Page 15 of Matteo

My dear Amy,

I hope you approve of the clothes I selected for you. If anything is not to your liking, have no concern. It can be returned despite being dry cleaned for your immediate wear. We can exchange it for something else that would better suit you.

Bitsy

I blink several times as I wonder if I’m still dreaming. The closet is full. This closet isn’t small. Take everything out of it, and it could be a bedroom large enough to fit at least a queen bed with plenty of space to spare. Although hangers are carefully spaced from each other like something in a store, it’s freaking full. There’s a map of where things are in the drawers of the island. Panties are in one drawer, bras in another, and leggings. Holy freaking crap.

All of this is for me?

Freaked out, I go in search of the man who can answer my questions.

Out of the room, I look to the left to see only one door at the end of the hall. I turn right toward the sound of him talking to Layla. It’s an open kitchen, dining, and living room area. There is a large flat-screen television. The furniture is brown leather, with a long roll-arm couch and matching oversized chairs on each side. The area is anchored by a silk rug on the dark, wide-plank hardwood floor.

The table separating the living area from the kitchen seats eight and looks like it’s made of one long piece of driftwood. Dark wood floors run throughout the space as far as I can see. I’m surprised the cabinets are a shiny slick red with bronze handles when everything else is in white and brown. Marble countertops add to the white color scheme. The appliances are stainless steel and massive. A double refrigerator large enough for a family of ten matches the six-burner stove with a side-by-side double oven.

I’m fighting not to be overwhelmed by the clear luxury of everything when my eyes finally fall on him, Matteo—Dr. Castillo. He’s feeding Layla, who is in a brand new highchair with a bright yellow bib covering a pretty sky-blue dress. They both turn to look at me. Their smiles are oddly the same.

“Mama.” Layla gives me a little wave before returning her attention to the spoon covered in baby food.

Matteo’s eyes remain on me. “How are you feeling?”

I have no idea why I’m suddenly warm. My stomach twists in anxiety watching it happen. “Oh, Layla, no baby.”

She was impatient and managed to grab the spoon and smear her face with the bright purple baby food she was trying to get into her mouth. Too late Matteo doesn’t manage to grab her hand before she gets it on the pretty dress.

“I’m sorry.” I apologize as I rush to grab Layla’s hand before she can spread the purple goo anywhere else. Afraid he’ll be angry at her and me for not raising her better. “I hope it doesn’t stain.”

He chuckles as he runs a wet washcloth he already had waiting over her hand. His large hands are gentle with her small one. “It’s okay. She’s a baby, messes are going to happen. Right, sweetie?”

Layla grins up at him. Her grin is so wide I can’t help smiling too. He isn’t angry or yelling at her for making a mess.

Relief allows me to exhale air from the bottom of my tight lungs. When he sees me staring, trying to figure out if it’s only a hallway or another room past the living room, he nods his head toward it. “How are you feeling? Want to take a tour?”

Suddenly, I’m shy, and why is it so hot in here? Maybe I still have a fever. Since I’m actually able to speak without pain, it’s definitely better. “Better, I think. Yes, please.”

“Good. I’ll show you the place.” He unstraps Layla from the highchair and picks her up.

There is another living room on the other side of the wall. This one is more formal in boring beiges. A white couch is in a stiff fabric with two matching chairs on each side of the couch. Another ottoman is used in place of a coffee table in beige, the same color as the plush large carpet in the middle of the room. The only splash of color in the room is a Christmas tree decorated in reds and greens with clear white lights. It’s topped by a regal Santa Claus in bright red velvet. Oddly, though, it’s missing a tree skirt.

He's moving down the hallway. There are more rooms down this hallway than the other one. A large full bath with a combined shower and garden tub, an enormous library with a shiny black baby grand piano, an office in the corner with light filling the room, and a game room filled with a pool table, arcade games, and a white screen with a projector pointed toward it.

“This place is huge,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “It’s not mine. This is my brother’s place he built for himself. I needed somewhere while I figured out where I wanted to live. Did you find the clothes?”

“About that…” I follow him into the dining area where he puts Layla back into the highchair. He picks right back up, feeding her as though he’s been doing it forever.

“You hate them? I’m sorry. We can go shopping?—”

“No, I like them.” I rush to reassure him. Actually, I hadn’t looked closely. But I hate thinking of him so disappointed. “I’m, um, I mean…why? Why did Bitsy buy me all those clothes? And who is Bitsy?”

“Because you need them.” He rolls his eyes. “Bitsy is my mother, and her given name, and what she will also answer to is Elizabeth. I’m not good at buying women’s clothing, so I asked for her help. She also got Ms. Layla here all kitted out. Didn’t she? Yeah, you liked the pretty dresses.”

Layla laughs, kicking her little feet out the way she does when she’s happiest. I’m stunned at the way Layla is so comfortable with him. She was afraid of Danny the few times he paid her any attention. Since he only did it to yell at her to shut up—it’s no surprise.

“All done. Good girl, eating your food.” He cleans her easily and efficiently.

“But there are so many clothes, too many clothes.” I’m embarrassed when my stomach growls.

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