Page 83 of Ruined By Protection
"Hazel? We need to talk."
Silence.
I try again, a little louder this time. "Hazel, come on. Just five minutes."
"I don't want to talk, Matteo." Her voice sounds flat, distant through the door. "Please just go."
I should walk away. I know I should. But something's wrong and walking away isn't in my nature when there's a problem to solve.
"I'm coming in," I remember to announce, unlike last time, before turning the handle.
The door isn't locked—a small mercy. I step inside to find Hazel sitting on the edge of the bed, her back straight, shoulders rigid. Her eyes meet mine and the iciness there hits me like landing at the North Pole.
She rolls her eyes dramatically. "You're such an annoying man. Did you not hear me say I don't want to talk?"
"I heard you." I close the door behind me. "I just chose not to listen."
I try for a smile, aiming to lighten the tension crackling between us. "Selective hearing. It's a tricky condition. Doctors are baffled."
Nothing. Not even a glimmer of a smile. Her expression remains frozen, eyes hard and unreadable. This is worse than I thought.
"Tough crowd," I mutter, crossing my arms. The playful approach clearly isn't working. Time to be direct. "What's going on, Hazel? Last night we were?—"
"Last night was a mistake," she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to slice. "One I don't intend to repeat."
She may as well have rammed my gut, but I keep my face neutral.
"Why the sudden change? Did I do something?" I take a step toward her but stop when she visibly stiffens. "Talk to me, bella."
"Don't call me that." She stands, creating more distance between us. "I need to go back to my parents' house. That's all."
I blink, trying to process this sudden shift. "Your parents' house? In Austin? Where Montgomery will immediately come for you?"
"Yes."
"That's insane. You can't go back there."
"It's not your decision to make." Her fingers twist together, the only sign of the anxiety she's trying to hide. "I've made up my mind."
"Is this about the divorce? Did Blackwell threaten you somehow?" I rack my brain for what could have changed since last night. "Whatever it is, we can handle it. The Feretti name carries weight, even with sharks like Blackwell."
She shakes her head. "I need to go back to my parents' house. That's all I'm going to say about it."
"Actually, you do owe me an explanation." My voice comes out harder than I intended.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me? I don't owe you anything, Matteo."
"According to whom?"
"According to common decency and personal autonomy," she fires back, crossing her arms.
I force myself to take a breath, to find some lightness in this suddenly heavy room. "Not according to the Relationship Guidebook by Matteo Caruso."
Her expression shifts from anger to confusion. "What?"
"Yeah, it's a bestseller in my head." I tap my temple. "Very exclusive reading. Page forty-three, paragraph two clearly states that when a woman has mind-blowing sex with a man twice—" I hold up two fingers for emphasis, "—and said man still wants to fuck her senseless all day long, she absolutely owes him an explanation before disappearing. Again."
Her mouth opens slightly, caught off guard by my ridiculous claim, or maybe the reminder that she’s good at bolting without goodbyes. I grab my small advantage.
