Chapter 12 #2
I was usually so good at digging for information. My job had trained me to lead people with questions, yet I couldn’t seem to get a read on Matteo’s social life. “Your sister likes the club scene. What about you?”
He frowned and took out a cutting board, starting to chop a cucumber. “Not a fan of yelling What? for three hours and paying twenty euro for a watered-down drink.”
I smiled. “You work from home, don’t go out to dinner often, and dislike the club scene. How do you meet people?”
He stopped chopping and looked up. “Meet people? You mean women?”
That’s exactly what I was asking, yet I shrugged, trying to come off casual. “Women, friends…”
Matteo finished chopping, rinsed off his hands, and dried them with a towel. He brought the bottle of wine and his glass to the table, and sat directly across from me. “Do you want to know about my dating life, Allegra?”
I felt my cheeks heat and was thankful I had gotten a little color since I’d arrived that could mask a blush. “I was just making conversation.”
He didn’t have to point out my bullshit. The expression on his face said it all.
I rolled my eyes. “All right, maybe I’m a little curious.”
His smile was more like a gloat.
“Don’t get all full of yourself,” I said. “There’s slim pickins of men to chat with around here. It’s either you or the adorable nineteen-year-old.”
Matteo’s smile fell.
I chuckled and pointed to his face. “I’m not the only one who’s easy to read, you know.”
He sipped his wine. “I met the last woman I went out with at da farmer’s market.”
“How long did that last?”
“One date.”
“Why is that?”
“She ate off my plate.”
I raised a brow. “Territorial about your food?”
“She ordered a salad, and then ate half my lasagna. If you’re hungry, order something to eat, yes?”
I laughed. “What about before her?”
He shrugged. “Mostly it’s been one and done. There were a few I went out with a couple times, but nothing too serious in the last couple of years.”
“What about before that?”
He looked away for a long moment. “I was married.”
“Oh. That’s right. To an American. How long ago did you get divorced?”
“Four years.”
“Why’d you break up?”
Matteo caught my eyes but stayed quiet.
I held up a hand. “Sorry. I spent the last six years talking about divorces all day long. Sometimes I forget not everyone wants me in their business.”
“It’s fine.” He got up and started chopping again. “Isabella moved to Italy from America when we were in our first year of high school and became my sister’s best friend. I had a crush on her for years before we got together. We got married too young, during my last semester of university.”
“Are you still friendly with her?”
I saw the look on Matteo’s face and pressed my lips together. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Bad habit. Sometimes I start asking questions and forget it’s rude to dig when the person isn’t my client.”
“It’s fine. We didn’t speak for a couple of years after the divorce.
But then she got sick and…” Matteo trailed off.
“Suddenly holding a grudge didn’t seem important anymore.
She moved back in for a short time, and I took care of her until da end.
Izzy died two years ago. She had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, a progressive lung disease.
It wasn’t discovered until she contracted pneumonia while traveling in the Philippines. ”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
Matteo nodded. He finished chopping, rinsed his hands, and came to sit across from me with his wine again. “What about you?” he said. “Any men missing you back home?”
“I hear Jude Ellington misses me.”
Matteo’s jaw clenched, just slightly, on one side. “Is it serious?”
I grinned. “He’s an ex-client who wants me to take on his case again. But to answer your question: There isn’t anyone special missing me back in New York.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful and smart. It can’t be for lack of opportunity.”
I smiled sadly. “Thank you. I guess it’s because I don’t have the best track record with men, and I spend my days dealing with ugly divorces, so it’s a constant reminder of how things can turn out when you let your guard down.”
“Were you ever married?”
I shook my head. “I’ve had two long-term relationships. The last one ended six months ago, and I’m still a little charred from how badly I got burned.”
“You need me to fly to New York to kick his ass?”
I smiled. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I sighed. “Noah and I dated for a year and a half. I thought everything was going great. We didn’t see each other a lot because of my work schedule, but he used to send me these sweet playlists on Spotify to let me know he was thinking of me.
It felt like the modern-day version of a mix tape—with all these thoughtful songs.
They were always titled My Allegra. One night I was at his apartment, and what I thought was my laptop pinged while he was in the shower.
We both had the same MacBook. I opened it to find that someone had liked a song in one of his playlists.
It was called My Kara. I clicked in and also found a My Ashley playlist. The dates of the songs added were all within the last few months. ”
“Mi dispiace.” He frowned. I’m sorry.
“I added a few songs to each of their lists, like ‘Stupid HOE’ by Nikki Minaj and ‘Used to Love H.E.R.’ by Common before he got out of the shower. After, I interrogated him until he admitted he’d been cheating.
” I drank my wine. “The worst part is that he told me it was my fault because I worked too much, and for a while I let myself believe it.”
“He was an idiot.”