Page 68 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
Totally lost, I nod politely. I really need to learn that damn language.
When she’s done, she asks me about something to do with the word vino.
Now she’s talking. “Um . . . Chianti?”
It’s the only Italian word I can think of other than vino that has to do with wine, but apparently it’s enough because she nods briskly, says something I interpret as she’ll be right back, then leaves.
I stare at the tray with my mouth watering. As long as I’m here, I might as well let the asshole feed me.
Before I can dig in, the telephone on the side table next to my giant chair rings. I hesitate, looking at it. There’s an electronic readout beneath the buttons that displays “Stanza di sicurezza.”
Sicurezza. Secure? Security?
On a whim, I decide to answer. Maybe it will be someone important trying to get hold of Matteo, and I can helpfully inform them that Matteo isn’t available due to his unfortunate admittance into rehab. Or prison.
“Moshi moshi.”
There’s a pause, then Matteo’s voice comes over the line. “I see you’ve been to Japan.”
Of course he would know how they answer the phones in Japan. He’s probably got a castle over there, too, the prick. “I’m sorry, Matteo isn’t available at the moment. He’s busy being a horrible human being. If you want to catch him when he’s not being a massive asshole, you’ll have to call back when pigs fly and hell has frozen over.”
“You should try the chair next to the fireplace. It’s a more appropriate size for you.”
I look around suspiciously but don’t spot him lurking in any doorways. “Where are you?”
“In the security room. Looking at you on a video screen.”
I glance at the ceiling. Sure enough, there are two security cameras affixed on opposite ends of the room. I flip them both off and hang up the phone.
It rings again almost immediately. I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. After a moment, the phone falls silent. Good. He got the hint. I turn my attention to the platter of meats and cheeses. It looks fantastic. There are some dried fruits, too, and nuts, and some of that really yummy—
The phone starts to ring again.
I realize this could go on for quite a while. I’m starving, so I give in and pick up. “What?”
In a low, heartfelt voice, he says, “I hate seeing you unhappy.”
“Are you bipolar? Is that the root issue here?”
“No. I’m telling you the truth—I hate seeing you unhappy.”
“You can repeat that until the cows come home, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re perfectly willing to be the source of my unhappiness. One of the sources, anyway.”
I hear him exhale. In a lighter tone, he says, “Where do you think that saying originated?”
Confused, I make a face. “What?”
“Until the cows come home.”
I sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Being around you is enough to drive anyone insane, you know that?”
His voice gets quiet again. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously?” I grip the receiver so hard it could crack. “Stop it, then!”
“I can’t.”
I hang up, then take the receiver off the hook so he can’t call back. In a few minutes, the nice lady returns with an open bottle of wine and a glass already filled. She sets the bottle on the coffee table next to the platter of food and hands me the glass.
