“Did you just kill imaginary winged pissant Marcello?”
“If that’s what it takes, then—”
I sit up. “You and Dad need to stop with the murderous comments.”
She sits up, too. “You eavesdropped.”
“It was about me, so …” I shrug.
She sighs. “He loves you and—”
“He’s smothering me; you said it yourself.”
“Protective men do that. It’s incredibly sexy when—”
“Ew.”
Laughing, she interrupts me, “I was going to say, not your father. And come now; don’t tell me you don’t look at my boys or your cousins and feel all sorts of giddy at the way they love.”
“Again, ew.”
“Fine,” she concedes. “A movie, like The Notebook? Doesn’t that—”
“Yeah, I guess. But tell me honestly, when your father acted like that, you didn’t get annoyed?”
“My father wasn’t protective; he was possessive. He treated his children as belongings. Jonathan was the first man who ever truly wanted to see me by his side. He said so much. I knew its truth the moment I allowed him to sweep me off my feet.”
I flop back down. “Marcello was—”
“A tyrant since birth, and how I prayed he’d grow into being a protective man, yet he turned the opposite direction and became possessive, and that is never a good thing.”
“He told me he loved me and wants me to come back. He said so when he texted last night.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Angry. I asked Matteo, who looked like he was about to die to kiss me, and took a selfie and as you and Jersey know, I sent it to him out of anger and vengeance.”
“And after that?”
I flop back. “Guilty, because I used Matteo as a prop.”
“The kiss was bad, then?”
I look over at her. “No.”
She smiles as she leans down and pops a kiss to one cheek then the next. “And there you have it.” She slides out of bed. “I’m going to my room to order breakfast and take a shower. Any requests?”
“Carbs, lots and lots of carbs.”
“After that, let’s hit the hotel spa and lunch, and then book our flights home for a couple days. Then back to Italia.”
“Okay.”
Walking out of the bathroom after the longest shower ever, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt while I read Momma Joe’s text telling me she left to pick up breakfast and would return shortly … I stop quick when I see Matteo standing in the doorway.
Well, Matteo or whatever the hell his name is.
He pushes off the door frame and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair before shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, pulls out his phone, and sets it on the dresser beside the door. Then he speaks and the app translates.
“I want to thank you for last night. It was appreciated. But you shouldn’t have had to do any of that for me.”
I pull up my own app and speak. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“Ask me anything, Tris.”
The questions come out like rapid fire, and his responses—some translated, others not—come back the same way.
“Who are you?”
“Matteo Arias.”
“Who is Arthur Schindler?”
“My lawyer’s connection in London,” is translated
“Are you a drug addict?”
He smiles softly and shakes his head. “I couldn’t be if I wanted to. You saw what two drinks does to me.”
“Why all the pills then?”
“I have a condition that requires me to take them.”
“That’s vague.”
“Vague is necessary.”
“Explain.” I walk over and drop my phone on the bed, grab a pillow to hold, because the way he’s looking at me, the sadness in his eyes, makes me feel like I may need to hold on to something, and then sit against the headboard.
“I have to protect myself in order to protect those I care for.”
“So, you hide a condition, one that causes you to be in severe pain from the people you love, in order to protect them? That makes no sense.”
“The information I just gave you is more than anyone, but my lawyer, has. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but me.”
“Well, then,” I whisper as look down.
I am about to ask about the proposal when he says, “My turn.” In English.
I look up from the pillow that I’m purposely fixated on because, leave it to the crazy chick to be insanely attracted to the … whatever he is. “Excuse me?”
He steps forward and motions to the bed, asking for permission to sit.
At this point, I am relieved I made the bed before my shower, and I’m also confused as to why that even matters.
He grabs his phone then walks to the bed and sits. Now closer and me not fixating on anything but him, I can see he looks exhausted as he turns off the app.
“Your ex-boyfriend, Marcello Effisto, has been messaging me on all my social media.”
“Oh my God, block him.”
He furrows his brows. “He’s in love with you, yet he trashes you and your reputation to anyone who you’ve kissed at your shows. He says you do that to hurt him because you still love him, and you are his. Please be honest with me, as I am being with you. Do you love him?”
“No!” I gasp.
“Tris, loving someone and being in love are not the same.”
“I’m not,” I insist as I look down at the pillow that I’m not strangle-holding.
“Why do you end your concert with a kiss, then?”
I glare up at him.
He smiles softly. “If love is true, it doesn’t go away. It remains in your heart.” He runs his hand through his hair as if to pull the thoughts from it. “Love even transcends death, Tris.”
“I hate him.”
He nods and looks at me sadly then down at the bed.
“Don’t. Don’t pity me. I’m not pitying you.”
He chuckles and peers up at me through insanely thick lashes that are for real wasted on men. “Promise me you never will.”
Without thought, I shrug. “As long as you never look at me like that again, deal.”
He nods, his eyes smiling.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he asks, “Are you over him?”
We both smile, and both do so shyly.
He takes his phone and types in something, and the app speaks.
“I want to clarify pity versus concern. My concern is that allowing him to influence your actions gives him control, even though that is not your intention. I also believe that it’s driven by revenge for what he has done to you, which will not only stunt you from growing beyond him.”
“Um, Matteo, or Adam, or whoever you are, you have more explaining to do.”
He types in the app.
“I understand you have questions; please understand I am protecting people I care for by being vague.”
“Is someone trying to hurt these people? Is it the girls? Their dad, Hugo, seemed like a self-serving ass.”
He smiles at the last part.
“Oh my God, are they in danger?”