( this book is currently being HEAVILY edited. I suggest not reading unless you are okay with slight errors.)
In which a 40 year old Italian man falls into the trap of an 22 year old seductress, who babysits his children.
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Our eyes stayed on eac...
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For the longest time, my theory on love has been conceptualized to be a feeling of overwhelming happiness. It's the stolen glances across a room, when two souls intertwine and everything else seizes to exist. It's the little things like paying attention to one's likes and dislikes, miniscule personality quirks—like making a nervous habit out of biting your nails or sticking to unusual routines.
Love, in my eyes, is the sickest form of heartbreak when fate isn't on your side. Fate decides whether you get your way or whether you don't. We often believe bad things happen to bad people because they chose to live an immoral life. But that's bullshit. Sometimes—there isn't an incredible backstory as to how or why people behave the way they do. No justifications, nothing. People are just shitty and that's the way it is.
And then there's me. I haven't achieved anything incredible in my eighteen years, haven't solved world hunger or cured cancer. I simply exist. And by luck or fate—whatever, I managed to exist in the same timeline as Alexander Moritello. And if I happened to own a list of great achievements, that would be my very first one.
I would go through a thousand hardships if it meant I ended up in this room, with this man, in this exact same position. In my eyes, it was worth it all. Because in the end, what is love if not the journey of darkness until you reached the light together?
I took note of my surroundings immediately before opening my eyes, fully prepared to wake up alone. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised to feel the warmth of a body behind mine and short steady breaths against the nape of my neck. A heavy familiar arm was wrapped possessively around my waist. In his sleep, Alex ran his hands across the skin of my stomach, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as he went. A sleepy smile spread across my face at the remembrance at how many countless hours his hands had traced my skin and how it had the same knee-buckling effect each time.
I shifted my body and pressed myself even closer to his figure, a sense of déjà vu passing through me. almost a month ago we were in this same position together. Except in a hotel, and not the comfort of his bed. We had come so far since then.
A part of me wondered if I should feel ashamed at everything I'd done with this man but I didn't. I couldn't force myself to. Not when he came into my life at the right time and slowly crept his way into my heart. More like fucked his way but, same thing.
Shifting out from under his arm, attempted to maneuver out of his hold but he had other ideas, pulling me even tighter towards him. He mumbled out a quick no when I tried to move again and I had to stop myself from cooing out loud at the adorable furrow in his brows.
I froze when there was a sudden break in his breathing and exhaled when he turned onto his back. I drank in the sight of his sleepy figure. The small pout on his full lips, releasing even breaths. The bridge of his nose, sitting between what were the most gorgeous eyes I had ever looked into. Above them, dark lashes curled naturally.
