chapter 8

Matteo's POV

Th alarm hadn't even gone off yet, but I was already wide awake, staring at the ceiling with anticipation coursing through my veins. *Today's the day.* Our first wedding anniversary.

I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Calista.

*God, she's beautiful even when she's asleep.* But today wasn't about her. Today belonged to Sloane and me.

I moved toward the bathroom, already mentally running through my checklist for the evening. The venue, the flowers, the guest list, the special surprise I'd arranged just for Sloane. Everything had to be flawless.

"Matteo?" Calista's sleepy voice called out from behind me.

I turned to see her stretching languidly, the sheet sliding down her bare shoulders. She knew exactly how to catch my attention.

"Come back to bed," she murmured, patting the space beside her. "It's still early."

"I can't," I said, reaching for my shirt. "I have a lot to prepare for tonight."

She sat up, letting the sheet fall away completely. *Damn it, she's making this difficult.* But I forced myself to focus on buttoning my shirt instead of looking at her.

"Just for a few more minutes?" She crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching for me.

I caught her hand before it could touch my chest, gently but firmly pushing it away.

"Cal, I don't have time for this today."

Her face fell.

"What's so important about today?" she asked, though we both knew the answer.

"It's my wedding anniversary," I said simply.

Calista's expression shifted.

"Right," she said quietly. "Of course."

She tried to reach for me again, her fingers trailing along my arm. "But we still have some time before you need to leave. I just want to be close to you."

I pulled away more forcefully this time.

"I can indulge you once or twice, but you need to know when to stop," I said, "Today is my wedding anniversary with my wife. No matter how much I care about you, you need to understand that you can never be more important than her."

Calista's face went completely white. For a moment, she looked so vulnerable.

"I... I wasn't trying to suggest that," she stammered. "I just wanted to hold you."

"Your perfume is too strong," I said, buckling my belt with decisive movements. "Sloane would notice."

I grabbed my jacket from the chair, not looking back at her. I could feel her eyes on me, could sense the hurt radiating from the bed, but I didn't turn around.

*She needs to understand the boundaries.* Today was about Sloane and our marriage. Everything else was secondary.

"I'll call you later," I said, my hand on the door handle.

"Matteo, wait—"

But I was already gone, closing the door firmly behind me.

The drive to the hotel felt different today. Everything looked brighter somehow, more vibrant. *This is what happiness feels like,* I realized.

I pulled into the hotel's valet parking and strode through the lobby with purpose. The ballroom I'd reserved was on the third floor, and I wanted to check every detail personally.

"Mr. Santangelo!" The event coordinator, a woman named Diana, hurried toward me with a clipboard. "Everything is proceeding exactly as planned."

"Show me," I said.

We walked through the ballroom together, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. The space looked incredible.

"Sir?" Diana's voice broke through my reverie. "Is there anything else you'd like to adjust?"

"No," I said, smiling. "It's perfect. Exactly what she deserves."

By late afternoon, I was back home getting ready. I'd chosen my best suit, the navy one Sloane had picked out for me last month. She'd said it made my eyes look darker, more mysterious.

*God, I can't wait to see her face tonight.*

I arrived at the hotel an hour before the guests were scheduled to arrive. Everything looked even more beautiful than it had that morning. The soft lighting cast a romantic glow over the entire room, and the musicians were already warming up in the corner.

"Mr. Santangelo," Diana approached. "Your guests have started arriving. The Santangelo family members are here, and several of your business associates have checked in."

I straightened my jacket and walked toward the entrance to greet everyone. My parents were among the first to arrive.

"Matteo, darling," Mom kissed both my cheeks. "This is absolutely lovely. Sloane is going to be so surprised."

"Where is she?" Dad asked, looking around. "Fashionably late, as usual?"

I checked my watch. The party was supposed to start in twenty minutes, but knowing Sloane, she'd probably want to make an entrance.

"She should be here soon," I said confidently.

More guests filtered in. Business partners, family friends, my cousins from Boston. Everyone seemed excited, commenting on how romantic the setup was, how perfect Sloane and I were together, how they couldn't wait to celebrate our happiness.

*This is exactly what I wanted,* I thought, watching the room fill with people who mattered to us. *Everyone who loves us, gathered together to honor our marriage.*

But as the minutes ticked by, that strange uneasiness from earlier began to grow stronger.

"Matteo?" My assistant, Tony, appeared at my elbow. "Should I call Mrs. Santangelo? Some of the guests are asking when dinner will be served."

I glanced around the room. Nearly everyone had arrived, but there was still no sign of Sloane. Or her parents, for that matter.

"Yes," I said. "Call her."

Tony stepped away, and I watched him dial Sloane's number. After a moment, he shook his head and returned to my side.

"Straight to voicemail," he said.

My heart started beating faster. *Sloane never lets her phone go to voicemail. Never.*

"Try again," I said.

Same result.

I looked around the room full of guests, all of them chatting happily, completely unaware that something was wrong.

Everything was exactly as I'd planned it. Except for the most important person.

*Where is my wife?*

"Tony," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Go to the Rossini house. Check if she's there. Maybe she's just running late and her phone died."

But even as I said it, I knew something was terribly wrong. Sloane was never late to important events. She was the most punctual person I knew, always arriving fifteen minutes early to everything.

And she would never, ever miss our wedding anniversary.

I forced a smile as another guest approached to congratulate me, but inside, a cold dread was beginning to spread through my chest.

*She wouldn't leave me,* I told myself firmly. *Sloane loves me. She would never just disappear.*

But as I stood there in the beautiful ballroom I'd arranged for her, surrounded by people expecting to celebrate our love, I couldn't shake the growing certainty that something had gone very, very wrong.

*Where are you, Sloane?*