Chapter 16 #2
I remember reading about them, when I was researching the company.
I can’t imagine what it must be like to have five siblings, and a father, even though they don’t seem to get on.
Still, their father seems to have provided for them in a way that most would find envious.
I’ve found no mention of their mother, which is odd, but still, I consider him to be lucky, though I sense Matteo doesn’t see it like that. He doesn’t know how blessed he is.
“I’m a match for the blood type.” His voice is flat and dull, like this isn’t the news he wanted. Like he’s not happy about giving his father a chance to live.
It explains his mood today.
I poke a little. “You sound upset …” I assumed he was sad because his father was gravely ill, but now I’m sensing that he's upset, maybe even conflicted, about the possibility of being a match.
He shrugs, like he always does, when he doesn’t want to deal with things. “They need to run more compatibility tests and full donor screenings before they decide if I can donate.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if he wants to go ahead with this. “Do you want to donate?”
He sits back, looking resigned as he swipes his thumb around the rim of his beer bottle, still wearing that same pensive look from earlier.
I know that family can be difficult, and complicated, and the source of so much sadness.
Sometimes, the people we're supposed to love the most are the ones who hurt us the deepest.
“I’m not sure how I feel about giving one of my kidneys to a man I don’t love.”
That’s heavy. His usual laidback and nonchalant expression is replaced by one of turmoil and anguish. He’s facing a difficult decision.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?” He looks at me.
“I'm not sure.” I just figured this man looks like he needs some sympathy. A kind word. A touch of empathy.
Our eyes hold for a second longer than necessary. I see a waitress approach and a sense of relief washes over me as she sets down our food. I dig into my sandwich with gusto. We eat silently. He devours his burger with as much gusto as me.
After a while, when he's finished, he sits back and lifts the bottle of beer to his lips, takes a gulp. I rush to finish my messy sandwich, suddenly feeling conscious of him watching me eat.
I hope I don't have mayonnaise on my lips.
Or a piece of bread stuck between my teeth.
“Your family?” he asks. The audacity of the man, he who never answers my questions.
“I've been in foster care since I was nine,” I remind him.
“Oh, fuck,” he says quietly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to bring up the foster homes and all the bad memories.”
I look away briefly. “There’s nothing about it I want to remember.”
“I meant Arthur and Irene.”
My attention snaps back to him. I'm mildly surprised that he remembers their names.
“Arthur and Irene.” It’s so easy to talk about them. About people I love with all my heart. “Where do I start? They’re … just so lovely. They’re wise and they ground me.”
“Ground you?”
How do I explain to a man who’s known nothing but privilege all his life?
He doesn’t love his father.
It must be difficult to work for a man who has untold billions. Whose legacy, one day, Matteo and his brothers will inherit.
“They remind me what matters,” I say thinking about them again, recalling how they make me feel.
Even Irene, whom I don't get as much time with because some days she's more confused than others.
“They don't care about money, job titles, or whether I've had a good week at work.
They care whether I've eaten, whether I'm sleeping enough, whether I'm happy.
Being around them slows me down. Makes me stop worrying about things that won't matter in ten years.” I smile.
“They make the world feel a little less lonely.”
“Are you lonely?” he asks, his voice low.
I press my lips together, feeling my insides turn hollow. There are a hundred answers for that one question, and I can’t go there. Not right now. Not with him.
I have questions of my own, and I’m curious about his family dynamics. “Do you work for him because you have no choice, because he’s your father and it’s expected?”
He almost chokes on his beer. “Is that what you think?”
“I’m asking. Maybe answer my question this time.”
He goes quiet for a while. Then, “We work here because it’s what is expected,” he says slowly. “Because it’s easy. I didn’t have to interview for this role. I was just given it.” He winces, like it’s painful to admit being a nepo baby.
“Tell me more.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks, frowning.
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“I started working here, in the tech lab at the age of twenty-one, shadowing the guy who headed up this department before I took it over from him. He was Alex's boss, and I replaced him.”
I whistle. “You can’t have been popular, a young kid replacing someone who’s been there for years.
He looks sheepish. “They must all have hated me.”
I whistle, just trying to imagine that scenario. “They must have.”
“But Alex saved me. He could have hated me when I took over from his boss, but he didn't.” Matteo blows out a breath, as if he’s reliving that time.
“Most of the team left when the boss left. I was too young and too stupid, excited, too, about my role and title to notice much, or care. I was twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one. Not so young.”
“Okay, smart ass.”
I grin.
“The people who stayed didn't really like me, either. Alex was the only one who seemed okay with me. I knew then that he was a good guy. He should have hated me, for the nepotism, for taking over when I clearly didn't have the experience, but he didn’t write me off immediately. He gave me a chance, and for that I’m eternally grateful.”
“You owe him for saving your butt.”
“I do.” He nods. “He saw me putting in the hours, long into the early mornings, and over the weekends. I’ve proved myself now, but back then it was a different ballgame.
Now, he's my right-hand man. But we all did that, my brothers and I,” he pauses for a few seconds, as if he’s thinking about it.
“But over time, as soon as we hit that age, the old man brought us into the business. Nepotism helped me to get here faster than I ever could have on my own, but I've had to work hard, often working through the night, to prove myself. I think they respect me now. I think I’ve earned my place.”
“I’d say you have.” I’ve heard Alex and the guys talk about Matteo when he’s not around and it’s always with respect.
I wipe my mouth and sit back, feeling fully sated.
“You stayed late,” he says. “Don’t like going back to an empty apartment?”
He’s fishing for information. I do go back to an empty apartment, but I like being by myself, and if I’m ever feeling lonely, I just go over and see Arthur and Irene.
“I thought we were going to talk about work,” I say in a shaky voice.
“I don’t want to talk about work today.”
My heart does a somersault inside my chest. Matteo’s gaze is cool and steady, and I feel out of my depth.
I can handle guys, and things rarely faze me, but Matteo isn’t just an average guy.
How we met wasn’t just an average meeting, but from having that experience, I find myself feeling things for him, about him.
Even now, I’m starting to get all flustered, and this wine bar suddenly feels hot and small, as if the walls are closing in on me.
“Tell me how is it that you’re running your own cybersecurity firm at the age of twenty-five?”
“It’s all on my resume.” I really don’t want to discuss this. If he’s seen my resume then he knows my cell phone number, where I live, and my carefully curated work history.
“Is there something you don’t want me to know?” he asks, skating dangerously close to the truth.
“I don’t have anything to hide.” But my insides churn, regardless.
“I was curious. Needed to see your work history. My old man hired you, and he hires only the best. How did you get into cybersecurity?”
I have to be careful how I answer this. “I got access to an old, donated laptop at an after-school computer club. That’s where I learned the basics. I started downloading software and got into basic scripting and it just went on from there.”
“That is cool.” He sounds impressed. “You must have been really clever.”
“It was more that I loved school.”
His eyes open wide. “You did? I hated school.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I imagine him being the sullen, broody kid who hated lessons. I can’t see him being the sporty type. I wasn’t either.
“Go on, explain.” He seems interested, and no one has ever asked me about this before.
“Going to the after-school computer club, gave me a reason to stay there longer.”
“No cheerleading or ballet for you?” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Ballet?” I snort. “You and I went to completely different schools. We come from completely different worlds.”
He nods, his expression sobering. “You liked staying at school?”
“I would have slept there if I could have. I moved homes a lot, and spent a lot of time alone. Went to lots of different schools. When I was fifteen I escaped into computers.”
“Your foster parents weren’t good to you?”
I think about the many homes I moved around in, of how I spent the rest of my childhood moving between foster homes and group homes. I was given food and lodging, and placed in families, but it was always temporary, and I never formed any deep bonds. I never felt like I belonged.
“It was never a permanent solution. I moved around a lot.”
I naively called the first few places home, but it quickly became apparent that they were nothing of the sort.
They were holding places; some for a few weeks, some for months.
And then I’d have to move again. I learned never to acquire many possessions, to not trust easily, and to get used to leaving quickly. To expect to be abandoned.
I also became good at reading people.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes fill with genuine sympathy. It stuns me, because he looks sad, like he can feel my hurt.