The problem being Matteo is the son of Sabato Effisto and the half-brother to my first love, to my tormentor.
Dropping the towel on the floor, I grab a silky ivory color thong and the matching bra that Mom had laid out for me and put them on. Then I grab the white, cotton button-up and throw it on.
Closing my eyes, I flip the phone over and see exactly what I knew would be there—nothing, not one message or missed call from Matteo.
At this moment, I am grateful for the drugs. The static is blurred, and my emotions are at bay. I will not freak. I will not freak.
“Note by note,” I whisper as I pull on the navy and white striped linen shorts.
~~~
Back in my room, happy to have put my stage face on for everyone enough to do some snooping around, my stomach turns as I grab my phone and see that Matteo still hasn’t replied to my message.
I love you, no matter what.
I slide under the bed, phone in hand, and tears fill my eyes as I open the app and type out a detailed message, and they pour down my cheeks as I hit … send.
I roll to my back and pray to a God who I once abandoned because I thought He abandoned me.
Please, God, please let him be okay, and please let them both forgive me, not for me, but for them. And please, let me sleep the hurt away and wake seeing I’ve done the right thing.
Sleep doesn’t come, but two hands reach under the bed and drag me out from under it.
I try to kick them away, grumbling, “Would you two fuck off?”
“I grabbed her first, I win.” Max chuckles.
“Like hell you did.” Amias jacks my leg.
“I’m not a fucking wishbone,” I snarl.
“Good plan, Tris.” Max laughs and looks at Amias. “Biggest side wins!”
“I will cut both of your nuts off in your sleep and feed them to each other.” I kick them away.
“Aren’t brides supposed to be all sweet with hearts in their eyes?” Max grabs my hand and jacks me up.
“I don’t know. Let me know when you become one.”
Amias gabs me and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Put me down, asshole!”
“I was told by the women to get you down there by any means possible.”
Trying to wiggle away, I tell him, “I’ll give you a thousand bucks to say you couldn’t find me.”
“Times are tough, rock star. Minor leagues pay shit,” He laughs when I grab the door to stop him from taking me out of the room. “Momma Joe is paying me two Gs.”
“Max! Three grand if you—”
“I’m on the parent plan still. I don’t need your three Gs when I have a perfectly fine black card. Oh, you love me and you know it.” He hustles past us and yells down the stairs, “Found her and gave her to Amias. He missed his workout this morning and was looking a little less defined.”
Momma Joe laughs. “You can spilt the bounty then.”
~~~
Another pill cheeked, the first in a very long time, and I am sitting in the bridal suite, allowing this farse to continue, because everyone around me looks happier than they have in a long time. Why pull the rug out from under their feet now? Maybe this extra padding of bullshit will soften their fall.
He’s not even here, and they don’t see the reality in his absence. It’s a good thing that they don’t know him that well yet, because if they did, nothing would ease that pain. And I have planted myself in it for the rest of my life. Or, at least his … Matteo’s.
Brisa is in her glory, as she should be. It’s her vibe that I try to make mine. Everything’s shiny and beautiful. I should probably shove her in this dress, this dress that matches the ring—vintage and completely exquisite. When I tried it on the first time, I felt more beautiful than I have ever felt in my life. That feeling … God, how I wish I could bottle it up and mix it with the way he smells. Melatonin magic. I wouldn’t share it with anyone, because I’m a selfish bitch. So selfish that I have condemned my heart to hell in hopes I can get a glimpse of heaven.
I stand up and look in the mirror, picturing Brisa’s head in place of mine. I should go pull Ranger out from under the rock he hides under when she’s around, and then the money for this wedding wouldn’t be a waste.
“Don’t you dare go in there. She’s in her dress!” Aunt Carly yells from just outside the door.
I look down at the floor, afraid he’ll see me and know that everything is a lie, but I know I can make him believe it.
I hear a sigh before the words, “Estás muy guapa.”
I look up and see Matteo then quickly cover my face and whisper, “I’m so sorry.”
“Mi corazó, no. I’m sorry.” He walks around in front of me and pulls my hands from my face before wrapping his arms around me and hugging me. “It will all be fine.”
“I know. I do.” I sniff as I step back. “You just have to give me some time before hugging will be okay.”
“Excuse?” he asks, looking at me in confusion.
I wrap my arms around myself and step back. The back of my knees hit the chair, and I sit.
“They’ll love you so much, and you’ll forgive me one day.” I pull my feet up on the chair and hug my knees. “I don’t mean to be selfish, but I can’t just walk away. Marcello will take me back. And I will convince him that fate drove the crazy train, that all the pain we’ve put each other through and endured separately was so he could meet his brother. I will take comfort in that, and maybe you’ll forgive me for being selfish, and we can be friend.”
“Tris, what are you saying?”
“You said it so many times, Matteo—be my friend. I want that and—”
“I don’t want to be your friend.”
Tears burst from my eyes, and I sniff. “Okay. But—”
“And what of Marcello Effisto on the day we’re to marry?”
“He’s your family and—”
“And you’re to be my wife!” His voice nearly shakes the room.
“But, I … I … I—”
“What reason have I given you to believe—” He snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head in anger. “What have you done?”
“I’ve made sure I can always be a part of your life, whether you want me to or not!” I scream.
When his face falls, he scrubs a hand over it.
“I don’t care if that makes me seem even more crazy! I don’t give a damn!”
Two steps, and he has my hands in his. Another, and my back hits the wall, and he raises my hands over my head and pins them. “You love me!”
“I kno—”
My words cease when he crashes his lips against mine, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth with an indescribable urgency,
I pull my hands from his and grab his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Teeth, lips, tongues, a mess of a storm. It’s love and loss, need and want, life and death.
He drops his hands down my body, barely toughing me, yet my skin feels bruised and battered. He wraps his arms around me, crushing me against him, and—
“If you fuck up that dress, I will kill both of you with my bare hands!” Brisa yells.
His lips leave mine, and he turns toward her. “Go, Bri—”