Page 89 of Phantom Mine

He laughs when he catches the unimpressed look on my face. “I’m not a forty five year old cashier.”

“Okay, no Tina. Len? Wait no, that sounds like you’re a burly IT guy. Lena? Or Leni?”

I suck in a sharp, startled breath. Pressure settles in my chest and throat making it impossible for me to speak.

My gaze fixes blindly on something in the distance to hide my reaction from Matteo.

Only one person calls me that.

Called me that.

The thing with grief is it’s a burden that never lifts. You somewhat get used to it—over time, I’ve learned to shoulder the weight of it until it’s become just another part of me. Sometimes I think I could almost look past it, start to rebuild maybe, but then something will trigger it. Usually something rather innocuous like a fond memory or a clumsy word or being called by a much beloved nickname, and suddenly the weight becomes unbearable. It drags at my every step until eventually it drags me under where every breath is a struggle and living feels impossible.

Matteo doesn’t miss the change in my demeanor because he never misses anything. “You don’t like it,cara?”

“No,” I choke. “I do.”

How could I possibly explain to him what that name means to me? How could I ever make him understand the person I used to be when I was just Leni? A girl full of joy and laughter and love.

She feels like nothing more than a distant memory to me now, one that grows hazier and further away with every passing day.

She used to be me, but she’s a stranger to me now.

Matteo makes a contented sound deep in his chest. “I quite like Leni. It suits you. You’re Valentina on the outside, the girl who punched me in the face atFirenze, but you’re Leni on the inside.” At a red light, he cups my nape and turns my face untilmy eyes meet his. “The girl who made me a tourniquet in the middle of a shootout.”

I’m the one who crosses the console this time, except that I’m not reaching for his hand.

I lean over and press my lips to his.

His hold on my nape tightens brutally when our mouths make contact. He groans and grips my waist with his free hand, but he lets me control the kiss. It’s unlike every other we’ve had tonight, slower and more sensual. There’s no rushing, just an altogether different kind of desperation.

A violent honk forces us apart like teenagers caught making out by their parents.

I’m halfway into his lap, my hands on his shoulder and face, my chest moving quickly with every rise and fall of my breathing.

Matteo grins at me as the cars honk again, shattering our brief moment of folly. I watch several cars drive around us, shouting colorful expletives as they pass us.

It’s then that I take stock of our surroundings and realize that we’re only a block or so away from my house. I fall back into my seat, eyeing him warily.

“I never gave you my address,” I draw out suspiciously. “How do you know where I live?”

Matteo repositions himself in his seat, gripping at the fabric of his crotch to adjust his hard cock.

“I followed you home,” he answers casually.

The hairs raise on the back of my neck. The admission doesn’t make him uncomfortable, quite the contrary in fact. He meets my stare straight on and owns it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“When?”

After turning into my street, he parks in front of the home I’m renting via Airbnb and shuts off the ignition. Only then does he answer me.

“The day you auditioned.”

“Why?”

This time, when he looks at me, his eyes are full of desire so potent, it could easily be mistaken for deep longing.

“I should think the answer to that question was obvious,” he whispers, his next words ramming right into the left side of my chest. “I wasn’t letting you slip through my fingers a second time.”

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