Page 40 of Matteo

I shrug. “No. I figure I only get to make that argument sparingly. I think you’re a good mom who knows it’s better not just for her but for you too.”

“You were so close.” Sighing heavily, her eyes meet mine. “How many times do I have to go?”

I swallow a sigh at her not getting it. “You don’t have to do anything. If you’re going to go into it with the end in sight, then I don’t think you should do it at all.”

She’s hurt again.

“Fine.” Pushing up from the table, she almost makes a dignified exit—until she remembers Layla. Then she’s back, refusing to look at me as she unhooks Layla from her highchair and goes back to her room. Her door slams shut loudly enough I could have heard it if I were on the other side of the condo.

I sit wondering if there was another way I could have handled it. After giving myself a headache, I decide I couldn’t have. Talking with Hillary, I agreed Amy likely has PTSD. How could she not after what she went through? Despite what I said, I don’t believe she’ll fully recover from what she went through without therapy.

Either she hates my guts now or later. Because I’ll always do not only what she wants but what she needs. And she needs therapy. I’ll give her time to reconcile herself to that.

Since there isn’t much I can do until she admits it, I decide to take a nap. Layla was up too damn early this morning.

Matteo

While I was tired, I thought I would get an hour or two, I’m surprised by the more than three hours of sleep I get.

I find Amy’s door open and her sobbing. “Amy, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Her eyes are swollen from crying. “You left.”

Fuck. I’m down on my knees at her feet. “No, sweetheart. I was taking a nap. I didn’t leave. I would never leave you.”

Throwing herself into my arms, she squeezes my neck tight. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to therapy. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. I promise I’m not. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to go. Forget I said anything. It’s all right. Don’t cry. I could take anything but your tears.” I beg her. It is seriously fucking with my chest to hear her deep, ragged sobs.

I don’t move until she attempts to pull away.

When I feel it, I get up—taking her with me. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, I put her in my lap. She buries her face into my chest.

I lean over and grab several handfuls of tissues from the bedside table. I offer them to her. It’s a few minutes before she finishes cleaning up. I’m a wimp leaving her to it—seeing her beautiful face swollen from tears is more than I can endure twice in one day.

Finally, I find my voice. “We’re going to put a pin in discussing therapy until you tell me it’s something you want to do. Beyond that, it’s none of my business.”

Her hand goes to my chest, using it as leverage to push away and look up at me. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you that I’ll go. Only I looked everywhere and couldn’t find you.”

“I want you to do it for you. Not me, not even Layla?—”

“You’re not listening to me. I want to go, for me. The reason I hesitated over the nanny coming tomorrow was because I was afraid. Afraid of someone new, of someone breaking the feeling of it being safe with no one invading this space. It’s felt like a comfortable cocoon of you, me, and Layla. And I didn’t want someone to come into it and end that feeling. I’m tired of being afraid. Okay, maybe some of it is for Layla. I’ve lived life afraid since she was born. I want to be brave for her.” Tears fill her eyes again.

“Okay, it’s whatever you want. Only what you want.” I assure her.

How is she still beautiful with her eyes and nose red? Giving into need, I rub my thumb over her cheek. Her chocolate eyes meet mine. I watch as her teeth catch her bottom lip. Wet and full, I long to soothe it with my tongue.

“I will never leave you and Layla. I’m not going anywhere. Nothing is more important to me than you. Do you understand?” Shit, I could be fucking this all up. It’s too soon to make proclamations, but I need her to know.

Chocolate disappears as her pupils dilate. Her breath catches. At last, she gives a small nod. It’s not enough for me. I need her to say the words. My thumb moves over her lips, “I need you to say it, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

She melts into me. “I understand, Matteo.”

Jesus, Amy saying my name with need and desire turns me to stone. “Say it again.”

Can she feel my hard cock beneath her? My entire body is hard and tight for her. No other woman has ever done this to me—made me desperate to touch them, taste them.

No. She’s not ready for everything I want from her. Get it together, Matteo, before you fuck this up and scare the hell out of her.

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