Page 14 of Indulgence
His laugh had me smiling as I walked away toward the blenchers.
“I’m not against spanking your ass for real,” he cautioned with a bit of promise as he caught up to me. “We could find out just how much you like having my handprint on your behind. Last night was just a prelude to the main show, baby.”
My eyes widened, stretching with my shock.
My mother-in-law’s voice broke through my sexual haze like Miley on her wrecking ball. “Yoo hoo, Matteo. Natalie. Over here,” Michelle called as she waved her hand to make sure we saw her.
Get your shit together, Nat. You’re acting like a teenager who just got the attention of the most popular boy at school. This is your son’s lacrosse game.
Matteo and I had a quick, silent conversation with our eyes.
His narrowed.This isn’t over.
My brows rose.I hope not.
His head tilted.You’re going to get it.
And then we were off to join his parents and Emma in the stands.
“Hello, darlings.” Michelle kissed our cheeks as we sat. “Did you guys have a good night?”
I snickered as I bent to kiss the top of Emma’s head. Matteo tossed me a wink before replying, “The best.”
I swear my ovaries just fluttered with that wink. A freaking wink. And since when did Matteo wink at me?
This whole bizarre universe had me on edge. A very fine edge that resulted in my fawning over my husband, who had suddenly slipped into the shoes of a man I didn’t know. I looked forward to finding out who this new man was. My whole being felt off kilter as if I had just gotten off one of those crazy spinning rides at the carnival where the floor drops out and you’re suctioned to the wall.
I was in a daze when I sat on the cold, hard bleachers. So, it was more of a plop than a sit, which resulted in a jolt of tenderness whizzing through me. I sucked in a quick breath, and Emma turned her head. “You okay, Mom?”
Matteo cast me a knowing look over our daughter’s head and smirked. “Yeah, you okay, Nat?”
I donned the biggest grin I could. “Peachy. I tried a new exercise routine yesterday. I’m a bit sore after using muscles I never have before.”
Matt’s eyes darkened and smoldered, and we picked up our silent conversation from before.
I shrugged.What can I say?
He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.You aren’t going to be saying anything when I make you pay for that.
I shrugged again.I guess we’ll see.
Emma’s eyes volleyed between the two of us, and she huffed in the way only an irritated teenager-in-the-making could. “What’s going on with you guys? You’re acting weird, and I have friends here. Please stop.”
Matteo and I laughed at the same time. I was fairly certain it was in that moment that the stress of trying to figure out this new dynamic in our relationship lifted. Matteo smiled more vibrantly than he had in years, and I felt lighter than I had in months. It seemed that having this huge, weighted secret off my chest made me see my life and my husband in a new way. A new way I was content to enjoy.
Chapter Eight
Natalie
My nails bit into theflesh of my palm as I tried to keep my cool. I had this conversation with artists before, but it never got any less stressful or any less insulting. I was tired and cranky. It had been a long day, and I still had dinner to cook and laundry to wash.
Bastien was a madman at work. He was an artistic pain in the ass. The first whine of “Natalie!” came at ten o’clock this morning. His red wasn’t the right shade. We needed to find a new supplierimmediatelybecause our current one couldn’t tell the difference between wine and burgundy. Spoiler alert—he got the color he wanted. I checked the order form. Then he called me because his brushes weren’t clean enough. Considering he was the only one who used them, cleaned them, or generally touched them, it was his fault they weren’t to his satisfaction. Then his easel was wobbling. It was complaint after complaint. When Annetta arrived, it was more screaming—only in French.
That was what Bastien needed to spark his creativity. He needed to throw a fit and act like a spoiled child. He needed to yell at people to get his blood pumping and claimed it was how the magic happened. The man may have been an artistic genius, but he was hard to tolerate when he was in these moods. A cloud of tension filled the air like humidity—hot and sticky. We had the new gallery opening in Portland in four months and Bastien was behind schedule. Annetta kept on his ass all day about focusing on painting and not being a diva.
All afternoon, my shoulders were tense, bunched up around my ears as I tried to get through my day unscathed.
The last thing I wanted to do was argue with a client who wanted to complain about commission rates when the only thing I wanted to do was go inside, put my sweats on, and get started on dinner before the kids got home. Was it too much to ask to leave the stress of work at work?
