Page 104 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“Sweet Jesus, the perm. You looked like you styled your hair by sticking your finger into an electrical outlet.”
“Let’s not forget your headgear.”
“Four years of wandering around in public looking like I’d just arrived from outer space. I’m still not over the trauma.”
“At least you got those beautiful straight teeth at the end of it. I’m still stuck with hair that refuses to hold a curl unless it’s chemically forced to.”
“Your hair is gorgeous! Do you know how many girls with frizzy hair would kill for it to be straight?”
Don’t talk to me about being straight. I heave an enormous sigh. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. When are you headed back to San Fran? I can probably arrange to come out for Labor Day.”
“I’m not going back to San Francisco. I’ve decided to stay in Italy.”
Danielle’s silence rings with worry. “Does this have anything to do with the hot stepbrother?”
“No.” Maybe. “It’s just time for me to make a clean start.”
“Did you tell Jenner that? I can’t imagine he’d let you move thousands of miles away that easily. You two are attached at the hip.”
“Yes, I told him. He doesn’t approve. He’ll be here in a few weeks for the Milan fashion shows. He’ll browbeat me then.”
“Good luck. I wouldn’t want to be on the end of a browbeating from Jenner.”
“He’s more bark than bite.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve seen him reduce people to tears with one look. He’s terrifying.”
“He’s British. They’re skilled at frightening the peasants.” I hear the bell over the front door chime, and know someone’s come into the shop. “Honey, I have to go, but I promise I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“You better, or I’ll send my girls to Italy for their next school break and let you deal with the little monsters.”
“Speaking of terrifying.”
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
After we hang up, I head out to the front of the shop but stop dead in my tracks when I see who’s there.
Matteo stands near the counter. He’s wearing a gorgeous navy suit, and looking all kinds of sophisticated, angry, and hot.
He’s got my sketch pad in his hand.
“Oh. Hi.”
He lifts the pad. “This is yours.” Onto the counter he tosses it, with a dismissive flick of his wrist like he couldn’t wait to get it out of his hand.
I can tell by looking at the pad that the rest of the sketches he hasn’t torn out are there. My nerves begin firing on all cylinders. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why are you giving it back?”
“I don’t want it anymore,” he says, staring at me in a weirdly challenging way. “It’s not worth the headache.”
I do my absolute best to conceal the punch to the gut that was, but I must flinch a little because Matteo’s eyes sharpen.
“I see.” I don’t know what else to say. I flatten a hand over my stomach, though it does nothing to settle the churning inside. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
