𝐒𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 (𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆)

20

The Bride
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Can't you at least try to sleep with a shirt on?" I yell at Rossi while I throw a white shirt at him.

He doesn't budge, but simply folds the shirt back and places it on a counter nearby.

"No." He answers calmly.

His torso looked like it was sculpted by Greek gods, with muscles I didn't even know existed and inked images branded into his tanned skin.

But unlike Antonio's muscles, Rossi's came from work and not constant protein shakes and gym camping.

I groan out of frustration.

"Well, I'm not sleeping in this bed until you put a shirt on" I try bribing him. A real gentleman wouldn't let a woman sleep on the couch

"Suit yourself." That didn't have the outcome I planned on having. But then again, Rossi never was a gentleman.

With that, he slides under the covers swiftly and graciously. It's like his every move was planned ten years into the future and he perfected it to the point that he was completely silent when he moved.

Like a panther.

I wait a few minutes outside of the bed before giving up and realizing he's not going to budge.

I get under the covers and turn my back to him.

"I hate you," I spit from over my shoulder.

"No need to remind me," he brings it right back at me, but there was more he wanted to say.

Yet he didn't.

I turn off my night lamp and close my eyes, trying to fall asleep fast and forget who I sleep next to.

Or rather who I will be sleeping next to for the rest of the week.

*•*•*

I feel a light nudge at my back

And another.

And another.

And they continue coming until I'm fully awake with murder on my mind.

I was going to kill Rossi, and I was going to have a great time doing so. I mean who gives a shit about the family law, I was going to die anyways, right.

I turn around, ready to give him a piece of my mind when I suddenly stop.

His covers are down to his hips, revealing his chest glazed in a thin layer of sweat, making his abdomen glisten under the moonlight.

His eyebrows were furrowed under the sweaty hair that stuck to his forehead.

He continued to twitch in his sleep, mumbling words that didn't make sense. He looked like he was fighting something, something that wasn't real in this world.

His head forcefully strikes to the side, then back, while his hand continuously tries to reach for something on my side of the bed.

His whole body shakes in different waves, and his breathing escalates from deep and slow to fast and uneven.

I don't know how my hand ends up on his chest or when I start waking him up, but when I do it takes quite a while to do so.

"Rossi,"

"Rossi," I repeat, but he still moves along with his previous actions.

"Mateo!" His eyes finally fly open and his hand grabs my wrist.