Chapter 23 #2
I swipe a hand over the back of my neck. “I'm not sure I should stay.” I don’t want to move too fast. A part of me does. A big, hard part of me, but my mind knows better.
“Stay.” She slides her arms around my waist and stares up at me with her big doe-like eyes.
It’s impossible to say no.
So I decide to stay. Because being with Elizabeth is comforting and real, and it’s everything I needed after the kind of week I've had.
***
ELIZABETH
Matteo is staying the night, and while a large part of me is thrilled about that, another part is a nervous wreck.
My stomach is full of butterflies.
The good kind. And also the terrifying kind. The kind that makes it impossible to sit still.
I can't stop smiling, or replaying our day in Central Park. I can’t forget the kisses and hand-holding. And the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
And yet anxiety keeps creeping in around the edges, because this is new. Because I've never done this before.
I've had boyfriends. That's not it. What I’ve had in the past was never anything like this.
Also, despite how badly I want him here, I'm also painfully aware that I'm still on my period, still feeling bloated and crampy and decidedly unsexy.
To calm myself down, I make myself a cup of camomile tea.
It helps me to sleep. I ask Matteo if he'd like a cup, and just as I expect, he wrinkles his nose and says no thanks.
He's leaning against the counter watching my every move as I fill the kettle and pull a mug off a shelf.
This is weird, but perfect, but also weird; Matteo in my kitchen gone eleven o'clock.
Like he's part of my life now, and will soon be in my bed, only ...
I can't do anything. I'm worried we'll end up making out, and that one thing will lead to another but … that’s not what worries me. I want to, but I’m still on my period and … I can't.
“You okay?”
“Yes!” Then I give a nervous giggle and tell the truth. “Not really. I’m panicking inside.”
“Why? Do I make you nervous?”
“No.”
He comes up behind me, his chest to my back. He feels so good, so warm, so perfect. I arch against him, as he drops tiny kisses along the back of my neck and his hands rest gently over my stomach.
This man is the best thing in my life. Ever.
I push away thoughts of him being my boss, of what happens when I leave. I try to enjoy what we have now. For tonight. For however many days we have.
The kettle makes a hissing noise as it reaches boiling point. When the hissing stops, Matteo moves away and pours the hot water into my mug. “Leave the teabag in?”
“Please.”
He hands me the mug and I suggest that we go and sit on the couch. He follows me into my tiny living room and we sit next to each other. I hold my mug. He stretches his long legs out.
It's quiet.
“This is nice,” he murmurs.
“But you’re not drinking anything,” I counter, taking a sip.
“This is nice. Being here with you. It’s peaceful and calm here.” He sounds like he needs this peace, and I recall how troubled he looked when I first saw him.
I take another sip of my tea and watch him.
His head is back against the headrest, and his eyes are closed.
Hands clasped and lying on his chest. I smile to myself.
It feels wonderful to not be alone. To have someone I can sit with, and feel comfortable enough that we don’t need to make conversation.
I set my tea down on the coffee table and run my fingers through his soft tousled hair. He makes an appreciative noise, which makes me keep doing it. Today was a hard day for him. Hard decisions, for a hard father. No wonder he's torn and doesn’t know what to do.
“Where's your mom?” I ask, without thinking. I wish I could take those words back, because his eyes fly wide open, and he blinks a few times, like he’s lost his bearings.
“In Soave,” he says after a while.
I sigh with relief. For a moment I was scared that she might not be here anymore.
“Soave?”
His eyes close again. “In Italy.”
“Italy?”
“Mm-hmm.” He sounds like he needs to sleep. “Have you ever been?” he asks.
“No. But I'd love to. It’s on my bucket list.”
“On your bucket list?” he echoes. “I'm thinking of going to visit my mom. Why don't you come with me?”
I open my mouth then close it again. What is he asking? He wants me to go to Italy with him, or to visit his mom? Either way, we’re moving too fast. And yet the idea is exciting. This is good. He wants to spend more time with me. Away from work and our usual surroundings.
But doubt sets in. What will people at work say when we're both away from the office at the same time? What will his father think?
Go, my heart whispers. It's not too soon.
My heart battles with my mind. Everything about us getting together has been so strange and serendipitous.
If I take up his offer, we'll get to spend precious time alone, and I'm curious about his world.
I'm even more curious about his family, and his mom.
His voice softened when he mentioned her, and I feel relieved that he has a parent he seems to care about.
The idea of discovering more about where he comes from, and his family, the things that mean so much to me because I don't have them, tug at me, and I start to entertain his proposal.
“I have to go to Croatia,” I blurt out, then hesitate for a second. “For … for a friend’s wedding.”
“Croatia?” He sounds surprised.
“I have friends there.”
“I don't doubt that.” He laces his fingers in mine and turns to face me, his head still resting against the headrest. “We could travel together. You go to your friend's wedding, and I'll visit my mom. Think about it.”
I blink a few times, unsure if he's being serious or if he means it.
“Think about it,” he says, like I needed to hear it again. This time his hungry gaze falls to my lips and suddenly I know he’s going to kiss me.
I don’t move or shift away.
I wait.
He reaches for me slowly, his head inching slowly closer to me.
His hand frames my face just as his lips press to mine.
My body reacts, instantly, heat rushing through me, every nerve ending jangling at his touch.
I melt into the kiss before I can stop myself, my hands sliding to his chest, then his shoulders, then his biceps.
I'm eager to explore and touch as we kiss, deep and hungry, like it's the first time we're making out.
The noises he makes, low and dirty in the back of his throat, speak to the most intimate parts of my body.
It’s the kind of kiss that signals a point of no return.
No pretending. No dancing around. He palms my breast, over my clothes, and my breasts turn heavy.
I long to feel his mouth on them. I'm already so wet and so horny for him that I could so easily ...
“Matteo,” I whisper, in between kisses.
He pulls away quickly, lips moist, eyes shining. “Moving too fast?”
“N-no ...it's just that ... I'm still on my—”
He nods. “Got it. Okay. We can wait.”
I look away, feeling embarrassed but he slips his finger under my chin, tilts my head up.
“It's okay, Elizabeth. We don't have to move so fast.”
“I can make up the couch for you,” I offer.
“Thanks. If you give me a pillow and a blanket, I’ll be fine.”
I'm about to get up and fetch these things when he grabs my wrist. “But I’m not about to fall asleep just yet. Takes me a while sometimes.”
I slip back onto the couch, but he arranges himself. Kicks off his sneakers and asks if he can lay his head on my lap.
Who am I to say no?