Chapter 22
ELIZABETH
Matteo didn't sound like himself when he called me, and I immediately panicked. I thought we'd had another technical issue at the lab, but it wasn't about that.
He wanted to see me. It's been a few days since I last saw him and my heart did a somersault at hearing those words. He has no idea how much I've thought about him. How many times I've replayed our last conversation. How many times I've wondered if he'd call.
I got ready in record time, pulling on a mini skirt with thick leggings and ankle boots, along with a soft cream sweater. Then I threw a denim jacket over the top and headed out the door.
We’re meeting in Central Park. It was his suggestion, not mine, but it turns out to be perfect for whatever today is.
There's a slight chill to the air, which stings my cheeks. Leaves in shades of gold and amber carpet the ground. People are jogging, walking, and walking dogs. Parents pushing strollers. Couples holding hands.
I follow the winding path, my boots crunching through scattered leaves. He told me to meet him at Bethesda Fountain. I spot him before he sees me, standing with the lake beyond him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his hair ruffled by the breeze.
My heart is beating far too fast for my own good.
I've spent years learning how to control my emotions. How to keep my head down. How to go unnoticed.
Invisible people don't get hurt, or abandoned. They also don't give other people the power to let them down.
But as I watch Matteo standing there waiting for me, I realize I don't want to be invisible anymore. I slow down as I take all of him in, without him realizing. His shoulders are slightly hunched, as though he’s carrying the weight of something on them.
Something’s bothering him, and I wonder if that's why he reached out to me.
It’s strange how events in my life have led me to him.
We met by accident and fate, and our first impressions were formed in a trapped elevator.
I would have met him anyway, seeing that I was going for an interview in his department, but I just didn’t know it then.
And because I didn’t know, I allowed myself to see him in another light; this man who dresses like he should be on the stage in a band, not the CEO of a company.
He turns suddenly then, as if he can feel my stare, and when his eyes find mine, it feels like the sun is shining inside my heart. A slow smile spreads across his face, reaching his eyes. He’s genuinely happy to see me.
My pulse immediately betrays me. We’ve acknowledged the attraction simmering between us. Before that, we danced around it, and teased it. Pretended it wasn’t becoming impossible to ignore.
“Hey,” I say, when I reach him.
“Hey.” We don't shake hands, or anything, yet my body longs for some physical acknowledgement. A greeting that isn’t polite and cold. It's an effort to hold back, but I do, because he and I are still teetering around the edge of something that we can’t name, and we're not on safe ground yet.
He stays quiet.
“You okay?” I peer at his face, trying to read his expression for clues.
He shrugs. “Family stuff.”
“Family stuff?” My voice is deliberately low and dramatic, but I now understand the cause of his heaviness. “Want to walk and talk about it?”
He doesn’t answer, but starts walking, so I set off with him and keep quiet, letting him be.
We walk in step, side by side, as people pass us by.
Dogs strain at their leashes, tourists snap away on their cameras and phones.
As the world ambles by, I feel something tectonic shifting between us, because this isn't a team meeting. We’re not discussing a technical problem.
This is us meeting out of work, on a weekend, and spending our personal time together.
He changed that. He turned up on my doorstep with a care package, offering to make things better while I suffered my monthly cramps.
“That kidney I was telling you about, for my old man,” he says after a while.
The way he says it makes me stop and turn, like the words are weighted with something. “Yeah?”
He turns to face me. “Looks like it might be mine, maybe.”
“Yours?”
“Zach’s still having tests. The others didn’t match.”
“That's ... big,” I say, quietly. “But he might be compatible.” I want to reassure him. “You don’t know what you don’t know yet.”
“Even if Zach matches, he won't do it.”
Won't.
I’m itching to ask why. I’m itching to ask a lot of things. “And you?”
He looks across the park, to a group of teenagers playing with a frisbee. “I don't know. It's complicated. I feel like I don't want to.”
“Then why did you get tested?”
“We all did. It was expected. It would be wrong to not at least go through the motions.”
Offering a kidney is no easy feat, not even doing such a thing for a parent or a sibling. It's noble, and kind, but it also means that you can't have anything happen to you, that you need to be careful in your life, with your one kidney.
Matteo's dilemma feels like a cross to bear because he's offering life to a man who he clearly doesn’t like.
“Why won't Zach offer?”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “It's ... complicated.”
It’s always complicated. I thought my life was complicated but Matteo’s family life sounds like a nightmare, even from the little I’ve seen.
He doesn’t know what it feels like to not belong. To not have your people, your tribe. I had something like that when Vlad asked if I wanted to join his group. Turns out later it was a hacking group, but to me that was a place where I belonged, and mattered.
He reaches for my hand. It’s sudden and unexpected and catches me off guard as his fingers intertwine in mine. But he’s fallen silent again and it’s clear that he doesn't want to talk about it.
So I don't push. Or comment, or judge. I just watch him in the long silence that follows. A silence that fills with words neither of us are saying, and we stay like that, facing one another, waiting for the other to speak.
“How are you feeling today?” he asks.
“Better.” I smile. “No cramps. No hot water bottle needed.”
“That's good to hear.” I love the way his full lips curve upwards, how his eyes sparkle. Like he needed it. Then, he lifts our intertwined hands and kisses the back of mine. My insides jump with joy and a lightness permeates my body because I feel more alive than ever.
A dog barks somewhere nearby. A child laughs. The sun breaks through the trees, warming my face. Every sound, every sensation feels sharper. Standing here beside Matteo, with his hand wrapped around mine, I don't want this moment to end.
“I was worried about you,” he says, as I now worry about him.
His words set my heart aflutter, because I feel lucky, blessed and special, all because of him. Without thinking, I lean towards him, and tiptoe up to plant a kiss on his lips. His eyes open wider with surprise.
I step back. “You bought me supplies. No one's ever done that for me before.”
He stares at me, cocking his head as if he’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Like he sees the pain I try to hide. Then he lifts his hand to my face, his thumb gently caressing my skin, and time stops. Everything around me blurs into the background.
“Well, someone should have,” he murmurs. I see the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead, the way his eyes drop to my mouth and then come back to my eyes.
I see only him. I feel only him.
“You keep looking at my lips,” I blurt out.
“Yeah. I know. I’m planning on doing something about that.” His hands slide around my waist, and he presses me closer still.
“What?” I play dumb as my heart crashes violently inside my chest.
“I’m wondering if kissing you is a wise move,” he continues, his fingers tracing over my skin.
“It’s complicated,” I say, not daring to move, as our breaths intermingle.
“It is indeed.”
My heart flips in my chest like a madman wanting to be let loose.
Because I’m so pumped with adrenaline and my inhibitions have fallen to the ground, my hands slide along his chest, and go around his neck. “This feels better,” I whisper. Our chests press together.
“Feels kinda good,” he agrees.
I inhale his cologne, smoky, rebellious and sensual, just like him.
His hands tighten around me. “Life is generally complicated, what with elevator glitches and period pains ...”
“And family brunches and kidney transplants,” I add.
“Those too. Those are fucking complicated.”
“Um-hmmmm.” My heart dips each time his eyes go to my lips. I wish he'd hurry up and kiss me already.
“But having you around makes everything seem lighter.” His eyes burn into mine and my stomach flips.
Amped up frustration and lust churn inside me while a long silent moment spreads between us.
His fingers brush my cheek, and my breath stills.
I press my lips together, in anticipation, but now my legs feel shaky and if he doesn't make a move soon, I'll have to cling to him just to stay upright.
“If I kiss you, everything changes.”
I look at him without blinking. “Everything already changed.”
And that's when he kisses me.
It's slow at first, and hesitant, like he's giving me a chance to pull away.
But I don't. Instead I move closer, press against him some more, my hand grabbing the front of his T. Our kiss deepens. It’s not careful or controlled anymore.
It's weeks of tension and lingering glances, of almosts and what ifs, suddenly unfurling and running rampant.
It's the release of endless, sleepless nights of tossing and turning.
Of imagining and wanting. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth, dominant and desperate with need.
When we finally pull apart, we're both panting.
“Well,” he says, matter-of-factly, “That was a terrible idea.”
I smile. “It was.”
And we do it all over again.