Gemma
Laughter bubbles out of my mouth, and I can’t stop it. In the last month, my life has turned into an absolute circus, and the man in front of me never ceases to surprise me. I’m not sure if he’s incredibly cocky or slightly delirious. Maybe both? If he expected that line would work on me, he’s sorely mistaken. After everything he just told me, having sex with him is the last thing on my mind. Okay, maybe not the last thing, but it’s definitely not at the top of the list.
Still slightly wheezing, I take my chances and fumble my way around in the dark. I bump into furniture a few times but make it to the dresser at last. I grab the first thing I can find in the top drawer and put it on. Anything’s better than nothing. Then I shuffle around until I’m on the other side of the bed.Myside of the bed.
Unless he’s as quiet as a ninja, Matteo hasn’t moved much or left the bed since his ridiculous statement.
When I’m under the cover, he says, “I take it that’s a no?”
I only huff, pretty sure that’s answer enough.
He clears his throat. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
The sigh that leaves my lungs is long and frustrated. Because what other reaction is there really? This whole clusterfuck deserves a sigh and so much more. “What exactly are younotapologizing for, Matteo? That you took something from me on my wedding day that wasn’t yours to take? Or that you stole something from me at the bar three weeks later that wasn’t yours to take either? Right before your engagement to my cousin was announced, no less, which turns out to be a sham. Then I got shot, which I suppose actually wasn’t your fault—on second thought, maybe it was—and last but not least, you carried me off to your home, had me stitched up, and kidnapped me.”
My mouth feels dry, and I’m out of breath. Apparently, being irritated takes up a lot of energy and lung space.
“I didn’t kidnap you.” His voice is closer than before.
I turn toward him, and the little bit of moonlight shining through the windows allows me to at least see his faint outline.
“Debatable.”
“You can go home if you want to.”
“Mmmm.”
“Do you want to go home?”
Shit. That was the wrong question for him to ask. But I don’t really want to get intothatwith him right now. “Why wouldn’t I want to go home?”
He scoffs. “Maybe because they treat you like a piece of meat and you hate it there?”
The heat behind my eyes from earlier comes back with a vengeance, and I rub at them furiously. I hate that he’s right, that he already knows me so well.
When I put my hands back down on the comforter, Matteo’s hand is there to grasp mine, his tone softer than before. “You’re too good for them.”
Damn him, he makes it hard to keep the tears at bay.
We’re silent for a while, and he continues to hold my hand.
“I don’t have a choice.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. They aren’t very strong though, they’re barely a whisper, but they’re the most honest ones I’ve ever spoken. I feel them to the depths of my soul, and I’m afraid they have the power to break me from within.
“You always have a choice. It just might not be an easy one.”
Maybe he’s right about that. It sure doesn’t always feel like it.
“I don’t think my family would let me go, even if I wanted to. Not to mention, I have nothing in my name, no possessions or money, or a place to stay. Plus, my dad’s too obsessed with marrying me off for his own gain. He hasn’t been happy since what happened to Luigi.”
Matteo doesn’t say anything, but his grip tightens on my hand.
“Matteo?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you kill Luigi?”
“No.”