16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Mariella
M ateo’s face is so close.
His warmth wraps around me like a magical blanket.
My gaze lifts slowly to his, drawn to him like the tide to the moon.
His deep brown eyes burn into mine, holding me captive. I never want them to let me go.
The noises of the world fade into a distant hum. As I gaze into his eyes, I sense a strange connection, like two souls reaching for one another across an infinite expanse.
I swear I can feel him. His presence brushes against mine, his heartbeat syncing with my own.
A lightness spreads through me, unexpected but welcome, lifting the weight of the last half hour.
Then the memory of my father crashes into me like a cold wave.
My chest tightens.
I blink once. Twice.
My eyes drop. The fragile magic slips through my fingers.
Did I just imagine all of this? Or was it my mind grasping for something, anything, to block out the pain?
Mateo swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he slowly pulls back and clears his throat.
“We need to ice your cheek. And check out your arm. Let’s go back.”
I sense him standing. On autopilot, I rise too, though every part of me wants to go and hide from the world, and especially from him.
I hate that he saw how my father treated me, that he witnessed the slap, the harsh words, and the way I crumbled afterward.
But if I’m honest with myself, it’s not the real reason I can’t bear to look him in the eye again.
No, it’s the way he was comforting me, as if he actually cared. And that right there is a dangerous thought.
At least I’m smart enough to recognize it, to not let my heart run wild with that silly notion.
Still, my body betrays me, my pulse quickening at the memory of his arms around me, of his face so close to mine.
Mateo did care.
But only because I’m under his protection. He made that crystal clear to my father.
Yet even knowing that doesn’t change the fact that his touch, his presence, meant everything to me.
The way he held me, so close and protective. For a moment, it let me forget.
Being in Mateo’s arms felt like safety, like I could fall apart completely and still be okay.
Stop, Mariella.
Because I won’t be okay if I let myself fall any further under Mateo’s spell.
“Can you walk?” Mateo asks, stepping closer to me.
His warmth immediately uplifts me, and all I want is to lean in and soak it up.
And his scent? It wraps around me, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
Then, ever so gently, he brushes my hair behind my ear. My breath catches. This small gesture feels like the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. Well, except for when I just stared into his eyes.
For a heartbeat, I let myself sink into the moment. But then the pain in my cheek registers. Even the lightest of touches is like glass scraping against raw flesh, and I flinch before I can stop myself.
I steal a glance at his face.
His eyes are locked on my cheek. His jaw clenches, tension rippling through him like a brewing storm.
“We need to get you inside,” he says, his voice low and tight. “Ice for the swelling, arnica for the bruising.”
His voice is rough, with an edge I’ve not heard before. It’s a tinge scary, but I’m not afraid. I know it’s not aimed at me.
If anything, it’s kind of thrilling how upset he is on my behalf.
Is that what’s making my knees go weak again, or have they been weak all along, and I’ve just been too distracted to notice? A bit like my cheek not hurting until Mateo drew my attention to it.
Mateo is right there to wind his arm around my waist to hold me up. God, I hope he thinks it’s from the shock of my father hitting me.
Sparks tingle where his skin touches mine.
Does he feel it too?
No, he’s Mateo Federico De Marco. A man like him doesn’t feel tingles. I’m probably just in shock.
Mateo guides me back to the house, never letting go of his hold around my waist.
“I’m fine now,” I say when we reach the courtyard. There are guards patrolling the area, throwing us curious glances.
Not wanting to become the center of more gossip, I straighten and take a small step away from him. Mateo’s arm slips from me, but the comfort of his touch lingers.
As we walk toward the kitchen door, his hand finds the small of my back to guide me. I’ll be fantasizing about it tonight.
Though, in my dreams his hands stay on me, because he can’t bear not to touch me.
Dangerous territory, Mari , I remind myself. Drop it.
As we step through the door, Giulia’s happy humming stops. She takes one look at me and puts down the spoon she was using to stir the delicious-smelling sauce.
“What happened?” she asks as she rushes over.
Neither of us answers.
What am I supposed to say? That my father showed up, furious enough to beat me up?
What happened in the garden comes rushing back. My father won’t let this go, will he?
He’s not the forgiving type. There will be consequences.
He’ll probably find someone even worse than Renaldo Conti for me to marry.
Mateo pulls out a chair for me and turns to his housekeeper.
“Find the arnica tablets and get an icepack,” he instructs as he crouches in front of me.
“Of course, Signor De Marco,” Giulia replies, her eyes filled with concern as she takes in my state.
She’s back with us in less than a minute, wrapping the icepack in a towel before passing it to me. I gently press it against my cheek as Mateo uncaps the bottle Giulia gave him and shakes out three tiny pills.
“Here, let them dissolve under your tongue. Take them three times a day for a few days. It should help you heal faster.”
I do as directed, avoiding Mateo’s eyes. They’re on me, I can tell, but I’m still too embarrassed to look at him.
The cold on my bruised skin is sharp, stinging through the dull ache beneath the surface. It seeps in slowly, then begins to numb the pain.
“Has your father hit you before?” Mateo asks, his voice deceptively soft, but the steel beneath it is impossible to miss.
“No.” I shake my head, the slight movement making the pain in my cheek flare up. A headache is starting to throb at the back of my skull, too.
“He gets angry easily, but he usually just yells and sends us to our rooms.” I swallow hard, remembering that one time when Father’s anger got out of hand. “But I know what he’s capable of. He once beat one of his men in front of us just for delivering a message Father didn’t like.”
“Regrettably, our world is violent, but it should not be directed at women or children.”
“Thank you for coming to my aid,” I whisper, focusing on his muscular thighs as he kneels in front of me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time. This should have never happened under my watch.”
His fingers glide up my arms and squeeze my shoulders ever so lightly.
“Forgive me, please?”
There’s no skin to skin contact this time, but still, heat instantly blooms where his hand touches.
“There is nothing to forgive, Signor De Marco,” I reply, my voice having gone embarrassingly breathy.
I peek a glance. His face looks conflicted, and now I’m the one who wants to make him feel better.
I drop my gaze, searching for something to say to take away his guilt, but I’ve got nothing. My mind draws a blank.
My hair falls around my face again, and Mateo’s fingers thread through it gently, moving it away.
“Please call me Mateo. Signor De Marco makes me sound like my grandfather.”
That pulls a smile from me. He sure didn’t feel that way when he demanded it from my father.
Before I can respond, Romeo Ferraro strides into the kitchen and stops beside us.
Mateo lets go of me and rises to his feet.
“Where is Antonio?” he asks briskly.
“He drove off in his new black Ferrari,” Romeo replies.
Another new car? Figures. Father loves collecting expensive toys.
“Will you be okay, Mariella?” Mateo asks gently.
I nod. “Of course, Sign—” At his raised eyebrow I stop.
Right, I can call him by his first name. But it seems strange in front of Romeo and Giulia. So I just say, “Of course,” again.
His eyes linger on my cheek for a few seconds, his jaw clenching and working from side to side.
“Giulia, please look after Mariella for me,” he instructs, the edgy tone still in his voice.
Then he turns and leaves the kitchen, saying to Romeo, “Fill me in. What was so important to tell me that Antonio ignored Tiero’s orders?”
I don’t hear Romeo’s reply. They’re gone.
I miss Mateo instantly. That might have been the closest I’ll ever get to him, and, right or wrong, I savored it, despite the circumstances.
It’s never going to happen again. Father has to calm down eventually, and I’m sure Mateo will keep him away from me while I’m here. I should be relieved. And I am.
So why does the ice pack on my cheek suddenly feel so much colder?
And why does the future still loom over me like a dark, menacing shadow?