Page 33 of Matteo

She wasn’t happy I spent most of the time talking about Amy and asking what I could do for her and how best to handle my attraction while balancing her need to heal. But she gave in when I explained everything Amy had been through. The shit she told me is still fucking with my head. Amy’s possible PTSD, trauma responses, anxiety, and all the ways I could screw up left me in a cold sweat.

What it boiled down to was that Amy needed time. Since I wasn’t sure I could keep my mouth shut, I hid from her. After the call from the clinic, I put the finishing touches on the presents and Amy’s studio—wondering the whole time if it would be a good thing or blow up in my face.

Then, I worked out until my muscles burned. Even as I did it, I was annoyed for needing to jerk off in the shower. But I was glad I did. If I hadn’t, when I was braiding Amy’s hair, I would have probably come in my damn sweats. Hearing her little gasps and shaky breathing when my fingers brushed against the back of her neck almost completely undid me. The only reason I managed to keep my cock limp was to remember she’d jump and run if she felt what she did to me.

It’s so fucking adorable watching Layla and Amy opening presents. They’re down on the floor together. Layla is chewing the paper. Amy is showing her everything they got. It could be the morning of Christmas with us as a family.

“Matteo, this one is for you.” Amy offers me the small box. “Come open it.”

Because I couldn’t deny her a thing, I go down to the floor with her. I open the present. Amy is curious, so I show her the two silk ties.

Her eyebrows go up. “You wear suits?”

“Yes, I usually take off the jacket once I get to work and put the white coat on. My grandfather had a thing against casual clothing in business settings. He considers it a respect thing for the business and the other person. I also like the ease of suits. No worrying about shopping. I call my tailor who has my measurements, my clothes get made, and can be picked up a week or two later.”

“You have your suits made for you? Wait, clothes? As in more than suits,” Her eyes are wide.

Layla looks from her to me and widens her own eyes. It’s so fucking cute I can’t keep from chuckling. Layla isn’t sure if she likes me laughing at her.

“When you consider how long quality suits last, it’s not like it’s an outrageous expense. And it makes sense for them to make my other clothes if they have my measurements for the suits.” I shrug.

“What else do they make?”

“Everything,” I admit. “From my boxers to my polos.”

“Wow. Rich, rich.” She giggles, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. “Now I get why rich men always get ties and cufflinks for gifts.”

“When we had Christmas together, I got ties and cufflinks.”

“That’s all you got?” Her smile turns sad.

“Christmas for us isn’t about giving gifts. It’s about being together. When we could buy whatever we want for ourselves, it’s not really easy to get a gift for each other.” I assure her.

Her smile is back. “Your mom is really sweet to make sure you have something to open also. These sketchbooks are perfect. Two different sizes and both fit in these gorgeous leather portfolios. I used to imagine having something exactly like this growing up.”

Ah fuck. Her smile could split her face. She leans over and kisses me on the cheek again. “Thank you.”

Layla pats me on the other cheek. My two girls. So freaking beautiful and happy. I don’t think there’s a better gift in the whole damn world.

She goes back to opening presents with Layla. Layla is positive the wrapping paper is more important than the toys Amy is trying to show her.

“Another one for you, Matteo. I want to know what it is.” She waits expectantly after handing it to me.

To please her, I open it.

It’s clear she’s not sure why it’s a good gift. “Huh, a razor. It looks wicked. No, Layla, don’t touch.”

“My mother saw me admiring Rafe’s. I considered buying one, then forgot all about it by the time I got home.”

“Hmm,” she tilts her head as she studies the razor. “I’m not as afraid to meet your mom as I was yesterday.”

Her confidence has me wondering. “Why?”

“Because she cares about your happiness. And if you say I’m good, she will, too. No warning me off that I don’t belong in your world like a bad soap opera or something.”

She isn’t wrong.

“Oh, Matteo, all the colors. These are gorgeous. Thank you. And they come with a box. I love them.” She’s sighing with happiness as she runs a hand over the tubes of oil paint.

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