His fingers wrap around mine, taking the scissors from me. “What are you doing?”
I huff out a breath. “I need to get out of this dress, but the zipper broke, so I was getting some help.” I point at the scissors and shrug.
“Sounds familiar.” His teeth bite into his lower lip, dragging it into his mouth.
I don’t know if it’s a subconscious thing or what, but damn it, it’s hot. It’s also incredibly distracting.
His reply finally sinks in, and I cock my head to the side. “Familiar?”
“The night we met.”
“Aaaaah.” My wedding night. Precious. I usually try to block out that time in my life, but he’s right, it was when we first met. And I’m so glad we did, despite the crazy circumstances. “Well, I might have an undressing problem sometimes.”
“It seems like you do.” He does his lip thing again, but this time, the corners of his mouth twitch too. “Good thing I’m an expert at undressing.”
I groan but spread my arms out to my sides. “Well, have at it then. Do your worst.”
“Feisty.”
I shrug. “Sorry, I guess that happens when your dad is marrying you off . . . again, and it feels like there’s a heavy weight sitting on your chest.”
His gaze darkens, and any playfulness that was just there is gone now. “He’s not marrying you off again. I promised you that.”
“There isn’t really anything you can do about it.”
Before he can say anything, I lift both of my hands and point at my chest. “Can we get me out of this now, please? I feel like I can’t breathe properly.”
Without another word, he situates the open scissors at the top of the dress and cuts an almost straight line down the middle. The cool blade of the scissors glides down my body, easily sliding over my heated skin until he reaches the bottom. He cuts through the thick hem with one more snip, and the dress falls completely open.
My chest expands, and I take several deep breaths, the fuzziness in my brain immediately feeling better. Sadly, the anger and irritation brewing inside me are still there, steadily growing.
Matteo puts the scissors behind him on the counter and leans so close to me that I instinctively move back and bump against the kitchen island. “Passerotta, you can be sure of one thing. There are a lot of things I can do to keep you from marrying that bastardo.”
His breath is a whisper of air on my ear. “But I never said you’d like any of them.”
I’m still processing his words once he steps back and walks to one of the cabinets.
I snort. “There isn’t much besides keeping me here forever or marrying me yourself.”
The words came out of my mouth so fast, they didn’t have time to go through any filters.
I can’t believe I just said that. Even if it’s the truth, and I wasn’t this irritated and appalled by my father’s behavior, I’d normally never say anything like that. To anyone, especially him.
He places the glass he got from the cabinet on the kitchen island and grabs the scotch from the tray to pour himself a drink. By now, I know he adds a little water to the amber liquid, something about amplifying the flavors he once explained to me.
Watching him prepare it doesn’t have the same calming effect today as it usually does.
He picks up the glass when he’s done, but instead of putting it to his lips, he holds it out to me. “You might need it more than me.”
I eye the drink but shake my head. It’s not what I want or need right now, not that I know whatitis. I huff out a breath and pace around the open living space. The cut-open dress sways around me, and I probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’d feel more awkward in only my underwear. My whole body is so tense, it has my muscles quivering, and all I can think about is my father and the insanity of this whole situation.
The day he told me I’d be marrying Luigi, I wasn’t jumping for joy, but I was at least somewhat prepared for it. I’d accepted that fate long ago, and my mom had helped make it seem less like a bad situation by telling me things had worked out well for her with my father seeing as she got me. The best thing that had ever happened in her life. And I’d have that too one day, not just a husband, but a family. We’d sometimes go through my baby and childhood pictures and have a lot of fun together. My mom looked so happy in them, and the few that had my dad in them, he did as well.
Or that’s the memory I’ve hung on to for so long, the way I wanted to remember things. Whenever I really think about it now, I realize it was a long time ago, not to mention, I was young and impressionable. My mom was my whole world, the person I loved the most. I wanted to be her when I grew up. Then she died, and I clung to my admiration of her, to the things she promised me I’d one day have, just like her. Even if the circumstances weren’t the best because I’d have to marry someone I didn’t want to marry.
Had I been home this whole time with my father after the shooting, instead of spending the time with Matteo, I probably would have put on a fake smile and gone along with the marriage to Emilio, focusing on that special future, where I’ll have my own little person to make it all worthwhile, just like my mom had promised.
But I wasn’t with my dad. I wasn’t sheltered from a normal life or from other people. Ally was the only person I saw or talked to, every once in a while, who wasn’t brainwashed by my father and the business.