Chapter 26 #2
“Yes, we were. As a matter of fact, we—”
Yiayiá cuts Christopher off and looks directly at me. “Marriage is not something one rushes. Especially when families are involved. What you’ve done,” she continues, voice firm and unforgiving, “is very selfish.”
“I know—” I start.
My mamá speaks up. “I’ve waited my entire adult life to see you get married. I only have one child. One daughter.” She shakes her head, disappointment etched deep. “It was bad enough what you did with Richard. And now you pull a stunt like this.”
My chest clamps tight around my heart. I can’t tell if it’s guilt, nerves, or anger, but it feels like all the air is being sucked out from behind my sternum.
“Mamá,” I say, forcing calm I don’t feel. “There will still be a wedding. You can help plan the whole thing.”
She mutters something sharp in Greek and takes a long sip of her wine.
And it’s so fucking childish.
Yiayiá’s gaze shifts to Matt, lethal and purposeful, like a blade finding its target. She speaks slowly, carefully enunciating each word, her tone laced with malice. “When the devil tempts you, you don’t give in.”
How dare she blame Matt?
Words are falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. Before I can even think about the consequences. “Yiayiá, don’t be ridiculous. You know I’m not a virgin. Matt and I slept together in high school. I lived with Richard. I’m not—God.”
My voice falters. I stop myself.
Holy shit.
Yiayiá’s face has gone pale.
“Jordan Maria Demetriou,” she says sharply. “You shame yourself speaking like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”
Yiayiá opens her mouth, but Matt is already standing.
“We’re done here,” he says calmly. Firm. Controlled. Authority without a raised voice. Power you don’t have to explain. “Say what you want about me. But you don’t get to speak to my wife like that.”
He holds out his hand. My trembling fingers take it, letting him pull me to my feet, grounding me at his side.
“Ever,” he adds, before turning and walking us both out of the room with unshakeable confidence.
I follow, heart pounding, afraid to slow down or look back. I can’t believe I just disrespected my yiayiá. Said the unthinkable out loud.
Someone calls after us, but there’s a disconnect between my body and mind. I can’t place who it is.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.
Matt grabs our jackets from the foyer, not bothering to help me into mine or put his on. He swings the door open and slams it shut behind us.
The elevator ride up to Matt’s is silent.
So was the car ride.
My mind raced, and Matt let me stay in my thoughts. He kept his hand on my knee and his gaze on my face the whole ride home, while I stared out the window, thinking about my looming future. About what happens when my family decides to disown me.
I’m not mad.
I’m overwhelmed. Conflicted.
Part of me wants to believe that if this were real—if Matt were truly mine—that as long as I had him, I wouldn’t need them. That I’d be just fine without them.
But this isn’t real.
I do need them. They’re my family. I love them, despite it all.
But God, what Matt did back there…
The way he stood up for me.
The way he commanded the room by just being him.
It was sexy as hell.
I can feel him watching me, so I dare a quick glance. His jaw is set tight, arms crossed, but aside from that, he seems calm.
He’s just quietly assessing me.
I step out of the elevator the second the doors open, desperate for the privacy of my room so I can safely fall apart. Let it all out.
I walk through the kitchen and head straight for my room.
“You’re not going to say anything?” Matt asks, finally breaking the silence.
I stop, my shoulders drooping as I turn slowly. “There’s nothing to say, Matt. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” My voice wobbles. “And that my family is… difficult.”
He scoffs. “Difficult? They weren’t difficult. They were cruel. Your grandmother crossed a line.”
I go into defense mode instantly. “I know my yiayiá can be harsh, but—”
“Harsh?” he cuts me off. He’s not yelling, but his voice rises, just enough to get my attention. “Jordan, your yiayiá was a real bitch tonight.”
My jaw drops, tears springing to my eyes. I fold my arms across my chest, instinctively bracing for a fight.
He exhales hard and lifts a hand, already backing off. “I’m sorry.” He takes another breath, slower. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He steps closer. “But I don’t care if she’s eighty or a hundred. She doesn’t get to treat you like that.”
His hand scoops behind my neck, thumb grazing my pulse point. “Not in front of me,” he says quietly. “No one does.”
I don’t dare look at him. Because I know exactly what I’ll find there.
Matt.
The Matt who saved me when everything went to hell.
The Matt who promised he’d always be here.
The Matt I fell in love with almost two decades ago.
The Matt I’m so desperately trying not to sleep with.
Possessive, burn-the-world-down-for-me Matt.
My Matt.
His other hand comes up, cupping my cheek. “Look at me,” he murmurs.
My chin tilts, and I grip his wrists, steadying myself against the current zipping between us. All the history. All the pain. All the love I know he feels but won’t ever say.
Yep.
There he is.
“You don’t have to fight my battles,” I say quietly.
“I know.” His expression stays soft and caring. “But someone has to.”
He gets even closer somehow, our foreheads almost touching, breath intertwined. His gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips, then back again. Almost like he’s asking permission.
It’s too much. Too many unnamed emotions. Too much gratitude. Too much him.
Anticipation swirls low in my stomach, begging me to give in. And I want to. God, I want to.
Letting him kiss me and take me to his room would be so much easier than pushing him away.
His lips press to my forehead, and I close my eyes.
His breath skims across my temples, warm and electric.
“Matt,” I whisper.
He stills, then straightens slightly. “Come here,” he says, voice gravelly, pulling me in.
I slide my arms around his back, pressing my ear to his chest.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shake my head against him, my eyes brimming with tears. “Not really,” I choke out.
His palm rubs slow circles into my back, and he kisses the top of my head. “I’m here for you, babe. Always.”
I tighten my grip.
Why?
Why is he still here? Why does he keep showing up and letting me back in after all these years? After all the breakups. After all the times I said I only wanted to be friends with benefits.
When I act like it doesn’t bother me that he’s slept with every other woman in New York. When I tell him I want him to see other people.
When in reality, that’s not what I want at all.
Not even a little.
God, I don’t deserve him. The comment section was right.
He could do so much better.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I know.”