Page 58 of Matteo

“I will,” I promise.

I end the call and stare at the phone. She was a lot like me. A woman with kids who needed help. Matteo gave it to her without asking for anything back. I’m even more confused than I was before I called her. He hadn’t done a thing for me he hadn’t done for her—I mean, he didn’t bring her into his home. But he did it for others often, so it wasn’t special for me.

He wasn’t going to use the things he bought or did as a means to get me to be with him. There was bound to be some kind of attraction when two people were in close proximity to each other. I mean, I want him too—when I thought I’d never want another man again.

Do I want him because he’s here or… I shake my head. For me, it’s not because he’s available. It’s the crazy electricity every time we touch. The way his eyes go gold when he looks at me. It’s how gentle and thoughtful he is with me and Layla. There are so many things I can’t list them all out—it would take hours, and I would be hoarse.

Squeezing my eyes closed, shame hits me hard. I’m a bad person. I knew he woke up in the middle of the night. Because I did, too.

I woke up and wondered if I was dreaming again, having the best damn dream in the world. Only I realized I wasn’t when his breathing changed. I should have gotten off him right then. Except I didn’t. I lay there while he covered me with the throw blanket. Then fell right back asleep with the sound of his heart pounding beneath my ear.

It was wrong of me not to get off him when I woke up. Or maybe this is one of those few times where two wrongs—both of us not getting up—make an amazing right? Is it so bad if neither one of us…

Through my door, I hear Matteo greeting Layla. I back away from the door, terrified he’ll somehow hear my thoughts. No, that’s the guilt. The guilt of not admitting I woke up too. Because I’m afraid he’ll figure out I want him…wait. If he wants me and I want him, how is it a bad thing?

I don’t have the strength to love him and lose him. If it’s only because I’m convenient, I couldn’t do it. I’m not built for just sex. The pretending is going to be bad enough. I said yes, hoping it could become real. Maybe he would really want me as his girlfriend and then maybe one day for forever.

What if I gave in? Could wanting grow to love?

Hearing Layla laughing gets me moving. I don’t have time for this. I’ll figure it out later.

I speed through my shower. Once I’m out, I use a hair dryer brush I found online as an amazing tool to dry long hair. I’ve used it once already and love it. I look like I actually know what I’m doing with my hair.

In the walk-in closet, I find a long-sleeve, maroon shirt dress that goes to just below my knees. I love how it’s fine cotton throughout the body and silk along the hem and the collar. The only shoes I think go with it are the black ballet flats. In the mirror, I sigh. I barely recognize the woman in the mirror—in the best way possible.

I find Matteo putting together Layla’s diaper bag. Layla is in her high chair, playing with a toy. When Matteo sees me, he straightens.

His eyes widen and go gold. “Hi, you’re…beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I blush at his sincerity. No one has ever called me beautiful before.

Layla sees me, and she waves. “Mama.”

“Hi, baby. That’s hilarious. You cut out the middle of a kitchen towel?”

“I was worried about her getting her dress dirty. Of course, it’s the first morning when she doesn’t get messy.” His eyes narrow on me. “Did you talk to Denise?”

My stomach twists as I nod. “Yes, she said to tell you that she misses you.”

He’s waiting as though he expects me to say more. Sighing, he nods. “I’ll hand her off. She had oatmeal and ate it all. I have a bottle of water and some formula in her bag in case she needs a bottle while we’re gone. Anything else you think she’ll need feel free to add.”

“Okay.”

I’m wrong for watching his ass as he walks away.

He takes a lot less time than I did. Damn, he’s gorgeous in black slacks and a dark gray, thin cashmere sweater. When I was in his closet collecting the clothes from the hamper, I couldn’t stop from checking out his clothes. The sweaters he has were hung oddly. Out of curiosity, I checked them out. They are all either cashmere or cotton—most were cashmere. Rich, rich.

“I’ll get her if you’ll take the diaper bag.”

“Okay,” I take the bag from him.

“Do you want to drive, and we’ll take your vehicle? Or do you want me to drive my car?” He asks.

I’m surprised he gives me an option. I do love that he made sure there was a car seat in his car. “Yours and you drive, please.”

CHAPTER 18

Amy

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