Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

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My alarm goes off too early. Why is my alarm going off? Oh yeah, I have to make breakfast and pack a lunch for Matteo. I'm up and out of bed with a bounce to my step.

Is it weird that I'm looking forward to cooking for Matteo—not just cooking for him but also cleaning for him?

Is someone going to come and take my feminism card? It isn't about cooking and cleaning for him. I want to take care of him to repay him for the way he has taken care of me and Layla. It isn't fair for Matteo to always take. It's my turn to give back to him.

I understand now what the homemaker title means. I want to make a place where he didn't just sleep and eat. Somewhere, he looked forward to coming home to every night. Because he wanted to, not because he had to. The way he admitted he was never here made it clear he didn't really consider this big, beautiful condo his home.

Maybe it's because it's his brother's. He's only staying here until he finds something else. Except he didn't seem to be in any rush to find somewhere else to live.

With the kind of money he has, he could have bought something or even rented ninety percent of what's on the market within a week or two. Yet he's been in the condo for almost six months.

Yesterday, after I showered and got dressed again, I found Matteo had cleaned everything and was playing with a happy Layla. His smile told me all was well, and I believed him. He handed me Layla and went to get cleaned up himself.

The rest of the day passed easily, with us playing with Layla, watching television, and working on a new jigsaw puzzle together. It was the kind of day some might call mundane—maybe even boring. I wouldn't have it any other way. I've never wanted anything more than a simple, quiet life. Yesterday was perfect to me.

I don't hear anything from Matteo's room as I go into the kitchen. Is he in the shower? The thought kicks over a hive of bees I didn't know were in my tummy—the butterflies are gone—replaced by frantic, buzzing bees at the idea of Matteo naked with water running down his body.

Stop thinking like that. Don't wish for things you can't have, and put more on Matteo than he can give.

Forcing the thoughts down, I try to figure out what to do for breakfast. He mentioned he liked the ease of breakfast burritos. In Texas, they're called breakfast tacos. When I told him, he laughed and said he'd been told that every single time he made the mistake of calling them burritos.

Whatever you call them, tacos are one of my favorite and easiest breakfast dishes. We have everything for good tacos: eggs, potatoes, bacon, and cheese.

I decide to go with a croissant sandwich for his lunch and carrots with a Greek yogurt dip. For his afternoon snack, I give him goat cheese and some of the soft, yummy bread. There aren't many containers to pack everything in. I don't think anything as prosaic as Tupperware would dare appear in the cupboards. I add a glass storage set to the list, along with two different lunch boxes, because this cooler thing is pretty small.

His lunch is packed, and breakfast is ready when Matteo appears. God, he is so freaking hot it's not fair. Those bees are back and have escaped my tummy, leaving hot, sticky honey in their wake. They buzz frantically at my fingertips, longing to touch him.

My mouth goes dry then wet. He could be a freaking model or something. His dove gray suit fits him like a glove. A light blue shirt and a striped vest with a silver tie tucked into the vest barely contain the muscle rippling beneath the silk.

Simple bar cufflinks glint in the light. Those aren't sterling silver—I have no doubt they are solid silver. In all the ways he attempts to downplay his wealth, it screams money in a way none of the flashy stuff did.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" Light brown runs over me in concern.

The concern causes the bees to disappear in a blink of an eye. Matteo is simply being nice. He's a doctor worried about a patient he brought home. Stop it before you embarrass yourself and him .

"I'm good. I have breakfast ready for you. You need to write down all your favorite things to eat so I can plan better."

He nods. "I'll do it today." A large, slick, black phone is handed to me. "This is your phone. I apologize. I meant to give it to you yesterday. I've loaded all the apps for shopping and delivery. They're connected to my credit card for you to buy whatever you need."

Despite the order I gave myself only minutes ago, Matteo mere inches from me at my side, is causing havoc inside me. I inhale his cologne, and it sends thick honey through my veins. I'm trying to focus on what he's showing me on the phone, but it's not easy. I don't see what he's doing on the phone. All I can think of is his hands on me, his fingers?—

"Sherry was the housekeeper. She's coming by in an hour or so to give you the lay of the land, so to speak."

I snap out of my reverie, praying he's unaware of what he's doing to me. "Is she really going to be okay with me taking her job?"

"She's very happy you're taking over. It's the first time I've heard her laugh since I met her. The nanny is Nancy, and she'll be here at eleven. She will stay to watch Layla for us. They're delivering my new vehicle sometime today, along with the paperwork we need to transfer the vehicle I already have to your name. It's a courtesy—since they have several copies in their office. We'll fill it out and go to the county tax office to transfer it. The office closes at 4:30, so I'll leave work by 3:00 since I'd rather we get it all taken care of today."

My stomach knots. "You're serious about this car thing?"

An exhale that might be a laugh. "I don't joke about anything important to me. Ensuring you and Layla are safe is extremely important to me. No more arguing when it comes to what I want to give you."

Sighing, I give in. "Okay, fine. No more arguing when it comes to what you want to give me."

"Good girl." His voice has dropped an octave, and those golden eyes shimmer with heat.

Those words cause a red-hot burning coal to slide down from my stomach to my core. With a wink, he hands me the phone. The smile playing on his lips is one I've never seen there before. I don't know why but I have the oddest desire to taste them to find out what it means.

He knows what he did to me. I swear he does. He takes his plate to the table without a look back at me, like he didn't just rock my world. There's coffee waiting for him on the table. Since I didn't know how he took it, I also put the sugar and half and half beside it.

"Coffee tastes great. It's the perfect strength for me."

The words get me moving again. I'm a little resentful at how unaffected he is. I could be wrong, and this is all in my messed-up head.

We'd thrown in two drip coffees in the order yesterday. The one I made today is the one we both thought would be the tastiest. "I'm glad. It's the one with pecan flavoring to it."

"It works for me. I'm only in it for the caffeine."

"Duly noted. Do you have a microwave at work to heat what I send with you for lunch?" I ask as I set the small cooler on the table.

He blinks a few times. "You made me lunch?"

I shrug. I'm not sure why it feels like something momentous for me to do for him. "Yes, of course. I thought that's what you wanted—for me to make your three meals a day. Do you not want me to?"

"No, I mean, yes. Thank you. My housekeeper in Baltimore didn't. I did have the hospital cafeteria, a half dozen fast food, as well as a handful of sit-down options around the hospital. There aren't many places near the clinic. I often ordered delivery. Also, yes, there's a microwave at work. I made sure there's a toaster oven, too."

I can't help laughing. "Okay, if I clean you out, I promise I'll leave the toaster oven behind."

His smile has my stomach flipping a dozen times. "Everything but the toaster oven."

Layla can be heard babbling. "I better go get her."

"Can I see her before I go?" He stands, hesitant.

"She'd love it."

Opening the door wider to Layla's room, I feel Matteo a few feet behind me.

"Hello, gorgeous." He whispers to her.

She's on her back eating her fingers and swings her head to us. Seeing us through the bars of the crib, she lets loose a happy cry. "Mama. Dada. Dada. Dada." Rolling over, she keeps saying it until she's on her feet. One chubby hand is holding the top of the rail. The other is reaching out to Matteo. "Dada."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I didn't teach her that. I've only said 'dada' to her maybe a dozen times her whole life." I'm mortified. Also, why is she saying it now when she didn't once all day yesterday?

He chuckles, scooping Layla out of the crib. "There's no need to apologize. I love it." His dimples are deep in his cheeks. "I'm so proud of you for learning a new word. We were watching some baby shows the other day while you were resting. She loved them. Dada is so proud of you."

Giving her kisses on her neck, making her giggle he's as happy as she is. An alarm goes off on his phone. "Damn, I need to get going." He hands her to me and takes the alarming phone out of his pocket. Clearing it, he sighs. "Okay. I'll see you around three. If you need anything, call me. The number for my cell and the clinic is in your phone."

"I will," I promise him.

"Okay, bye, baby girl. Be good for Mommy." He kisses her on the cheek. We're so close that for a moment, I wonder if he'll kiss me. But he only smiles. "See you later."

"Bye," I whisper. I'm holding Layla tight, unable to move. Did I want him to kiss me goodbye?

"Mama." Layla pats my cheek. Did I seriously forget my daughter when she was in my arms? I'm losing it.

Knock it off, you're the housekeeper, and that's it. Don't go dreaming of things that will never happen.

Amy

Sherry arrives exactly when Matteo says she would. And is so freaking nice. She's also more grateful than Matteo for me taking over for her. I was given the dry-cleaning phone number and told they pick up and drop off. She sent everything he owned off because she didn't have time to do laundry and advised me to do the same with my clothes.

I'm given an array of cleaning products because I'm shocked to find she's right—there's only dishwashing soap and laundry detergent in the condo. She also gives me a few recipes to get out stains and walks me through how to clean things like the tubs with the jets. And how to use the washer and dryer, just in case.

Once she's gone, I have breakfast with Layla. Layla says ‘dada' about a hundred times, leaving me cursing those shows he let her watch. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not she keeps looking for Matteo. He's only been gone a few hours and she already misses him.

I deep clean the kitchen and the dining room, not missing the baseboards.

The black phone rings, scaring the shit out of me. "Hello?"

"Ms. Goff, you have a guest—Ms. Nancy Calder. Should I let her up?" the man asks.

I'm surprised he called me by my maiden name. I never got around to changing it legally, but I used Danny's last name daily. "Um, yes, please."

As I wait for her, I'm tortured by thoughts of the need to file for divorce. Fear has me flinching at dealing with Danny at all. I'm grateful as fuck I never changed my last name, but Layla has his name, and I hate it. I don't want her to have anything to do with him.

I don't know all the legalities of how to do it. I also have no doubt he'll sign away his parental rights if I give up child support. Once he does that, I can stop being afraid he will try to take her from me. His threat of filing for custody and how he would get custody because of his family still eats at me. He promised I would never see her again if I left him.

But Matteo promised me it wouldn't happen. That his family is mightier than Danny's, and I believe him. Except does he really want to get involved with a divorce and custody case? Layla, feeling my turmoil, lays her head on my shoulder and babbles softly.

I'm grateful for the knock on the door, pulling me away from my thoughts. She's older than I thought she would be. I'm guessing she's in her early forties, with a few streaks of gray throughout her dark hair. "Hello, thanks for coming. I appreciate it. I'm Amy."

She smiles and waves at Layla. Layla smiles and waves back. "Hi, I'm Nancy. I can never say no to Elizabeth. She's such a sweetheart. And who are you?"

Layla buries her face in my neck. "This is Layla. She can be a little shy with strangers."

Well, she was until Matteo. Then again, I wasn't awake for how their first meeting went.

"Hi, Layla. You're so pretty." Her voice is lower.

The minute Layla hears that, she peeks out at Nancy. "She loves to hear how pretty she is. Can I get you anything to drink? I can put on more coffee."

"Oh no, thank you. I've had my max on caffeine today." She lifts a tumbler. "This is the eight thousandth attempt to drink more water. I've been promised this is what will help me get my eight glasses of water in a day."

I laugh. "I've never been good at it either. If I get more than three glasses, I'm proud of myself."

"Me too. It's a little easier on the days when I'm working because I keep to a schedule. That is another reason I didn't mind working today. I'm also never going to say no to more money. I love this family. They're so giving. Which is shockingly rare among the wealthy. I once had a family say I had refrigerator privileges. Then would deduct everything I ate from my pay at the end of the week. They charged me two dollars for a pickle." She shakes her head. "Never mind, she'd spend thousands of dollars on clothes she never wore. Rafe and Carrie are so down-to-earth and sane. I love them."

"Wow, I can't imagine working for people who did something like that. Thank you for your help today. I would never have asked for a nanny myself—Matteo was insistent."

"I'm happy to help. I get so bored on my days off with the weather a question of what it's going to be on a given day. I'm not okay driving when it's raining out. So, I can't make plans. I end up staying in my room, vegging in front of the television. Elizabeth paying me for a day and a half helps."

I'm stunned. "A day and a half? I keep thinking I won't be surprised, but I am every time I find out what Bitsy spends—I mean Elizabeth."

Her eyes go wide. "You got Bitsy already? She really does like you."

"I'm confused. Why is it a big deal she referred to herself as Bitsy?"

She chuckles. "Because in rich people's land, it means you're in the inner circle. She gave you permission to call her Bitsy in public—which is the only place you'll call her that. At home, in private, you'll call her Elizabeth. Only someone who is a good friend would dare call someone Bitsy in public."

"Huh. I wondered why Matteo rolled his eyes when he referred to her as Bitsy."

"Are you looking for a nanny? I have a friend who isn't happy where she's at. If you are, she's also a native Spanish speaker—the way the Castillo family wants their nannies to be."

I shake my head. "No, this is only for today. Matteo was adamant I have someone help me with Layla because I'm recovering from a bad bout of strep throat."

Her disappointment is clear. "Okay, if anything changes, let me know. Hi Layla, do you want to come with me? I hear you love walking. Matteo says you need to crawl better first."

Layla goes to her but gives me a long stare to make sure I don't go anywhere. Nancy gets down on the baby blanket I spread out where we played after breakfast.

With Layla keeping an eye out for me, I sit down at the dinner table where she can see me and go over the things to order that aren't groceries. I flinch when I see the total. Remembering it's not my money, and he wants me to spend it, I close my eyes and hit buy.

Once I see Layla laughing and happy with Nancy, I decide it's time to take the plunge on cleaning Matteo's bedroom and bathroom.

A massive four-poster bed so large I would need a step stool to get on it dominates the room. Dark brown bedside tables are on each side of the bed, with sleek black lamps on both. The hardwood flooring runs into this bedroom, too. A light brown shaggy carpet attempts to soften the hard lines in the room—it doesn't work.

There is a sitting area with a long leather sofa in front of a flat-screen television. I'm drawn to the—what has to be more than a dozen—Star Wars models. Oh my god, he is a geek. I can't hold in my laughter. This is what he does in his free time.

I can't believe this. I never would have thought it for a second. It's taking everything in me not to touch anything. I'm terrified I'll break or mess something up. This is it, his one thing that's…he said negative. I can't see it as a negative. I think it makes him more human.

I wish like hell I understood what Star Wars is. I never watched the movies. Once, there was one on the local channel. Since I was desperate for something to watch without cable or streaming, I decided to leave it on. I missed the first twenty minutes and was completely confused. In the end, I used it as background noise as I sketched.

As I take in all the models, I wonder if he wanted me to dust them or something. Until he tells me to, I'm not touching them—too afraid I'll break something.

An accent wall behind the bed is a light gray. The rest of the walls are boring white without any art or anything personal on them—it could be a hotel room or something. Only the models tell me this is Matteo's space. He hasn't made this place home.

Sighing, I shake my head as I realize how long I've been in here without doing anything. The sheets on his bed are light blue, matching the navy blue duvet cover. I find two extra sheet sets, one in white and another in gray. I go with the gray to match the dark gray duvet cover while the other is also being washed. It feels oddly intimate to decide what sheets go on his bed.

I wonder if other women have slept in the bed with him. What did they look like? The memory of him without a shirt, only in the pajama pants flashes. Did one of them trace the tattoo on his chest with their finger—the way I wanted to?

Oh god, knock it off. It's none of your business.

His walk-in closet is larger than mine. There are more than twenty suits, half of which are wool and the other silk. His casual clothing consists mainly of khaki pants and polo shirts.

I'm right about his cufflinks. All of them are silver and gold. Many of them are plain, but there are also diamonds, onyx, sapphire, and mother of pearl. There are more than thirty for him to choose from—rich, rich. His tie collection is massive. I run my hand over the silk ties in awe.

I don't mean to linger over cleaning his space, but I take twice as long as I did the kitchen and living room. I'm embarrassed to find Layla is down for her nap and Nancy is watching over her while reading on her phone.

Nancy eats a late lunch with me. We discuss Layla's progress. Nancy is a former kindergarten teacher and was impressed with how advanced she is. She urges me to enroll her in a nursery school. I thank her for her thoughts without telling her that I'm not sending Layla to school when she's not even two years old.

After I eat, I resent needing a nap myself. Nancy urges me to lie down before Layla wakes up.

In bed, the thought of Matteo shirtless haunts me again. What would it be like to touch him? For his arms to trap me against his hard body. I have no doubt he wouldn't be simply a good lover—he would be amazing.

The way he was gentle yet firm with both me and Layla screamed that he would be the same with a woman. I don't think I'll ever forget how it felt for him to hold me after he braided my hair. Every inch of him against my back was hard, burning into me, so I'll forever feel him.

It's a shock to me the way my body responds to the memory. I can't remember the last time my nipples were hard or my core was so wet—no. Stop, don't think of him like that. It will only end in heartache.