“Families are tough. I know that better than most.” I pull my cell from my dress pocket. “But please don’t censor the conversation on my account. I’ve got messages and emails to return. Pretend I’m not here.”
He holds my gaze, admiring me in silence for long moments before he says, “Non lasciarla andare. È una da tenere stretta.”
“Lo so.” Matthew shifts his chair closer to mine, sliding his arm over the back of my seat, the heat from his suit jacket sinking into my shoulders, the strength of his body settling in against me.
I glance at him, hoping for a translation. Our eyes lock, and without words, I understand the silent message he conveys.
Lorenzo approves.
I’m considered worthy.
The realization is enough to make my stupid throat dry.
He leans in, placing a kiss to my temple, a whisper to my ear. “You’re amazing.”
I flush, so much more than cheeks and chest. I feel the heat everywhere. Arms. Legs. Stomach. No place more potent than my heart.
“Enough of the PDA bullshit,” Bishop mutters. “I’m not here to watch soft porn.”
“If whispering in my ear is considered soft porn, I truly feel sorry for your lovers.” I give him a smug smile.
“Who says I’m talking about a whisper?” He gives me the same look in return. “Maybe I meant the helicopter flight.”
I stiffen, my temper flaring.
“Watch it,” Matthew threatens him while he squeezes my shoulder.
“It’s jealousy, bella.” Lorenzo claps my nemesis on the chest, a gesture that’s harshly shoved away. “I doubt poor Bishop has experienced love.”
Love?
I ignore the implication. “Nonetheless, I think I’m becoming a distraction. I should go for a walk on the beach—”
“No, stay.” Matthew’s hand remains firm on my shoulder. “Eat. Enjoy your coffee. Our conversation won’t take long.”
Bishop keeps his feral stare on me as I concede with a nod, clinging to the cell in my hand.
They continue talking without me, the Italian more heavily spoken than words of English. I sit there and stare at my locked screen as the sea breeze dances in my hair and Matthew’s accent plays havoc with my libido.
What if this is love?
We barely know each other… yet what I feel for Matthew holds a romanticism and tightly woven affection far more potent than anything I’ve experienced.
I yearn for him. All the time.
Even with him by my side, his arm around me, his voice in my ears, it’s not enough.
I want more.
Birds chirp, people ride past, waitresses clean tables, and all I can do is simmer in infatuation, my life shifting to revolve around the man beside me as if nothing else exists.
He’s becoming my world.
I swallow, attempting to alleviate my parched throat, and unlock my cell to swipe through numerous unread messages from my siblings. I make sure to keep the screen tilted from view as I scan Cole’s condemning texts, and those from Keira that are equally accusatory but cleverly intoned with concern.
Would either of them care that I’m at peace here?
Would they deny me this happiness?
I reach for my latte and take a sip, wishing I had someone to talk to, but my sister is the only confidant I’ve ever had.
I haven’t risked the luxury of friends since childhood. My family’s reputation has kiboshed the ability to trust anyone outside our inner circle.
There’s only Keira. A sibling who usually forgives but never forgets.
Matthew’s fingers brush reassuring strokes against my shoulder as I contemplate reaching out to her. I breathe deeper of his scent, sink further into the confidence in his tone. I become bolder in his embrace. Stronger.
My pulse pounds as I hover my fingers above a new text, Keira’s cell number the recipient.
If I tell her, there’s no going back.
I won’t be able to pretend this is a temporary fling. Our relationship will be real. Undeniable. I’ll have to commit to telling him who I am in the future and face the possibility of him walking away.
My heart plunges. My stomach, too.
I tilt my face to look at him, watching intently as he speaks flawless Italian, trying to hide my lust when he shoots me a knowing smirk before returning his attention to Lorenzo.
He leans in again, his heated breath tickling my neck as he murmurs, “Don’t look at me like that or I’ll be forced to fuck you on this table.”
I sit taller. Clear my throat. Pretend my sex isn’t already preparing for the actions of his threat, and start typing—Keira, I think I’m in love.
23
Layla
Her response comes thick and fast.
What?!
Where are you?
Who is he?
How long have you known him?
I could’ve maintained my elation if it weren’t for the last text.
Goddamnit, Layla, don’t do anything stupid.
Those six words hit hard, her judgment threatening to convince me I’m not worthy of happiness.
I fight against the potential downfall. Glare at the screen. Cling to the last vestiges of my pride until my self-respect slowly returns.
I’m tempted to reply. To tell her exactly how I feel about my despised position in the family with far more clarity than I did in our last conversation. I’m even inclined to answer the call she puts through seconds later just so she can hear the renewed confidence in my voice as I tell her about the possibility of me never returning to Portland.
But the allure isn’t worth instigating another fight. Or disrupting Matthew’s conversation.
I’m in love, not a masochist.
“You okay?” he whispers in my ear. “What happened?”
I lock my cell and shake my head. “Nothing.”
“It’s something.”
Lorenzo and Bishop continue their conversation as Matthew leans closer. “Is it your family again?”
I hate how he hits the bull’s-eye easily. I’m grateful for it, too.
My family has always been my destruction.
I never would’ve been painted a traitor if it weren’t for my despicable father using me in the first place. I wouldn’t have had the chance to drag my husband through the mud with me if we weren’t forced to marry. And I wouldn’t be here, ignoring the vibration of my sister’s continued calls, if my siblings didn’t make me feel like a leper.
But I guess that’s the silver lining.
Him.
Matthew.
They may be my ruin, but he’ll be my rise.
I won’t retreat from what we have because of Keira. I won’t continue to be conditioned to believe I’m unworthy of even a second of the heaven I feel when I’m with him.
“Talk to me, Layla. Tell me what’s going on.”
I turn into him, our lips a breath apart when I whisper, “You’re special to me.”
He inches back, his brows furrowing.
I’ve shocked him, and I guess it’s to be expected.
He’s spent all our shared time calling me amore mio, promising me his devotion, showing me his commitment. And this is the first I’ve given it in return.
“You’re going to do this to me now?” He places a hand on my upper thigh, his palm possessively sliding higher. “Here?”