Chapter 17 - The Grand Gesture I Didn’t See Coming
Sasha
The New York skyline glitters outside my apartment window, familiar yet somehow foreign after my time in Italy. I've been back for three weeks, but the city I once loved now feels hollow, a pale imitation of the vibrant world I left behind.
"Earth to Sasha," Erina waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me from thoughts of sun-drenched vineyards and green eyes. "You were a million miles away again."
"Sorry," I murmur, forcing a smile as I focus on the takeout containers spread across my coffee table. My friends have been taking turns checking on me, bringing food, making sure I don't disappear completely into my grief.
"More like five thousand miles away," Gabriella corrects, giving me a knowing look. "Specifically, somewhere in Italy."
I shrug, picking at my pad thai without appetite. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Naomi says gently. "You haven't been fine since we left Tuscany."
The mention of Tuscany sends a fresh wave of pain through me. I see Matteo's face as I left, devastated, confused, reaching for me as I pulled away. Sometimes I wake in the night, certain I can feel his arms around me, only to find myself alone in my cold bed.
"Have you checked your emails?" Isabelle asks carefully, studying my face. "Or your voicemail?"
I shake my head. After the first few days of constant messages from Matteo, texts, calls, emails, even flowers delivered to my door, I'd blocked his number and set up filters to send his emails directly to a folder I never open.
"He sent something to the office for you," Erina admits, pulling an envelope from her bag. "I told the receptionist I'd give it to you."
My heart lurches at the sight of the cream-colored envelope, Matteo's distinctive handwriting spelling my name across the front. "I don't want it."
"Sasha," Naomi says, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "Don't you think you should at least hear his side?"
"I read the article," I remind them, the pain still fresh. "I saw the evidence."
"You read a tabloid hit piece," Gabriella counters. "Since when do you believe everything you read online?"
I stare at the envelope in Erina's outstretched hand. Part of me aches to tear it open, to devour whatever words Matteo has written. But another part, the part still raw and bleeding, recoils at the thought.
"What if it's all true?" I whisper, voicing the fear that's haunted me since that morning by the pool. "What if I fell for exactly the kind of man I was running from?"
Erina sighs, tucking the envelope back into her bag. "At least think about it."
Before I can respond, the buzzer for my apartment sounds. I frown, not expecting anyone else tonight.
"Did you invite someone?" I ask, looking around at my friends.
They exchange confused glances and shake their heads. I move to the intercom, pressing the button cautiously.
"Who is it?"
Silence, then a voice that sends electricity crackling through every nerve in my body.
"Sasha. It's me."
I freeze, my finger still on the button, unable to breathe. That voice. His voice. Here, in New York, outside my building.
"Matteo?" I manage, barely a whisper.
"Please, let me up. Just five minutes."
I turn to my friends, panic rising in my chest. Gabriella is already on her feet, eyes wide with excitement. Naomi and Isabelle are exchanging meaningful glances, while Erina watches me carefully.
"What do I do?" I ask them, feeling suddenly anxious.
"Let him up," Gabriella says immediately.
"Or don't," Erina counters. "You don't owe him anything."
The intercom crackles again. "Sasha, please. I'm soaked through. It's pouring out here."
I hadn't even noticed the rain, but now I hear it, pounding against my windows. The thought of Matteo standing in a New York downpour, water streaming down his face, his expensive clothes clinging to him, makes my heart twist painfully.
Before I can overthink it, I press the button to unlock the building's front door. "Fifth floor."
"We should go," Isabelle says, already gathering her purse.
"No!" I grab her arm, panic surging. "Don't leave me alone with him."
"You'll be fine," Naomi assures me, kissing my cheek. "Just listen to what he has to say."
They move, clearing takeout containers, grabbing jackets, squeezing my hands with reassuring pressure. Within moments, they're at the door.
"Call us later," Erina instructs, her expression serious. "No matter how late."
And then they're gone, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving me alone in my apartment, heart thundering in my chest as I wait for the knock that will announce Matteo's arrival.
It comes sooner than I expect—three sharp knocks that seem to echo through my body. I take a deep breath, smoothing down my oversized sweater, suddenly conscious of my leggings and messy bun. I look nothing like the polished woman who walked beside him through Rome's streets.
When I open the door, the sight of him steals my breath. He's drenched, dark curls plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping from his jawline.
His white shirt clings to his chest, transparent from the rain, and his eyes—those green eyes that have haunted my dreams—are fixed on me with such intensity I nearly step back.
"You're here," I whisper, unable to form more coherent thoughts.
"I had to see you," he replies, his voice rough with emotion. Water drips from his hair onto my threshold, forming a small puddle at his feet. "May I come in?"
I step aside wordlessly, watching as he enters my apartment. He seems too large for the space, his presence filling every corner. He looks around briefly, taking in the modest furnishings, the photos on the walls, before turning back to me.
"You're soaked," I say unnecessarily, desperate to fill the silence. "Let me get you a towel."
I retreat to the bathroom, grateful for the moment alone to collect myself. When I return, he's standing exactly where I left him, as if afraid to move further into my space without permission. I hand him the towel, careful to avoid touching his fingers.
"Thank you," he says, running it over his hair. The familiar gesture makes my heart ache.
"Why are you here, Matteo?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself protectively.
He lowers the towel, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because I couldn't stay away. Because every day without you has been..." he searches for the word, "unbearable."
"You flew across an ocean because you missed me?" I challenge, disbelief coloring my tone.
"I flew across an ocean because I love you," he says simply.
The words hang in the air between us, impossible to ignore. My heart stutters, then races, but I force myself to remember why I left.
"You never said that in Italy," I remind him, my voice unsteady.
"I should have," he acknowledges, taking a cautious step toward me. "I should have told you every day, from the moment I realized it. But I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of feeling this much. Of needing someone the way I need you." Another step closer. "Of losing you, which happened anyway."
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. "The article…"
"Was a hit piece orchestrated by Brandon," he interrupts, his jaw tightening. "After he found us in Tuscany, he decided to strike back. He paid those women to lie, fabricated quotes, twisted old stories."
I blink in surprise. "Brandon? How do you know?"
Matteo reaches into his jacket, pulling out a slightly damp folder.
"Because Giovanni found the money trail.
And because Valeria herself contacted me when she saw the article.
" He holds out the folder. "It's all here.
Bank transfers, sworn statements, even a recording of Brandon approaching Sofia with his offer. "
I take the folder with trembling hands but don't open the folder. Instead, I place it on the coffee table, my eyes never leaving Matteo's face. In the soft lamplight of my apartment, I can see the exhaustion etched in the lines around his eyes.
"You came all this way," I whisper, "just to clear your name?"
Matteo shakes his head, water droplets scattering from his still-damp hair. "I came because I couldn't bear another day without you. The evidence, it's important you know the truth, but that's not why I'm here."
He moves closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mingling with the rain. "I'm here because from the moment you walked away, I've been half-alive. Because I wake reaching for you. Because I love you, Sasha, in a way I never thought possible."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Matteo..."
"Come back to Rome with me," he says suddenly, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Not forever, not if you're not ready. Just for a weekend. Let me show you what we could have together."
"I can't just drop everything and fly to Rome," I protest, though the longing in my chest nearly chokes me.
"Why not?" he challenges, reaching for my hand. When I don't pull away, his fingers intertwine with mine, warm despite the rain. "What's holding you here that's more important than this? Than us?"
The question hangs between us, and I realize I have no answer. My job is flexible. I've been working remotely since returning anyway. My friends would understand. My apartment would still be here when I returned.
"My passport," I say weakly. "It's expired."
A smile breaks across his face, transforming his features. "No, it isn't. It's valid for another three years. I checked before boarding the plane."
"You checked my passport?"
"I had Giovanni look into it," he admits, not a hint of apology in his voice. "I came prepared, dolcezza. The jet is waiting. We could be in Rome by tomorrow afternoon."
"You're impossible," I laugh despite myself, the sound strange after weeks of silence.
"I'm persistent," he corrects, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Especially when it comes to the woman I love."
The sincerity in his voice melts my remaining resistance. I step into his space, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "If I say yes, it's just for the weekend. To talk. That's all."
His eyes darken with desire, but he nods solemnly. "Whatever you want. I just need you near me again."
"Let me pack a bag," I whisper, already knowing I'm lost.