Backup Wife (The Jilted Wives Club Book 4), page 6
Damon was standing behind his easel on the pool deck, facing the house as he painted. While I was lounging on one of the chaises, sketching him while he worked. There was music playing lightly in the background and an air of calm surrounding the villa.
I knew in a couple weeks this scene would be vastly different, with children splashing in the pool and my family talking loudly and rapidly as they shared stories. And although I was looking forward to it, I was really enjoying the peace and quiet.
And the underlying tension between Damon and myself.
There was a moment back in the kitchen when I was sure I was about to be ravished, and although I was disappointed when Damon held himself in check, I was enjoying the build-up and imagining what it would be like when we finally made that last step.
Damon shifted and swiped at his brow with his forearm, probably so he wouldn’t get paint on his face. Little did he know, he already had. There was a reddish orange smudge on his cheek that I thought was very cute.
I imagined sauntering over to him and wetting my thumb to wipe it off.
He’d bring his hand up to cover mine and kiss me as if his life depended on it. Then he’d lay me down on the pool deck, relieving me of my swimsuit and coverup as if they were a barrier he couldn’t have between us. Then he’d lower his head and begin kissing his way down my body, until…
“Hey, Charlotte … Char … earth to Charlotte.”
I blinked and pulled myself out of the fantasy to see Damon standing at the foot of my lounge chair with a curious expression.
“Huh?” I asked, sitting up as my cheeks heated as if he could tell what I’d been thinking.
“I’d been calling your name for a few seconds, but you were in your own little world.”
“Oh, uh, sorry, what’s up?”
His lips quirked up and he asked, “What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing … just, uh, Sky,” I lied.
“Thinking about Sky makes you blush?” he teased.
Oh, dang, he knew.
Damon placed his brush on the table and moved around the side of the chair.
“May I join you?” he asked.
I nodded, placing my things on the table beside his and scooching to make room.
He laid his long body next to mine, turning on his side and placing his arm over my stomach, as he looked down at me.
“What were you really thinking about?” he asked, his voice coming out rough.
“You,” I admitted, my eyes wide and my breathing shallow as I looked into his soulful eyes.
“What was I doing?” he asked, shuffling closer.
“Kissing…” I cleared my throat and started again, “We were kissing, and then…”
“And then?”
I felt suddenly shy and started to turn my head away, but he caught my chin with his finger and said, “Hey, you can say anything to me, remember?”
“We were kissing and then laying on the pool deck doing … more.”
His smile was sweet as he said, “Let’s start with the kissing, shall we?”
My nod may have been a bit too eager, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t had an honest-to-goodness make-out session since college.
He leaned over me so half of his body was covering mine. It was enough so I could feel his weight but not be crushed beneath him, and I loved the feel of his body on mine. His lips met mine gently but became more intent when I met him with a moan and ran my tongue over his bottom lip.
We kissed for what felt like hours and it was glorious.
We laid there so long the sun began to set and the breeze cooled our heated bodies.
I could have happily stayed in the position all night, memorizing every inch of him with my hands as his mouth worshiped mine.
When we finally took a break, both of us struggling to catch our breath as his hand gently caressed my hip, I looked up at him and said, “That was wonderful, thank you.”
“You’re wonderful,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on my nose. “But you don’t need to thank me. It was absolutely my pleasure.”
“It’s just…” I began, then though better of it.
“What?”
I shook my head and said, “I don’t want to bring Nigel into this moment.”
“Tell me,” he prodded.
“It’s just, with Nigel, any sort of affection given was for the express purpose of having sex. Hand holding wasn’t simply holding hands. Kissing didn’t happen just for the sake of kissing. It was like if I touched him or sought out affection in any way, the end game was going to be sex or there was no point. There was no romance. All roads had to lead to sex, or we weren’t doing it.” I reached up and brushed his hair off of his forehead. “I only bring it up, because I want you to know how much I enjoyed what we just did. The fact that you aren’t pressuring me or only interested in sex as the end game is really refreshing for me, and I appreciate it.”
“I would happily kiss you all night long,” Damon said, dipping his head to run his nose along mine. “I don’t want you to feel any kind of pressure from me to do anything. You’re in control here, okay? I’ll follow your lead.”
I beamed up at him and said, “You’re the sweetest. Now, my stomach is telling it’s time to feed again. What do you say we go get dressed and go into town for dinner?”
“Whatever you want, I’m in.”
SIXTEEN
DAMON
I couldn’t stop touching her.
My hand at the small of her back. A light caress down her arm. A quick brush of the lips. She was a drug, and I was quickly becoming addicted.
She’d styled her hair in waves and was wearing the most delectable red dress, which she’d matched her nails and lips to. The best part of her look, though, was the smile that hadn’t left her face since the moment we’d left the villa.
The evening was perfect, so we opted to sit outside at the ristorante we’d chosen for dinner.
The tablecloths were white, with flowers and a candle as its centerpiece, and the bread was warm from the oven.
“How can the locals eat like this every day and still look so great?” Charlotte asked with a bemused smile. “I just smell bread back home and gain twenty pounds. By the time we leave to go back home I’m going to have a pasta belly.”
“I look forward to seeing that,” I replied easily, thinking I’d be right there with her.
Her face fell and she said, “No, you don’t. I have firsthand experience about how differently a man looks at me when I gain weight.”
“Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “First of all, Nigel’s a piece of shit, and you were pregnant, which is beside the point. Second, please don’t compare me to him. I am not Nigel, I don’t think like Nigel, and I certainly don’t act like Nigel. Okay?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m working on getting over all this.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Why the heck were you ever with Nigel?” I asked, honestly curious. “I remember the first time I met him, and I didn’t get it then either. He was always stiff and stand-offish, didn’t seem to get along with your brothers, and had no sense of humor. I never understood what you saw in him.”
Charlotte chuckled as she picked up a piece of bread and started tearing it apart.
“You know what it’s like in college … you’re out on your own for the first time, no rules or parents watching. You’re discovering who you are as an adult and trying things you probably shouldn’t. Nigel was one of those things.”
“So, you liked him when you met him?” I asked, not seeing how she could have.
She laughed at that and nodded. “Yes, of course I did. He was older and seemed so confident and in charge of his life. He had his own car and condo … He was so grown compared to the frat guys in my classes. And he swept me off my feet. I’d never been wooed by a guy before and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I was dazzled and stayed that way until about the second year of marriage.”
“I guess I can see how that would be appealing.”
Our server walked up with our food and placed the steaming plates in front of us. Instantly the spices from the sauce tickled my nose and I groaned.
“This looks amazing,” I told him as I laid my napkin in my lap. “Thank you.”
“It really does,” Char agreed.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, and we both said we were good.
“Okay, I’m gonna need to try that,” I said, my mouth watering at her seafood pasta.
“And I want a bite of lasagna,” she countered.
“Deal.”
We gave each other a portion of our food and got ready to dig in.
“Okay, that’s enough of Nigel for the evening,” I said as I cut my lasagna into bite-size squares.
“I’m good with that,” she replied, twirling her pasta on the large spoon they provided.
“I have an idea that I’d like to get your thoughts on.”
“Shoot,” Char said, then popped her fork in her mouth.
I waited until her eyes rolled back out of her head before saying, “What if we take the rental car and drive down to Rome for a couple days.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened with excitement.
“Yes! I want to see Rome so badly.”
“You’ve never been?” I asked, and when she shook her head, I said, “Me neither. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Me, too. That would be amazing. There’s so much I want to see … Oh my goodness, the Sistine Chapel.”
“So, leave tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’m one-thousand percent in.”
We grinned at each other and dug in, talking about all the things we wanted to do and see in Rome while we ate.
When our server came back, we ordered dessert, which would be served with a dessert wine, followed by espresso, and then finally grappa.
As we sipped, a street performer began to play, so I turned my chair toward the sound and scooted close enough to Charlotte so I could place my arm over her shoulders as we listened to the tenor voice sing about love in Italian.
At least, that’s what I assumed he was singing about. It was a romance language, after all, and usually sounded romantic to me.
Char laid her head on my shoulder, and I could have sworn I heard her whisper, “Magic.”
SEVENTEEN
CHARLOTTE
The drive from Tuscany to Rome was a dream.
Lush hills, winding roads, and fields of sunflowers, it was a gorgeous and relaxing cruise through the Italian countryside.
The trip was only three hours, so it went by quickly, and since we left early, we arrived in Rome in time for lunch.
“I found a B&B in Trastevere,” Damon said as he drove through the narrow streets. “I figured we could park the car there and use it as our starting point.”
Trastevere had a bohemian, artsy feel to it, with brightly colored buildings, plenty of street art, and tons of artisan shops and trattorias. I immediately fell in love with the fun and funky feel of the area.
We pulled into Buonanotte Garibaldi, and I was stuck by how romantic it was. I glanced over at Damon, who looked completely carefree and happy as he parked the rental and turned to see me staring at him.
“What?” he asked with an easy smile.
“How did you find this place?” I asked, taking in the outdoor entry to the B&B, which was overflowing with greenery and flowering trees. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Just did some digging online last night and when it popped up, I knew it was perfect,” he said, taking the overnight bag from my hand to carry along with his. “There are only three guestrooms, so I was lucky one was available, and each room has its own private balcony or patio. Plus, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the heart of the city.”
“Well, if the rooms are half as lovely as the exterior, you’re gonna have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”
We were checked into our room, the Rome Room, and taken there by our host, David. He said breakfast would be included and served on the rooftop terrace at our convenience in the morning, and that we were welcome to use anything in the common areas.
“This painting is beautiful,” I said as we entered a tastefully decorated room with a king-size bed, a small desk and armoire, and a door leading out to the patio. Painted silk hung over the bed.
“That is the work of our owner, Luisa,” David replied.
“Amazing,” Damon murmured, moving to give David a tip before he left us alone. Once he shut the door, he turned to me and said, “I hope I wasn’t being presumptuous.”
I glanced at the only bed in the room and felt a flurry of nerves before crossing to him and putting my arms around his waist.
“Not at all,” I assured him, tilting my head back to offer him my mouth.
He lowered his head with a grin and kissed me so thoroughly that it felt like a promise of what would come later.
“Want to check out the place and then head into the city?” he asked once he’d left me breathless.
“Sounds perfect.”
The bathroom had a nice big tub and was decorated in whites and blues. And when we walked out onto the patio, I imagined us having wine out there tonight and coffee in the morning. The common areas were warm and inviting, with a cozy sitting area, shelves overflowing with books, and a nice dining area with a sideboard set up with fresh fruit, wine, and everything you needed to make cocktails.
“Shall we?” Damon asked, gesturing toward the front door.
I felt a rush of excitement over getting out and seeing Rome, and I nodded enthusiastically as I took his hand in mine and pulled him toward the door.
“I was thinking for lunch we could stop at Tonnarello. It’s right here in Trastevere and is famous for its traditional cuisine.”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied happily as I tucked my arm into his. We walked down the narrow, cobblestone paths, commenting on the street art and rustic buildings as we passed.
When we got to Tonnarello, we opted for patio seating, which featured a man set up in the corner playing an acoustic guitar. I was immediately charmed, and my stomach growled as the tantalizing smells of the food hit my nose.
When our server approached, Damon once again asked what they would recommend.
“The Tonnarelli pasta is prepared fresh daily and is most famous with our Italian meatballs or in the Cacio e pepe. And to start, guests love the Jewish artichokes the best.”
“Oh, I’ll have the Cacio e pepe, and a glass of Montepulciano,” I said, handing him back the menu.
“And I’ll try the pasta with meatballs, with Montepulciano as well. Thank you,” Damon added.
The server quickly came back with our wine, and we settled back to enjoy the moment.
EIGHTEEN
DAMON
“I have to say, wherever we go for dinner tonight is going to have a tough act to follow with that lunch,” I said as we moved through the city.
“I know,” Char gushed. “Serving the pasta in those little skillets? I love it. I’m going to have to start doing that at home.”
“Really?” I asked with a smile. I admit it was a nice touch in the restaurant, but I didn’t know how it would translate for home. Maybe if you cooked in one skillet and had another set dedicated to just being dishes?
“No, you’re right. That would never fly with a toddler,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’ll guess we’ll just have to come back.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I said, squeezing her hand lightly. “I know I keep saying it, but I think that was my best meal to date in Italy.”
“The Italians do keep outdoing themselves, don’t they? It’s not so easy to get consistently terrific food back in the States.”
“Unless we’re at your mother’s table,” I quipped.
“This is true.”
“I was able to get us tickets for entrance into the Sistine Chapel at four, so that gives us a few hours to wander around a bit beforehand.”
“You need tickets? I thought you could buy them at the door.”
“I guess you used to be able to,” I replied. “But now you have to schedule a time. I’m glad I checked, it would have been a bummer if we got there and couldn’t get in.”
We walked through Piazza Navona, stopping to watch street performers and check out the local artists’ wares as we moved leisurely toward our next destination. When the Pantheon came into view, Charlotte gasped and stopped walking.
We got out our phones and took some pictures with one of the best-preserved Roman buildings behind us, then went inside to check out the famous dome.
After we’d looked our full, we went back outside. I studied my walking map and asked, “Do you want to head straight, toward Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps, or that way toward the Roman Forum and Colosseum?”
“Oh … the Colosseum!” she said, bouncing on her heels. “I’m dying to see it.”
“The Colosseum it is,” I said, turning us in the direction we needed to walk.
Charlotte’s pace got quicker in her excitement, and I couldn’t help but laugh as she practically skipped down the street.
When the Roman Forum came into view, she started tugging my arm harder.
“Oh my God, can you believe how amazing that is?” she asked me, looking at me briefly over her shoulder before turning back to the sprawling ruins.
And it was … awe inspiring even, and I found myself itching for my sketchbook and pencil.
After a good thirty minutes of exploring, we were finally on our way to the Colosseum and Charlotte’s reaction when she finally saw it in person was priceless. Her jaw dropped and her eyes filled as she took in the architectural masterpiece.
“This was built in the first century and it’s still standing,” she whispered almost reverently. “The history in this structure alone is mind blowing. And is it just me, or is it so much more gargantuan than you thought it would be?”
