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At this stage, I don’t care if Enrico eats toast for the rest of his life.

I put on a cream pantsuit. It has fitted trousers and a matching blazer jacket. I study myself in the mirror.

“Okay, we can work with this.” I take the jacket off and put on a bronze silk blouse before draping the jacket over the top. I undo the top button of my blouse and walk out of the wardrobe. “Do I look like I’m going to work?”

Enrico looks up. His eyes drop down my body and he gives me a slow, sexy smile. “If being on your knees and sucking my cock is the work you want to be doing, then yes.”

I put my hands on my hips and give him a wiggle. “Yes?”

He nods once. “Yes.”

I walk back into the wardrobe and put a high-heeled sandal on one foot and a closed-in pointy pump on the other. I clomp out. “Which shoes say that I am a sensible, churchgoing Italian?”

Enrico chuckles. “Nobody is listening to your shoes because your outfit screams bend me over the pew and fuck me hard.”

“This suit is such a dirty talker. I had no idea.”

“Filthy. In fact, get out here now.”

I go back into the wardrobe to continue getting ready. I apply sensible makeup and style my hair in big waves. I clip it back on one side. Twenty minutes later, I walk out into my bedroom. “Are you ready to go?”

“Have been for half an hour now,” he replies flatly. He walks over to me and does up my top button. I let him because he will make me do it up anyway.

“It’s not easy being this beautiful.” I smile up at him.

He chuckles and rubs his hand down my behind. “I can only imagine.”

________

The car pulls up at Milan Cathedral, and I dip my head to peer through the window. “Wow,” I whisper. The church is majestic. It seems like everything in Italy is that way. Italians definitely don’t do things in halves.

The stone detail is incredible, and a gold statue sits perched way up above, as if looking down from the Heavens.

Enrico smiles and holds my hand in his lap as he, too, peers up. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It took over six centuries to build.”

Nerves flutter in my stomach as Marley opens my door. “Miss Olivia.” He nods with a smile.

“Thank you, Marley.”

I get out of the car and Enrico takes my hand.

We walk up the gray stone steps and into the foyer of the church. Century-old artwork lines the walls. There are tapestries and huge paintings, and holy cow, this place is on another level.

Enrico leads me farther into the church where the floors are mainly white with a large black and apricot pattern on it. I look up at the ceiling. It’s hundreds of feet high and lined with spectacular, stained-glass windows. This place is simply breathtaking. It reminds me a lot of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, filled with huge, gray stone columns and so many beautiful things, you don’t know where to look first.

Enrico leads me to the side of the second entry doors and over to a white marble dish. He dips his fingertips in and crosses his chest.

“Now you do it,” he whispers.

Oh, shit. I dip my fingers into the holy water and copy what he just did. He gives me a soft smile and leads me down toward the front of the church. He kneels toward the altar, bows his head, and crosses his chest again as he mutters something quietly before walking to sit down. He turns and gestures for me to the do the same.

What do I say?

He bows, as if to prompt me, and I quickly bow and do the cross thing on my chest. Then I scurry into the church pew behind him. Oh, man, I’m terrible at being a Catholic already. I need a full lesson on church etiquette when we get home.

The church is silent—sacred.

Hushed voices can be heard, but nobody dares speak aloud.