6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Mateo
I am about to knock on the slightly open door when I hear a man's voice, sharp and condescending. "Aren't you going to offer your father something to drink? Where are you manners, Annalisa?"
Annalisa? Is he talking to Lisa? The tone in his voice leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I freeze, my hand hovering over the door. I don’t knock, but I don’t leave either. Instead, I stand listening, a surge of guilt prickling my conscience for eavesdropping. But then, a wave of righteous indignation rises in me. How dare he speak to her that way?
"You’d look so much more presentable if you wore a little makeup," the man's voice rings out, dripping with judgement. "And what is that outfit? A businesswoman doesn’t wear jeans and a T-shirt. Plus, you’re far too thin—it’s not a good look."
The mix of guilt and rising fury is enough to make my heart pound as I struggle with whether to step in or stay silent and walk away.
"I don't like wearing a lot of makeup," Lisa responds quietly. "My weight is normal for my height, and I’m on vacation, Dad. I don’t owe anyone a dress code."
What is he talking about? Her skin is flawless, her body graceful, perfect in those jeans. She's beautiful, inside and out. The words make no sense.
"I can't believe you're still living in that shoebox you call home," he continues, his disappointment so palpable I can almost see him shaking his head. "You’re twenty-five, Annalisa. Where’s your ambition?"
"I have my own business, Dad," she says softly. This isn't the Lisa I know—the confident, fiery woman who can banter with anyone and stand her ground.
"That so-called business of yours will never yield any real profits. Mark my words—you’ll still be doing the same thing thirty years from now with nothing to show for it. I suppose it’s lucky you'll be able to collect on your trust fund now. Without that, your future would be doomed."
I can feel my blood boil at his words, my hands curling into fists. How dare he? I want to pounce on him like a panther stalking its prey. The fury in my chest burns hot, but I can’t let it consume me. Not yet. This man has no idea who he’s dealing with.
A scoff escapes him, his voice full of contempt. "I can’t believe Aaron and Adam invested their hard-earned money into this... venture of yours. You should’ve never moved to New York. If you’d stayed in California and finished your degree, you’d have a real career in medicine by now—not a job that requires you to dig through other people’s trash."
That’s it. My patience snaps.
I step into the guesthouse, my hand outstretched. "Hi, Mr. Preston," I say, locking eyes with him. Without hesitation, I reach for Lisa, pulling her firmly to my side. "I’m Mateo—Lisa’s… fiancé."
The word tastes foreign on my tongue, a declaration meant as much for him as it is for her. My fingers intertwine with hers, my grip firm and possessive. Every fiber of my being burns to lash out, to confront the man who has the audacity to belittle her. But for Lisa’s sake, I force myself to stay calm—just barely.
Before me stands a man in his mid-sixties, barely five foot five, with a pudgy frame and thinning, almost nonexistent red hair. His piercing blue eyes, cold and devoid of the warmth and spark I see in Lisa’s, are a stark contrast to the energy she carries. There's nothing but hardness in his gaze. I give him a firm handshake, and the way his posture shifts betrays a quiet realization—he knows he’s outmatched. The bravado from earlier is gone, replaced by a subdued surrender. He cowers in my presence, and though he doesn’t speak, he's silently conceding that this is a fight he doesn’t want to endure. Not today, not with me.
"Fiancé?" he utters, his voice tinged with disbelief as his gaze flickers between me and Lisa. I pull her closer, my arm wrapping protectively around her waist, silently willing her to understand. Work with me, hermosa. Follow my lead.
"Yes, Dad," she finally responds. "Mateo and I are engaged." I give her fingers a quick squeeze—a wordless reassurance. That's perfect. We’ve got this.
His face contorts with a mixture of confusion and utter shock, as if he’s been blindsided. "Who are you?" he demands, his voice wavering, the question hanging in the air with an edge of incredulity.
"He's Lily's father, Dad," Lisa replies. "We met about four years ago in Boston when I was visiting Lily and her mom."
"Lily's father?" he repeats, his eyes narrowing as he sizes me up. "That must make you, what? Forty? Forty-five?"
"That's right," I say, my tone measured but unwavering.
His face twists in a mix of bewilderment and disapproval. "Well, that's just completely unacceptable," he scoffs, flapping his lips as if he's grasping for the right words—or maybe just afraid of what might come out next. It’s hard to tell which one it is, but I have a feeling it’s a toss-up between being at a loss for words and simply holding back to avoid pushing me too far.
"Annalisa," he snaps, his hard gaze zeroing in on Lisa. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I love him, Dad," she says, with such conviction that I almost believe her.
"Lisa's an adult, Stan," I say, deliberately using the shortened version of his first name, a subtle yet pointed move to assert my control over this conversation. My gaze never wavers from his, making it clear that this isn't a discussion he's going to win.
"Anyway," I continue, keeping my tone smooth and calm. "Glad you had a safe trip. Welcome to Cold Spring." I slip the keys to Lisa’s car into his hand, holding back a grin. "Feel free to use Lisa's car to get around, and please stay in the guesthouse until you find a hotel. Lisa and I will be in the main house if you need anything, but tonight? You’re on your own. I’m making my fiancée a romantic dinner, and I'd hate for you to feel like a third wheel."
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a polite nod. "Make yourself at home. It was nice meeting you, Stan."
I keep my hand firmly on Lisa’s back as we walk out, feeling the shift of tension in her shoulders as she follows my lead, and knowing she feels exactly what I do—a sweet taste of victory.
***
"What the heck was that?!" she exclaims as soon as the door clicks shut behind us.
I run a hand through my hair, the frustration still coursing through me. "He's lucky I didn't lose my composure," I mutter, the words tight as the remnants of my anger simmer just beneath the surface.
"Mateo, I'm talking about the lie !" she snaps, her wide eyes searching mine, a mix of confusion and disbelief flashing across her face. "Why on earth would you tell him we're engaged?!"
I turn to face her fully, my jaw tightening. "It was the only thing I could think of to put an end to your father's verbal abuse. To shut him up!" My voice softens, but the steel remains. "It was either a lie or a left hook."
Her expression falters for a moment, her lips twitching as if trying to decide between anger and something else. "Seriously?" she says, a hint of amusement creeping into her tone.
"Are you mad at me?" I ask, my voice quieter now, the gravity of what I said settling in. The lie wasn’t small—it was bold, reckless even—and I realize just how much I’ve risked by saying it.
Her gaze narrows, and she studies me like she’s searching for an answer she’s not ready to hear. The silence stretches, taut with unspoken emotions. Finally, she sighs, crossing her arms as her shoulders relax just a fraction.
"I don’t know," she says. "I’m still trying to figure out whether to thank you… or throttle you."
"I pick the second option," I whisper, my tone low and teasing as I step closer. The air between us shifts, thick with unspoken tension, crackling with something neither of us seems willing—or able—to resist.
"Mateo, you’re insufferable!" she counters, but the bite in her words is softened by her smile. "Still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father at a loss for words."
Then her face lights up with a smile. It’s not just relief I see in her expression; it’s something more, something that feels dangerously close to gratitude, maybe even admiration.
When our eyes meet, she wraps her arms around my neck in a tight hug. I hold her close, my arms instinctively curling around her, a fierce protectiveness rising within me. The faint scent of her perfume fills my senses as she melts into me, her body softening, her tension fading. I want to keep her here, shield her from every harsh word, every cut her father has ever thrown at her. I close my eyes, brushing a soft kiss against her hair, a silent truth forming in my heart: I love you, hermosa. I'm madly in love with you.
She pulls back just enough to gaze into my eyes, her expression open, vulnerable. "Thank you."
“Annalisa?” I say softly, my gaze swimming in the blue ocean of her eyes.
“Ugh,” she murmurs, a shudder running through her, as if the very mention of her name has the power to cut deep. “My father ruined that name forever. Every time he utters it, it drips with contempt.”
“You were someone else in there, hermosa ,” I say, my eyes tracing her beautiful face, searching for the confident, independent, strong-willed woman I thought I knew so well.
"I can admit it," she begins. "Around my father, I'm an insecure, awkward teenager who can’t string two coherent thoughts together, let alone stand up to the almighty Stanley Preston. I revert back to Annalisa. The child who knows her father doesn't love her. He never has. I’ve been a disappointment since the day I was born. First, by not being a boy, and it just went downhill from there."
I gently lift her chin with my thumb, guiding her eyes back to mine. " Hermosa , you are one of the most incredible people I know. You’re confident, sharp, stubborn as hell, and breathtakingly beautiful. Your wit keeps me on my toes, and your beauty—God, it takes my breath away. I wish you could see yourself the way I do, the way others do. Your father," I gesture toward the guesthouse, "he has no clue who he’s blessed with for a daughter. He’s wrong, Lisa. So wrong. And, frankly, he’s a fool, hiding behind his own insecurities to bring you down."
I brush a stray hair from her face, my voice steady. "But that ends now, you hear me? He will never, ever speak to you that way again."
"Don’t look now, Mateo," she says, a playful twinkle lighting up her blue eyes as her smile grows wider. "But you… you are a good man."
I can’t help but smile back, drawn to her like gravity, as if every force in the universe is pushing me closer. My hand moves instinctively to the nape of her neck, my fingers slipping into the softness of her hair. I lean in and press a gentle kiss to her cheek, a simple gesture we’ve shared before—yet this time, it feels different.
This time, it feels like an unspoken promise, the opening line of a love story I never thought I’d be brave enough to live. And as her nearness warms my skin and the steady rhythm of my heart begins to race, I make a decision.
A decision that will change everything.