28. ISABELLA
twenty-eight
I can’t believe I’m officially Anna’s nanny. And now, Mateo’s Spanish tutor.
I thought I for sure overstepped once I mentioned that I knew about his limited Spanish. And the gutted look on his face almost made me want to give myself the third and final strike.
That feeling alone shook me to my core.
Because I knew I never wanted to see that look on his face again, and I would stand in the way of anyone who tried to put it there, even if it were me.
By now, I know I’m slipping, and fast.
You’d think that after so many sleepless nights and years of agony, it would be easier to resist a baseball player. I vowed to myself to never put myself in that position again.
The problem is that Mateo being a New York Monarch is probably the least interesting thing about him.
With Jeremy, baseball was his world, and it was at the forefront of our lifestyle. Every decision taken into consideration had to go through the “how does baseball impact this?” funnel. And when he was off the field, baseball was still the third, imaginary being in our relationship. From the way he dressed to where he made reservations for us to eat so we’d be seen, to who we hung out with.
All those fair-weather friends who scattered like roaches when the lights turned on the second our scandal hit the headlines.
And the interviews they gave? Painted a picture that couldn’t be further from the truth.
People always said that we finished each other’s sentences. In reality, he finished mine as he saw fit. And my na?ve brain took it as he must know best .
I never realized how much that relationship chipped at my sense of self until I was out of it and left with scraps of myself to piece together.
While he carried on living in blissful notoriety.
But Mateo is the complete opposite of all that.
Maybe it’s because he’s so established in his career, but the man could give two shits about baseball once he enters his home. All the focus is on his family, and lately, me.
He doesn’t seek out the media. In fact, he avoids it at all costs. And the persona he feeds to his fans and post-game interviews is a generic and watered-down version of the man I now know him to be.
He’s kind, funny, and sensitive, and I swear to God, if he pins me against that kitchen island one more time, I’m going to go full spread eagle.
My poor libido can only take so much.
But I’m still stuck.
Because I struggle with trusting myself, with trusting my judgment after Jeremy, and I loathe that. Even five years after the fact, his fingerprints are still all over the damage on my heart.
And, of course, I couldn’t have made it any easier on myself either. Instead, I went ahead and developed a mad crush on not just a baseball player, but probably the most famous one to ever exist. And he just had to be my boss. And he just had to have the funniest kid in existence, whom I’m also starting to grow very attached to.
I’m a true mess.
Which is why I’m so grateful I’m finally having that long awaited girls’ night on Friday.
I kind of dropped a bomb on the initial girls when I added Daisy Stonehaven to the chat, quickly followed by Luisa álvarez.
Nikki texted me separately a WTF? How are these your friends? text. Similar to when I sent her my own version once I realized that Amelia’s husband, Evan, was Evan Fucking Cooper, tech billionaire extraordinaire.
It’s safe to say that I’m never picking up a bill with this crew.
Funnily enough, once the introductions got out of the way, the group chat was firing off as if we’d known each other for years. All of our senses of humor blending in a way that made me feel like I could really be myself with these women rather than worry about being perceived the wrong way. And from what I can tell, it seems like they feel the same way.
My phone ringing on my bedroom desk brings me out of my thoughts and rushing back to the present.
Shit, is it ten p.m. already?
Mateo had an evening game, so he wished Anna good night when she got out of school. He mentioned that he’d be calling me later to report in on his homework.
For a second, I thought he was teasing.
The man has been traveling and playing a professional sport all day. Clearly, he could do with some relaxation time.
But as I pick up my phone and bring it back to bed where I’ve been lounging, I can confirm it’s him, and I can confirm it’s a video call, not a phone call coming through. Shit.
I shimmy a bit under the covers and bring the blanket over my chest a bit.
Now that Mateo is gone at away games, my flimsy pajamas have made it back into the rotation. And I don’t think that giving him a screen full of nipple is on the agenda for tonight.
Although with the way he was looking at me last night, I doubt I’d hear any complaints.
I swipe to answer the call, and his gorgeous, smiling face comes into view.
Try as I might, a small sigh escapes me at the sight of him. And at the easy smile that seems to be directed at me more and more.
“Well, don’t you look cozy? Must be a sweet teaching job if you get to do it from bed, Isabella.”
“Hi to you too, Mateo.” I squint slightly and realize the tops of his shoulders are bare. “And it seems to me like you’ve shown up for class shirtless. Not a very good way to kick off your lessons,” I scold playfully.
He looks down at his chest, then back up at me, smiling mischievously. “And here I thought I could get some extra credit.” He moves the screen back and props it against something so his full upper chest is on display. He seems to be sitting at a desk with a notepad and paper. If I weren’t too busy squeezing my thighs under the blanket, I would find the sight extremely endearing.
“And here I thought this was a nip-free zone, Mateo,” I chide as I raise the blanket over my chest a bit more. His eyes snag on the movement.
“Then maybe it’s time we stop making assumptions about what we’re doing and start calling it how it is.”
His eyes flare slightly as I bite my bottom lip. He clears his throat before he shakes his head slightly and continues. “Besides, have you forgotten that we’ve already vacationed together? I was shirtless 90 percent of the time we were in the DR.” His brow quirks. “Or can you not concentrate under these conditions?” He smirks arrogantly.
I tilt my head. “I guess a little nip never hurt nobody.”
He groans. “Isabella, can we please start talking Spanish now, because all this talk about nipples is affecting me in a way that makes me glad I’m sitting under a desk.”
I burst out laughing, releasing the blanket and letting it fall slightly. “All right, Martinez, let’s get to work.”
For the next five nights, we repeat our nightly “classes.”
It always starts off the same. We joke around and tease each other for our nightly attire, then get into the word of the day.
Surprisingly, Mateo is less shy about the whole thing than I would have imagined. He tries repeatedly to pronounce the words I gave him correctly and presents me with a sentence he’d like me to show him how to say.
We usually go back and forth for about half an hour before he’s satisfied with his progress. Seems like his competitive streak doesn’t end when he leaves the baseball field. He wants to be the very best when he’s trying out new words, especially ones I throw into a sentence he hasn’t practiced before.
It’s quite impressive, how quickly he’s picking it up. But I truly live for the moment when he fumbles a word, because he makes the most adorable face when he’s confused or stuck.
By the time we’re done, we stay on the call for a couple of minutes, asking each other how our days were.
I usually stick to conversations about Anna, and he usually keeps it about his daily schedule.
But as the days go on, those few minutes have turned into late-night conversations about my cover designs and funny stories about him and the team. He’s seen every cover I’ve made thus far and has even given me the push I needed to reach out to authors and show them my work.
By the time we’re ready to hang up, we’re both comfortable in bed, feeling as though we’ve been lying together having pillow talk.
And I can’t lie; it’s been nice. Having a chance to talk without the impulse to jump his bones has let me concentrate on all the little, funny quirks I might have otherwise missed.
Mateo, on the other hand, has not been shy with flirting on his end. Although I will say that it’s more teasing than anything. He makes comments about me no longer wearing my “Amish pajamas,” and I give him shit for posing like he’s in an underwear campaign during our calls. His salacious smiles let me know he’s doing it on purpose, and I die a little inside knowing I get this view to myself every night.
By the way he’s cautious about mentioning certain aspects of his baseball world, I can tell he worries about me being back in this environment. But he’s no longer treating me like I’m made of glass, and the relief it gives me is insurmountable.
And today, he comes home.
I’m lounging in my sweats as I finish my hair and makeup for the night. I’m excited to go out with the girls and have a night on the town. It’s truly been ages since I’ve done anything like this, and I’m so happy we get to leave the group chat and all meet in person.
Daisy got us a table at a very exclusive lounge downtown, so we’re all dressing up for the occasion.
Bethzaida is out in the living room with Anna, since she’s covering for me until Mateo gets home. She’s also sleeping over tonight, which means we all get to have breakfast tomorrow morning, and I’m pretty sure I can convince her to make some Puerto Rican food for lunch.
I’m shaking out the last piece of hair from my curling iron when I hear Beth call for me.
I walk out into the living room and see the concierge waiting by the foyer.
“Hey, did Mateo get a delivery?” I ask as I see the multiple shopping bags surrounding the concierge.
“No, Ms. Morales, the delivery is for you. I was given instructions to take these to your bedroom once I made sure you were available.” He starts to make his way toward me, but I put my hand up, halting his movements.
“Hold up. I didn’t order anything. And who said to put it in my room?”
The glass Beth is drinking from does absolutely nothing to hide the massive grin she’s sporting. So I direct my confused gaze her way. “You do this?”
She straightens. “No, but I’m sure there’s a card somewhere. Right, Frank?”
She nods at the well-dressed man waiting patiently for instructions. “Ah, yes. My apologies.” He puts a few slim boxes on the kitchen island and produces two cards.
What the fuck?
I open the first one, only because, like a true reader, I hate to spoil an ending.
I look up at the stack of boxes and immediately recognize the Apple logo.
No fucking way.
One by one, I move the boxes to reveal a brand-new laptop, a tablet, wireless headphones, and a stylus.
I start looking through the bags and see every graphic design program imaginable at my fingertips, ready to be downloaded onto the new devices.
I’m moving on autopilot. None of this is registering as I tear into bag after bag.
But when I get to the last one, a bright orange item stops me in my tracks.
Frank sees my reaction and chuckles. “That one as well.”
“Uh, Frankie? Can I call you Frankie? Actually, no, Frank sounds better.” I lower my voice. “That, my friend, is a shopping bag from Louis Vuitton. Do you want to go ahead and make sure you delivered it to the right apartment?”
“Ay no seas tan pendeja.” Beth sighs from behind me, picking up the bag and pulling out the massive box inside. “Toma, open it up already. I wanna see what it is.”
Undoing the pretty bow feels like a crime, but I do it anyway.
There’s a Louis Vuitton soft dust bag concealing the gift. Once I undo the flap and open it up, my hands go flying to my mouth.
It’s a stunning black-on-black monogrammed Louis Vuitton messenger bag. Big enough to store all the devices currently on the counter but compact and chic enough to run around town with.
That is, if the rest of my wardrobe weren’t highly curated by TJ Maxx.
“Qué bonito, Isa. Try it on so we can adjust the straps.”
It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
This is… a lot.
No, too much. Has the man never heard of a gift card?
I can’t accept this.
And not because I want to pretend that I would never desire such a thing, but because, hell, that’s a graphic designer’s wet dream staring back at me.
But I refuse to let Mateo think I’m just another person who takes from him or only needs him for what he can provide.
I take my phone out of my sweats and dial his number. “Hands off the merchandise until I talk to the big guy.” I point at Beth, who drops the designer bag innocently.
“Careful, I could get used to being called ‘big guy’ by you, Isa.” Mateo’s deep voice startles me. Did the phone even ring? “Let me guess, you got my gifts?” I hear the smile in his tone.
“Oh, yeah, I got ’em, and I’m here to say thank you, but—”
He sighs deeply into the phone, overplaying it a bit if you ask me. “And let me guess—you haven’t read the second card yet?”
Shit. I had forgotten about the card after the designer bag wiped my brain clean. I take it off the counter and turn my back to my audience while I read it over.
I read it again and try my hardest to sniffle quietly.
“You still there, Isa?” Mateo asks tenderly. “Please don’t cry, tesoro .”
I chuckle lightly, quickly wiping a rogue tear before it messes up my makeup. “Tesoro? You picking up some new words without me now?”
“Yeah. Guess you can say I’ve been practicing. Got a teacher to impress.”
“Oh yeah?” I taunt as I step farther away from the kitchen. “Then surely you can tell me what it means.”
He pauses momentarily, and I think it’s because he’s trying to remember. That is, until he speaks, and his words come through like a caress. “Tesoro, it’s what you are to me.”
I suck in a stunned breath.
Tesoro means treasure in Spanish. But it’s also a term of endearment. One usually reserved for lovers.
“Mat—”
“We’re about to land. I’ll be home soon, Isabella. And I’ll be seeing you tonight.”
“You took my call from the plane? That’s currently still flying in the sky?” I ask, shocked.
“Isa, someway, somehow, you will come to learn that there isn’t a place on earth where you wouldn’t be able to reach me. Sky and sea included. Talk to you soon, tesoro.”