Page 27 of Gilded Princess

I end the call and slip my phone into my small white leather crossbody purse. I grab my lip gloss and swipe another coat on before tucking it into my purse. After slipping on my favorite pair of tan wedge sandals, I’m pulling up my car ride app and checking the status of the car I ordered. I don’t mind taking public transportation, but I don’t want to arrive looking like I just stepped out of hot yoga either. And walking all over the city in this heat practically guarantees I’ll arrive no less than drenched.

I lock our door as I leave the suite, waving at a few friends in the hall who stay year-round like we do.

Throughout the years, we really got to know the girls whose parents shipped them off here year-round. Summers in the city are brutal, and no one stays here the whole time unless they have to.

There are even fewer girls here now though, since a lot of them opted to go to a different college—or no college at all if your parents already signed your marriage contract like Peggy’s did.

My ride is two minutes away, so I leave the cool confines of the front foyer, push open the heavy door, and walk into the thick night air. Dusk turns the sky a hazy blue, and the humidity feels palpable, instantly sinking onto my skin and weighing me down.

With my gaze glued to my phone, I shuffle to the side of the door toward my favorite cherry blossom tree as I watch the dot move closer to my dorm building on the screen.

I sidestep the broken sidewalk square in front of my building, the neon green spray paint a bright beacon of caution. A dog barks, the sound deep and loud and nearby, startling me. I flinch and reflexively turn toward the noise. The toe of my wedge sandal catches on the jagged edge of broken concrete, and I lose my balance.

My arms windmill in that instinctual move everyone does, but I don’t actually think helps, and I know I’m going down.

Right into Miss June’s rosebushes.

I cringe, a curse falling from my lips as gravity takes over.

But something halts my downward motion—or should I say someone—and I collide with something hard. Before I even lift my head, an apology is on my lips. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry . . .” The word stalls as it leaves my mouth, floating in the air between us before it sinks to the dirty concrete sidewalk. “Matteo.”

Surprise tightens my muscles, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s gripping my shoulders. His long, tattooed fingers curl underneath the few layers of chiffon to touch my skin.

My surprise fades as suspicion clouds over. Cocking my head to the side, I step back to right myself, but he doesn’t release his hold on me, so it ends up being the smallest step ever.

“I went years without seeing you in a city this size, and all of a sudden, I run into you twice in as many weeks?”

I watch in fascination as his hazel eyes darken to a deep green. I haven’t had the chance to look at him—really see him—in years. Not since we broke up. And since he doesn’t do social media, I never lurked on his profile like my friends do post-breakup.

He’s still one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

His lip twitches in the smallest motion, which might as well be a belly laugh for all the emotion he’s showing. “I was in the neighborhood.”

His voice is just as deep as I remember it. The tenor sends a shiver of arousal over me. And I’m not too proud to admit that I give in for a single second. I let myself revel in the feel of his touch against my skin. In another life, I might’ve been getting ready for him tonight.

But I’m not.

And the reminder of my waiting date at Louisa’s is enough to break the spell. I slough the attraction off and work double-time to adopt an unaffected demeanor.

I raise a brow at his flimsy admission. “Really? Do you live around here now?”

He stares at me for a moment, his thumbs moving back and forth over the sensitive skin on my upper arms in small strokes. Who knew that area was so damn sensitive, anyway?

“Maybe I was visiting a friend.”

It’s not a question and it doesn’t answer mine, but it causes me to pause nonetheless. His thumbs pause their movement, and I wonder if he’s remembering the same moment in time as me. The one where he told me that he doesn’t have a lot of friends—real friends. The kind that rescue you from a terrible date or pick you up when you’ve had too much to drink or offer their shoulder to cry on when some asshole breaks your heart.

I hold his gaze as sadness settles over me like a lightweight blanket. We could’ve been something, him and I, if only we met at a different time. Regret feels sluggish in my veins, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I hope he was visiting a friend here. It means he has someone in his life he can count on.

I nod a few times and look to the side. “Good. Friends are good.”

I look back at him and see his gaze has shifted. Gone is the playful curiosity and in its place is an intensity I haven’t seen in years.

Matteo stares at me, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Is everything alright?” I bite my lip to keep the rest of the words inside my mouth. My mother was on the warpath the other day and made me a to-do list of all the things she thinks I need improvement on. And even though I know it’s ridiculous, I can’t help the doubt creeping in.

Tall, handsome, and charming. A guy like Matteo has girls panting after him, and yet, here he is. With me.

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