Page 30 of Matteo

“The bathroom on the vanity.” I’m sitting up, wondering how he can do it.

The chair he’s in is close, but I would have to hang off the edge of the bed for him to reach easily. I look behind me. With all the pillows he added for me to lay on there’s a lot of room between me and the headboard. If they were removed, he would be able to fit behind me. I begin trying to remove them without waking Layla.

“Here, let me help.” He grabs the remaining pillows and places them at the foot of the bed. A hand on the headboard helps him get his leg on the outside of mine on the bed.

I’m embarrassed and don’t know what to say as he begins brushing it. “Every other time I brush it out I tell myself I’m going to cut it.” I mutter.

“I hope like hell it never happens. It’s beautiful.” A beat passes. “However, I do understand long hair can be difficult to take care of as well as time-consuming. If there are any hair tools or products you want to buy to help you, add them to the household purchases. Does it sound like I’m telling you not to cut it? I don’t mean it that way. It would simply be a tragedy if you do.”

I fight laughter. “Thank you, that’s very sweet. I’m only thinking a few inches—to the middle of my back. It’s been more than a year since I cut it. At the very least, I want to get rid of the split ends.”

His slow, gentle brushing is almost hypnotic it’s so soothing. “It’s like silk.”

“Thanks to the shampoo and conditioner your mother bought. The stuff I was using had it feeling like straw. I just wish I could do more than put it in a braid. Leaving it loose with Layla’s tendency to grab and pull isn’t an option.”

“That’s too bad. I wondered why you kept it in a braid.” He begins separating it into three pieces. “Do you want it high or low?”

“Low, please, at my nape.” I’m glad he asked. I do my best to ignore the way his long fingers continually brush my neck. Except every touch causes heat to build low—where it shouldn’t.

After brushing the individual sections, he begins braiding the sections together.

“I can’t stop thinking of you braiding your patient’s hair. And the pain the girls went through when they lost their hair.” I wince as I wonder if I should have said anything.

“It was sad.” Another clearing of his throat tells me the word doesn’t cover it in the least. “Many parents couldn’t put their work or caring for their other kids on hold to be there for their sick child. And the few who could, often couldn’t bring their other children with them. It’s why I housed several families at my home. There’s a charity built into the hospital intake that helps with housing. Unfortunately, they didn’t always have accommodation for large families. I had two bedrooms on the main floor and another two in the basement for them to use.”

“How awful to not be able to stay with their child while they went through that.” I sigh.

“It wasn’t easy to see. That’s why I set up a charity to pay for housing as long as they needed to stay in the area. A portion of my trust goes into it every month.”

This man, sitting with cancer patients, braiding their hair, housing families in his own home. I would wonder if he were real if someone told me about him. I remember the question I had when he mentioned it. “When did you get your trust? I thought those things were an eighteen or twenty-one thing.”

His exhale laugh thing sends air over my neck. Oh my god, it’s a good thing I’m sitting. It’s stronger than the first time he did it, and I can’t stop the shiver it sends through me.

“No, my grandfather was certain he gave my father and uncle too much money too soon. I think he judged them by what he would have done at the same age. Except there were too many differences between how their life was growing up and his. They had whatever they wanted by merely asking. My grandfather had to work three jobs to help feed his brothers and sisters when he was a kid himself. If I were married and had children, I would have gotten access to my share of the trust sooner. Since I had neither, I didn’t get anything until I turned thirty.”

“You mentioned he didn’t pay for your school. Did the trust pay for it?” I meant to ask him last night.

“It was supposed to. My grandfather first created the trust to pay for our education—both private school as children and university as adults. Then he changed it to ensure we had the quality of life he worked so hard to give his kids. But he got angry when I said I was going to school to be a doctor. Since he was the trustee, he refused to release the funds to pay for college.”

“That’s crap. You wanted to be a doctor. It’s not like you were planning on becoming an actor or musician or something.” What an asshole. “How were you able to go to school and get the allowance you mentioned?”

His chuckle holds no humor. “I understand now why he did it. The more of us in the company, the more the work would have been spread out. I’ve worried for years about how hard Rafe was working. Javier gave up the immigration law he did on the side because it was either that or have no life. Seeing it now, I forgave my grandfather when he apologized for what he did.”

He's better than me because I don’t think I could have. But I don’t dare say it out loud.

“It was my mother who covered tuition and gave me my monthly allowance. She also bought a condo in New York and my house in Baltimore. Like I mentioned the other day, most of the money I’ve made is from the leftover allowance. I lived below my means in school—I was too embarrassed by how hard everyone around me stressed about money to spend my full allowance.”

“That’s awesome of your mom.” I exhale in wonder. “But your grandfather sounds like a control freak. I don’t know if I would have been able to forgive him.” Darn it. I wasn’t supposed to say that last thing.

“Yeah, my mom has her moments. Control freak fits him perfectly. He changed the rules of the trust when I told him I would accept it when I turned thirty. It’s now written that no more than fifty percent of what’s received can be given away, or we get cut off from it permanently. It could be refused outright the way Javier did. Javier didn’t need it after making his own billion. At Yale, he met a lot of students who couldn’t find investors—typically because they were too young or women. It’s what gave me the idea to invest beyond the market. I couldn’t refuse my trust when it could go to help others. I take my percentage and put it away for retirement.”

“Since you have so much money, why don’t you retire?” I’m curious.

“I don’t think my guilt over being born rich will let me. I’m sure I’ll be doing something in some capacity to give back until I’m incapacitated or dead.” His tone is one of acceptance.

“Is that what drove you? The guilt from being rich?” I’m understanding him more.

“Pretty much. Guilt played a factor in so much of what I’ve done. I think guilt is a part of the reason I did my best to keep Susan’s memory alive for so long. I thought it should hurt more to lose the person you wanted to spend your life with.” His voice is low as he confesses.

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