Matteo let go of me, removed his jacket and put it over my shoulders. His warmth and scent enveloped me, and I caught myself drawing in a deep breath.

“Thanks,” I said half-embarrassed.

Luca had done the same for Aria despite the short way to the car. Aria and I settled in the back of Matteo’s Porsche Cayenne while Luca and Matteo sat in the front. It seemed the men weren’t worried anymore that I’d try to jump out of the driving car to escape. Maybe they, too, had noticed how easily I’d settled in.

Aria leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I know you don’t want to see it but you and Matteo are like you were made for each other.”

I shot her a look, ignoring the way my pulse sped up with an emotion I didn’t even want to think about. “Don’t even start.”

Aria shrugged. “It’s the truth. And he’s really trying. They aren’t perfect but they are trying to be good to us. You don’t look unhappy.”

I wasn’t exactly unhappy, but I tried to attribute it to Aria’s constant presence in my new life. It was the convenient explanation. I didn’t say anything, couldn’t come up with a witty reply that wouldn’t sound utterly fake.

We sat in silence after that and yet I felt like my silence was more of an answer than I liked. I was actually relieved when we finally pulled up in front of a luxury apartment building not unlike the one Matteo and I lived in. A doorman rushed toward our car and opened my door. Good thing he didn’t see both Luca and Matteo reach for their weapons, always ready for an attack.

I thanked the guy who looked like he was barely my age, and got out. Aria followed quickly. We handed the jackets back to our husbands before walking into the brightly lit lobby. Another doorman waited next to the elevator and clicked the correct button for us.

As we rode up toward the top floor, Matteo leaned close and murmured, “Don’t forget to behave yourself.” He winked at me when he pulled back and I knew we’d be in trouble. Matteo’s expression promised that he had absolutely no intention to be good tonight.

The party took place in a huge penthouse overlooking the city. It was not quite as big as Luca’s but definitely showy. The walls were covered with drawings by Picasso, Warhol and Miró, all of them originals, and I had a feeling the furniture was as pretentious, but everything had been removed to fit two long tables for eighty guests into the room as well as a dozen bar tables where guests could mingle before dinner.

The noise level was overwhelming despite the size of the penthouse and there wasn’t anything Christmas-y about the decoration except for an abstract glass nativity scene on the mantle and an even more abstract glass Christmas tree in one corner. Aria and I looked at each other and almost burst into laughter.

My mood dropped the moment the host and hostess, a middle-aged couple that looked even more fake than their tree approached us. I braced myself for the disgusted once-over, but the woman smiled at Aria and me the same way.

The hostess who introduced herself as Miriam practically beamed at me, though it looked almost scary because her face was frozen from too many Botox-treatments. “You must be the beautiful new bride,” she said, and kissed me on both cheeks.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, startled.

I darted a confused look at Matteo. He must have read it right because he leaned toward me while host and hostess spoke to Luca and Aria. “They aren’t part of our culture. They don’t give a crap about our rules and morals,” Matteo whispered.

The hostess turned back to us. “Dinner starts in thirty minutes. But please help yourself to our delicious Hors d’oeuvres and Champagne.” She pronounced Champagne in an odd French accent, which almost made me laugh again, but I pulled myself together and smiled politely instead. The woman had been kind to me, so I had to act accordingly, even if Luca thought I was incapable of pleasantness.

I glanced around, only spotting one familiar couple, that I assumed must be part of the mob or I wouldn’t have recognized them. Apart from that, we were blissfully surrounded by strangers, who didn’t call me slut under their breaths, or looked down their noses at me. This was a straight-up social event that normal people, well normal rich people attended. I relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

“Come on. Let’s fill up on some Champagne. We’ll need the buzz to carry us through the boredom,” Matteo said. Luca shot him a scowl, but Matteo merely grinned and led me toward an unoccupied bar table. I grabbed a glass and took a deep gulp. That was the one good thing about living in our world; nobody gave a damn if I was of legal age to drink. The bubbles prickled delightfully on my tongue. It had been a long time since I’d had good Champagne. The last time was at Aria’s wedding.

Matteo smirked.

“What?” I asked, checking my dress for any stains.

“You look like a sophisticated lady.”

“I’m not a sophisticated lady,” I said quickly and was about to take another gulp of Champagne but stopped with the rim against my lips. With a glare, I set it down. “I’m not.”

“I didn’t say you were. I only pointed out that you look it.”

He was right. I fit in, which brought me back to my earlier problem. Why was I becoming more like a trophy wife every day? I downed the rest of my Champagne in one large gulp, not at all lady-like, making Matteo laugh, and I couldn’t help but do too. It felt good to laugh with him, and even better to see mirth banish some of the darkness in his eyes.

Miriam called for everyone to settle around the tables, and asked us to sit next to her with other important guests. Unfortunately Aria had to sit across from me, so I couldn’t even talk to her in case I got bored. I was wedged between Matteo and a woman I didn’t know. Luckily the first course was served almost immediately, so I had something to do. Miriam as well as the other women around us were more interested in Aria anyway, probably because she was Luca’s wife and knew how to do proper small talk.

Suddenly I felt Matteo’s hand on my knee. I shot him a look but he was immersed in a conversation with Luca and the host. I took another bite of my Carpaccio but stopped mid-chew when his hand began its ascend higher, toward the lacy edge of my hold-ups. I had to suppress a small shiver at the sensations his light touch sent straight to my center. I clenched my legs together and tried to focus on the conversation Aria was having with the other women. The corners of Matteo’s lips twitched in reaction. Of course that wasn’t the end of it. When was it ever?

Matteo’s fingers slipped between my legs despite my attempts to lock him out, and then his fingertips slipped under the edge of my panties and lightly stroked the crevice between my leg and vulva. I reached for the glass and took a deep gulp of the wine.

“What do you think, Gianna? Would you be interested?” asked the hostess Miriam. Her eyebrows were raised but due to all the Botox, the rest of her face was static, and her expression resembled one of mild boredom.

My eyes darted to Aria, hoping she’d help me out. I had no clue what Miriam was talking about. Matteo’s fingers had distracted me completely.

“I know you love modern art, and it’s not easy to come by a private tour through the Guggenheim. I’m sure Matteo can spare you for a few hours,” Aria said with a meaningful look.

I could have kissed her. She always saved the day. “Yes, I’d love to –” Matteo’s fingers slipped between my lower lips, gently nudging them apart, finding me wet and aching, the stupid bastard. He was still talking to Luca and the other men as if nothing of interest was going on under the table.