mario
“Well, first… you eat.”
I stare at him.
He looks far too pleased with himself.
“That cannot possibly be your answer to everything.”
“It has worked well for my family for generations.”
“Mario.”
“And many other Italian families as well.” His mouth curves. “You asked where we start. We start with breakfast.”
“You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
“You're not even going to deny it?”
“We just spent the whole morning talking about honesty.”
I shove at his chest and barely move him an inch. “Get out,” I laugh.
He grins. “I don't think you want that.”
“I do.”
“What happened to honesty?”
“Screw honesty,” I say, but I’m laughing.
I try pushing him again. I just end up pushing myself back against the headboard.
“Careful,” he says, one hand on my hip.
“I was until I met you.”
His eyes are laughing when his mouth covers mine.
The kiss is breathless, giggly, and a little messy. I reach for his shirt because I need something to hold on to, and he lets me pull him closer.
For a moment, there is no terrible foundation beneath us. No shaky beginning, or murder attempt, or fear.
There is only his mouth, warm and smiling against mine, and the strange, fragile relief of laughing when I thought I had forgotten how.
The kiss goes on for a while, and I wish it could last forever, but there’s a reality we both have to face.
We break the kiss, and he presses his forehead to mine.
“Who else knows about the baby?” I whisper.
He inhales. “Well, Ricardo and Matteo found the pregnancy search on your laptop.”
“Oh.”
“So, naturally… everyone knows.”
I pull back enough to stare at him.
