Page 23 of The Lies We Tell

But that wasn’t an option. At least not yet. Matteo had seemingly ignored her information about her father’s business in Spain and refused to give her the slightest indication he was looking for her mother.

Which meant she needed to figure out a way to get Matteo alone long enough to kiss him again. And hopefully more. Two things that were impossible to do when she only saw him at dinner, sitting around the dining room table with Luca and Sienna in silence.

He still watched her in that intense and searching way he had. In the nearly two weeks since her arrival, he’d never stopped watching her. But now she was beginning to wonder if she’d miscalculated the reason.

Maybe he watched her because he didn’t trust her and not because he wanted her. Maybe she’d overplayed her hand by offering to help take her father down, and now he was determined to keep her at arm’s length. If that was the case, she’d just have to do her best. No point wasting time being upset about it. She had too many other things to worry about.

The distant growl of an engine caught her attention, and from her spot, she had the perfect vantage point to see a flash of red through the trees lining the driveway. Matteo sometimes drove a bright red Alfa Romeo.

Checking the time on her phone, she ignored yet another request for an update from her father and let herself in from the balcony. She flexed her fingers and toes in the warmth of the house as she made her way down the winding stairs.

Usually when Matteo came home this early, he locked himself in his study until dinner. She wanted to catch him first. Finally get some forward momentum on this whole damn thing so she could be one step closer to washing her hands of it.

The front door was closing just as she hit the bottom stair. She couldn’t have timed it better if she tried. When Matteo spotted her, he faltered, and she smiled.

“You’re home early,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, satisfied when his eyes tracked her movements.

He seemed to like her hair, and she couldn’t deny she wanted to feel his fingers sliding through it. She wouldn’t mind letting him erase all the memories of the way her father liked to use it as a chain to…no. Dark thoughts like that wouldn’t help her coax Matteo into kissing her again.

“Yes, I am.”

She expected him to move past her down the hall, but when he remained rooted in place, she tried again. “Thank you. For the heater. It was very sweet.”

He glanced up at the ceiling and then back at her face. “I’m glad you like it.”

She stepped down from the last step and moved closer to him. When her lips parted, trying to think of what to say, his eyes dropped to them. Maybe he wanted her a little more than she gave him credit for.

He leaned in slightly, and she shifted her body closer still. She didn’t want him to have any doubts about whether she wanted him to kiss her.

At the moment when he might have dipped his head to taste her lips, he suddenly straightened and moved quickly around her and down the hall. The man was going to drive her to fucking drink. His level of self-control might be impressive if it wasn’t constantly in the way of getting what she needed from him.

Unwilling to give up so easily this time, Tessa spun on her heel and jogged to catch up with him. She followed him soundlessly into his office, pausing by the door and watching him cross to the desk.

The room was too big to be called cozy, but it still felt intimate. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the back wall, and a ladder hooked to a long metal bar gave access to the top shelves. She wondered how many of the books were useful and how many were just put there to look nice.

A small table sat in front of the shelves. A place to read or study if you were looking for something in particular and needed a spot to spread out. Between the table and the door was a large seating area with two couches in dark brown leather facing each other and chairs on either end. A perfect spot for meetings or stretching out to watch the TV mounted on the far wall.

The antique desk sat to the left between two windows and faced the room, with a large painting taking up most of the wall behind it. She wasn’t one for art, really, but something about this one seemed familiar, homey even.

Trees with thin, twisted trunks speared up out of dense bushes, obstructing the view of a little village and the sea beyond. The colors were rich and vibrant, but the image itself was slightly distorted, like the artist had been peering through fogged glass when they painted the scene.

Matteo tracked her eyes to the painting and raised a brow. “Big fan of Monet?”

“I didn’t know it was Monet. I thought he only painted pictures of fields and flowers.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Matteo smiled. “That’s what he’s best known for. This is one from a collection he did while visiting Italy in the late 1800s.”

She took a step into the room to examine it more closely. Maybe that’s why it felt so familiar. Not because she’d seen the painting before, but because the tableau spoke to her. She’d happily go wherever she needed to go in order to survive after this, but she doubted anywhere else in the world would ever compare to Italy or its beaches.

“What’s it called?”

“Bordighera.”

“Like the town?”

He smiled. “Like the town. He painted there for months after intending to stay for only a few weeks. Created something like forty works.”

“You like art?”

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