Page 84 of The One
“Why?” I ask softly, feeling more exposed than ever. “Why do you care so much?”
Mateo reaches up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering.
“Because I see you, Mari. I see the strength, the beauty in you. And I’m not letting Antonio or anyone take that away.”
His words are so unexpected that they leave me speechless. For a moment, I just stare at him, wondering if I’m somehow dreaming this up.
This can’t be real. No one has ever looked at me like this, with such conviction.
And Mateo De Marco of all people?
I look into his eyes, feeling a connection that goes deeper than I ever imagined possible.
“Thank you. That means more to me than you know,” I whisper.
I don’t quite believe his words, because as long as I am an Accardi and my father is alive, I will always be trapped, but I do believe he cares. Perhaps only for now, but in this moment, that’s enough.
He smiles, and for a moment, the weight of everything else fades away.
It’s just the two of us.
The moment lingers.Welinger.
As much as I want to cling to it, it can’t last. Eventually, Mateo clears his throat and says, “It’s time we take care of those cuts. I don’t want them to get infected.”
Sliding off the bed, he grabs the first aid kit from the bedside table before settling back down beside me, carefully pulling my hand into his lap.
His gaze lingers on the small cuts, and for a few long heartbeats, he’s lost in thought. Then, breaking his stare, he opens an alcohol swab and dabs it against my skin.
His jaw tightens, working side to side, that strange tension from earlier resurfacing. As he meticulously tends to my wounds, a strange heaviness settles in my chest.
“What happened back in the garage?” I ask, watching his hands pause briefly before he resumes dabbing.
“You went white as a ghost when you saw these cuts,” I say, pressing a little, not just out of curiosity but to understand and maybe help him the way he’s helped me.
He doesn’t answer right away, instead keeping his focus on the cuts on my hand until they’re thoroughly cleaned. Then he shifts to the ones on my legs, taking a steady breath.
“I…”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mariella
Mateo’s mouth closes, his lips pressing firmly together, holding back the words.
I remain silent, not wanting to pressure him. Whatever it is, it might be too private for him to tell me.
But then he lets out a long, shaky breath.
“I can’t stand the sight of blood,” he admits, his voice so soft I have to strain to catch it.
I blink. “Oh.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that.
“Yeah, not great in our line of work, right?” He glances away, a hint of self-consciousness in his eyes. “Small wounds like these, they get to me.”
My heart tightens with understanding. In a world where any sign of weakness is dangerous, carrying this aversion must be a huge burden. And beyond just hiding it, freezing in a critical moment could be fatal.
