Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

A my

I'm grateful for Hope coming today to keep me out of my head. Things have felt off from Matteo since Denver. The moment in the kitchen when heat shimmered between us thrilled me. I was certain he would make a move or…something during the trip.

We had the best day. On the plane there, we watched the first Star Wars movie, and I actually liked it a lot. Over the long four hours we spent in the museum, he was patient and had a smile on his face the whole time. Dinner was at a nearby noodle place where we laughed at Layla in heaven at all the noodles she got to eat. It felt like we were a family.

But by the time we were in the car on the way back to the plane, he began growing distant. Once we were in the air with a sleeping Layla secured in her car seat, I hoped I could draw him out again. Despite my telling him I wanted to watch another movie, he shook his head and demanded to know what art I liked the most that we saw that day.

We talked the whole way back—well, I talked and he listened. I kept trying to draw him out but the distance remained. The night ended with a smile and a nod of goodnight at my door.

I hoped it was him tired or something. At his family's brunch yesterday, while he held my hand and kissed my cheek, the warmth behind his touch was gone. It was like we were roommates, and Layla was our only connection. I'm trying not to freak out, but it's not easy.

Today, we're making a chicken pot pie so she can teach me how to make a roux and pie crust. Both were a lot easier than I thought they would be.

We're doing individual pot pies, so once again, she can take hers home to Javier, and I can take ours to Matteo. The moment they're in the oven, she urges me to sit down and makes us a cup of tea.

Once she sits down with her tea, she sighs. "You keep saying you're fine. But you are a horrible actress. Talk to me. I won't tell anyone, not even Javier."

I give Layla some more puff snacks. Finally, I give in. "I don't know what I did. Matteo has gone kind of cool on me. I'm confused. We had the best time in Denver…and then—nothing."

She sighs. "I did notice the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes yesterday. It also seemed like you weren't happy either. Is that why you were…"

I nod. "I was hurt. But I didn't feel like I had a right to be. I mean, I don't understand what's the matter with him. Maybe I did do something wrong."

"I don't know. The way he looked at you, it didn't seem like you could do any wrong. Every time you weren't looking at him, he was looking at you. Maybe it's time to just talk to him. Communication is key, the good and the bad. As much as it feels like he can read your mind at times, they can't always. And it's not really fair to assume he can." She's gentle.

This is where lying sucks. I can't admit to her the truth about this being a fake relationship. A part of me wishes I could tell her, and she would be able to give me advice on what to do.

"You're right. I'll talk to him." Even though I won't. I'm too afraid of him figuring out I'm in love with him. I couldn't stand to hear Matteo let me down gently.

Her smile is one of relief.

The pot pie tastes better than anything I've ever had before.

"You are an amazing cook. Javier must really love you not to let you cook." I sigh.

She laughs. "Yep, he admitted he's looking forward to lunch today though."

Amy

Although I hate that Matteo had to work today, I'm excited by the surprise I have for him. The steaming braised beef soup noodle smells amazing. My order is for dumplings. I was worried the soup looked too similar to ramen to order my own bowl since I don't like ramen. I'm regretting it.

I set the bags on the table while I wait for Matteo to finish with a patient.

"Beef soup noodle, my favorite. Thank you."

Shaking my head, I laugh. "How did you know what it is? I kept messing up and calling it noodle soup. The lady was annoyed at me."

"Because this place was in my top three of delivery."

"I still feel bad you never told me you like this. I liked the place we tried in Denver. I'm willing to try new places."

He shakes his head. "I keep telling you, it's not a big deal. I'm really not a picky eater."

Layla exclaims. "Dada. Dada up."

We both go still, and our eyes meet. "Where the heck did she learn that?"

I'm as shocked as he is. "I have no idea."

"Oh, my goodness. You're getting so big. That's my girl. You're so smart. Up? Okay. I'll pick you up." Matteo is smiling almost as big as she is. She's kicking her feet at his praise.

Her arms go around his neck, and she hugs him tight. "I'm sorry. I missed you this morning, too. You slept too late for me. I was going to be late for work."

Sinking onto the couch beside me, he grins. "Now that the tests came back saying she's healthy, I'm relieved. I guess she just takes after her mama and is going to be on the small side."

I roll my eyes. It's on the tip of my tongue to say I'm far from small because of my weight. Except as I see how happy she is in Matteo's arms, it dies. I don't want Layla growing up hearing me say stuff like it. And I don't want her thinking it about herself.

I'm trying to coax her out of Matteo's lap with bites of dumpling so he can eat, but she's not having it. "Your dada is trying to eat his soup. Come on, I'll give you a whole dumpling all to yourself, and you can use your two new teeth on it."

Her eyes are wide at the offer of a dumpling, but she shakes her head and leans back against Matteo.

"It's okay." He assures me. "I got a bite. It's enough for now. Hand over some of those beef rice dumplings."

I offer him the container. "I mean, we do say we're picking her up. But I didn't think we said it that often."

He chuckles. "More than enough for her to learn the word, obviously. I'll ensure the nanny has experience working with toddler teaching."

"What do you mean, a nanny? I can take care of her."

His sigh annoys the fuck out of me. "Layla is a sweetheart. She's also demanding. You need time for yourself to do your art. Then there's my mom watching her on Wednesday for your therapy appointment?—"

"If it's bothering Elizabeth, then I won't go. I don't need a nanny. I'm fine. I don't care if I don't have time to do my art."

"I do. She would, too, if she knew the choice was between having another person who would be under her spell and her mom being happy and fulfilled. Ever since you've spent time working on your art, you are much happier. You're smiling all the time. And you finally lost that line in your forehead I thought was permanent. It doesn't have to be a full-time nanny. Just twenty to twenty-five hours a week." Matteo doesn't raise his voice, yet even Layla picks up on the steel in it.

Her eyes swing between Matteo and me. She's concerned, and I hate it because it feels like it's been forever since I saw it.

Unable to hold his eyes, afraid he'll see the truth, I study Layla. While I loved spending time in my studio, and I felt inspired after our trip to Denver—it's not why I'm so happy. Only I can't tell him that he's the reason I'm happy and smiling.

I'm too afraid if I do I'll break down and tell him that I love him. It will ruin everything.

I hoped maybe I was being too sensitive about last Sunday when I talked to Hope on Monday, yet as the week has gone on it's only gotten worse. He smiled, only it never reached his eyes unless he was looking at Layla.

I'm so pathetic I'm counting down the hours until tomorrow. Hoping for something—anything from him.

"Hey, it's okay. If it's going to upset you, we can shelve this for later."

Ashamed that I can't meet his eyes. "Please."

He catches me around the back of my neck. It shocks me. I'm not afraid of the touch. It's the way every cell in my body activates in preparedness for more of his touch.

Brown turns to gold. His teeth come out to catch his bottom lip. Bringing me to within inches, I pray I'm not panting the way I think I am. Is this it? Will he finally kiss me? "You understand everything I do is for you, right? To make you happy."

Oh god, how embarrassing. I'm drooling at the way heat is hitting me everywhere. I can only nod. Any second…

"Good." He lets me go, and I go cold.

"Dada," Layla is patting his chest.

"What, baby girl?"

She opens her mouth and leans into him.

"Ah, you want to give me kisses?" He leans down for her to reach him. "Thank you."

After she gives him kisses, she sticks her fingers in her mouth and chews on them.

"She's ready for her bottle." I rush to cover my rioting body.

The water I boiled for her bottle is now only warm. I add the formula and shake it. She opens her small hand for it. Chuckling, I hand it to her. She takes it and cuddles into Matteo.

"I'm sorry. I'd take her, but I don't think she'd come to me. I didn't think it would be a big deal for her to wake up to you gone. She asked for you when she woke up. I told her you were at work; she seemed down. By the time breakfast was over, she was fine." Her eyes are on him even as she's falling asleep.

"Well, I'm a bad dad because I love it. I didn't expect it to be an issue either. As soon as you leave, I'm going to get on the phone and hire another, at least, PA, if not a doctor. I thought I had enough people, but with one person out of town on vacation and another sick with strep—it appears I was wrong. At least their vacation is over come Monday. Once we're back to fully staffed, it will open more appointments to see patients and establish care. Which is better for patients. Being seen regularly will allow us to get in front of issues, cutting down on emergencies."

"I was wondering if seeing patients today would make you want to go back to the floor instead of focusing on paperwork." I share the fear I had when he got the call from Cleo last night when a PA went home sick.

His chuckle is low as he runs a large hand over Layla's head. "I wondered the same thing. If anything, it confirmed I made the right choice. I don't regret my time as a doctor—not even my specialty. At the same time, it's something that can consume you if you let it. I don't want to be consumed by it anymore. There is no better time in my day than seeing Layla first thing in the morning, and she's excited to see me. Coming home…"

I look up to find his eyes on me. Gold.

"Actually, coming home might be the best thing." He murmurs low.

Am I moving, or is he? His tongue slides out over his lips?—

A knock on the closed door startles us both. "Doctor? I was hoping to take my lunch."

"Shit." Matteo looks at the clock. "Sorry, two minutes." He calls out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even look at the clock." I'm up covering the food. "I'm going to leave this here. Please eat your soup. Go on. I'll clean this up."

Nodding, he grabs his white coat and stethoscope. Before I look up again, he's closing the door behind him.

Amy

I'm thrown by a knock on the door less than an hour after Matteo leaves for work on Monday. Hope called earlier today to tell me she wasn't feeling well, and we decided to skip cooking lessons for the week.

I set down my palette on the dining table, hoping I don't get oil paint on it. I've worked more in front of the French doors to the rooftop deck than in my studio. It was easier to bring my things in here to keep an eye on Layla in her playpen or activity center than to drag her things in and out of my studio.

All I want to do is hide the painting I'm working on. Except it's too freaking big to move while it's this wet. It's a three-foot by four-foot canvas. The man in my favorite art supply store gave me a discount because the original buyer never came to pick it up. I'd wanted to try a larger canvas but was too worried it would seem egotistical that I thought I had art good enough to use this much space.

Removing the apron I'm wearing to prevent paint from splattering on my dress. I make my way to the door.

Layla is content in her activity center, bouncing as high as it will allow while she chews on her favorite toy.

I'm shocked to find Rafe. His serious expression sends my stomach twisting. "Is Matteo all right?"

An eyebrow goes up as he studies me. "Yes, he's fine—for the most part. It's why I'm here."

Confused by the cryptic words, I step back and motion for him to come in.

"Have a seat," he invites as he stands behind a chair at the dining table.

His eyes go to my canvas. My stomach twists even tighter. Matteo mentioned that Rafe is into art. He's the reason why a Degas and Picasso are in the art museum in Dallas. A nod is all he gives the painting before returning his eyes to me.

My legs all but go out from under me. The man is imposing as hell—especially when he remains standing—towering over me. Odd how I'm only now seeing how strongly he reminds me of Matteo. "What's the matter?"

"Is it money you are seeking from my brother? Because I can give it to you. I have no problem putting five million at your disposal today. It would allow you to go as far away from your ex-husband as possible and provide for you and your daughter for years."

Outraged. "How dare you?—"

"I dare a whole hell of a lot when it comes to my brother and his happiness. I was willing to let this go on as long as I believed he was happy with you. Even if you didn't love him, his love would be enough to carry your relationship—he believed. I resolved not to get involved. Yet, for the second weekend in a row, I have to watch you rebuff his love and affection at every turn."

"What are you talking about? Matteo doesn't love me." I shake my head. Wanting isn't love. And wanting simply because I was in the same space as him isn't enough for me—not when I have Layla to worry about. I'm not going to let myself and her get attached when it's purely physical.

"He doesn't. Okay, don't be mad. He came up with me being his fake girlfriend to get your mom off his back. I love him, but I can't because this is all fake. He's being nice to me."

"Fake? Nice ? He's so in love with you that he went from working eighty hours a week to barely thirty hours a week to be with you. Matteo is a good man. However, even he isn't nice enough to go so far as to plan—" He clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head.

"Plan, what? What is he planning?" His outrage couldn't be faked. Rafe wouldn't be here if he didn't believe every word he said. Maybe Matteo told him to keep the fake thing going, or maybe…Matteo loves me.

"Oh my god, he loves me? Like, really loves me?" Now I'm up pacing the kitchen.

His eyes narrow on me. "It would appear I got it wrong. And you. I apologize."

"Oh, shut up." I throw at him as I keep pacing. "You and your sanctimonious bullshit. The only reason I'm not throwing you out is because I need answers." I stare him down. "Did he love me all this time?"

One shoulder goes up, then down. "I don't know. I was unaware of this fake girlfriend thing."

Annoyed at him all over again. "When did you find out he loved me?"

His eyes drop from mine. "You should talk to?—"

I make it back to the dining room table. "What is Matteo planning?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. I'm tired of being lied to."

That eyebrow goes up again. "Then you should talk to Matteo and demand the truth." His eyes flick to the painting. "Are you willing to sell it?"

Is he serious? I'm not one hundred percent certain how I feel about the man, but Matteo loves him. And he did come over here because he loves Matteo, so…fine. "Yes?"

"Will you take a hundred for it?"

What the hell? I got a slight discount because the owner wanted it gone, but any other day the canvas itself is a hundred dollars. Whatever, I need this weird moment to be done so I can go back to freaking out. "Okay."

A final nod to me, then he's gone.

I want to scream it out loud. Matteo loves me. I wince at how dumb I was not to see it sooner. I mean, for fuck's sake, he did everything short of saying it. Even then… I flashback to two days ago when he caught me by the back of the neck and what he said. He did say he loved me—I just didn't hear it.

My alarm goes off. It's time to get ready to take lunch to Matteo. Except I can't. I can't see him now that I know. It's the same way I was weird with Matteo yesterday. My longing for him felt so raw. I was certain if Matteo looked at me for thirty seconds, he would see it.

If I go to see him at work, I won't be able to keep my mouth shut. And his office at work is not the place for us to talk about it.

Turning off the alarm on my phone. I chicken out and text Matteo.

Hey, I'm not feeling great. Is it all right if I skip bringing your lunch today?

The time it takes for him to text back is agony.

Are you running a fever? Feeling achy? I can come home.

I don't know what to type because I want him to come home. I need him here now. Before I figure out what to type, another text comes through.

I'm on my way.

Thank god, is all I can think.

I've cleaned up and put all my paints and canvas in my studio. Layla is lights out in her crib after a bottle heavy with oatmeal.

I hear the elevator and wonder if this is going to be really good or really bad.