I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.
The veil got ripped off my eyes, and now I can never go back to how things were before I had a clear view of how it could be.
“Passerotta.” Matteo’s fingers move over my hands, holding them still. “Take a deep breath.”
I do as he says, the air quivering as it leaves my throat a moment later.
“Now open your hands.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles.
I frown at his request. “My hands?”
“Yes.”
When I open my hands, they sting. I hiss at the unfamiliar pain, surprised to see small crescent shapes all over my palms.
My gaze flies up to Matteo’s, my eyes wide as I stare at him.
His expression is soft. “You were storming around the room with your fists clenched by your sides for the last few minutes.”
I swallow, almost closing my hands again on instinct, needing an outlet for this blazing rage inside me.
The corner of his mouth tips up. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a sight to behold with your hair flaring behind you and your billowing dress adding to the effect. You looked regal, like a queen.”
I gasp at his words, remembering exactly what he told me before.
“I want to be there when the sheltered princess explodes into the fiery queen she’s meant to be.”
Is this what he was talking about? This seething fire inside me that’s trying to take control of me? It certainly feels like a living, breathing thing, reddening my vision to the point where I can’t see clearly, and consuming my mind in a way that makes me question everything.
“But you can’t hurt yourself, I won’t let you.” He lifts one of my hands to his mouth and gently presses his lips to my palm, before wrapping it in his and pulling me.
I stumble after him, not really paying any attention to where we’re going until we stop in the doorway of a room, and he turns on the light.
The gym.
He hauls me over to the bench and gently pushes me onto the seat. Then he’s gone. A second later, warm hands tug on the straps of my dress. It slides off with ease, and Matteo slides a T-shirt over my head. It’s one of his faded black ones that’s cut off at the shoulders. I don’t even need to stand to know it’ll almost reach my knees, while also exposing the side of my torso.
Next, he grabs one hand at a time, inspecting each before picking up a roll that reminds me of gauze and wraps my hand. He covers my palm, my wrist and my thumb, then the spaces between my fingers. The wrap feels taut as he secures it, but not too tight. Then he repeats the same process for the other one.
When he’s satisfied with his work, he steps around me, gathering all of my hair and tying it with a hair band. Even though it’s such a mundane task, it’s oddly intimate, and my heart doesn’t know what to do with itself, first skipping a beat before picking up its pace.
Next are his clothes. It’s the first time I notice he’s still in his suit. The jacket is gone, but the dress shirt and slacks aren’t. As if he doesn’t have a care in the world, he slowly unbuttons his shirt before slipping it off his broad shoulders. The pants are next, sliding down his muscular thighs. He picks them up and puts them on the bench beside me alongside his shirt.
The bulge in his boxers is impossible to miss, but he doesn’t say anything about it. My mouth waters, and I’m not sure if that’s something I should feel embarrassed about or not.
The little voice in the back of my head shames me, telling me how wrong all of this is, and how disappointed my dad would be if he knew what I’d been up to with Matteo. And the fact that I’m not his precious virgin daughter anymore. I inhale deeply and growl at the voice, listening with satisfaction as it disappears.
Matteo raises a brow at me as he reaches up to get something from a shelf. “Did you just growl at me?”
Damn it, did I seriously just do that out loud? Heat spreads up my neck and into my cheeks.
I shake my head at him. “Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to be out loud.”
He nods like that makes total sense, going back to what he was doing before, but I’m pretty sure I saw his mouth twitch.
I’m a nutcase.
“Come here, passerotta.”