Wicked Dance [Editing]

Fourteen

Contessina

I understood perfectly what I was doing, what it all meant, what could happen. I knew that asking that of him- of spending time with me and not getting involved with any woman- altered the definition of this relationship, changed the course of our future.

I knew that with my words, I was acknowledging this world as mine, I was accepting him as my fiancé and leaving behind what I once was or rather who I loved.

I knew that part and my heart thumped in a way that was calm, without worry and that frightened me because what if I was confusing it all? What if I wasn't thinking, just feeling? Letting my heart lead me like I always let it? Confusing each thump, each flutter, each breath, each sweep of heat into my veins when I saw him?

What if this was wrong?

It should feel wrong. I had thought for years about a life with one boy yet here I was with a man who was giving me everything without a thought. That looked at me with stormy eyes, stole my breath and made me ache in a way I hadn't ever ached. That had me reevaluating everything I had once felt, who I was, what I thought and didn't.

My head was in a knot, as was my heart, a very twisted knot.

I felt more with Matteo than I had ever felt with Antonio. Not once in the many years that I knew Antonio had I ever gotten jealous thinking about him with another woman that wasn't me and with Matteo? The sole idea of him touching one made me want to hurl, made me want to touch his mind and erase every woman who he had crossed so I'd be the only one.

I didn't even know that part of me existed, the possessive side, selfish, needy. The side that wanted more of Matteo.

I wanted to know him, the good, the bad, the in between. What made him. Why he chose this. Why he chose me. I wanted to know every streak in his eyes and the story behind them. Everything. I wanted everything. But I couldn't have everything, at least not with him, it was impossible, that's what I realized in the two weeks we spent together.

Matteo had kept to his word, or part of it. He ate with me every morning- I even made the effort to sleep early to wake up early- he came home for dinner each day without a miss but he barely talked. He asked me about my day, what I did but part of me knew he already knew about it all- his men escorted me everywhere, Mayra paid attention to me, Juliette was always near- but still, I told him all.

I knew it wasn't going to be effortless. I knew that neither of us could just erase everything and pretend as if nothing. Even I was holding my breath with him, weary about one day seeing another woman, thinking that maybe I was far too stupid to want to change him even when he said he'd give me anything I asked for.

The part of me that thought with my heart wanted him to kiss me again, to see if he really would give me everything but I didn't ask for a kiss nor did he kiss me which I was grateful for.

I wanted to think, really think, use my head and not my heart. I wanted to know if I hated him or not. Pick out each feeling in me and turn it over, examine it carefully but the more I thought about it all, the more I spent in this house, with him… that resentment for stealing things from me, a kiss, a love, a home, it grew smaller and smaller until all I knew was this warm feeling, this thump in my heart, this aching.

In the two weeks, I did what I should have done in the past twoish months. I talked to the wedding planner, showing her all I wanted and where I wanted. I told her the flowers, the cake, the colors, everything.

I did it all and even looked at wedding dresses, tried on a few but settled for nothing even when my heart tugged on the first dress I had seen and tried. I hadn't said anything because that dress was far too beautiful, perfect for me, for a dream wedding but there was something holding me back from accepting it all.