CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARIA
“Other tastes.” Lorenzo’s words were still messing with my head.
I should have rolled my eyes, called him cocky, and moved on. But no. Instead, I’d stood there, with heat creeping up my neck, imagining exactly what he meant. My legs had tingled as he cornered me and his heaved breath on me.
Now, hours later, I was still thinking about it.
It wasn’t my fault. It had been years since I had a man fill me with the length of him. It had been since Shade. And now, suddenly, my body decided to wake up? Just because a six-foot-something, arrogant, infuriatingly attractive man said something suggestive?
What the hell was wrong with me?
I narrowed my eyes at my reflection in the mirror as I got ready for the day. “Are you ovulating?”
No answer.
Figures.
With a frustrated sigh, I shoved the ridiculous thought away. I had more important things to do—like raining hell down on a certain teacher who thought he could talk about my father in front of my son.
I helped Matteo get ready, trying to keep my rage at a simmer. He didn’t need to see his mother walking into his school like an avenging angel. That would come later.
As we pulled up in front of the school, I stepped out, smoothing down my blazer, preparing for war—only to freeze.
Lorenzo, standing by the entrance. Looking relaxed. Smug, even.
What the—?
My eyes narrowed. He had that infuriating, deadpan expression, hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
I stalked toward him, already feeling my blood pressure rise. “What are you doing here Lorenzo? You think I can’t handle myself?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Good morning to you, too.”
“I’m serious, Lorenzo. We talked about this.”
“You did.” He leaned in slightly, voice teasing. “I just listened.”
I glared. “So, you’re here because you think I need backup?”
“Relax, Tigrella. I’m here for moral support.”
Did he just call me Tigrella?
My eyes narrowed further. “Moral support.”
“And,” he added, “because I’m one of the donors for this school. That means I’m obligated to show up to events like this. Especially charity sporting ones.”
I stared at him, searching for a lie.
Nothing. Damn, he was such a good liar.
That didn’t mean I trusted him.
But I had bigger problems. So, I exhaled sharply and turned toward the school. “Fine. But stay out of my way.”
Lorenzo smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I ignored the way that stupid smirk made my stomach flip and marched inside, my heels clicking against the tile.
Time to handle business.
The teacher, Mr. Halverson, looked exactly how I expected—a balding, middle-aged man with a permanent smug expression—the kind of guy who thought he was smarter than everyone in the room.
He barely hid his irritation when I approached. “Ms. Russo, what a surprise.”
I smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “I bet.”
He clasped his hands together. “I didn’t know you were going to come for the sporting events, considering the short notice,” he said in a pretentious, polite tone.
“And miss the opportunity to discuss how you called my father evil to my son,” I snapped. This time, there was already a small crowd forming, and true to his word, Lorenzo stayed out of it. He just stood there.
“Is that what Matteo mentioned? I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
I arched a brow. “A misunderstanding.”
“Yes,” he said, forcing a condescending smile. “Matteo misinterpreted my words. You know how children can be. I was simply discussing history, and he must have taken it the wrong way.”
History. He was really going to try and gaslight me.
I tilted my head. “So, you didn’t call my father an evil man?”
His smile faltered.
I stepped closer. “You didn’t say it was good he was dead?”
A bead of sweat formed on his temple. “I—uh—well—"
I crossed my arms. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Mr. Halverson.”
He swallowed hard, eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape. “I—perhaps I was a bit harsh in my phrasing, but—”
“Harsh?” I repeated, my voice dangerously soft.
The teacher shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Ms. Russo, I was simply—”
“Let me make this very clear.” I cut him off, stepping even closer. “I don’t care what personal opinions you have about my family. I don’t care what gossip you’ve heard. What I do care about is you bringing my child into it.”
He opened his mouth.
I held up a hand. “No, I’m not finished. You crossed a line. And I’m going to make sure you never do it again.”
“Pardon?” His voice wavered.
“You won’t have a job tomorrow,” I said simply.
His face drained of color. “Now, wait a minute—”
“Ms. Russo,” a new voice cut in.
I turned to see the principal approaching. She had a calm but firm expression, and I could tell she’d been listening.
“Mr. Halverson,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “why don’t you step into my office?”
The teacher sputtered, but she didn’t wait for a response, motioning for him to follow.
Before they left, she turned to me. “I assure you, Ms. Russo, we do not tolerate this kind of behavior in our school. Mr. Halverson will be dealt with accordingly.”
I gave a small nod, satisfaction curling in my chest. “Good.”
The second they were gone, I exhaled slowly, letting the last of my anger drain.
And that’s when I noticed Lorenzo again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with something that looked a lot like admiration.
I rolled my eyes. “I told you I could handle it myself.”
His lips twitched. “I never doubted you.”
Liar.
But I let it go, brushing past him toward the field. The game was about to start, and I had a son to cheer for. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Lorenzo’s gaze lingering on me.
And worse? I liked it.
*****
Matteo’s laughter was something I hadn’t heard in a while.
It wasn’t the polite chuckles he sometimes forced when he thought I was worried about him. This was real laughter, loud and uninhibited. The kind that made his whole face light up.
And it was because of Lorenzo. Damn him.
It started with the first game. It was a simple relay race with parents paired with their kids. Matteo and I were a team, and I wasn’t about to let a bunch of elementary schoolers outrun me.
“Mom, run faster!” Matteo was practically dragging me.
“I am running!” My lungs were on fire. “How are these kids so fast?”
Matteo grinned. “Because you’re old!”
I gasped, half laughing, half wheezing. “Take that back!”
“Nope!”
We barely crossed the finish line in third place, Matteo throwing his hands up like we’d just won Olympic gold. I doubled over, hands on my knees. “I—need—a—minute.”
I should really work out more.
Matteo didn’t even look winded. Unfair.
The next game was dodgeball. The teams were forming when Matteo grabbed my hand and pulled me toward Lorenzo.
“I want to play with him!”
I blinked. “What?”
Matteo turned to Lorenzo. “You’ll play with me, right?”
Lorenzo hesitated, then ruffled Matteo’s hair. “You sure you want me? I might not be as fast as your mom.”
Matteo gave him a look. “You’re not old like her.”
I shot him a glance. “Who are you calling old, little boy?”
Lorenzo snorted. I smacked Matteo’s shoulder lightly. “You better sleep with one eye open, kid.”
Matteo grinned, all mischief and excitement. “Come on, Lorenzo!”
Lorenzo sighed dramatically. “Alright, but if I break something, you’re carrying me to the hospital.”
Matteo laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.
And just like that, I was on the sidelines, watching my son and Lorenzo team up.
It was ridiculous how good they looked together.
Matteo was small but scrappy, darting between kids with surprising speed. Lorenzo was effortlessly blocking throws and catching balls with that irritating confidence of his. I tried to focus on the game. I really did. But my eyes had a mind of their own, drawn to the way Lorenzo moved—fluid and controlled like every step and every motion was calculated but effortless. His shirt clung to his back, stretched over the kind of muscles that weren’t just for show but for strength, and for a second, I learned how to breathe differently, a way that was dependent on the way his tricep moved and sweat dripped down his body.
Matteo threw a ball so weakly it barely made it across, but I hardly noticed. Not when Lorenzo ran a hand through his hair, that smirk playing at his lips, lazy and knowing, like he could feel my gaze on him. And damn it, he was right.
Lorenzo groaned. “Champ, you can do better than that. Here—do it like this.”
He crouched down, showing Matteo how to aim and throw properly. When Matteo tried again, the ball flew straight, knocking a kid out of the game.
Matteo gasped. “I did it!”
Lorenzo held up his hand. “What do we do when we win?”
Matteo hesitated.
Lorenzo smirked. “We gloat.”
Matteo burst out laughing and mimicked Lorenzo’s exaggerated victory pose.
I shook my head. “Terrible influence.”
But I was smiling.
By the end of the game, Matteo was practically glued to Lorenzo’s side. When the final whistle blew, declaring their team the winner, Matteo jumped into his arms.
Lorenzo caught him easily. “We won!”
Matteo beamed. “You’re the best, Lorenzo!”
Something clenched in my chest.
I looked away, pretending to check my phone.
Later, as I grabbed Matteo’s bag and prepared to leave, Lorenzo strolled over, looking far too pleased with himself.
“That was fun,” he said. “Maybe I should become a professional dodgeball player.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because that’s a real career.”
“Could be,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, before you leave—about tomorrow.”
I sighed. “What about it?”
“Our date.”
I blinked. “What date?”
“The one where we remind everyone how in love we are.”
The fake relationship. The public affection. The nonsense I agreed to. Oh. Right. I forgot we were supposed to show a lot of public displays of affection or what I like to call PDA.
I crossed my arms. “Fine. Whatever.”
Lorenzo grinned. “See? You do love spending time with me.”
“Goodbye, Lorenzo.”
He leaned down slightly, smirking. “Goodbye, fiancée.”
I felt his gaze linger, heavy and deliberate like he was peeling back every layer of composure I had left. I swallowed hard, willing my pulse to settle, but it was impossible with the way he looked at me—like he was seeing something no one else ever had and like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
I turned on my heel before he could see my face heat up and my cheeks fluster at the sound of his voice and the word fiancée.
Matteo was already in the car, buckling himself in. I slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at him. “Did you have fun today?”
Matteo nodded. “A lot,” he said in an excited tone.
“Good.”
“Especially with Lorenzo.” I stilled and then looked at him, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. He was just staring out the window, his voice soft.
“I wish Lorenzo was my dad.”
My breath caught. For a second, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think.
“Matteo—”
But he just smiled, oblivious to the way my heart clenched.
“Can we play dodgeball again sometime?”
I forced a smile, even though my hands felt cold on the steering wheel.
“Yeah, baby. Of course.”
But inside, my mind was spinning because I knew Lorenzo wasn’t staying, and Matteo was already getting attached. And that scared me more than anything.