Perfectly Imperfect

CHAPTER 32- Buon Natale

"O Bambino mio Divino. Io ti vedo qui a tremar, O Dio Beato. Ah, quanto ti costò. L'avermi amato," I sing softly as I make my way upstairs with breakfast for a sleeping Cleo.

Today is our first Christmas together. I entered our room and saw her still in bed, and her hair was splayed all over the pillow in a tangled mess. One I will take responsibility for any day. That woman's body is like a drug I never want to stop taking. Every inch of her gets more addicting every time she's under me, or above.

I rest the tray on the table next to the bed and sit beside her. "Baby, time to wake up. It's Christmas morning," I say softly, rubbing her back.

She moans and turns in my direction. "Too early." I stifle a laugh. She is not a morning person— early mornings are like a sin to her.

"I made breakfast," I coo. I think I found the magic words because she instantly perks up, looking around for the room for it. I laugh at her silliness and her appearance. Her hair looks like she hasn't combed it in days. I run my hands from her forehead to the back of her head in an attempt to tame her wild mane. I laugh again because it does nothing. I kiss her sweetly, "Good morning, my lion."

"You mean lioness," she looks at me curiously.

"You'll see why when you finish eating," I shake my head and give the lady her breakfast. She tilts her head slightly to the side in a curious way.

"Eat up and get ready. I'll be downstairs waiting," I kiss her forehead, and she gives me a muffled 'okay'.

I'm checking the lasagna in the oven when I hear the heels clacking on the floor. I turn around to see Cleo in a mid-thigh dark green dress and silver heels. My jaw unhinges. She's a goddess. "You like?" she gives me a little spin, showing me her outfit.

I stride over to her. "Chris loves," I pull her by her waist and kiss her. But carefully so I don't mess up her makeup. "You look like a dream, my love."

She beams at me, "I love your cooking hair."

"My what?" I laugh.

"Your cooking hair. You have a hairstyle for everything," she giggles while I'm utterly confused. "When you go out or to work, your hair is parted to the side. When you want to ravish me, your hair looks like a perfect mess. When you cook, your hair sticks up into the air," she answers my thoughts while running her hands through my 'cooking hair.'

"I have no idea what you're talking about right now, but I don't care as long as you love me," I rub my nose against hers.

"Damn right I–" she's cut off by someone.

"Bambino!" my mother's voice echoes through the house. Cleo pulls away, fixing her hair nervously. "How do I look?" she whispers, earning a smile from me.

"Perfect," I whisper and give her a comforting kiss, "she's gonna love you." Cleo nods nervously and turns to walk into the hall with her hand in mine.

"Chris?" my mother calls again.

"Buongiorno, mama," I say. Her head snaps to me and then to Cleo, who gulps and grips my hand tighter.

"You must be the stunning Cleo. Buon Natale," my mother doesn't hesitate to wrap Cleo in a warm hug. It stuns her for a few seconds before she sinks into her hug. "Lovely to meet you, dear. Chris can't shut up about you," she tells her. I blush.

"It's good to finally meet you, too, Mrs. Moretti," Cleo says with a smile.

"Please, cara. Call me Eleanor or Elle," she touches her cheek. Cleo nods with a smile. Turning her attention to me, "Chris, baby. Buon Natale," she tiptoes to kiss my cheek, followed by a hand pinching my cheek. "Mamaaa," I groan. I hear Cleo snort, and my eyes find her humour filled ones. I glare playfully at her, and she just sticks her tongue out at me. Childish. I love it.

The three of us are joined by Mateo and Gia while I change. I decide to match Cleo's dark green dress with a shirt the same colour.

Cleo and my mom have been talking a lot. It warmed my heart. Cleo lost her mom, and my mom always wanted a daughter. I have no doubts that their relationship will grow into a beautiful one.

We stuff ourselves with the lunch I made. I may have gone overboard board with the menu this year. I made chicken lasagna, roast lamb, caramel nut panforte, red wine brownies— Cleo's favourite— and coffee martinis.

Making lunch on Christmas was always my favourite. I used to run my mother out of the kitchen every year to cook for my parents. Right now, we're currently sprawled out on the sofa in the living room watching a movie. Gia is situated between Mateo's legs while Cleo is in mine. My mother sits on the love seat, admiring us. "I remember being in love like this. Sergio and I couldn't keep our hands off each other," she smiles at the fond memory. I groan at the unnecessary information.

We exchanged gifts during the movie. I got Mateo a pair of emerald cufflinks, Gia an emerald necklace to match and Cleo a special notebook to write her songs. I know she has one already, but I realized it was running out of space. This one is extra special because it has a picture of us in front and one of me in the back. She laughed when she flipped it over and saw it. "I plucking love you, Moretti," she said as she kissed me through her giggles. I love when she says that. Butterflies every time.

"Mama, this is for you," I reach behind the sofa, and my mother gasps when she sees the item.

"Chris," she chokes.

"I know you loved to play the guitar, and you stopped years ago. I loved to hear you play," I hand her the shiny, brown guitar.

"Thank you, bambino. I haven't touched a guitar like this since Mia," she says, admiring the instrument with tears rolling her eyes. "She had one just like this. There was a quote at the back of it. Her favourite one. Siamo angeli con un'ala sola–"

"Sola, solo restando abbracciati possiamo volare."

🥰

This is a picture of panforte. It's a desert that's made of fruits and nuts.