Page 41 of The Cupid Chronicles

The lastthing I need is to develop a crush on this guy. The second we’re in the hallway, I rush around in front of him. “Hey. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

He takes a step back, but not before I inhale the scent of pine mingled with garlic and note the flash of something unrecognizable in his dark eyes.

Man, he’s handsome. Like, unfairly handsome. I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here—while Ineedanswers, getting them is going to be challenging, mostly because I’m not sure I can form complete sentences if he’s going to keep looking at me.

“You obviously read the same article I did, and youobviouslycame here to help Winnie, same as me.”

He sighs again, looking caught, and says, “I don’t know what to tell you. Like Winnie said, we ran into each other downstairs. I actually sort of know of her because of my grandparents.”

“She said she never met your grandparents.”

He pauses.

Caught ya.

“Right. She’s . . . uh . . . kind of a legend around here. Must know her from that.”

I narrow my eyes, then finally say, “You’re a horrible liar.”

He shakes his head at me. “I don’t know what you’re?—”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Did youknowthat, or did the newspaper tell you that?”

He quirks a brow.

“I really do have to get to work.” His voice is a low rumble, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.

“Are you serious?”

He can’t expect me to just walk away when I obviouslyknow something—maybe mystical, definitely weird—is happening here.

“Oh, of course. You have to work. Sure, sure.” I say, not meeting his eyes. “Big fancy chef who cooks amazing pastahe made with his hands. But this is my life! And it’s being invaded, by . . . bymagic!” My voice climbs an octave when I say this, and I know I’m being dramatic.

He whips his head around at me. “Will you keep it down?”he snaps.

I point. “Aha!”

He shushes me.

I whisper-yell, “I knew it!”

He tries to walk down the hallway, but I follow him.

“Iknewyou knew something! Why won’t you just tell me what the heck is going on?”

He takes a breath, looking around the hallway as if to make sure no one is listening or watching, and just shakes his head, still moving down the corridor.

“Look. I don’t want to be bothering you with this anymore than you want me to be bothering you, but . . .” I don’t know what else to say to stop him but— “Matteo!”

He stops, and I see his shoulders sink.

“Please.” I walk to the side of him, talking with my hands. “Please—I feel like I’m going insane. I don’t know if I’m seeing things or losing it.” I let out a heavy sigh. “And there’s literally nobody else who can help me.”

He stiffens, but he doesn’t move, which I take as permission to continue.

I lay it out.

“For the past several days, I’ve been getting bombarded by these . . . newspapers. All withyour nameon them. I tried to return them to you, but it didn’t work. Like, this newspaper keeps coming back. At first, I thought it was just a fluke, then maybe a weird sort of prank, but now, I don’t know what tothink. Plus, they show upeverywhere. On my couch, in my chandelier. Stacks of them. They move by themselves. They even multiply.” I’m starting to feel panicked, knowing how this sounds when I say it out loud. “One of them even floated up in the air, and flipped around, and then . . .”

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