I shrug my left shoulder. “Reasons.”
He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer, but I don’t care. I’m actually not sure if I have an answer, at least a good one. Or one that would make sense to anyone else.
My brain has been spinning more than usual since my wedding, suddenly wondering how different my life could have been if I hadn’t fallen into my submissive role so easily. Maybe I could have had a more regular life by now, had my own apartment and gone to college, had actual friends and maybe even a boyfriend?
But after my mom died, I almost welcomed handing over that control. The grief was so intense, it felt like I couldn’t take on another thing, even if it was making decisions for myself. Eventually, I got used to it, and my father took advantage of that.
Matteo gets the chair from the other side of the table and sits. “I hope you like Mexican food.”
I glance at the tray and what looks like a chicken fajita bowl with quinoa, and my mouth waters instantly. “Sure.”
I’m also incredibly grateful I don’t have to walk downstairs.
Matteo lifts the plate and picks up the spoon. It’s then I notice that the meat and vegetables are all cut in small pieces rather than strips.
“Come on, passerotta. Open that pretty mouth for me.”
Matteo calling me little sparrow again stuns me, and I open my mouth without thinking about his command and the fact that I don’t need him telling me what to do.
I chew and swallow. “I can probably feed myself.”
It hurts to raise my arm since everything tugs at my stomach wound, but I’m sure I’d manage somehow. Matteo feeding me is just so weird, and it also creates this strange flutter sensation in my stomach, which is probably even worse.
He sighs. “Or you could let me feed you so that you can get back on your feet as soon as you can.”
Damn him and his stupid logic.
So I open my mouth.
But only this once.
He doesn’t say a single word during the whole meal, but he’s watching me like a hawk. The glint in his eyes goes from annoyed, to neutral, to hot, and I don’t miss a second of it because I watch him right back, even though I know I shouldn’t. He’s not good for me in any way, but my body didn’t get the memo. It’s impossible to forget the way he made me feel alive, the way he turned my whole life upside down in a single moment. Whatever he unleashed inside me, it’s slowly growing, and it’s craving more. I’m completely screwed.
When the bowl is empty, and I’ve downed the water too, he places everything on the tray and picks up the napkin. But instead of using it, he only holds it and brings his thumb up to my mouth. The rough pad wipes over one corner of my mouth before he pushes it between my lips.
My breathing and heartbeat accelerate, but I’m frozen in place. I couldn’t move back, even if I wanted to. And I really should.
In a sick twist of fate, I should also be grateful I’m injured and unable to do anything naughty with him. All things considered, I have no claim on this man and should be running as far away from him as possible, I also still want him.
My conscience douses my thoughts like a bucket of cold water, reminding me that I don’t take what’s not mine, and I definitely don’t want to be the other woman either.
Now I just need to find my self-control since that bitch took off without asking me first.
I pull my head back, and he gets the hint, taking his hand away.
He places both hands on the armrests and taps away with his fingers. “How are you feeling?”
There’s tension in his voice, but I ignore it.
One of us needs to be the bad guy, and ironically enough, it seems like it’s me.
“Same, I guess. As long as I don’t move much, I’m okay.”
“What’s your pain level?”
“Bearable.”
“So you don’t want any pain meds?”