Lindsay
Three days fly by quickly when I’m mostly doing nothing.
Other than hanging out with a five-year-old, my days consist of lying about and eating some really deliciously cooked meals. I would say I’m in heaven. Except the devil’s gatekeeper drove me here himself.
Matteo and I haven’t spoken outside of brief glances. I itch with the knowledge of everything that’s happened between us. An apology dances on my tongue every minute he’s in my line of sight.
But I don’t approach. I tell myself it’s better this way and try to believe it.
The only real productive thing I’ve done is go visit my father with four bodyguards in tow. Crater and Boulder, and then two other tall, domineering men following me around. And as infuriating as it was, I managed to not go knocking on Matteo’s door to argue about it.
It was a real exercise in self-control, and I was pretty proud of it.
Unfortunately, what’s worse than not knocking on his door looking for a fight is not talking to him at all.
I head down to the kitchen later that morning, in search of some breakfast. I decided to sleep in today. While this may not count as a vacation resort in an exotic country. It’s my first time away from work in a while and I’m looking to make it count.
I walk down the hall and through the space leading to the kitchen. And then my feet fall to a stop.
Matteo’s standing at the counter. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is slightly disheveled in a messy just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
My throat grows dry at the sight of him.
He’s usually not home this time of the day. It’s why it’s been so easy to avoid him. He leaves early and comes back just before Leo’s bedtime.
Perched on a stool, entirely too focused on his father, is Leo. It takes me a second to process the scene. Matteo’s gaze lands on me and the air in the room shifts.
“Hey, Lin. Good morning,” Leo greets when he notices me.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “What’s going on?”
“Dad’s staying home to hang out with me today. We’re going to make brownies.”
My eyebrow arches. I glance at the bowl in front of Matteo, then at the man himself before looking at Leo.
“Who’s making brownies?”
“Dad is,” he replies seriously.
“That’s… unexpected,” I murmur. “Your dad can bake?”
It’s so strangely domesticated and so unlike him. I’m completely thrown off by it.
Leo nods enthusiastically. “And he can cook, too. He makes the best lasagna ever,” he informs me. “What about you, Lin? Can you cook?”
“No. We can’t all be good at everything like your dad,” I mutter. “He might as well be a superhero.”
Over at the counter, I notice Matteo’s lips twitch.
“He could be Spiderman!” Leo says excitedly.
“Alright, buddy. Less talking, more baking. How about you go get me some stirring spoons and then we’ll start?” Matteo suggests.
“Lindsay can help too,” Leo states.
Dread crawls up my spine. Helping them bake means spending time with Matteo. He definitely doesn’t want that. It’ll be awkward, and I hate awkwardness.
“Actually, Leo, I was going to head back to my room,” I tell him.
“But you just came from your room,” the little boy says, confused. “You should hang out with me and Dad.”
That sounds like a bad idea. But he looks so earnest and it’s really hard to say no to him.
“Okay, fine. I’ll help,” I concede, glancing at Matteo.
There’s not really much of an expression on his face. He’s watching us calmly, arms crossed over his chest.
Leo grins. “Yes! You can help Daddy fetch the ingredients from in there,” he says, pointing at the door leading into the pantry.
I nod, offering him a shaky smile. I make my way through the door and into the expansive room that houses some of the dry ingredients. I grab some flour, sugar. I’m not exactly sure what will be necessary, but I pick the basics.
There’s a jar labeled “cocoa powder” on one of the shelves but it’s too high for me to reach.
I try anyway, rising on my toes when I feel a presence behind me.
I suck in a sharp breath as Matteo cages me in.
Every inch of me burns and I try to slow my breathing, focused on not inhaling his intoxicating scent.
He grabs the cocoa powder and takes a step back, allowing me to turn around and face him.
When he speaks, his voice washes over me and I’m surprised by how much I missed it.
“You’re going to great lengths to avoid me in my own home, Lindsay. I’m impressed.”
“I’m just trying to give you space,” I say on a shrug.
“Sure,” he says shortly.
He grabs the ingredients in my hand and heads back to the kitchen. I follow, stopping at the counter a few feet away from him and making sure there’s just enough distance between us.
“What do I do?” I question.
Leo points at the ingredients his father is pouring into the bowl. “You can mix,” he suggests once Matteo cracks two eggs in.
Alright then. I reach for the spoon and Matteo slides the bowl over to me. I can feel his eyes on me but I keep my gaze across the counter at Leo as I stir.
It turns out to not be as awkward as I expected. Leo talks our ears off as we work. Once I’m done mixing, Matteo collects the bowl from me and I feel a spark of electricity when my fingers graze his.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
Soon enough, we’re done preparing the batter, and Leo does the honor of sliding the pan into the oven. I’m about to whirl around and escape but Matteo’s voice stops me.
“Where are you going, Lindsay? You haven’t had breakfast yet.”
I blink slowly as he gestures for me to take a seat beside Leo on the stool.
“Sit down. I’ll make you some eggs and toast.”
Damn it. Does he have to be so kind and good to me?
Every second spent in his presence has my resolve crumbling. But it’s pretty clear I can’t go anywhere. I’m stuck in the kitchen, conversing with a five-year-old and his father, who offers short, clipped contributions every now and then.
I’m surprised at how easy it to be there with them. My entire body feels lighter by the time we’re done in the kitchen. Matteo even offers me a small smile when I gave him a thumbs up after getting a taste of the brownies. They’re incredible.
The boys announce they’re heading to the pool for a swim, so I take that as my cue to head back to my room. On the way there, my phone buzzes with a text.
8:30 p.m. There’s a dive bar tucked into the corner on Grove Street. You can’t miss it. Make sure to come alone. I’ll be seated right in front of the bartender waiting for you.
My heart skips a beat as I read the words on my screen. It’s from Chase. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him since my father was shot three days ago. Matteo hasn’t said a word to me about finding who was responsible, and I need to know. I need to do something about it.
I read and reread the text over the next couple of minutes, trying to come up with a plan. Although to be fair, I have been thinking of the best method to slip away from the house unnoticed since the day I arrived.
I’ve already memorized the security patterns. There are a couple cameras scattered across the house, but there’s also blind spots I can use to my advantage. The guards have a schedule they stick to rigidly.
The best exit point is by the pool. It connects to an outer gate and I don’t think there are many cameras there. I just need to find a moment when the security guard isn’t there. My only problem is a mode of transportation.
My cars are still back at the hotel. I bite down on my bottom lip, considering my options. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a car I can drive.
I think about how Matteo will react when he inevitably finds out I’m missing. This morning felt like we were starting to heal the rift between us. And I was happy.
A part of me doesn’t want to betray him like this. But I’ll come back. I actually like it here. I just need a couple hours of respite.
Thankfully, luck decides to smile on me. My plan goes off without a hitch. When I slip through the poolside entrance, I catch sight of a guard on patrol inside a sedan. He’s asleep as I creep toward the side of the car. The door unlocks without any effort and he jolts awake as soon as it does.
He’s too slow, though. I summon every burst of strength I have into my palm. One carefully aimed jab to his throat and he passes out.
I mutter a quick thank you to my father for insisting on the Krav Maga training.
Dragging the guard out is easy enough. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I set him down on the ground.
I slide into the sedan and turn the key, and then I’m home free.
That was surprisingly easy.
I keep looking backwards as I drive, half expecting there to be several cars following me, ready to drag me back to the mansion. But no one comes.
I make it to the bar in one piece, and after taking a second or two to steel myself, I step out and head inside.
The light in the bar is a little dim and I wrinkle my nose at the pungent smell of alcohol in the air. There aren’t a lot of patrons in here. No one bats an eye as I make my way toward the bar. Sure enough, there’s a back turned to me, waiting.
Alarm bells blare in my head but I ignore them, not giving it much though.
I slide into the chair beside his before turning to face Chase. I choke when I do so, however.
Fuck my life. He is not supposed to be here.
My gaze clashes with dark eyes I’m starting to get intimately familiar with, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
Matteo Vitale sits there, completely at ease and nowhere near surprised to see me.
“Shit,” I breathe.
He arches an eyebrow. “Fancy seeing you here, princess.”
“W-what are you doing here?” I question, my voice shaky. “How did you know?”
He doesn’t immediately reply. Displeasure is written into every inch of his face.
“I hacked into your phone,” he replies dryly and I feel a flush of indignation, “Plus, that car you stole has GPS tracking. Nice job sneaking out, though. I’m impressed.”
I feel like a kid that was caught stealing a cookie from a jar. It’s embarrassing.
“Where’s Chase?” I question, suddenly worried for him.