Page 48 of Matteo

I shake my head. “No, this is only for today. Matteo was adamant I have someone help me with Layla because I’m recovering from a bad bout of strep throat.”

Her disappointment is clear. “Okay, if anything changes, let me know. Hi Layla, do you want to come with me? I hear you love walking. Matteo says you need to crawl better first.”

Layla goes to her but gives me a long stare to make sure I don’t go anywhere. Nancy gets down on the baby blanket I spread out where we played after breakfast.

With Layla keeping an eye out for me, I sit down at the dinner table where she can see me and go over the things to order that aren’t groceries. I flinch when I see the total. Remembering it’s not my money, and he wants me to spend it, I close my eyes and hit buy.

Once I see Layla laughing and happy with Nancy, I decide it’s time to take the plunge on cleaning Matteo’s bedroom and bathroom.

A massive four-poster bed so large I would need a step stool to get on it dominates the room. Dark brown bedside tables are on each side of the bed, with sleek black lamps on both. The hardwood flooring runs into this bedroom, too. A light brown shaggy carpet attempts to soften the hard lines in the room—it doesn’t work.

There is a sitting area with a long leather sofa in front of a flat-screen television. I’m drawn to the—what has to be more than a dozen—Star Wars models. Oh my god, he is a geek. I can’t hold in my laughter. This is what he does in his free time.

I can’t believe this. I never would have thought it for a second. It’s taking everything in me not to touch anything. I’m terrified I’ll break or mess something up. This is it, his one thing that’s…he said negative. I can’t see it as a negative. I think it makes him more human.

I wish like hell I understood what Star Wars is. I never watched the movies. Once, there was one on the local channel. Since I was desperate for something to watch without cable or streaming, I decided to leave it on. I missed the first twenty minutes and was completely confused. In the end, I used it as background noise as I sketched.

As I take in all the models, I wonder if he wanted me to dust them or something. Until he tells me to, I’m not touching them—too afraid I’ll break something.

An accent wall behind the bed is a light gray. The rest of the walls are boring white without any art or anything personal on them—it could be a hotel room or something. Only the models tell me this is Matteo’s space. He hasn’t made this place home.

Sighing, I shake my head as I realize how long I’ve been in here without doing anything. The sheets on his bed are light blue, matching the navy blue duvet cover. I find two extra sheet sets, one in white and another in gray. I go with the gray to match the dark gray duvet cover while the other is also being washed. It feels oddly intimate to decide what sheets go on his bed.

I wonder if other women have slept in the bed with him. What did they look like? The memory of him without a shirt, only in the pajama pants flashes. Did one of them trace the tattoo on his chest with their finger—the way I wanted to?

Oh god, knock it off. It’s none of your business.

His walk-in closet is larger than mine. There are more than twenty suits, half of which are wool and the other silk. His casual clothing consists mainly of khaki pants and polo shirts.

I’m right about his cufflinks. All of them are silver and gold. Many of them are plain, but there are also diamonds, onyx, sapphire, and mother of pearl. There are more than thirty for him to choose from—rich, rich. His tie collection is massive. I run my hand over the silk ties in awe.

I don’t mean to linger over cleaning his space, but I take twice as long as I did the kitchen and living room. I’m embarrassed to find Layla is down for her nap and Nancy is watching over her while reading on her phone.

Nancy eats a late lunch with me. We discuss Layla’s progress. Nancy is a former kindergarten teacher and was impressed with how advanced she is. She urges me to enroll her in a nursery school. I thank her for her thoughts without telling her that I’m not sending Layla to school when she’s not even two years old.

After I eat, I resent needing a nap myself. Nancy urges me to lie down before Layla wakes up.

In bed, the thought of Matteo shirtless haunts me again. What would it be like to touch him? For his arms to trap me against his hard body. I have no doubt he wouldn’t be simply a good lover—he would be amazing.

The way he was gentle yet firm with both me and Layla screamed that he would be the same with a woman. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt for him to hold me after he braided my hair. Every inch of him against my back was hard, burning into me, so I’ll forever feel him.

It’s a shock to me the way my body responds to the memory. I can’t remember the last time my nipples were hard or my core was so wet—no. Stop, don’t think of him like that. It will only end in heartache.

CHAPTER 15

Matteo

On the way to work, all I want is to turn around and go home to them. When Amy said it felt like we were in a cocoon of just us, I didn’t quite understand what she meant. Yet the further away from her I get, I do, and long for it back.

This morning felt like a dream. Amy made me breakfast and had coffee ready—like something out of a sitcom. Then, when I went into Layla’s room the joy on her face at seeing me had me wondering if my heart could be contained in my chest. Her big smile as she said ‘Dada’ had me feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof.

Despite it being the excuse to keep Amy close, I hated leaving her home to clean. It felt wrong. I take care of her and Layla in everything. Her cleaning up after me and preparing dinner, even if she only sticks something in the toaster oven, aggravates the hell out of me.

My day is busy, as usual. Yet I find myself constantly thinking of Amy. How is she doing? Did she rest? Did Layla get a long enough nap? Is Nancy good to Layla? Was Layla afraid of Nancy? It drives me to such distraction I break down and call Amy to check on her.

“Hello, Amy’s phone. This is Nancy.” A woman answers.

“Where is Amy? Is she all right?” I demand. What is she doing answering Amy’s phone?

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