Page 174 of The One
“Signor De Marco.”
We both turn at the same time. The doctor who’s been with Gualtiero stands before us, Dr. Vittori, his nametag reads.
How did neither of us hear him come out?
Mateo grips my hand, his fingers pressing into my palm. Dr. Vittori’s expression is worn but hopeful.
“Your brother’s condition has stabilized. He’s showing signs of waking up,” he says. “You can go in for a few minutes.” Then, glancing at me, he adds, “But only one visitor at a time.”
Mateo turns to me, hesitation flickering in his dark eyes. I squeeze his hand before he can say anything.
“Go.” My voice is soft but firm. “I’ll be right here when you come back.”
His jaw tightens, but then he nods, lifting my hand to his lips in a quick, fleeting kiss before striding after the doctor.
I watch as Mateo steps into the room, pulls a chair next to the bed, and takes his brother’s hand.
Tears sting my eyes, and I clutch my chest, fighting the lump rising in my throat. Mateo has so much love for his brother, it’s never shone brighter than it does now.
What if that was Isa? The thought alone guts me. Putting myself in Mateo’s shoes isn’t helping.
I turn away, needing a moment to gather myself. Spotting a bathroom down the corridor, I head there to freshen up. Teo will be a while, and, honestly, I really do need to pee.
As I push the door open, an arm grabs me from behind and shoves me inside.
My body reacts before my mind catches up. My shoulders lock, my breath hitches, and my stomach twists into knots. The self-defense Mateo taught me? Completely forgotten.
Adrenaline surges through me, my heart rate skyrocketing. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand clamps over it, muffling the sound.
“Be quiet,” my father’s familiar voice hisses in my ear.
I should have known it was him. A wave of relief crashes over me, grateful it’s not some stranger. But on second thought, that might have been preferable.
He must feel me sag against him because not a moment later, he lets go of me.
I spin to face him.
My father stands there, impeccably dressed as always, his sharp gaze cutting through me like a scalpel. He looks at me the way he always has, like I’m an inconvenience, a situation to be managed.
“I gave you one simple instruction, Mariella. Answer the phone when I call. And yet, you disappeared for days with Mateo De Marco of all people, and without taking your phone.”
His voice is calm, measured, but every syllable coils tighter around my throat. His eyes sweep over me, assessing, dissecting, until they land on my ring finger. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Engaged? To him?” He spits the words as if they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. “What exactly did you do to make that happen in a week?”
Heat surges up my neck, a sick dread curling in my gut. I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Someone like him could never understand what Mateo and I have.
His expression darkens, his voice turning razor-sharp. “God help me, did you spread your legs for him? I told you specifically not to.”
The words lash against me like a whip. My fingers curl into fists. He doesn’t really know Mateo, yet he assumes the worst, assumes I had toearnmy place at Mateo’s side in the only way he thinks a woman can. As if I could never be enough on my own.
Anger flares hot and blinding.
“I did no such thing,” I bite out.
The truth? I have given myself to Mateo. Many times. But not in the way my father implies. Memories of Teo’s head between my legs, worshipping me like Imatter, deepen the redness in my cheeks.
His lips curl, and for a second, I think he might actually be pleased. “That might explain it. You got some of my intellect after all. Good.”
