Page 17 of Matteo

There are even multiple pairs of shoes. Casual slip-on sneakers, one in black and another in white, a pair of tan leather sandals with a chunky heel, basic black leather ballet flats, black and tan flip-flops made of leather, and even a pair of comfy pink slippers for around the house. Everything is in my size.

Why did Bitsy spend all this money on me and Layla? Thinking of the dress Layla was wearing and the gleaming new highchair, something tells me there are as many new things for Layla as there are for me. What was the point in spending all this money on me and Layla when we won’t be here for longer than a few days?

A dozen more questions are tumbling around my mind. I’m urged into moving by the gust of hot air hitting me from the vent for the central air above me. I grab the first bra my hand finds and melt a little at how disgustingly pretty it is. It doesn’t go with my plain white cotton briefs, but I shrug it off. It’s not like my bra and panties usually match.

In the drawer for leggings, I’m once again astonished. There is no way these smooth, well-made leggings are something I could ever afford. It’s not any better when I focus on the t-shirts hanging up. Even though all of them are plain and basic, they’re all made of fine cotton so soft they almost feel like silk.

Dressed, my hand is pressing against my stomach in an attempt to still rioting butterflies. There’s only one way to find out what the hell is going on.

CHAPTER 6

Amy

All my fire dies when I find Matteo on his hands and knees with Layla also on her hands and knees. What I thought was a dress is merely a top and Layla is wearing matching pants.

“Come on, Layla, you can do it. You can crawl. You’re such a big girl. Give me a little crawl.” Layla is chuckling at him as she rocks on her hands and knees.

“She won’t do it. It’s my fault. I didn’t put her down enough because I was too afraid at home. We were pretty much stuck in the bedroom, with Danny hating to see her in the living room. The babysitter who watched her thought she would crawl before I left Danny. But then we were stuck in the gross motel, and I didn’t want her on the floor—even on top of a blanket.” I sigh.

He goes to his knees, his insanely hard and round ass on his heels. “Hey, it’s okay. She has space here to learn and she will before long. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Lifting her up into his arms, he gets close. “Your soup is on the stove. I’ll get it for you. It should be nice and warm. Your sandwich is ready on the table.”

Layla laughs as she cuddles into him. I fight the clench in my chest when she doesn’t reach for me. How long have I been asleep? “It’s okay. I can get my own soup.”

“Yes, but you want to hold Layla. I was going to hold her so you could eat your sandwich with both hands. But you can start with the soup. You can eat one-handed without too much of a mess.” He offers me Layla, who gives me the biggest smile as she wraps her arms around my neck.

Oh, my girl. I inhale her baby scent deep into my lungs. She cuddles into my neck. How embarrassing. I’m blinking back tears. I sway and don’t realize it until a firm hand is at my back, holding me up.

Instantly, I flash to when he touched me in the clinic. I was sure it was the fever and some weird dream—a crazy shock of electricity running all the way to my fingertips and toes. What the hell is that? My eyes find his glinting gold down at me. Wait, does he feel it, too?

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get your soup.” A corner of his mouth tips up. It flashes again. He has dimples in both cheeks. And I’m going crazy. Of course, he doesn’t feel it.

Embarrassed, I nod and move toward the table. The poor guy. He’s just being nice and—wait. “What the hell with all the clothes and the baby stuff?”

There’s a baby swing, a baby activity center in the corner where she can jump and play with the four inset toys, a half dozen baby toys are scattered around the living room and all of it looks brand new. Seriously, what the hell is going on?

An eyebrow is up as he brings me a bowl of chicken noodle soup, setting it next to a plate with an enormous croissant turkey and cheese sandwich. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll talk about it?”

Warily, I sit at the table. My wariness doesn’t compute to Layla. She giggles and reaches for the man with two dimples and the kind of ass women swoon over. My stupid stomach doesn’t help either when it growls. I give in at the same time I hand over my daughter—the traitor.

He takes her with a smile, cuddling her close. I’m not sure who I’m jealous of. I can’t ignore my stomach a minute more and begin to eat the soup. Damn, this is good soup. I’m a little embarrassed at how quickly I eat. Especially considering my throat is still tight with every swallow.

They don’t seem interested in me. They’re occupied with a toy where she can twist a mirror, letters, and numbers he’s trying to teach her.

The soup and the sandwich are good. I managed to eat almost half of both. Once I’m done, I open my mouth to ask him what’s going on.

He speaks before I can. “I’m sorry. I forgot to get you something to drink. What sounds good? There’s orange juice, apple juice, pomegranate juice, sweet tea?—”

“Does your mother do anything by halves?” I ask, in admiration and fear.

His laughter is bass and mellow and warms me more than the hot shower did. “Nope, it’s a Castillo trait. Even though she married into the family, she’s one of us through and through.”

“Okay, I’ve had a shower. I’m dressed, and I’ve eaten. Can you please explain why you bought all this stuff?” I’m wary again and reach for Layla.

Handing her over, he nods. “I called the motel and spoke with the owner. In case he knew of any emergency contact. He told me there wasn’t one. I was informed since you wouldn’t be in to pay rent today or clean that your room would be rented. He would only hold your things for three days before disposing of it all.”

I gasp at the heartlessness of the man. While I hadn’t thought we were friends or anything, I thought he’d be a little more understanding. Although it’s a few days past Christmas, isn’t it still the Christmas season—supposedly filled with compassion?

“Don’t worry. All your things are here in storage.”

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