Chapter 31
MATTEO
“Don't,” I plead, watching as Elizabeth throws on a white hotel robe before smoothing down her hair.
I thought we’d escaped New York for a few days. No work. No brothers. No interruptions.
Apparently the universe had other ideas.
I sit upright, ears straining to catch the conversation. Whoever it is has bad timing. Then I hear her say, “Hey, Vlad,” and I bolt upright, quickly reaching for my boxers.
Vlad.
Elizabeth's friend now stares at me with a curious look on his face. One I can't decipher. It's clear he's overstepping—maybe because he’s curious about me.
“Am I interrupting something?” His voice is deep and accented. I quickly get out of bed, not liking the way Elizabeth stands beside him, looking uncharacteristically helpless. The color has drained from her face.
“You caught us at the wrong time,” I say, trying to stay calm as I stand there wearing only my boxers.
Vlad tilts his head, gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry for the interruption.”
His gaze bounces between me and Elizabeth, as he swipes his thumb across his chin, like he's trying to figure out who I am to her.
“We weren’t expecting you,” Elizabeth says, quietly.
“But, mala, I wanted to see you as soon as you landed.”
“Why?” She attempts an easy chuckle, but I hear the nervousness in it.
“You’re looking well,” he says, ignoring her question.
It’s not that Elizabeth looks scared. It’s more that she looks like she’s frazzled, trying to manage both me and him in this nightmare scenario.
My insides relax a little, because I don't want to make her even more anxious than she is right now. But I do hate that this guy has interrupted our amazing time in bed. This is why I don’t like anyone paying for my shit.
“Mind stepping out, bud, while we make ourselves presentable?” I put my hands on my hips, adopting a posing stance.
“Just give us a few minutes, Vlad.” Elizabeth clutches the lapels of her robe. Her friend appears to consider it, then swipes his thumb across his lower lip.
“I’ll see you downstairs in the bar,” he says, and turns to walk away, but not before giving me a pointed look, like he’s X-raying my face, to store away and examine later.
My first impressions of him? I'm not sure. I think he's shady, and I have no idea what the hell Elizabeth is doing with him, or how they ever became friends in the first place.
She looks at me, meek and timid, not resembling the woman I know.
What the hell just happened?
She turned down everything I offered. The jet, I get. But first class—so we could at least enjoy the flight? She said no. And I respected it. But now we’re here, in this fairytale castle of a hotel, with a chauffeur, with everything paid for by this guy.
“Who is he?” I ask, again, wanting her to open up and fill in all the blanks her answers so far have left.
“He's a friend, I told you.” She puts her hand to her neck, her other arm wrapped around her.
Vague replies, as always.
“The man struts around like he’s your handler? Like he’s a pimp—” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My fury has fucked with my sense.
Too late.
“What are you implying?” she snaps.
“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. He’s …” I shake my head. I didn't mean that. I don't think that. I ... I just ...”
I just fucked up again.
Elizabeth’s eyes are so huge now, the whites are scaring me. “Are you serious? Did you just say what I—”
“Elizabeth,” I rush to her, “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it. Forget about it.”
But she steps away from me, revulsion swirling in her eyes. “I will not forget about it and let you get away with it. Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”
What a mess this is turning into. “I’m sorry.”
I lower my head to my chest and let out a shaky breath. I usually watch from the sidelines. I don’t get involved. I like to keep my distance and my head, I stay out of the drama, but how can I in this instance?
We were being intimate, and the guy she's given me fragments of information about, walks in, and her entire demeanor changes. He gives off classic pimp vibes. Why can’t she see that? She’s always been vague about what he does for a living, or how she knows him.
What did she expect me to think?
“I’m sorry. Please, Elizabeth, I didn’t mean to say that—” I can’t even bring myself to say it, because that’s not what I meant. Now I dread to think what the wedding’s going to be like.
“So ...” I scramble to make things right again. “That’s Vlad,” I say, forcing a light chuckle, even though it feels off in the spiky atmosphere.
“That’s Vlad,” she says, wearily, sitting on the sofa, pulling the lapels of her robe closer together, like she needs to shield herself from me. Like she wants to be anyplace else but here with me.
I walk towards her, but don’t sit down. I don’t want to encroach on her private space.
“It's just that ... you seem nervous around him,” I say, quietly.
“I’m not nervous. I feel awkward.”
“I’m sorry for what I said.” I sit down, leaving a large gap between us. “We were in the moment, and your ex turning up was the last thing I expected.”
“He’s not my ex!”
“Then why does he strut around like he owns you?”
“He owns me?” She stares at me, incredulous.
Wrong word. I can't shake the vibes he was giving.
“I’m sorry. I'm an asshole for thinking the worst.” I drag a hand through my hair, desperate to fix this.
“I feel hurt and angry because you change the subject whenever I ask about him. Like he’s a secret I have no right to know about.
But the more you avoid talking about him, the more questions I have. ”
I shake my head.
“And then we get here, and there’s a chauffeur waiting at the airport for you. And then this ridiculous suite. He walks in like he owns the damn place, Elizabeth. Everything about it feels like some grand gesture.”
Elizabeth watches me, her mouth set into a hard line, but saying nothing.
I realize my words came out harder than I intended.
“I was fine flying commercial. I was fine not taking the jet. I don’t like taking it, I just thought it might make things easier, give us more time together, that’s all.
But this …” I gesture around the room. “It made my blood boil. How can it not?”
She lets out a long exhale, pushes her bangs back from her forehead, a habit I’ve noticed whenever she’s frustrated or trying to find the right words.
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not. He’s like an older brother to me.”
The tension drains from my body so fast it’s almost embarrassing. “A brother?”
“Not a real brother ...” she says quickly. “But close enough.”
I missed that angle completely. The idea that he was only looking out for her.
“He shouldn’t have turned up like this,” she says, her voice quiet, like she's physically and emotionally exhausted.
“Why did he turn up at all, and our door so soon after we landed?”
“I gave him our flight details.”
Which would explain the guy who picked us up being there. “He obviously couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Or you,” she says, placing her hands on her knees. “I’m sure he’s also curious about you.”
“Why’s he curious about me, if you weren’t lovers?” I examine her face closely.
“He always looked out for me. Always.”
“Like a stalker.”
She rolls her eyes. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
I shrug. “He hasn’t given me a reason to like him.” As far as first impressions go, this guy couldn’t have made a worse impression if he tried. And his reputation preceded him, which didn't help. Call me biased.
“He’s not stalking me. It’s not like that. He’s getting married,” Elizabeth insists. I sense that she’s desperate for me to like him. For me and him to get along.
“That might be a ruse,” I counter, thinking the worst. My brain always seems to want to work out the worst-case scenario. “You’ve never met his fiancée. How do you know she's not a mail-order bride?”
“Matteo!” she cries, shaking her head. “Stop with the stereotypes.”
“This man gives me the shivers. And the idea that you see him as an older brother, and you have no idea what he does—”
“Oh, moral righteousness,” she shoots back. “You people are no better.”
This is new. “You people?” I echo. “Who? Me? My brothers? Knight Enterprises?”
“You think everything you do is clean-cut and above board.”
“We don’t—” I stop. “You know what I do. You know what the company does. I don’t keep it a secret, which is more than you can say for your friend Vlad.”
“He’s getting married. Please. I don’t want to have a scene. I already feel uneasy.”
I see it then. The tension in her shoulders. The way she’s holding herself. She’s not okay either. And suddenly, I relent and let go.
I can walk away from this.
But she can’t.
Not if this man means something to her.
And I don’t want to make this harder for her than it already is, because somewhere along the way, I’ve started to fall for this woman, and care about her deeply.
“I just wanted to have a few days away with you, Elizabeth,” I say quietly. “That’s all I wanted.”
I shift a little closer, while still leaving a gap between us. “He shouldn't have turned up like that, but it wasn't your fault that he did that. I'm sorry I took my anger out on you.”
I put out my hand. To my relief, she takes it and gives it a little squeeze.
“I’m sorry too,” she says softly. “It feels like we have a moment of happiness, and then something awful happens.”
I take her hand, lifting it to my lips, kissing the back of it. “I just want to enjoy the next few days with you. Can we do that, please?”
My heart feels lighter, like the deadweight resting on it has been lifted.
“We can, if you’ll be nice to Vlad.”
“I don’t have any beef against him. I just don’t trust him.”
“You don’t know him.”
“And that’s exactly why I don’t trust him.”
“Okay,” she says quietly.
“Should we put the bolt on when we go to bed at night?” I add. “In case he walks in and watches us?”
“Don’t say that.” She squeezes her eyes shut in revulsion. “I don't know why he did that. This isn't the Vlad I know.”
“This isn't the Vlad I know either,” I reply, grinning.
She looks at me, confused.
“I’ve just heard vague snippets about him from you,” I explain. “I didn’t know what to expect and now that I’ve met him I still don’t know. What does he do for a living to be able to afford this?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“And that’s why I’m not sure about him,” I cry. I still don't understand how she doesn't know. It feels off. “Is it inherited wealth? Is his father rich?”
She shakes her head, pushing her bangs back again. “No. Nothing like that.”
“You don’t know what it is, but it’s nothing like that, which tells me you must know something.”
The relief I was starting to feel starts to slip away and a weight settles back onto my chest. Something about this conversation feels wrong.
“I don’t know what he does now,” she says, quietly, turning away from me.
“What did he do before?”
Silence.
She's choosing not to tell me, despite me explaining that it was her vagueness regarding him that made me think the worst.
Fine. I’m not going to push for answers. If I didn’t get any before, I’m not about to get any useful insight into him now.
“He’s expecting us at the bar,” she says, rising slowly.
I look up at her. She looks beat.
“I don’t think he’s expecting me to come along with you,” I counter.
She looks so fragile that I can't help but wrap my arms around her.
“You go, and catch up. I just want you to be relaxed, and I promise I'll do my best to behave.”
She wraps her arms around me. “I don’t want to argue any more, Matteo. This has already been stressful enough as it is.”
There’s a plea in her voice, and I hear it loud and clear.
Elizabeth deserves a holiday. She deserves this break.
I remind myself she’s here for a friend’s wedding, and I can’t be an asshole about it.
Even if the friend she cherishes is the same asshole who just turned up uninvited, and probably knows exactly what we’d been up to.
I hate that. I hate that almost as much as I hate someone else paying for me when I can afford things myself. This guy is throwing money around like it’s nothing. Like he’s showing off. I don’t know if it’s for Elizabeth’s sake, if he’s trying to impress her, or if that’s just who he is.
Either way, I don’t like it.
“He said he’s waiting for us at the bar,” she says, watching me carefully, like she’s bracing herself for my reaction. “Will you come?”
I hesitate. Then I shake my head. “I think … I think maybe you and he should have a drink together. I think that would be best.”
She studies me for a second, but I see the disappointment on her face.
It kills me. “When was the last time you saw him?” I add, unable to stop myself.
“Or shouldn’t I ask? Is that top secret information?
” It falls out. Fuck. I hate that my jealousy is getting the better of me.
I know I’m being a dick. I can hear it even as the words leave my mouth.
“It was three years ago, I told you,” she says, quietly. “But you’re right. Maybe me and Vlad should catch up.”
I nod once. “I’ll just watch Netflix, I guess. And wait for you to come back.”
She turns and heads for the shower. I sink back onto the couch and switch on the huge wall-mounted television. Its screen takes up most of the wall opposite me. A Croatian news channel flashes onto the screen.
When she leaves, a short while later, the room feels too quiet. I flick the TV channels, trying to find something that might distract me from the thoughts circling my head.
“What the fuck was that?” I mutter to myself.