Chapter 16
ELIZABETH
It's past noon when Matteo walks into the office. I heard the guys mention that he'd be in late, but I didn't catch the reason why. I brush it off like a spiderweb, why I'm being so nosy.
Something’s happened. He looks pensive, with his head down, and moving differently. Not with his usual confident strides. There's a roughness around him which has nothing to do with his messy hair, or the way he’s dressed. He looks almost dishevelled. Matteo never looks like that.
I figure it’s something personal. Not about work, because he hasn’t even approached me. I was looking forward to discussing what we’d discovered over the weekend but when he disappears into his office without looking at anyone, I know that I need to leave him alone.
It’s almost eight o'clock when I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. The lab is quiet and mostly everyone has gone home.
I’ve been at this for hours, getting so carried away that I worked through my lunchtime with nothing but a bag of nuts to keep me going. This happens to me sometimes, when I'm in the zone.
Now my stomach is starting to rumble; a sign that I need to go home. I quickly glance over my shoulder and see Matteo still sitting at his desk. He’s always the last one to leave. I have no idea how late he stays, but I’m not going to stick around to find out.
I glance at him again, and wonder if I should check in on him before I leave. Something’s obviously playing on his mind, but do I really need to know what it is?
But then I push back my chair before I overthink it and talk myself out of it. I’ve spent enough time around Arthur and Irene to recognize when someone is carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
Everything about Matteo sets off the same alarm bells for me. The tension in his posture. The distant look in his eyes. He’s been staring at this screen for the last half an hour without touching the keyboard.
I knock on his door and poke my head in. He looks up, his expression lost and distant.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“What are you still doing here?” He evades my question in typical Matteo fashion. “I could ask the same of you.”
“You haven’t answered my question.” I step inside. “I got carried away. It happens sometimes.”
Just then a loud, gnarly, roar comes from deep in my gut. I pray that he didn't hear it.
“Was that your ... stomach?”
Damn it. He heard. “I forgot to have lunch.”
“How could you forget, Elizabeth?”
There's a touch of annoyance in his eyes, even though his voice is softer now. I feel a thrum of something low in my chest. It's not my nerves. It's something else, but I can't place it.
“I got carried away, I told you.”
“You should take care of yourself, not sacrifice yourself to the company.”
He seems so serious. Too serious. Like he ... like he almost cares. I attempt a laugh. “I wouldn't sacrifice myself for the company, believe me.”
“That’s reassuring.”
His words settle somewhere deep inside me. I’m not used to people worrying about me. Arthur and Irene do. So does Vlad, in his own way.
But Matteo? I’m caught completely off guard.
“Did you have breakfast?” he asks.
I wince. “I woke up late and rushed to get here.”
“That would be a ‘no’ then.”
My stomach rumbles again in answer.
“You need to eat.” He gets up. “So do I. Let’s get something.”
I almost step back in shock. Does he mean me and him?
Now?
That’s the sort of thing Vlad would do, but this is rather presumptuous of Matteo, to think that I’d want to have something to eat with him.
And this is different.
Matteo is my boss and I have these feelings for him which are getting in the way.
He seems to notice my reluctance. “It's only a bite to eat. Nothing more. You can update me with where you’re at without prying eyes and ears.”
I'm about to tell him we're the only ones here, but he grabs his leather jacket and I have no option but to leave. I head back to my desk, and pack my things away. He spots my nearly finished bag of nuts.
“That was your lunch?”
“It kept me going.”
We leave the office, and get into the elevator. Being here with him brings back all sorts of memories; the cramped space and confined walls. The way he’d stood so close to me I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Don't worry, we're not about to get stuck again. It's only a thirty-second ride.”
“I’m not worried.” But I think back to that time again, and catch him staring at me. The way he looks at me makes me think that maybe it’s not just in my head.
“I won’t need to stroke your wrists then?” he asks.
His comment shakes me. It’s almost like he’s daring me to give an answer. “From what I remember you liked stroking them.”
His Adam’s apple moves, and I want to believe that he wasn’t expecting this. “From what I remember, you liked it.”
I pray that my cheeks won’t turn red, but I feel a tinge of heat crawling along my skin.
“You did like it,” he murmurs, lips curling into an infuriating smile.
Thankfully, we’re on the ground floor now and the elevator doors slide open.
I rush out, heart pounding. My nerve endings are tangled into knots.
It’s ridiculous how easily this man gets under my skin.
One teasing comment, one smug smile, one glance from him and my cheeks heat. Something flutters low in my belly.
I need distance. Air. Anything but to be standing close to him. I don’t know where we’re heading, and I’m starting to think this isn’t a good idea, because my boss, my temporary boss, my hot, sexy, smoldering man-who-doesn’t-look-like-a-boss, kind of just flirted with me.
And I liked it.
Although, I don’t think I’ll ever see Matteo as my boss.
I see him as my equal.
And that’s the problem.
We head into what looks like a wine bar. He must sense my hesitation because he explains. “It’s the nearest place to work.”
We get a table by the window. It’s one of those bars that are all sleek glass and steel; grey walls and big windows, but now in the evening, little tealights on every table give a cosy ambiance.
A waitress rushes over as soon as we’ve sat down, and she seems to only have eyes for him. I grab a menu and peruse it while he orders a beer and a burger without even looking at the menu. I have a feeling he’s a regular here.
My stomach rumbles again. I’m sure the waitress heard it. “I’ll have tap water and a chicken and bacon sandwich, please.”
We stare at one another when she leaves.
And now here we are, sitting across the table from one another, not in a meeting, or in a professional environment, but in a wine bar, of all places, the air between us turns prickly.
My insides tingle with anticipation as I stare at his messy hair, and his eyes which are darker now.
“I was at the hospital,” he says, and at first I’m relieved that we’re making conversation, but then the words sink in.
“The hospital?” I gasp, putting my hand on my chest. “Why? What happened?”
He hesitates, and I’m starting to think this guy is so private, he never answers my questions. What is the point of this? I could have taken my rumbling stomach home and—
“My father,” he says, abruptly. “His condition’s worsened.”
I bolt upright. “What do you mean worsened?”
“He has kidney failure. Was diagnosed less than a year ago, but his condition has deteriorated.”
Kidney failure?
“I’m … I’m sorry Matteo. That’s awful.” The interactions between me and Paul flash through my mind and I begin to see it. At the presentation, he didn’t look himself. Then last week we had a meeting but he suddenly went home.
“He’ll … he’ll get better, won’t he?” I’m struggling with the enormity of this news, and also beginning to understand why Matteo didn’t quite seem himself today. “Surely there’s something they can do?”
He swipes a hand over his face, and now that I’m looking at him closely, I see worry written all over it. “He’s not fine. He collapsed again, a little while ago. He hadn’t been taking the doctors’ advice. He wasn’t taking his meds or watching his diet. Now he needs a kidney transplant.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry.” This keeps getting worse. I can’t begin to imagine the pressure on Matteo.
He lifts a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “He’s not one for following the rules, or instructions. He thinks he’s infallible and now he’s finding out that he isn’t. But it’s too late. He needs a kidney.”
I sit back, my chest tightening. I’ve seen Matteo shaken for the first time, and I knew he was carrying something heavy, but his reaction still surprises me. Seeing him with his father, it's obvious they don't get along. Half the time they can barely be in the same room without arguing.
And yet this is still his father.
The realization hits me harder than I expect. Beneath all the anger, frustration, and resentment, there’s fear. Real fear. Knowing that a parent is ill, and that it could be serious, fatal even, is enough to knock the ground out from under anyone.
I try and think of my own parents. I only remember pieces of my past because my childhood is a blur.
Vlad said it’s because I’m rewriting my story.
My childhood was changed, unexpectedly and forever, by a chain of events that derailed my world for ever.
My mom died suddenly, from a hit and run accident.
My dad fell apart. He struggled to keep going after her death, and then he lost his job months later and that’s when he turned to drink, and sank into depression.
There were many days when he couldn’t even get out of bed.
The teachers noticed, and that’s when I was moved into foster care.
He swipes a hand across his jaw. “I’ve been having tests. We all have. It’s a lengthy process so …”
“You all have?”
“We’re six brothers.”