Page 120 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
After I get done kicking my own butt for all the ways I’ve misjudged her, I’m going to give this woman a hug.
“It’s not stupid. It’s lovely. I’m sorry it didn’t work out like you wanted.”
Her laugh is small and sad. “That’s life, I’m afraid. It keeps interrupting all our wonderful plans.”
“I think I owe Matteo a big apology.”
“Why? Did you insult his hair?”
“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid.”
She turns practical. “Just compliment his hair. It goes a long way, believe me. Anything else can be solved with a kiss.”
I laugh, but I’m still crying, and holy guacamole my life is a mess.
I think it’s going to be okay, though. Somehow I think everything’s all going to turn out just fine.
When the taxi driver pulls up to the curb outside the main gate of Castello di Moretti, I’m out of the car before it slows to a complete stop and pressing my finger impatiently on the button of the call box.
A crackle comes through the speaker, then Matteo says, “Kimber.”
I can tell by the tone in his voice I’m going to be groveling well into tomorrow morning.
“Yes, it’s me.” Grinning, I wave at the small camera mounted high on the stone wall, waiting for the gate to swing open.
Nothing happens.
Frowning, I press the button again. “Matteo? Hello?”
The following pause is so long the seed of worry in my stomach flowers into a bloom of terror the size of the Bermuda Triangle.
He’s not going to let me in!
Finally the gate opens with a rusty metal groan, and I can breathe again. I push through the space between the two halves of wrought iron as soon as there’s enough room to do so without injuring myself, then sprint past the sunken cloisters, the rolling green lawns, and the fountain lit in purple and blue lights, until I’m inside the first row of stone arches that encircle the courtyard.
I start to panic in earnest when Matteo walks through the big wooden door and I see his face.
It’s not the face of a man who’ll be swayed by compliments about his hair.
I slow from a run to a walk, my heart throbbing painfully hard, my stomach in knots. When I’m standing a few feet away from him, I stop. Only then do I become aware of the warm evening breeze and the scent of night-blooming jasmine, because we stare at each other in silence until my nerves are so highly strung I think I can hear my fingernails growing.
“Hi.”
“Buonasera.” He makes no move to invite me in.
“Um . . . can we go inside and talk?”
He looks away, inhales a big breath, and drags a hand through his hair, and now my heart is dying.
Then he opens his mouth and kills off the rest of me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Heat floods my cheeks. My chest constricts, as if a giant fist has clutched my lungs. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I was confused—”
“It’s understandable. Your life is chaotic right now.”
“I spoke to Dominic—”
