Chapter 11 Matteo
MATTEO
Islipped out of Nicola’s room in the afternoon. Her sheets still smelled like us—salted skin and sweat, and her perfume that I was starting to associate with sin. With addiction.
I left her sleeping, tangled up and flushed, like something I didn’t deserve to touch in the daylight.
The hallway was quiet, and I moved like a thief.
Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?
Stealing moments. Stealing touches. Kisses.
Time. The day passed like that: a workout did nothing to clear my head, I ate dinner alone in my room, too stuck in my head about wanting to walk across the hall to Nicola’s room.
By the time the moon was high in the sky, I stared blankly at the ceiling, sleep evading me.
I should’ve started packing, done anything productive at all, but I just sat there in a trance. We had a flight to Portofino in four hours. But instead, I stared at my suitcase like it might bite me and tried to pack avoiding the thudding in my chest.
Every time I looked at my hands, I could still see them on her—bruising her hips, threading through her hair, holding her down while she screamed my name. She was fire and ice, and every single thing I wasn’t supposed to want.
But fuck, I wanted her.
I threw off the covers, giving up on sleep and began packing up my things around the room. I was halfway through folding a shirt I definitely wasn’t going to wear when the knock came.
Three soft taps.
Not urgent. Not impatient. But deliberate.
Nicola stood in the hallway in nothing but a coat—open at the front, revealing midnight-blue lace and sheer panels that made my throat go dry. Her hair was tousled. Lips swollen. Her expression? Dangerous.
“Nic—” My voice caught. I swallowed it down. “What’re you doing?”
She tilted her head, eyes raking over me like she owned every inch. “I couldn’t sleep.”
My hand gripped the doorknob like it might anchor me.
She stepped inside without waiting for permission, brushing past me, and dropped the coat.
I nearly dropped to my knees.
“Thought you said last time was the last time,” I managed, voice rough.
She turned, that defiant tilt to her chin softening just a little. “Well,” she said, walking toward me with slow, sinful steps, “What’s one more?”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
“In the morning,” she added, right in front of me now, “It never happened.”
That wrecked me.
Because I wanted it to count. I wanted her to count.
But I also wanted her so fucking badly it made my teeth ache.
So I nodded once. Shoved it all down—every stupid feeling, every flash of hope—and buried it under the heat rising between us again.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I whispered, gripping her hips.
She leaned up, brushing her lips over mine, featherlight. “Then play with me, DeLuca.”
The morning sun felt like judgment.
Nicola was already halfway dressed when I woke up. Her back was to me, one hand braced against the dresser like she needed it to breathe.
I didn’t say anything,just watched her. I knew the exact moment she put the walls back up. I could feel it—like the air in the room changed temperature. She didn’t look at me when she said it.
“This can’t happen again.”
Four words. Soft but lethal.
I sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around my waist. “Right,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual, light. Like I hadn’t just memorized the sound of her moans or kissed her like I’d die without her.
“I didn’t mean to sleep over. This isn’t anything, just sex, but that was the last time.”
My jaw clenched. “Funny, you didn’t seem too regretful when you were coming on my—”
“Don’t,” her voice cracked like a whip.
She turned then, and yeah, her face was composed—but her eyes weren’t. They flickered like candlelight about to go out.
“I mean it, Matteo.”
I nodded. What else could I do? Beg?
“Cool. All good,” I said, throwing on a smirk like it was armor as she gathered her things. Nicola harshly pulled on her shirt that laid across a chair and her coat. A shirt that happened to be mine, making my smirk grow. “See you on the plane.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated for half a breath too long. “See you.”
And then she left.
And I sat there like an idiot in a bed that still smelled like her, smiling to myself because she stole my shirt.
The ride to the airport was a blur. Lucia talked, Gianna played with her toys, someone spilled coffee, and the sky looked like it might rain. I smiled and joked like I always did. Laughed at my own dumb stories, kept the mood up.
Because if I didn’t, I might’ve broken.
Nicola didn’t ride with us, instead meeting us at the tarmac in her own private car.
When we boarded the plane, I let Alex drag me into the back half of the cabin. I didn’t ask where she was sitting. I already knew—front row, next to my sister.
Far away. Where it was safe.
Where she didn’t have to look at me and remember what she’d said. What I still felt.
I pressed my forehead to the window, watching the tarmac blur, pretending the ache in my chest was from lack of sleep.
Alex nudged me halfway through takeoff. “You good, mate?”
“Peachy,” I said with a grin so wide it hurt. “Just pumped for Portofino. Sun, sea, sin—what more could a man want?”
He gave me a look. One of those, ‘I know you’re full of shit’ looks. But thankfully, he didn’t push.
And I didn’t crack.
Not until I caught sight of her—Nicola, leaning her head against the window a few rows ahead, sunglasses on even though we were inside, pretending to nap.
She looked untouchable. She was untouchable.
I forced my eyes away, leaned back, and threw on a pair of headphones. I tried to drown out the memory of her skin under my hands by blasting music. Her voice gasping out my name. Her walking away.