Chapter 12 Nicola
NICOLA
It was just sex.
Just really good sex.
The kind that made you forget your own name and see constellations behind your eyelids. The kind that made your legs tremble for hours and your throat sore from all the filthy things you moaned without meaning to.
But still. Sex.
I repeated the word like a prayer.
Because it couldn’t be more. Not with Matteo.
Not with the man who made it his life’s mission to charm everyone he met and who flashed smiles like currency and never took anything seriously—except maybe racing.
And certainly not with someone like me. Someone who had everything planned.
And that plan did not include a relationship.
Dating casually? Good sex? Sure. But a serious relationship? No, thank you.
It was already a mistake. A few mistakes, actually. If I let it become more, I knew it wouldn’t stop there.
So I pushed it down. I packed my suitcase, my self-respect, and my emotional whiplash. Then zipped it all up and got on the damn plane.
Portofino was sun-soaked and beautiful. It would’ve been perfect if everything hadn’t immediately started falling apart.
“Where the hell is the car service?” I asked, glaring at my phone like it might suddenly decide to be useful.
Matteo wandered up beside me, wearing a backwards hat, sunglasses, and that dumb, lazy grin that should’ve been illegal on a man that attractive.
“Maybe they heard you were coming and fled the scene?” he offered with a wink.
I didn’t dignify him with a response. Not with the memory of his mouth still lingering in too many places on my body.
“We’ll rent something,” Lucia said, ever the peacemaker. “We’ll figure it out.”
And we did.
Sort of.
We ended up in a compact rental that looked like it had been born in 2003 and hadn’t been cleaned since. Five of us. Luggage piled like a Jenga tower between seats. Elbows in ribs. Knees jammed against dashboards.
And of course, Matteo ended up next to me.
Because the universe loved a good joke.
I turned sharply when his thigh brushed mine. “Can you not?”
“What?” he said, way too innocent. “My leg’s just existing. You’re the one taking up all the space with your overpacking.”
“Why don’t you crawl into the glove compartment then?”
He grinned, infuriatingly unbothered.
Lucia choked on her water. Alexander laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
I shot Matteo a look that could curdle milk. He just smiled wider, resting his arm behind me like he owned the air I breathed.
By the time we got to the hotel I was ready to throw myself into the sea. Lucia and Alexander, however, seemed blitzed out. Maybe if my thoughts would be quiet, I would feel the same.
“Ah, Mr. Wright,” the front desk receptionist smiled apologetically. “We’ve had a slight issue with the room allocations. Unfortunately, only the Lemoné Villa is available, which is a two bedroom villa. Each room has just one king-sized bed.”
“That’s fine, we’ll make it work,” Alexander smiled graciously while alarm bells began going off in my head. Sharing a room with Matteo? Sharing a bed with Matteo? Fuck me.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, voice too sharp, too mean. I immediately felt guilty knowing it wasn’t the poor receptionist’s fault.
Matteo whistled under his breath. “Guess we’re bunking together, Nic.”
When I heard him call me Nic, shot ice straight through veins. “Don’t call me that, and no, we’re not sharing a bed,” I seethed.
“Well, there’s always the floor,” Matteo shrugged, “But I’d hate for you to hurt your back.”
“Here is the second room key…” the receptionist cleared her throat.
I forced a smile to the woman, then leaned into Matteo. “You are being an unbearable idiot.”
“She’s with me,” Matteo announced and slings an arm around my shoulders. I tensed like he’d poured ice water down my spine.
“I am not with you,” I hissed.
“Technically,” he whispered, mouth way too close to my ear, “You were with me. Multiple times.”
My entire body flushed.
Lucia coughed behind us. “We’ll, uh, see you two later.”
I sent her a ‘What the hell’ look and she just shrugged with a soft smile and sent me a thumbs up. I clenched my fists and followed Matteo to the elevator, praying I wouldn’t strangle him before the trip was over.
Or worse—let him kiss me again. Because deep down, under all the snark and fury, my body still ached for him. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget how good it felt to let him ruin me.
“Are you done being moody?” Matteo asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
“And what of it?” I snapped at him, staring at my phone to ignore him and scrolling through work emails with the charity team.
“Hey,” his voice was low and soft; it was enough to make me turn and look at him.
I wasn’t wearing heels, so my head barely reached his chest. His finger hooked my chin and he ever so softly pushed with the pad of his finger to get me to look up at him.
I was met with his eyes, all soft and concerned.
I hated how my belly flipped at the sight.
How he could see past my normal jabs and annoyance.
“What’s going on?” His thumb brushed my cheek.
I couldn’t help but pull away as I felt the hurt radiate off him.
We were not in public, we were in a damn elevator, and sometime during the last few weeks, private spaces became where we gravitated toward each other, not away.
I didn’t have time for feelings or being distracted, not when I was just finding my place in this cutthroat world.
Planning a huge fundraising campaign and gala had taken up most of my mental space.
And I needed to ask Matteo about doing some promos and if he’d be willing to help out with the media.
No driver wanted to do more media, but somewhere deep down I knew if I asked, he would say yes.
And yet my anxiety bloomed just thinking about asking.
We walked in silence to the villa. When he unlocked the door and held it open, I was hit with the reality of the one bed conundrum.
There it was in all its glory: soft white sheets, a fluffy duvet, and giant pillows.
I felt my anger bubble to the surface as I tossed my bag onto the floor and spun to face him. “I’ll take the couch.”
Matteo raised a brow, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the damn place. “Nic, the couch is a glorified ottoman. We’ll share the bed or we’ll both wake up with spinal injuries.”
“Sounds preferable,” I snapped and jabbed a finger at his chest. “If you so much as snore, I’m smothering you with a pillow.”
He smirked and leaned in so only I could hear. “If you want to try new things in bed, all you have to do is ask.” His hands pulled up as if in defense, one dimple starting to show as he smirked. Then, voice louder, “But don’t worry—you’ll be too busy dreaming about me to notice.
“Shut up or people will hear you!”
He walked farther into the room, brushing past me on the way to the window. “You know, for someone who says it didn’t mean anything, you’re really going out of your way to prove it.”
My spine straightened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asked, not even turning around. “Don’t point out that every time I get close, you run? Or that you kiss me like I’m oxygen but look at me like I’m a mistake the second it’s over?”
“Because it was a mistake!” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of my own lie.
Matteo finally turned, his expression softer than I expected. “Nicola.”
I closed my eyes, because I hated how my name sounded in his voice.
“I don’t do relationships,” I said, the words low and brittle. “I don’t do real. Real gets messy. Real ends. I’ve spent too long proving I can hold my own, and I won’t blow it all.”
He blinked. “So…you do have feelings.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t not say it.”
I stared at him, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re scared,” he said simply, walking closer. “And that’s okay.”
My breath hitched. His nearness was dangerous. Warm and grounding and far too tempting.
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” he said, voice softer now, more careful. “Just…don’t shut the door before we even open it. Let’s take this week and forget the rules. No pressure. No expectations. Just…you and me. Vacation time. Exploring time.”
I arched my brow. “Exploring time?”
He shrugged with a smirk. “Sunsets. Gelato. Occasional heavy petting. We’ll call it research.”
A reluctant laugh broke out of me. “You’re an idiot.”
“But I can be your idiot. At least for the next seven days.”
I hesitated. “And then what?”
“We get on the plane, and if you want to pretend none of it happened, I’ll let you.”
Something tightened in my chest. It wasn’t fair how easy he made it sound—how gently he held the very thing I was afraid to name.
Matteo stepped back, like he was giving me space to choose. “But for now,” he said, “We’re in Portofino. It doesn’t count.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then slowly exhaled.
“Fine. One week.”
A grin spread across his face, all dimples and triumph. “Best non-relationship of your life, I swear.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling despite myself.
Matteo was still grinning when I walked to my bag and started organizing my clothes into the dresser, pretending to look for something to wear.
“So,” he said casually, flopping back onto the bed like he didn’t just emotionally unzip me, “What do you think about cliffs?”
I turned slowly. “Cliffs?”
“Yeah,” he propped himself up on his elbows. “Rocky things. High up. Over water. Very scenic. Very ‘take a picture and make it your phone background’ vibes.”
“I thought this week was about relaxing.”
He sat up now, eyes sparkling with a boyish enthusiasm I pretended not to find devastatingly charming. “Exactly! What’s more relaxing than driving down the coast with the windows down, your hair blowing in the wind, me singing obnoxiously to ABBA—”
“Oh my God.”