Chapter 15

We might have kissed in the pool. And then again in the hot tub and the pool again. We were lying on a lounge chair, curled up in each other, when a thought occurred to me.

“This is it, isn’t it?” I asked. “Your favorite place for a wedding.”

He smiled to himself. “It’s my second favorite. My favorite is in Rome. I’ll show you sometime.”

I opened my mouth to insist he show me tonight on the way back to the ship, but a distant noise gradually grew louder until it was impossible to ignore.

Matteo groaned, slid to his feet, and went to the rail to peer at the water. Then he muttered something in Italian.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A boat. We won’t be alone much longer,” Matteo said. “I need to go put on a shirt.”

“I have a little more to put on. Do you know who’s coming?”

“Some friends,” he said simply. “Come on. I’ll show you where the restroom is.”

The “house” felt more like a hotel than anything. A luxury resort. Like with his family’s house, expensive marble tile covered every inch of the floor, smooth and cold against my feet. Despite the stone exterior, the furnishings were very clean and modern. A lounging area filled the entire front room, separated into at least four different seating areas. The ceiling towered far overhead. In the distance, a staircase led to what looked like a very modern chef’s kitchen built for entertaining.

“Go through the kitchen and make a right,” Matteo said. “I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. I couldn’t place the source of his irritation. The interruption, or these particular friends? Meeting the people in his life wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

In the restroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cringed. Matteo’s hands had tangled themselves into a half-dry bird’s nest. I’d have to wash it. Thank goodness for the shower in the corner. But I’d have to be fast.

I grinned during the entire four-minute shower, my entire body in a state of happy shock.

Our story was complicated yet simple at the same time. Two people who found each other attractive wanted to spend time together. If some of that time was spent kissing—okay, a lot of that time was spent kissing—what did it matter? This was the perfect arrangement. I didn’t need to fear commitment because I couldn’t commit even if I wanted to. It felt freeing, having the decision made for me.

The perfect arrangement. A fling with a built-in deadline.

When I emerged, Matteo stood in the living room, wearing a fresh white T-shirt and shorts. His hair flopped into his face as if he’d taken a few fingers to it and called it good. I wanted to take a running leap at the guy and kiss him all over again. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he unfolded his arms.

Then I noticed Vivi standing across the room, scowling. A tenseness sank into my gut, pinning me in place. She said something in rapid-fire Italian, which Matteo responded to quickly.

“I said I’d fly you here.” Vivi switched to English. “I can invite people if I want.”

Matteo grunted. “Your friends, not mine. That wasn’t cool, Vivi.”

She’d invited his friends. He didn’t seem to want them here. Because he wanted to be alone with me, or because he didn’t want me to meet his friends?

Of course he doesn’t want you to meet his friends. You agreed on a one-day fling. You’ll be gone tomorrow.

A man and woman reached the glass door and slid it open. They entered and kissed Vivi on the cheek in greeting. They did the same for Matteo, though their smiles were less wide for him. Then they turned to me.

“Um, hi.” I suddenly felt out of place in my pink and yellow floral sundress and wet messy bun. “Ciao.”

They only looked at me. Looked down at me, I should say. Each was as tall or taller than Matteo and appeared ready for a model shoot. The woman had long, meticulously curled hair—bleach-blonde and too soft to be natural—and thick Hollywood sunglasses. She wore a sweater that fell over one shoulder, revealing a black swim suit strap.

Her eyes were so cold, so calculating and judgy, that my earlier happiness fled like a startled seagull.

The blonde woman muttered something in Italian, which Matteo replied to in Italian before switching to English. “This is Jillian from Arizona. Jillian, this is Enzo and Alessia.”

Alessia didn’t seem surprised. Vivi must have clued her in. “Matteo. Another American?”

“She’s the little sister of Hunter’s girlfriend. They were neighbors.” There was a note of defensiveness in his voice.

Alessia seemed to translate for Enzo, who nodded. A good sign. If they liked Hunter, I had a chance too.

“Is Hunter here, then?” Alessia asked Matteo.

“No. I only invited Jillian. We came to spend some time alone together, but Vivi thought it might be fun to expand our little party.”

Alessia switched back to Italian to speak to Matteo. His eyes pinched at the corners and his frown deepened. If I had to guess, I’d think she said, Then it’s a good thing we came to make you see reason.

I understood now why he hadn’t been pleased at their arrival. Approval or not, I meant to enjoy what remained of our time together.

“Matteo,” I said, “I’m getting a little hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Of course.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “What would you like? Name it, and the chef will have it ready in an hour.”

“The American wants bacon cheeseburgers,” Alessia said, lifting her chin. “Nice and greasy.”

“Actually,” I said, “I was thinking Linguine Piccole with Grilled Swordfish and Parsley Anchovy Sauce.” I’d read it on the menu at the restaurant yesterday. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Either that or a clam risotto. I’d be fine with either. Oh, and let’s break out your best fifty-year-old wine for the occasion. You have a wine cellar here, right?”

Alessia mouth actually dropped. Matteo, on the other hand, gave me a tiny, approving smile before drawing me in for a long kiss. “That sounds perfect. What else would you like to do?”

“I want to see the rest of the island.” Preferably without these three, if we could manage it.

Alessia had recovered and crossed her arms. “Matteo, she wants you to take her on a walk. But you need to go to her high school graduation first.”

I gritted my teeth. Don’t feed the troll. “I graduated six years ago and I run my own business. How about you two?”

“I’m a pediatrician,” Alessia said smoothly.

“I am professor, as you say,” Enzo said. So he did speak English, albeit heavily accented. “What you do for business, Jillian?” He pronounced my name Jeh-LEEN.

I looked to Matteo for backup, but he remained quiet. “I’m an influencer.”

They looked confused.

“I make entertaining videos for my subscribers on Instagram,” I clarified. “And I mention my sponsors, who pay me for it.”

I could tell that Enzo, at least, had no idea what I was talking about. Alessia, however, looked smug enough to be punched in the nose. Vivi covered a smile behind them.

“Videos,” Alessia repeated. “That sounds more made-up than your profession, Matteo.”

“That’s enough.” Vivi stepped around his friends to face them directly. “It looks like they’ve vacated the pool, so we should have it all to ourselves. Shall we go outside until lunch is ready?” Apparently she didn’t mind his friends teasing me, but she drew the line at her brother.

The moment the three of them stepped outside, Matteo released a long breath. “They aren’t normally like this. I’ll have a talk with them. You handled that much better than expected.”

“So your friends don’t like Americans. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” I winked. “Now, do you want to push them in, or should I?”

“I won’t say I’m not tempted.” He watched the group walk around the glass wall outside and turn out of sight. “It’s not where you’re from. They just know too much about Clara, about what happened.”

“Then they know more than I do,” I said pointedly. A not-so-subtle hint. “Vivi said you dated a blonde American model who only wanted to see you here, which made you suspicious. She didn’t say what happened after that.”

He pursed his lips together. “I was an idiot. There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Let me guess, then.” I sat on the white leather sofa and patted the spot next to me. He sat, letting me snuggle up and lay my head on his chest. The steady thumping of his heart and the warmth of his arm around me made me want to descend into sleep, but I really wanted to know. “You confronted Clara, asked her why she didn’t want to travel with you, and she wouldn’t answer your questions. So you threw her over the cliff.”

He looked down at me. “Like I said earlier. You’re more violent than you seem.”

“Oh, wait. She got on a plane to America and you showed up with six dozen roses and serenaded her. But she was allergic to roses, so that didn’t go well. Or maybe you didn’t catch her before she left, and you chased her down the runway on a horse but got left behind.”

He chuckled. The sound echoed through his chest.

“Ooh, I know. You?—”

“I went to visit her,” he said quickly. “With a ring.”

I turned my head upward to watch him. His strong chin dipped, and his eyes took on a weariness I hadn’t seen before.

“She said she had a model shoot and that’s why she had to return, so I waited until evening to make sure she’d be home. I wore a new suit and brought her flowers. White lilies, her favorite.” He swallowed.

I imagined a lovesick Matteo striding up the walk, holding flowers in one hand and straightening his hair with the other. So cute and nervous and excited.

“What happened?”

His face darkened. “Her fiancé opened the door.”

I stiffened. “Now I really want to throw her off a cliff.”

Matteo gave a tiny smile. “He was immediately suspicious. Then Clara came to the door and went completely white.”

Uh oh. “Don’t tell me.”

“She pretended she didn’t know me. Said I must be looking for a different Clara Sorensen. She looked almost angry, like I ruined her perfect little balancing act.” He lifted a hand to rub his temple, grimacing. “I still wonder if she meant to carry on our affair after they got married.”

I lifted my head and stroked his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my fingers. “You are a good man. She knew you wouldn’t have stood for that, which is why she lied. You deserve to have every inch of a woman’s heart.”

“I’m never that reckless,” he insisted. “Next time, I’ll be more careful. Slow and cautious. Keeping both eyes open for potential problems.”

Next time. Not this time. I tried to pretend not to care, but it stung a bit. Even I had to admit that this was temporary, like those pink flowers hanging over the stone wall. Yet it hurt that he thought that too.

I cleared my throat, sending away the tightness in my throat. It wouldn’t do to spend our dwindling time together wishing for more. He needed some lightness in his life amongst all the heaviness. That, at least, I could give.

I covered my mouth in mock horror. “Wait. Are you saying you were lying at the Mouth of Truth? That you actually have been in love? I can’t even believe it.”

His lips quirked up a bit. “And you were telling the truth. You’ve never been in love.”

My smile slipped. “Why do you think that?”

He paused, then looked me in the eye. “I spent hours last night scrolling through your Instagram.”

And seeing my ex-boyfriends. He didn’t have to say it. None of them lasted more than a few weeks.

“I’ve loved men before,” I told him, sitting up to face him. “Even if it didn’t last long.” Because I made sure of that. Just like I’d make sure this one ended before my heart got too invested.

“No doubt.” Except the hesitation in his voice said that he did, in fact, doubt every word.

There was nothing to say. I hadn’t cared enough about them to chase them around the world, that was certain. Matteo had loved recklessly and with all his heart. I had stolen hearts recklessly but kept my own impossibly out of reach.

Our relationship made little sense. Matteo was refined, educated, and wealthy. He thought through things before he did them. He was well-dressed and well-spoken and intelligent. I was a tornado of chaos. Flighty. Spontaneous. We were opposites in pretty much every way. We shouldn’t be attracted to each other.

And yet, when he looked at me, I felt lit aflame from the inside. I’d never experienced this level of attraction before. The fire inside only grew more heated by the hour, as my understanding and appreciation of him deepened.

Another woman would be lucky indeed. The one after me, after today. The only day we have left together. If I had to write it into the skin of my arm in order to remember, I would. I wanted to kiss him senseless and forget all about our pasts and our troubles, yet I craved knowing more about his man and his world in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Your mom didn’t approve of Clara either, did she?” I asked.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. His triceps bulged as he did, and I swallowed back an intense urge to kiss him again. “My mother found out about the ring. We fought before I left. She said if I went after Clara, I’d never have a home there again, nor an inheritance when she passed.”

Wow. “What didn’t she like about her?”

“Clara encouraged me to follow my passion rather than pursue the family export business. The longer we dated, the further I drifted from my family. My mother likes to have control, so she made me choose between love and family.”

A choice no son should ever have to face. Not fair at all. “But you didn’t even marry Clara.”

“No, but I did leave. I moved out that day and started my—started my own business.”

I stared at him. He still refused to tell me about his photography studio, and I had no idea why. He held me in his arms like someone precious to him, yet I couldn’t be trusted to know his passion for art. His own version of keeping his heart safe, perhaps?

He saw my expression and lifted a hand to cup my face. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I only think it would be better to show you, and we won’t have time. Maybe if you ever come back.”

If I ever come back. The thought should have been a comforting one, but instead, the panic rose. Returning meant picking things up where we left off and seeing where this led—him moving forward cautiously and I . . . doing what? Pushing our relationship along until he mentioned the L-word, then retreating back home again?

I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t. Not right now.

He lowered his lips to mine, and we shared a long, slow kiss. Then I pulled back. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was hungry.”

“That’s right. What would you really like for lunch?”

“I told you.” I swatted at his arm. “Linguine Piccolo with Grilled Swordfish and Parsley Anchovy Sauce.”

He chuckled. “Do you even like swordfish and anchovies?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“We’ll make an Italian of you yet. I’ll tell the chef.” He rose, pulling me after him, and we made our way to the kitchen. He headed straight for a cupboard and yanked it open, digging through its contents. “Jillie, we’re making linguine piccolo with grilled swordfish and parsley anchovy sauce.”

I grinned. “There’s no chef, is there?”

“I’m the chef. Today, so are you.” He retrieved an apron from the cupboard and handed it to me. “I’m no Nonni, but I can still show you how to make a pretty incredible pasta.”