Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

A my

I'm seriously annoyed to find I didn't sleep for an hour or two. I slept for four hours. Four freaking hours. Matteo, with his bossy, hot ass, better not be one of those people who gloats when they're right.

This time, I find him asleep on the couch with Layla on his chest. Layla is awake, chewing on her fingers. Lord, his chest is so wide. He's wearing a long-sleeved plain cotton shirt in black to match his black sweats. It's seriously unfair how gorgeous he is. How could a man like him possibly need a fake girlfriend?

Layla sees me and gives a happy giggle and reaches for me. "Mama."

I melt at how happy she is to see me. I get my hands under her, but Matteo's arms tighten around her, not letting her go. He's awake, and brown eyes find me. Once his eyes meet mine, his arms fall away from Layla.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asks as he sits up.

Now I feel bad for thinking he'd rub in being right. I shrug. "I got four more hours. I feel better than when I woke up earlier. My throat only feels like I'm trying to swallow a small marble now instead of one that didn't want to go down at all like it did before I took a nap."

His eyes widen. "Why didn't you say something? I could have given you something for the pain. The reason I gave you a shot over pills was due to how much quicker the shot is supposed to work. However, I should have thought there could still be lingering aftereffects. I apologize."

Pushing up from the sofa, he towers over me. It sends me a step back, wary of his size and strength. Eyes down, he gives me a wide berth as he moves around me. "I can grab it now. It's lidocaine. So it tastes like crap?—"

My hand goes out to his arm to stop him without thinking. I should have thought of it first because I'm not going to get used to that crazy sizzle running through every cell in my body. He does feel it. His big body goes tense at my touch. I would have thought it was a bad thing, yet his sigh is deep and of relief—almost like he was glad it happened.

Tearing my hand away, too much of a coward to try to figure out what it means. "I'm good. Please, it's okay. I would have asked you for something if I needed it."

An eyebrow goes up. "That's a load of crap. You would have suffered in silence. For some reason, you think you deserve pain—to suffer—which is bullshit. You don't deserve it, and if I can relieve it, then I will. I'll be right back."

His words sting more than a blow. How could he say that? How could he know that? I sink down on the couch, still warm from his big body.

Layla claps, happy and content in my arms. Running my hand over her soft, round head. I press a kiss to her temple. If she were hurting, I'd do whatever it took to relieve her pain. Yet, I wouldn't even consider it for myself.

"Amy?" Matteo is back and offers me a small spray bottle. It's labeled clearly as lidocaine, but there's nothing to indicate it's a prescription.

I take it. "Is it yours? Do you need it?"

His smile is soft, like his eyes. "I've had it by my bed because my throat dried out so badly with this weird weather it felt like I had a paper cut. I bought a humidifier and haven't needed it since. Hold it in your throat as long as you can by gargling, then spit it out. It's not awful if you swallow it, but it's not great either."

"Thank you." I hand him Layla and take it into my room to use it. Oh, that is nasty. Once I spit it out, I brush my teeth.

When I come out of my room again, he's got Layla on his lap, sitting on the chair beside the couch. "Thank you. It works—I can't feel a thing. Is the weather in Dallas hugely different from Baltimore?"

He exhales what might be a laugh. "It's fifty-six degrees here with light winds. There's snow on the ground in Baltimore. It's been there for a week, and it's thirty-four degrees. East Coast weather took a lot of getting used to after growing up in Texas."

"How long did you live there?" I'm curious about him.

"I spent twenty years on the East Coast. I wanted my specialty to be child cancer, and Johns Hopkins was the best med school for it. My hope was to do my undergrad and med school there. But I didn't make it in for my undergrad. It didn't matter I got into several top-notch Ivy League schools—I wanted Johns Hopkins."

Again, I wonder how he could really think I would be a good choice for a fake girlfriend. He had his choice of Ivy League schools, and I went to a tiny community college. The mere idea of having to answer where I got my pathetic associate's degree has me cringing deep inside.

"As disappointed as I was, I accepted at Columbia in New York. Then I worked my ass off to become good enough for when it came time to apply for med school. I applied again and got into Johns Hopkins. I made it clear to my professors that it was where I wanted to do my internship and practice. Thankfully, it all worked out."

He's so driven. It hits me. "Who made you want to be a child oncologist?"

Those golden eyes darken to brown as they fall from mine. He pulls out a worn leather wallet from his pocket. Opening it, he takes out a picture and offers it to me. It's a faded school picture of a little girl with a mischievous smile. She's black with her hair in braids with brightly colored beads at the end.

"She's the reason, Susan Cartwright. I met her when I was eight and told her and anyone who would listen that I was going to marry her one day. Her leukemia appeared when she was eleven. She was dead before she turned fourteen."

Oh my god. "I'm sorry." I offer him the picture back.

He takes it and nods. "Me too. She was what kept me going during those years when I wondered if I could make it through medical school. When my first patient died..."

"And when your last one died? When you decided to quit and come back to Dallas." I prompt him when he trails off, lost in a distant memory.

Shaking his head, he sighs. "When Lucy died—my patient. Not even Susan could keep me going. I did everything right, and she died. It shouldn't have happened. I've lost so few patients over the years because I fit the treatment to the patient, not the treatment for the cancer. The way many of my colleagues did. Cancer treatment is…"

A large hand covers his mouth as though he doesn't want to let the words out. "It's not easy on the patient. You're bringing them to the edge of death to kill the cancer. Sometimes, the treatment doesn't just kill the cancer. After all these years, I had it down. Two plus two equals four. There are laws that?—"

"Three plus one also equals four. Albert Einstein said: As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality."

A bemused smile appears as an eyebrow lifts. "And you think I would be ashamed to have you as a girlfriend? No woman I've been with has ever quoted Einstein to me. By the way, my nephew has dyslexia. There's nothing to be ashamed of in being dyslexic. He didn't start university until he was twenty. He's a lawyer now."

I can't hide my surprise. "I'm impressed. It was torture just to get an associate's degree."

He shakes his head. "Santos had the best in study aids, tutors, and professors who made allowances for his dyslexia. He still called me in the middle of the night, complaining about the same feeling of torture. You should be proud of your degree. No one in my family, or me, would ever see your dyslexia as a negative."

I'm not sure why I'm close to tears. "Things were so hard for me. It became easier to memorize things. Danny laughed at me, studying at night. And rolled his eyes at how happy I was earning a B on a paper. When I finally graduated, he said they gave it to me because they were tired of seeing me at the school."

His jaw clenches. "It wasn't true, not a word. He was breaking you down, so you'd be grateful for him, which is complete bullshit. You are a woman anyone would be proud to have by their side. You're stubborn, intelligent, and street-smart. You also have the kind of integrity that's getting harder to find. A good mother who cares more for her daughter's safety and health than your own. You aren't perfect, none of us are. You need to learn not to diminish your accomplishments and yourself. Be proud of who you are—how Layla would be proud of you if she had a say."

I blink back tears. Layla is concerned and reaches for me. I take her from Matteo, and she buries her face in my breasts. "You don't know me. I met you a day ago, and I've been asleep for most of it?—"

"While you were running a fever and barely able to stand, you told me that you could take care of yourself. You gave in to letting someone help you only when it became clear you could not take care of your daughter. You weren't willing to hand over your problems and let someone else handle them the way so many would, and frankly, there's no shame in doing so. The way you aren't willing to lie to my family when it would benefit you and Layla, I know enough." He's firm.

I'm blushing at the way he talks about me. No one has ever said anything like it before. "What do you mean when you said lying would benefit me and Layla?"

"As my girlfriend, the vehicle I'll buy you would be much nicer than the safe and serviceable SUV or minivan you'll use to run errands in. Also, you'd go shopping for nicer clothes for you and Layla. I'd also be making calls to find the best nanny for Layla. Now, I'll only be looking at getting her in with the nursery school?—"

"You're buying me a car? And more shopping, are you nuts? Why in the world would you hire me a nanny?" It finally hits me, nicer clothes than what I have now—which were already some of the nicest I've ever had. "You're rich. Like rich, rich."

The exhale thing that's almost a laugh. He nods. "I'm rich, rich. My grandfather founded a construction company in Mexico City. Once he emigrated to the United States, he opened an office in Dallas. It took off. He shut down his other offices to focus on growing it. Within a decade, he became a citizen and a multimillionaire with offices in Austin, El Paso, and Houston. That was more than forty years ago. Now, the Castillo Company is in Los Angeles and Phoenix. They recently shut down their Miami and New Orleans offices because my older brother was tired of working sixty hours a week. He wanted to devote more time to his family."

He shrugs like it's not a huge fucking deal. "There were some issues when my father and his brother took over after my grandfather retired. My father and uncle fucked up big time, and the company was in freefall. My older brother Rafe walked out of high school and into board rooms. Rafe and my grandfather managed to right the ship, and now the company is worth billions."

"Billions?" I can barely get the word out.

"Yes. While I have nothing to do with the company, the earnings from it gave me the means to make my own money. The monthly allowance I received while I was in college was more than I needed, so I used the remaining money to invest in the market, medical technology, and companies that needed money they couldn't always get through typical investors. I rarely lost any—I usually made it back overwhelmingly. Once I started receiving money from the family trust, I could invest more and get a higher return.

I hold Layla tighter to me, needing her against me because I feel like I'm in a dream. This can't be real. I'm sitting in the home of a billionaire who asked me to be his housekeeper and pretend to be his girlfriend to keep his family from throwing women at him. "You wanted me to pretend to be the girlfriend of a billionaire? Me? I'm no one—nothing compared to you."

His jaw goes hard, and the air around him has me sitting up straighter, preparing for something I can't define. "I'm aware your soon-to-be ex-husband said horrible things to you in order to keep you from believing in yourself enough to think you could do better than him. However, I'm going to warn you that I do not like, nor will I stand to hear you say such things about yourself. You are not nothing. You are not no one. Everyone has an intrinsic value to the world and others all their own. You are worth far more…"

I watch as his hand covers his mouth. I want desperately to know what he was going to say. He shakes his head. "Please. If not for yourself, then for Layla. Do not put yourself down that way. Do you think Layla is nothing?"

The question is painful as she gives me kisses in the wet way she does with her whole mouth open on my jaw. I fight not to squeeze her to me. All I can do is shake my head.

"You don't know me." It comes out of me in a tight whisper—not because my throat hurts, but because the words hurt.

"I know all I need to know. But I would love it if you told me more." It's a gentle invitation.

Once I do, he'll understand and…agree? I shake my head to clear it. "My father used to beat my mother, me, and my two older brothers the same way Danny did to me. To escape any way she could, Mom got addicted to drugs. She overdosed when I was fourteen. I promised myself that I would never be with someone like that. But I did the exact same thing, down to a man who would hit a baby. The day I left him, he was going to hit her. It's why I left with barely any money and no plan."

"That was brave of you. I wondered what led you to be all alone with a baby. You got out before she experienced what you did. And she'll never know that because of you. It must have been hard to lose your mother so young when you needed her most. She must have been in a lot of pain. My hope is you'll tell me your father suffered for the pain he caused everyone."

My chest twists at the sincere sympathy in his eyes as they meet mine. There's not an ounce of disgust—how Danny reacted when I told him. "I don't know if he did later. He just walked out after they took her away in the ambulance and never came back. My older brothers left, too. They didn't even tell me goodbye. I'm not sure where they are. I went into a group home."

I cringe at the memories of that place. "When I was eighteen, I left. Even though I hadn't graduated high school yet and could stay until I did. I found a roommate desperate for my rent money."

Her kindness was something I badly needed. When she married and moved to Florida three years ago, I missed her and still do.

"Danny was a regular at the restaurant I waitressed at. I was twenty-three and had no interest in men. All I heard from them was that I was too fat to be appealing. Most men looked through me as if they were afraid treating me like a human being would cause me to fall in love with them and become some sort of stalker or something. So, I avoided men entirely. My focus was on school and trying to find a way out of waitressing. Danny was persistent. I was flattered. He was forty-two, had a good job he'd been at for years, and owned his own house. While he was no cover model or anything, he wasn't ugly. And more than a few times, he said he didn't usually like women who were as big as I was. But there was something different about me. It made me feel like I was special to him."

"Nineteen years older than you?" He hisses the words in barely contained anger. "The fucker was too old for you. He counted on your youth and inexperience. As far as your weight, that's complete bullshit. I can't answer for other men, but you are extremely attractive."

I blush when he says I'm attractive while my stomach flips a dozen times. He's just being nice…right? Stop it. Focus. He doesn't need to worry about some lovesick idiot in his house.

"He lied a lot. It turned out he didn't own the house, he rented it. Stupidly, I was flattered by the lie—thinking it was because he wanted to impress me. Almost a year after our first date, I got pregnant. Then I had a miscarriage. I'd only known for two weeks and was only ten weeks in, but I was torn up over it."

"I'm sorry." The words are hushed.

"Thanks," I mumble. Even now, a pang of sadness hits me. "It was the first time he yelled at me. I needed to shut up and stop crying. I didn't take it in, not really. In the moment, I welcomed it. I didn't want to keep crying. He said he was sorry. Then he promised we would have another baby when the time was right."

"You didn't deserve it." Is muttered low between gritted teeth. "Promising to have another baby to replace the one you lost is bullshit. There is no replacing what was lost. Not in your heart or in your mind. You are allowed to feel your pain and express it the way you need to."

I swallow a lump at his understanding. "Then my roommate told me she was moving out of state. Danny figured I might as well move in with him. I was on the pill by his demand. For over a year, things were great. Well, now I can see it wasn't really. He put me down a lot and would say it was a joke. If I said anything, he told me that I was too sensitive. Then he would say he loved me like it was supposed to make it all better."

Looking back now, the number of red flags is almost overwhelming. How could I have not seen them? Layla waves her hand as gibberish comes out of her. Almost like she's speaking for me.

"I didn't love him." I'm waiting to see disgust in Matteo's eyes. Or at least judgment, except there's none. "I wanted to. After he told me he did, I said it. Kind of like if I said it then it would make it true. Any day, I told myself, it will happen. Only it never did."

"You aren't the first person to think the same thing. It's probably more common than people actually being in love. And sometimes, it does grow into love. Sometimes it doesn't. Whether it does or not, it's bullshit to hurt a person because they figure out there isn't love there."

Running a hand over Layla's head, I fight tears at his gentle assurance. Am I telling him all of this for him to understand it didn't start with Danny hitting me? It felt like any normal couple I saw around me… That's not true. I saw better relationships. I just didn't think I deserved what they had.

"As soon as I got my associate's degree and started interviewing for a new job, Danny told me we were moving to Waco. There was a position I was perfect for, and I was positive they were going to hire me. They even assured me they had no problem with my dyslexia—another person who worked there had it, too. So, there were already things in place to accommodate me. Except they never called me back. He said it was a sign to move. He'd get a better job, so I wouldn't have to work at all since he was ready for a baby."

Matteo shakes his head. "He was making you dependent on him. With you in a new city, you would feel like you couldn't go back. That you had to make it work. You also didn't have friends or support there to help you see how bad things were."

My stomach twists at how stupid I was for being happy I didn't have to work. Hearing Matteo say it, I can finally see how right he is. Not working kept me trapped. "I didn't see it then. I wish I had. Instead, I agreed with him that my job would be staying home with our kids. Three months later, I was pregnant. We got married, so his insurance would cover me and the baby. I was sad it was only a courthouse ceremony."

I'm embarrassed to admit how sad I was. It was silly to be sad. I should have simply been happy I was getting married.

"Everything changed when we found out I was having a girl. He didn't hide his disappointment. Instead, he made me promise the next one would be a boy—as if I had control over that. He got meaner and stopped saying he was joking. Then he slapped me. Immediately, he apologized on his knees. He'd gotten hurt and was drinking and on pain pills. I convinced myself it wasn't him." Closing my eyes, I fight back the tears. "I'm so dumb. I should have left then."

Suddenly, Matteo is beside me. He takes my hand, and the sharp zing of electricity running through me sends my eyes up to his.

"You weren't dumb. Men like him are looking for sweet, kind, women like you to accept them the way they are. They don't want to change for the better—the way you deserve. He didn't start by thinking he was going to hit you. There was no plan for that. But deep down, he resented you. You didn't want him or need him. So he contorted himself and you until you did. Until you were afraid, he would leave you. Once you needed him, he won."

"He resented me from the beginning? Why move me in with him or be excited about me being pregnant?" It doesn't make sense.

"We all want to be needed, to be cared for, to be loved. When you met him, you didn't need any of it. He resented you for not wanting any of those things from him—he had to work to get you. In his eyes, it meant you had more power in the relationship. Once he had you, you were a trophy he won. Until things got real with the pregnancy and miscarriage. At his age, he probably figured, why not be with you? Until you didn't give him what he wanted. Then he began to resent you again."

Oh my god, I see everything from the beginning with new eyes. "I was so stupid to fall for all of his bullshit."

"No, you weren't. It's not on you for taking him at face value. He's the one who lied and manipulated you. Men like him go after younger women because they've experienced less heartache, dealt with fewer assholes, so it's easier to get what they want from you. If you had agreed to jump into something with him, he would have used you for a few weeks or months and moved on to the next woman."

I shake my head. "I think deep down I knew he would move on if I gave in. It's the reason why I was so resistant to getting involved with him. I didn't believe he wanted the same thing I did—a relationship. But you're giving me attributes I don't know if I can live up to."

That exhale laugh thing. "I'm calling it as I see it. Hopefully, in time, you'll see it for yourself. Thank you for telling me about what you endured. You didn't have to."

"You need to know who you have living in your home."

His sigh is heavy. "Thank you. And I have to tell you in full disclosure that I had you investigated… Because I needed to know who I had in my home."

It doesn't really surprise me, especially with the whole billionaire thing. It also doesn't bother me. "You are crazy bringing home some woman and her baby. What if you woke up to all your stuff gone?"

"Since it's not my stuff, I'm not attached to anything. Even if it was all mine, I wouldn't mind. Because I know you would be doing it for Layla, not you. You can have anything for Layla. She deserves the world. So do you. You just don't believe it yet." He squeezes my hand gently before letting me go.

The moment he lets me go, I long for his touch again. I shake my head. "You are crazy."

I say the words to him, but also to myself. S top wanting what you can't have . It will hurt so much worse when it's all over.

"Maybe." The words don't offend him. "I'm starting therapy tomorrow. I have to admit I'm not looking forward to it." Standing, he smiles down at me. "How about some dinner? I'm getting hungry."