Page 145 of Matteo
“I hate you,” she repeated.
“Hate and lust feel the same in the dark, you know,” I drawled. “Want to test it out?”
Her coral-blue eyes met mine. “Sure.”
My dick instantly stirred. “Really?”
“No.”
“What if I begged?” Silence stretched, the daylight already dimming and reflecting in her eyes. “What if I begged you to touch me?” I leaned across the table, invading her space. “I’m fucking dying, Arianna. I can’t eat, focus, think. I can’t sleep for fuck’s sake, and this place is shrouded in darkness twenty hours a day.”
Her eyes shimmered, but she remained silent, moments stretching into minutes.
“I know you’re angry, but I tried, I really did, to go about it the right way. Your father and Hannah refused to listen. I wouldn’t have chosen Hannah even if you weren’t in the picture. And the thought of living without you…” I shook my head, a whirlwind of emotions squeezing my chest. “I don’t want that existence.”
I waited and waited, watching her lips tremble and her eyes study the scar on my forearm. Her shaking hand reached out and traced over it.
It was the first time she’d touched me in weeks and the motion caused my chest to rise and fall in harsh breaths.
“Ari, I just want you to need me. To choose me. To love me.”Again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ARIANNA
Matteo’s words nearly broke my heart.
As he watched me longingly, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, looking like a Roman god visiting the Viking lands, I wondered how long could I possibly last like this.
I was hurting as much as him. I hated myself for wanting him, needing him.
Yet I couldn’t help but ask myself, how could something that felt so right be wrong?
Matteo was home, safety, and everything I’d seen and wished for as I observed my parents’ relationship growing up.
I sacrificed Matteo’s happiness and mine for my sister’s, but what good was it if Matteo refused her regardless?
I spent the past several weeks tossing and turning, sinking into depression only to yank myself out of it and into a numb state. It was the only way I could function these days.
A part of me hoped everything would resolve itself.
The problem was that even if it did, I wouldn’t know, because we were cut off from the world here.
My gaze fell to the folder on the table in front of him.
“That’s for you,” he said, sliding it across the table.
“What is it?”
“Letters. From me.”
My hand was reaching for it before my brain processed his words. I slowly opened the folder, finding neatly stacked letters in Matteo’s handwriting. There were many.
“Why did you write them?” I breathed, my heart drumming against my ribs.
He shrugged. “It’s the only way I could talk to you.”
I picked up the first letter and started reading with trembling fingers and my heart stuck in my throat. It was no wonder I loved this man. Maybe I was biased, but his words were the most beautiful thing I’d ever read.
