Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A my

Consciousness is sudden and complete. I can't hide from it the way I wish I could. I don't understand why I feel worse than I did yesterday. My head feels like it's filled with sand, and all I want to do is sleep. Only the thought of Layla gets me out of bed and into the shower.

I hoped the shower would help me feel better, but it doesn't. Unlike yesterday, there's no joy for all the pretty clothes. I grab another pair of black leggings and a matching black t-shirt to go over the cotton panties and first bra I touch. My head feels so heavy my neck can barely hold it up. I find Layla's room empty and a clock telling me it's almost noon. Crap.

In the living area Matteo is sitting on a baby blanket on the floor with Layla's hands in his, her standing the way she loves. She's bouncing up and down, laughing as he goes through the ABCs. He is seriously adorable with her.

Layla spots me and cries out. "Mama."

Matteo turns and my knees threaten to buckle at the way his beautiful face glows with happiness when our eyes meet. Gold. They're gold when he's happy. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Taking Layla when he offers her to me, I cuddle her close. "Not good. I feel worse than I did yesterday. My throat doesn't hurt as bad, but I'm so tired, and my head is…"

"It will get a little worse before it gets better. You slept through the worst part. How about you get back to bed? I can get the television working in there. I'm also good to set you up with snacks and drinks. I'll get Layla's monitor to keep an ear out for you. You can let me know when you want dinner or anything else."

His offer is so thoroughly sincere. He wants me to spend all day in bed, and he wants to take care of me. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and… I don't even know. The tears trickle out of me. Then I blink, and they're pouring out of me.

"I'm, I…" I'm stuttering and my throat is thick with an emotion I've never felt before. I don't understand why I'm crying.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You don't feel good. Even with the infection dead, you let it go on for too long. Which means it's taking a minute for your whole body to heal and you feel better." It's the soft voice he uses with Layla. Is he not talking to Layla? I sway, and in an instant, I'm in his arms.

A sigh of relief escapes me. His arms are the best place in the world. Here, it's safe even with the crazy electricity. I'm not just safe in his arms—I feel whole again. As if a part of me I was missing is found with him. Is that what the electricity means, like when metal is heated and fused back together?

"Okay, let's get you to bed." He drops a light kiss on the top of my head. I can't stop from snuggling into him, loving how he carries me with Layla as if it were no big deal.

Too soon, we're back in my bedroom. He settles me on top of the wide queen bed I made up. I hate when he puts me down. "I'm going to grab some more pillows and a throw so you can get all cozy. I have it on good authority, from a multitude of my young lady patients, that naps with throws are always better than under the covers."

I can't help smiling, thinking of him with the little girls he treated. I love how he listened without dismissing their emotions, concerns, or declarations. Who he is with me is who he was with those patients—I have no doubt in my mind.

When he straightens from putting me down, Layla reaches for him across my stomach. "Just a minute, sweetie. I'll be right back. I have to make sure Mommy is settled."

A twinge of pain hits my chest. Matteo is just being nice. Like he was with his patients. He's simply a good man—person. I have to stop seeing things that aren't there. The poor guy, I bet he has a dozen women thinking they're in love with him.

"All right, we have this soft throw blanket I got for Christmas. I've taken a nap with it already, and I must admit it was a pretty good nap. Here are two more pillows for you. Let me take Layla while you get all comfy." We trade, and Layla goes to him eagerly.

"While you're getting sorted, I'll get you something to eat. What sounds good? For soup, there's more chicken noodle, potato soup, tomato basil, a very tasty butternut squash?—"

Hm. "Butternut squash?"

He nods. "It's kind of like sweet potato but lighter."

I hesitate. "It sounds good. Can I get soft bread with it?"

His smile makes me glad I'm lying down because my knees couldn't take it. "We have just the bread. It's a good thing my mother bought it in a two-pack. She warned me it was addictive, and she was right. I had half a loaf with goat cheese. I'll get some cut up for you. Do you want it warmed and butter on it?"

"That sounds good, thank you." I snuggle down into the cloud of the already soft mattress and all the pillows around and under me.

Matteo sets Layla down on her hands and knees at the foot of the bed. "Want to show Mommy what you did today?"

She laughs as she crawls to me.

"Layla, my big girl. You're crawling?" I sweep her into my arms.

"There was a toy she wanted, and she wasn't willing to wait for me to give it to her. I managed to catch it on video." Matteo offers me his phone.

My heart expands and then sinks as I watch the video. I'm glad he captured it on video, yet sad I wasn't there when it happened. She's getting so big. I look up to find him gone.

I'm surprised he left me with his phone. Danny got upset if I even looked at his. He never set it down—it was always in his hand or pocket. When he bought me a new one and added me to his plan, I thought it was a sweet gesture. Only later did he admit it was so he could see my location and all my calls and texts. It's why I left it behind after sending all my photos of Layla to my email address as a way to back them up.

Danny constantly accused me of cheating. Especially after I tried to read some spicy books to be better in bed. It was only because he told me often I was bad in bed. When I explained why I did it, he laughed at me. It was a mean laugh. From then on, I just laid beneath him and prayed he finished quickly—which he usually did.

Holding Matteo's phone I have no doubt I could go through it and find he is exactly who he said he is.

Matteo is back carrying a tray and a small lunch box. He sets it down out of reach of the curious Layla.

"Okay, we have the butternut squash. The big bowl is because even when it's cold, it's good. We have a half dozen slices of bread, three with butter for the soup and three to try with the goat cheese I have in the cooler. In this dish are cucumbers and strips of red pepper to go with the goat cheese or the hummus in the cooler." He points them out in a glass dish.

His grin leaves me breathless. I'll eat everything for another grin with both dimples.

"The cooler is so you have a choice at all times. Since you have a hard time asking for things, I thought this might help. If there is anything you want more of or if you want something not on the tray or in the cooler, I want you to ask me for what you need." His eyes catch mine and refuse to let go until I nod.

"All right. Let me go get some toys for Ms. Layla. How about I get your activity center?" He's talking to Layla.

I swear she nods like she understands him.

"Be right back, sweetie." He tells her.

I get the tray settled over me, then remove the extra bread and put it on the nightstand. There's plenty of room. It only holds a lamp, tissue in a marble dispenser, an alarm clock, and the lidocaine.

Matteo is back with a basket full of toys. Curious, Layla is instantly in the basket. She gives a little cry of joy at seeing her toys. "This should buy you at least a half hour. Now let me get this television on for you."

The huge flat-screen television is swivel-mounted on the wall. He works the remote and enters a code. A selection of streaming services appears on the screen—there's even two for music.

He's beside me without me noticing. "It's easy. There's only a code to bring this up. You can get into any streaming you want, and you can also do cable. I believe you now have access to a hundred different series and a thousand movies. Hopefully, something catches your attention."

His phone rings. It's beside my leg. "Layla has been changed and fed. But if you also want some alone time or to take a nap—let me know. I can take her. It's the clinic so I better answer. I'll be right back."

The clinic… Wait, it's Monday. Shouldn't he be at work? Did he take the day off because of me? What if it's causing problems at the clinic? I need to tell him that I can take care of myself and Layla—he doesn't have to stay. Except a few minutes stretch to ten, and my stomach begins growling. I give in and eat. As soon as he comes back I'll tell him.

Layla is content with the toy she and Matteo had at the dinner table and isn't trying to eat my food with me. It's an interesting toy, almost like an activity center in a ball.

I'm poking around the streaming services out of curiosity. A cute fuzzy series about a preteen girl and figuring out the world has me settling into the pillows. Matteo wasn't kidding about the bread—I could eat a whole loaf of it.

I've never had goat cheese before. I use a small piece of bread and take the smallest taste. Hm, salty and creamy. It's yummy. All three pieces and the goat cheese are gone along with half of the bowl of soup. Careful, I put the tray at the bottom of the bed, breathing a sigh of relief it doesn't jostle or anything.

Layla is gumming a teething ring attached to her purple dress. "Are you teething, baby?"

Her answer is a smile and a trail of drool. Chuckling, I clean her up with one of the two linen napkins from the tray. Happy, she cuddles into me. It isn't long before she falls asleep in my arms.

Once I'm sure she's asleep, I shift her onto her side with a pillow propping her up.

Two episodes into the series, heat hits me—pulling my eyes to the open door. Matteo is leaning against the frame. I'm guessing he worked out and showered because his hair is damp, and he's changed. Although he's in black sweats again, instead of the long-sleeved black shirt he was wearing, he's now in a plain white t-shirt. The shirt is too thick to see through, yet his muscles are clearly defined. I wish the shirt was as wet as I am at the sight of him.

Oh my god, where the hell did that thought come from? And how am I not afraid of him when he's big and strong?

"How are you feeling?"

Words won't come. I'm supposed to tell him to go to work. Except I don't want him to. All I want is to ask him to hold me again.

He moves slowly until he's right beside me. Down on his haunches, we're eye to eye. Concern is in every inch of him. "What is it? Talk to me, sweetheart."

"You should be at work?" The words feel creaky.

Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. "No. You need me. Here is where I should be. The clinic can run without me. You're stuck with me for the next few days. I took today and tomorrow off. I'm off Wednesday for the New Year holiday. Since we're only open for six hours, the clinic is operating on a skeleton crew. I didn't dare put myself on the schedule. My staff begged for the time and a half hours."

I laugh at the mock horror on his face.

"My brother's nanny will be here in the afternoon to help you with Layla on Thursday. If you're not okay with the nanny, I'll cancel her and stay here with you. You let me know what you need."

Everything eases inside me until he tells me a nanny will be here. I want to argue against a nanny, except my throat is too tight to let more than a few words out. "Thank you." Is little more than a whisper.

His face is soft with something I can't read. "No thanks are necessary. I'm happy to be here with you and Layla. I'll let you enjoy your show."

"Please don't go." I rush to stop him. Oh god, how embarrassing. I can't look at him. I'm being all needy and pathetic.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Matteo drag the chair from the desk close to the bed. He sits down and leans back. "I've heard a lot about this show. How is it so far?"

I'm stunned, unable to answer his question.

A dimple appears. "You need me. So, I'm here. Whether it's at home or beside you watching television. I see you finished off the goat cheese. If you liked it, there's an herbs and chives one I had to force myself to stop eating."

"I can't wait to try it. I've never had goat cheese before. I was afraid I wouldn't like it."

During the episode we chat about our favorite snacks as we both become engrossed in the show. My hair is driving me crazy. It's in its usual braid that's becoming so loose I need to undo it and braid it again. I get frustrated and undo it.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to grab a brush for you?"

I sigh. "I need to brush it out and braid it again, except I'm not in the mood to deal with it."

"I can do it. If you're okay with me…"

"You can braid hair?" I'm shocked.

He does that exhale laugh thing. "I can. Many of my patients were girls with long hair. Their moms weren't always there. And they needed someone to braid it…" The smile slips. "Before they lost it to chemo."

My chest does a weird twisting thing because I know he would have been as sad as the girls who lost their hair.

A clearing of his throat tells me I'm not wrong. "I can do a French braid or a simple braid. Whichever one you want."

"Yes, please."

"Where's your brush?"

"The bathroom on the vanity." I'm sitting up, wondering how he can do it.

The chair he's in is close, but I would have to hang off the edge of the bed for him to reach easily. I look behind me. With all the pillows he added for me to lay on there's a lot of room between me and the headboard. If they were removed, he would be able to fit behind me. I begin trying to remove them without waking Layla.

"Here, let me help." He grabs the remaining pillows and places them at the foot of the bed. A hand on the headboard helps him get his leg on the outside of mine on the bed.

I'm embarrassed and don't know what to say as he begins brushing it. "Every other time I brush it out I tell myself I'm going to cut it." I mutter.

"I hope like hell it never happens. It's beautiful." A beat passes. "However, I do understand long hair can be difficult to take care of as well as time-consuming. If there are any hair tools or products you want to buy to help you, add them to the household purchases. Does it sound like I'm telling you not to cut it? I don't mean it that way. It would simply be a tragedy if you do."

I fight laughter. "Thank you, that's very sweet. I'm only thinking a few inches—to the middle of my back. It's been more than a year since I cut it. At the very least, I want to get rid of the split ends."

His slow, gentle brushing is almost hypnotic it's so soothing. "It's like silk."

"Thanks to the shampoo and conditioner your mother bought. The stuff I was using had it feeling like straw. I just wish I could do more than put it in a braid. Leaving it loose with Layla's tendency to grab and pull isn't an option."

"That's too bad. I wondered why you kept it in a braid." He begins separating it into three pieces. "Do you want it high or low?"

"Low, please, at my nape." I'm glad he asked. I do my best to ignore the way his long fingers continually brush my neck. Except every touch causes heat to build low—where it shouldn't.

After brushing the individual sections, he begins braiding the sections together.

"I can't stop thinking of you braiding your patient's hair. And the pain the girls went through when they lost their hair." I wince as I wonder if I should have said anything.

"It was sad." Another clearing of his throat tells me the word doesn't cover it in the least. "Many parents couldn't put their work or caring for their other kids on hold to be there for their sick child. And the few who could, often couldn't bring their other children with them. It's why I housed several families at my home. There's a charity built into the hospital intake that helps with housing. Unfortunately, they didn't always have accommodation for large families. I had two bedrooms on the main floor and another two in the basement for them to use."

"How awful to not be able to stay with their child while they went through that." I sigh.

"It wasn't easy to see. That's why I set up a charity to pay for housing as long as they needed to stay in the area. A portion of my trust goes into it every month."

This man, sitting with cancer patients, braiding their hair, housing families in his own home. I would wonder if he were real if someone told me about him. I remember the question I had when he mentioned it. "When did you get your trust? I thought those things were an eighteen or twenty-one thing."

His exhale laugh thing sends air over my neck. Oh my god, it's a good thing I'm sitting. It's stronger than the first time he did it, and I can't stop the shiver it sends through me.

"No, my grandfather was certain he gave my father and uncle too much money too soon. I think he judged them by what he would have done at the same age. Except there were too many differences between how their life was growing up and his. They had whatever they wanted by merely asking. My grandfather had to work three jobs to help feed his brothers and sisters when he was a kid himself. If I were married and had children, I would have gotten access to my share of the trust sooner. Since I had neither, I didn't get anything until I turned thirty."

"You mentioned he didn't pay for your school. Did the trust pay for it?" I meant to ask him last night.

"It was supposed to. My grandfather first created the trust to pay for our education—both private school as children and university as adults. Then he changed it to ensure we had the quality of life he worked so hard to give his kids. But he got angry when I said I was going to school to be a doctor. Since he was the trustee, he refused to release the funds to pay for college."

"That's crap. You wanted to be a doctor. It's not like you were planning on becoming an actor or musician or something." What an asshole. "How were you able to go to school and get the allowance you mentioned?"

His chuckle holds no humor. "I understand now why he did it. The more of us in the company, the more the work would have been spread out. I've worried for years about how hard Rafe was working. Javier gave up the immigration law he did on the side because it was either that or have no life. Seeing it now, I forgave my grandfather when he apologized for what he did."

He's better than me because I don't think I could have. But I don't dare say it out loud.

"It was my mother who covered tuition and gave me my monthly allowance. She also bought a condo in New York and my house in Baltimore. Like I mentioned the other day, most of the money I've made is from the leftover allowance. I lived below my means in school—I was too embarrassed by how hard everyone around me stressed about money to spend my full allowance."

"That's awesome of your mom." I exhale in wonder. "But your grandfather sounds like a control freak. I don't know if I would have been able to forgive him." Darn it. I wasn't supposed to say that last thing.

"Yeah, my mom has her moments. Control freak fits him perfectly. He changed the rules of the trust when I told him I would accept it when I turned thirty. It's now written that no more than fifty percent of what's received can be given away, or we get cut off from it permanently. It could be refused outright the way Javier did. Javier didn't need it after making his own billion. At Yale, he met a lot of students who couldn't find investors—typically because they were too young or women. It's what gave me the idea to invest beyond the market. I couldn't refuse my trust when it could go to help others. I take my percentage and put it away for retirement."

"Since you have so much money, why don't you retire?" I'm curious.

"I don't think my guilt over being born rich will let me. I'm sure I'll be doing something in some capacity to give back until I'm incapacitated or dead." His tone is one of acceptance.

"Is that what drove you? The guilt from being rich?" I'm understanding him more.

"Pretty much. Guilt played a factor in so much of what I've done. I think guilt is a part of the reason I did my best to keep Susan's memory alive for so long. I thought it should hurt more to lose the person you wanted to spend your life with." His voice is low as he confesses.

I shake my head. "You were a kid. I was certain I was going to marry the lead singer of my favorite boy group. Now, if you were to hand him to me on a platter, I wouldn't want him. It turns out he also has no problem ending an argument with anyone—girlfriend or paparazzi—with his fists. Things can change. It's no one's fault when you grow out of love. I think you said that yourself yesterday."

He's quiet for a long minute. I hope like hell I didn't make him angry. His hand runs down from the top of the braid to the bottom, giving me the lightest tug. "All done. Where were you when I was fifteen and needed to hear it?"

"In diapers, I think." I bend my head back to look up at him. He's laughing, really laughing. It's the best sound in the world. When he looks down at me, he shakes his head. I let my head fall back against his chest.

A crashing sound comes from the television, and we both look to it. The main character made a huge mess. We groan in unison at what it means to the girl. Since I don't have to sit up straight, my back brushes against Matteo's chest. "She's never going to live it down with her mom."

When his arms wrap around me to bring me more in contact with his wide chest, air stutters out of my tight lungs. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax against him.

"This is a good show. Usually, when they're dealing with someone as young as she is, the messages feel overly heavy and silly." He muses.

"Hm, true. I didn't like watching television geared toward kids when I was one." In his arms is the best place in the world. I think I become engrossed in the show, but I slip into sleep without realizing it.

The next thing I know, yummy smells are teasing me awake. I check the clock on the bedside table to find I was asleep for more than two hours. Layla is gone. I'm sad I missed out on more time in Matteo's arms.

No, stop it. He doesn't need you getting clingy. Matteo is just an extremely nice guy who cares about all people. Remember, he offered to move you into an apartment or his mother's house… But when I asked if he wanted me to leave, everything about his answer screamed he was honest when he said no.

Out of the restroom, I go into the kitchen to find Matteo at the table. Layla is in the highchair next to him. He's eating while Layla gums banana squeezed out between her fingers. I'm shy, worried I messed up when I fell asleep on him.

"Hi," Matteo greets me with a smile. His eyes are gold.

"Hi, is she actually getting any of that in her mouth?" I chuckle.

"It's more or less her dessert. She got half of the banana in her oatmeal. You liked your oatmeal, didn't you?" Layla pounds her tray with enthusiasm and laughs. "There are green chili chicken enchiladas on the tray. Or I can make you something else."

"It smells delicious. I'll have some of this." I open the cabinet where I saw him take our plates from yesterday. Six enchiladas remain on the foil tray. I scoop two onto my plate.

"There are beans on the stove," He points to a small pot.

"No thanks, I'm not really a beans person." I shake my head as I join him at the table. "These enchiladas are delicious."

His eyes run over me with concern. "Feeling better?"

So we're not going to talk about me falling asleep in his arms? Okay, because simply thinking about it has me blushing. "My head doesn't feel as bad. I still feel like I could sleep for another ten hours, though."

Lines appear in his forehead. "Any fever or chills? Head pounding like a migraine?"

Sighing, I shake my head. "It's just me. It's always taken longer for me to get better than most."

"You might have developed rheumatic fever or even damaged your kidneys. Are you peeing, okay?"

I consider the question. "I think so. It doesn't feel like it's too often or not enough."

"You'll tell me if you feel worse. If you're not feeling better by Wednesday, I'll take you to work and run some other tests."

It's an order. I fight not to laugh and nod. "You didn't get anything to drink, you want something while I'm up?"

"Ice water would be good, please." Layla becomes interested in my plate the second Matteo is up. "No, baby. Eat your banana. It looks yummy." I encourage her. She slams her hand down with the banana in fury.

Before she can cry, Matteo is back. The moment she sees him, her outrage disappears. Now, she's interested in what he is eating.

Matteo hands me the glass of water. He has a bowl of ice cream. "That looks good. What flavor is it?"

"It's cookies and cream, and it's very good. I'm sorry. I forgot all about the ice cream. There are as many different ice cream containers in the freezer as soups. Besides this one, there's chocolate chip cookie dough, plain chocolate, plain vanilla, something called Death by Chocolate, and caramel with sea salt."

"She just does not do anything by halves." I'm once again impressed and slightly fearful of her.

"Yeah, she is." He sighs. "She might have gone overboard again. It's going to be up to you. Whatever you want to do, I'll agree with."

Unease fills me. "What did she do?"

His sigh is heavy. "We talked last night about you feeling guilty about Layla and her first Christmas in a motel. It's my own fault because I was asking her to do more shopping for you. I promise it was just going to be some sketchbooks and pencils, and she… I'll have to show you."