Page 102 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
Irritated by my answer, he shakes his head. “I told you—I’m not your ex.”
“Which is exactly what a man trying to manipulate me would say. It would’ve been easier for you to simply say no. Unless the real answer is yes.”
He rakes his hands through his hair, curses again, then starts to pace the room.
“Okay, you want me to talk to you? Here goes. I’ll give you my worst-case scenario. Your mother—who, by your own admission, is disappointed in you—needs some insurance on my promise not to kick her out of the house. She got nothing from my father in his will, which must’ve really stung, but his dopey daughter was recently dumped in the most spectacular way, and she’s vulnerable. She owns a business that you’d like to get your hands on and an expensive house your mother would like to legally get her hands on, so the two of you decide that you’ll work your magic and make the dopey daughter fall in love with you so she’ll hand over the keys to the kingdom with a smile.
“Conveniently, you’re in possession of a sketch pad the dopey daughter desperately wants back, so you concoct a clever ploy that forces the two of you to spend time with your faces stuck together. What better way to get those hormones wreaking havoc on her brain? Once you’ve convinced her to sell you the business and put your mother on the title of the house, you’ll be back in your mother’s good graces and everyone lives happily ever after.
“Except me. The idiot Kimberella, screwed by another toad masquerading as a prince.”
By this time, Matteo has stopped pacing. He stares at me with his arms hanging loose at his sides and his lips slightly parted, a strange expression on his face. “That’s what you think?”
I can’t tell if I’ve shocked him with my accuracy or if he’s about to lunge at me and wrap his hands around my throat. His expression is unnerving.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That’s the kind of man you think I am,” he presses. “A lying, scheming, manipulative prick so desperate for his mother’s approval he’d fake his attraction to you before he even knew who you were.” When I look confused, he clarifies. “At the airport, I didn’t know who you were. At the hotel, I still didn’t know who you were. I only found out you were Luca’s daughter when I walked into the living room of this house and you were sitting on the sofa.”
That sound I’m hearing is a tiny hiss of air being released from the pin he just stuck into my balloon of paranoia. “Maybe you decided after you discovered who I was that the mutual attraction would make it easier all around.”
“Easier to fuck you over, you mean,” he says, his voice hollow.
My pulse is all over the place. My mouth has gone dry. I wish I could tell what his expression is saying, but I’m such a poor judge of character I’d probably decide it was acid reflux and offer the man a Tums.
“Tell me you’re not. Tell me I’ve made the whole thing up in my head. Tell me what you and your mother were talking about when I came in.”
He answers without hesitation. “We were talking about you.”
I knew it! “What about me?” I snap.
His eyes flash. He snaps back, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so what’s the point?”
“Maybe you should try me!”
“Maybe you should trust me!”
I laugh, but it sounds awful. Like I’m dying on the inside. “Sorry, Count, trust is something I’m fresh out of.”
His face flushes red in a wave from his neck to his hairline. A vein pops out in his forehead. He inhales a slow deep breath, gritting his teeth. “I’m. A. Fucking. Marchese.”
He stalks over to the door, yanks it open, and slams it shut behind him, so hard the windows rattle.
I holler, “Way to put some stank on it!”
The only answer I hear is the sound of his footsteps poun
ding angrily down the hall.
TWENTY-NINE
I spend the next day in a daze, trying to concentrate on work, but the upsetting scene with Matteo plays in my head on a loop. It won’t stop, no matter what I try to distract myself. Anxiety settles over me like a cloud. By the time I return home at seven-thirty, I’m so wound up I guzzle a glass of wine to settle my nerves. I don’t know whether Matteo will strangle me straight off when he arrives at eight or wait until after he gets his kiss to do me in.
But he’s a no-show.
I can’t decide if I’m relieved or worried. What could his absence mean?
I’m out of the house before the sun’s up the next day and back at work. In addition to the new designs we’re making, there are several unfinished bespoke pieces clients had on order before my father died that need to be completed. The day is a flurry of activity. I’m so busy and distracted I forget to obsess over my test results. When I take a break for a late lunch, I check my email on my phone and find a new message instructing me to login to a secure website with the password included to get the results.
