Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
And he’d been in a rush ever since. He learned to run only a week after he took his first steps and raced his way through the rest of his eight years on this planet. Except for when he slowed down to ask questions. Lots of them.
His attention returned to my first tattoo again. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough for Papà to ink me.”
Although Mateo had no issues with breaking the law when necessary, he’d remained steadfast in his answer every time our son asked about getting his first tattoo. “When you’re eighteen.”
“So stupid,” he muttered with a frown.
“You better not be talking about your mamma,” Matteo growled as he walked into the kitchen from the attached garage.
Lorenzo’s expression was horrified. “Of course not. I was talking about the minimum age to get a tattoo.”
Matteo nodded. “Ahh, that makes more sense.”
“It should because I’d never say anything bad about my mamma.” Lorenzo glared at him. “She’s the best.”
“Damn straight.” Matteo claimed my mouth in a deep kiss, not caring that our son was in the room.
The children were all used to our public displays of affection, and I hoped it would mean that they would be openly demonstrative toward their partners when they grew up and fell in love.
But that didn’t stop our son from giving us a hard time. “Eww, Papà. That’s my mamma. Take it easy.”
Mateo flashed a grin at our son and wagged his eyebrows. “But she prefers it when I—”
I elbowed him in the side and muttered, “Enough.”
Lorenzo pretended to gag, making me laugh.
“Okay, you two. If you have enough energy to be a pain in my butt, then you should burn it off in a much more useful way…by helping me deep clean the kitchen. It’s a mess in here.”
Lorenzo was willing to pitch in, but only if his sisters helped too. “Bianca! Allegra! Mamma needs our help.”
The girls had been hosting a tea party for their dolls in the playroom, but he yelled loud enough for our neighbors to hear him. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and the girls raced into the kitchen. At only six and four, they weren’t a ton of help, but they adored their big brother and would do just about anything he asked.
While Lorenzo bossed the girls around, Matteo leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry, dolcezza. I’ll save some energy for later when we’re in bed.”
I flashed him a sensual smile. “You better.”