Chapter Fourteen
Matteo
She didn’t talk to me once. She didn’t even fucking look at me once.
When she walked in she was the same sunny and confident woman as always, laughing as she hugged Lily and Chiara. Then she moved a goddamn chair and sat down on the other side of the table, ignoring the free seat right next to me.
When she attracted every gaze in the room without even trying, when I saw the admiring looks men threw her way, I wanted to punch something so badly that my hands shook.
She is her usual self—warmth, charm and blinding light.
And I sit there, frozen in my chair, watching her light up the room with her presence. Hell, I thought she’d at least look at me. Let me see a flicker of something real. Hurt, maybe even resentment. But no, nothing. She doesn’t even spare me a polite acknowledgment. She doesn’t glance my way once.
Apparently, she’s over it. And I should be relieved. I should be grateful she’s making this easy.So why the hell does this feel worse? Why do I feel like she just…stood up and walked away from a wreckage I’m still sitting in?
Now, she’s bantering with Luc again and they’re both laughing so hard they have to wipe away tears of mirth.
I’ve never wanted to strangle that fucker so badly more than I do right now.
Bile creeps up in my throat, acid like old coffee.
I take a slow sip of wine to cover the fact that I’m clenching my jaw so tightly it hurts.
She’s fine, apparently better than fine.
And I’m stuck here, wondering how the hell I ended up being the one spiraling into madness.
I barely hear what D says to me, and when I nod, it’s automatic.
My mind keeps pulling back to her, to that night at the gala.
To the way her eyes lit up when her soft lips brushed against mine in a heart-stopping kiss.
And now she’s laughing at someone else’s joke, ignoring me completely.
Shutting me out, not even looking at me.
Not during dinner, not when the conversation gets loud and banter flies back and forth.
Not even when she says goodbye with warm hugs for the others, a soft laugh at a joke Luc throws her way, a wave of her hand for D.
And nothing for me.
She doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate. She just walks out like I’m invisible. And maybe that’s what I deserve.
I sit in my car afterward, fingers gripping the steering wheel while I stare through the windshield with my mind blank and my heart pounding too loud and too fast.
What did you expect, asshole ?
You told her no, you pushed her away. You drew the line and made sure she would never try to cross it again. And she listened, she walked away. That’s what you wanted. Right?
Then why the fuck does it feel like she reached into my chest and took something with her?
* * * *
On Sunday brunch she’s already there when I arrive.
She’s sitting on the arm of the sofa, laughing brightly at something Chiara says.
Sunlight streams through the high windows and catches the golden strands of her hair.
Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and with that blue dress hugging her curves, she looks like something my feverish mind dreamed up.
And again, she doesn’t look at me.
It’s not cold or cruel, it’s worse than that. It’s indifferent.
I grit my teeth through brunch, barely tasting the coffee in my cup, and I ignore the knowing glances Luc shoots me. I don’t want to hear whatever he’s thinking.
But I can’t go on like this, I need fucking answers.
As soon as she steps away from the table, I follow quietly. She’s standing alone on the back patio, tapping something on her phone. I step closer, heart hammering harder than I’d like to admit.
“Erin.”
She turns. Her eyes widen in surprise, but then her face shutters and she smiles politely.
“Matteo,” she replies with a detached tone.
“I wanted to talk.”
Her smile holds, but her eyes cool a fraction. “There’s nothing to say.”
I step closer, drop my voice. “I think there is. I’d like to apologize—”
“You were very clear,” she cuts in, the tone still light, almost airy. “No complications, no mess. And you were right, I’m not looking for that either.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I agree to agree with you,” she cuts in again, slipping her phone into her dress pocket, then she finally looks up at me with a sweet smile. “Let’s not make it awkward.”
Then she brushes past me to return inside and all I’m left with is a silence that roars louder than any scream she could have thrown my way.
Just when I am about to grab the furniture sitting on the deck and hurl it over the railing, Luc strolls out and silently hands me a tumbler.
I nod without looking at him and step to the edge of the deck to lean my elbows on the handrail.
He steps beside me to do the same, his gaze following mine out to the garden.
I take a sip, welcoming the burn as the whiskey slides down my throat.
“Teo…” he starts tentatively.
“Don’t,” I growl. But I know the fucker never gives up, so I brace for it.
“What happened with Erin?”
I stay quiet. Not because I don’t want to answer but because I don’t have one.
“She’s acting weird,” he says after a beat. “Not talking to you, not even looking at you.”
“I fucking noticed. Thanks, Sherlock,” I snarl.
He doesn’t flinch. “So do you know why she’s acting like that? Does it have something to do with you being uncharacteristically growly?” He turns to me and studies me in silence for a beat, then speaks quietly. “You’re not usually like this, Teo.”
I stare out at the garden, jaw tight. “She’s not for me.”
There is a long pause, before he asks, “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” I take another sip of whiskey.
He watches me quietly, too smart to push when I look like I might punch something.
Then he exhales. “Shit, man. Sorry.”
He claps me on the shoulder once, the gesture solid and grounding. After a beat he walks back inside, leaving me with my drink, my silence and the acute ache of something I’m not ready to name.
The garden is quiet, except for the distant hum of voices drifting from the house and the soft clink of glasses. I grip the tumbler in my hand, but the whiskey has done nothing to burn her out of my system.
She’s inside, probably laughing. That sound, bright and sunny, used to be fucking mine. Well, not really mine, but it used to find me like a beam of light filtering through the leaves in a forest.
Now I watch her from a distance, shut out from her warmth and her light. I watch the way she leans in when someone talks, animated and present. Her whole face lights up when she smiles. And every time she does, something ugly coils tighter in my chest.
She hasn’t looked at me once today. Not once. And it’s driving me fucking insane.
I catch myself staring, again, and drag my eyes away. Jealousy is a sharp, mean thing in my blood, irrational and primal. I know it’s not my place to be, because I pushed her away.
I made it clear that there would never be anything between us. So why does it feel like I’m the one left forsaken? Why did that kiss feel like drowning and breathing at the same time?
I rake a hand through my hair, jaw tight. I need to get my head on straight. I have other problems, bigger ones. Like the Ghost. The bastard hasn’t made a move since the breach, no probes, no signal, nothing. And it frustrates the fuck out of me, this endless wait for him to slip up.
I’ve thrown everything at the hunt. I’ve set traps, laced code with silent alarms, retraced every possible breach. Something’s coming, I can feel it in my bones.
And maybe if I throw myself deep enough into the search, I’ll stop seeing Erin every time I close my eyes.
But right now, standing alone in this damn garden while the rest of the world moves on, all I feel is the absence of her. And I don’t know why it guts me.