Page 40 of Masked Hearts

He holds up a keycard. “You didn’t think we’d leave you here alone, did you?”

I stay silent because contrary to what my dear cousins just said, yes. I thought they would leave me here alone, at least for a few days, until I settled in.

“Come downstairs when you’re done jerking off.”

Motherfucker.

I count my lucky stars that Theresa stirs and turns to the opposite side of the bed, leaving me free to get up. I reach into my shorts and readjust so that my problem isn’t obvious to Mattia.

I need to calm down. Yes, she’s attractive—anyone with eyes could see that—butIcannot be physically attracted to her. Being physically attracted is just going to lead to complications, and right now, I have more than enough of those without my body reacting this way, too.

When I get downstairs, Mattia is staring out the large windows that overlook most of Monte Carlo. He’s dressed in the usual Vitale business casual style: a sweater vest, shirt, and slacks.

“You guys had one job: make sure there were two rooms with two beds,” I say.

“Technically, you just said two rooms.” He turns to face the window. “It’s nice here,” he says, brushing over what I just said.

“It’s Monaco. Of course it’s nice.”

“But it’s not home,” Mattia says, turning to face me. He meets my eye with a knowing glance. I haven’t been home in just under six months, and the closest thing to home was everyone being at the wedding last night. It’s been incredibly uncomfortable, and all I want is to be in my room. I miss just being able to wake up and walk to the beach. To go for a run and take a dip in the ocean before heading to work. I miss running by Giovanni’s and bumping into Kaia. I even miss Vitale Holdings and all the never-ending meetings with clients.

I haven’t even spoken to a client since my last call with Clive in Mauritius. I should probably call him back and get Mattia to fill me in on what’s been happening. There’s probably so much I need to catch up on and sort out, not to mention the mess the media has probably made of my sudden marriage.

“C’mon, I’ll make you a coffee.” I shove all the thoughts to the back of my head. “So, has Gabriel made any plans clear to you yet?” Mattia’s voice drops an octave, not wanting to be heard by Theresa.

And that is my number one problem. Ever since Gabriel made his intentions clear at the wedding, it feels as if I’m constantly on edge, just waiting for the next ball to drop.

“He introduced me to an art curator, a friend of Mattheo’s,” I start as I set up the coffee machine with three mugs.

“Do you think that’s how they move the money? Art?” Mattia asks, taking a seat at the marble island in the centre of the kitchen.

“It would make sense. He mentioned something about an art event with Horatio.” If I never heard his name again, it would be too fucking soon. I should’ve trusted Adriano more when he said he had a bad feeling about Horatio last year.

“Ambrose is in France this week,” he says as I slide his cup over to him. “Just some meetings to gather intel, nothing too crazy,” he continues.

“Where are you staying? You know, since you’re now my babysitter.”

“One floor down.” He takes the keycard out of his pocket, but I hold up my hand to stop him.

“Keep it. Just in case anything happens and you need to get in here.”

“Nothing is going to happen. We have this under control.”

“Aside from you and Adriano, I don’t have much faith in my brothers.” I sigh, leaning against the counter and rubbing my hand against the fabric of my shorts.

“Good thing Adriano and I are in charge then.” I see Mattia grin.

“I’m doomed.”

“Listen, there’s a reason I stopped by. We have some work to do for Vitale Holdings…” he trails off.

Light footsteps heading down the stairs cause both of us to change the topic at lightning speed.

“This is good. Where is it from?” Mattia starts talking about the coffee just as Theresa stumbles into the kitchen.

My mouth dries as I take in her appearance, the satin chemise is all wrinkled and twisted, her brown, fluffy curls all piled high in a bun on her head, and the slightest outline of her pebbled nipples peek through the fabric.

Fuck.

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