The trip is eye opening; Matthias goes into great detail about all the controls, and I retain the grand sum of zero of any of it. But I do remember all the sites he points out to me as we leave the clouds and drop down over Italy.
I sit, awestruck when he lands the plane.
“I’m still alive.” I sound surprised because I am.
He throws his head back and laughs.
It fills up every cracked and broken part of me.
“Come on, I’m famished. Someone sapped every last ounce of energy from me.” He winks. “And I need to eat something so she can do it again.”
I wonder if he picked Milan for any particular reason other than because it’s the fashion capital of the world. Or if he knows that it might as well be my second home, and after what went on a Ravel, my comfort is highest priority.
I used to come here for every fashion season. Sat on countless runway shows, met all the designers, including ones that would become some of my favorites. It’s what made today’s experience at Ravel all the worse. It was a reminder of how far I’ve fallen.
Being just a normal person was never on my bingo card for my life. But maybe, that’s just what I am now.
Yeah, a normal person whose fake billionaire fiancee just flew his own plane and landed it in Milan.
Well.
Guilty, as Matthias says.
Matthias checks us into the Four Seasons and collapses on the bed until he pulls me into the shower, washing off the remnants of the most incredible moments of my life.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he washes my scalp, massaging the tension from my head. Afterwards he gently brushes out the knots as we sit on the side of the bed.
“Is that okay?” he asks, uncharacteristically nervously, handing me the brush. “I’ve never done that before.”
It thrills me to no end that, finally, Matthias Baxter has done something with me he hasn’t done with another woman.
And no one can ever take that away from me.
Despite the time difference we sleep until the sun peeks through the curtains.
“Get up, sleepy head,” I’m unceremoniously awakened the next morning by a pillow straight to the head.
“No. Sleep,” I murmur pulling the blanket up over my head. Last night was the first time I was away from the club. But when I called after I got off the plane, the team seemed confident that that they could take care of everything. James and Clementine had been kind enough to answer all of my incessant questions as well as give me updates complete with their own special brand of commentary. They both mentioned how the club was packed, and that some people seemed a little disappointed that neither I nor Matthias were there but that was quickly replaced by genuine enjoyment.
Knowing that had helped me finally fall asleep.
Even if I felt a little… something… at knowing that they were doing okay without me.
“Hey. How did it go last night at the club?” Matthias asked, as if reading my mind.
He’s been doing that a lot.
“They said it was fine,” I reply, emerging from the blanket. “I guess that’s good,” I say, lightly.
Matthias bites back a smirk and touches the side of my face. “It’s just one night. You’ve worked hard to get it to the point where you can step away and know that everything will be taken care of.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I say in a tone that can only be described as sulky. “Um, is that coffee?” I say, pointing to the mug sitting on the nightstand, trying to deflect.
He laughs and hands me the coffee cup while shaking his head.
Instead of staying at the hotel for breakfast, we decide to go for a walk to Pinacoteca di Brera to take some photos, and spend an hour at the Brera Botanical Gardens, just enjoying the warm morning before it gets too hot.
Hand in hand, we talk about everything and nothing. Making plans that may never come to be, about all the time we wasted hating each other, but knowing maybe we had to go through that, to get here.
But we don’t talk about how we feel.
We don’t talk about how he called me “my love” at Ravel.
We don’t talk about when this all becomes real, and whether any part of it is still fake.
He takes my hand and pulls me up from the bench we’ve been sitting on, taking a break in the shade. “Come on, we have to be at Cavelli House in half an hour. Maybe we’ll actually get a dress for you today, and I don’t even have to fuck you in public to get it.”
The experience at Cavelli House is the polar opposite of what happened at Ravel yesterday.
Even before we arrive, we see a whole entourage waiting for us at the entrance. The car barely stops before the door is flung open and two hands reach for me and pull me to my feet.
“Bella, you are perfection. You could go dressed in just a garbage bag, no? But that won’t do, we will make you look even more like a goddess. A goddess with a stylist, okay?” Matthias is just a blur of blue as I’m swept inside the studio.
After a parade of stunning dresses, I finally pick a turquoise one that makes Matthias’s eyes melt when he sees me in it. As the seamstress pins my waist and hem, Matthias watches, his espresso cup hovering two inches from his mouth. And something tells me, he’s going to be showing his appreciation in the form of his mouth between my legs when we get back to the hotel. He’s addicted to making me come with his mouth, and there’s not a single problem I have with it. Under his touch I’ve felt a new feminine energy bless my body and every movement I make feels more fluid, elegant.
“The dress will be ready by this evening?” Matthias confirms for the fifth time.
“Bello, have I ever disappointed you before? Si, it will be delivered to your hotel tomorrow morning before you leave.”
He takes my hands, “Bella, it was a privilege to dress you. I cannot wait to see you all over the pictures tomorrow.”
We kiss on both cheeks.
Matthias pulls me away with a growl. “Okay, that’s enough. Hands off, Gio. Don’t make me steal your material scissors.”
“Ah, no, do not joke,” he says, paling.
We can’t help laughing at his reaction as Matthias helps me into the Maserati that somehow materialized sometime during the night.
I don’t insult him by asking where it came from. Money makes things appear seemingly out of thin air.
He sits, his hands on the steering wheel without moving for a minute, then he runs his hand through his hair, looking nervous. It’s funny to me that I can make him feel that way. Finally he says, “I have some college friends here, would you, um, would you be okay with meeting them? You don’t have to, I just thought you might be sick of just being with me.”
Friends. Meeting. If we’re really going to go through with engagement, I guess I’m going to have to meet people as his fiancee.
Might as well start now.
“I’d love to.”