Page 65 of Gilded Princess

Chapter Twenty-Five

MADDIE

It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I can’t sleep. I’ve been in my bed for hours. In such a short time, I’d gotten used to staying up late to binge-watch TV and movies with Dante, but I just wasn’t up for it tonight.

I excused myself after our big introduction, and I haven’t really left my room since. I know it’s a cowardly move, but I’m trying to be extra forgiving with myself. I’ve never tried to date more than one person at a time before—and I didn’t account for the familiarity.

Someone placed dinner inside my room while I was in the shower—a big, juicy cheeseburger and a side salad with an iced peach black tea. My bet is on Dante. I’ve seen firsthand how quiet he can be if he wants.

I tried to call my sister, but I got her voicemail. Again. So either she’s still screening her calls or she doesn’t have service. Or I guess her phone could be dead too. So there are several possibilities, but I know her. So I know she’s just ignoring me for one reason or another.

I was going to call Lainey just to chat, not even about this new development, but then I remembered all the shit she’s wading through, and I can’t bring myself to dump more on her. Even if mine pales in comparison to what she’s dealing with.

So that left surfing some streaming channels for the last few hours. Nothing is holding my attention, and I can’t stop thinking about the conversation earlier.

I can’t believe Leo and Matteo are brothers. Brothers!

What are the odds? No, really, in a city this size, that’s gotta be less than one-tenth percent, considering I didn’t even know Matteo had a brother until today.

Looking around this luxurious room with the crown moulding, fancy fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows with blackout blinds, and the connecting custom bathroom, I think there’s probably a lot I don’t really know about Matteo.

I roll onto my back and throw an arm over my eyes, letting my hair fan out around me. Some action movie plays quietly in the background. It’s one that I’ve seen dozens of times, but it’s my go-to movie when I need a pick-me-up.

It’s not working tonight.

I move my arm back to my side and blow out a breath, stirring the flyaways on my face. It was supposed to be easy. Just date and flirt with and kiss who I wanted, when I wanted. Easy peasy.

Then why am I sitting awake in the middle of the night with angry moths churning in my gut? The look on Leo’s face won’t leave my mind. Sure, he eventually talked a big game, but his whole show was exactly that—a performance. His initial reaction is the one that keeps playing across my vision.

I war with myself, worrying my bottom lip. But I know sleep won’t come until I talk to him.

I still want to have my own harem of men, but I don’t want to trample anyone in the process. That’s not who I am.

“Screw it,” I murmur. I sit up, toss my legs over the side of the bed, and slide to the floor.

I don’t give myself any more time to think about it—or chicken out—and leave my room. Now that I’m in the hallway, I realize my mistake. I don’t really know which room is Leo’s. I turn left first and slowly walk down the hallway, listening for—well, I don’t know what I expect to hear in the middle of the night.

The first door is a bathroom, the second is an empty guest room, and the third, I remember from the brief tour when I first arrived, is Matteo’s room. Turning around, I walk back and pass my room. The one across from mine is Dante’s, so that leaves three options. Tiptoeing down the hallway, two doors are open—spare bedrooms. Which means the last one must be his.

Standing in front of the closed six-panel wood door, I raise my fist and knock quietly twice. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can’t decide what would be better: he’s asleep so I can abandon this hair-brained idea, or he’s awake and I can make him listen to me.

The hinges creak and my eyes snap open. Dark green eyes peer at me through the partially opened door.

“What?”

I twist my fingers together in my hands, my nerves clogging my throat. “Can we talk?”

He sighs. “It’s the middle of the night.”

I nod a couple of times. “I know, and I’m sorry if I woke you. But I can’t sleep, and I wanted to talk to you. So here I am.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing and straining against his shirtsleeves. It’s distracting.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t really asleep yet either. Come on in,” he says as he opens the door wider and steps backward. I follow him to his bed, sitting on the end next to him. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fist.

The room is large, a California king platform bed taking up central space in the room. A fireplace with a black mantel and black and white photos above it are on one side of the bed and a large TV and overstuffed cream-colored chair are on the other side.

A giant area rug warms up the space, vanilla-colored with just a hint of blue. His sheets are messed up, like he was tossing and turning too. Quiet instrumental music plays from a speaker somewhere, and soft light spills into the room from lamps on both bedside tables.

---