That’s my excuse to make a quick getaway. But it doesn’t help. He pins me with his eyes, holding me in place.
“I see you’re still choosing life,” he says easily, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I’m mortified.
The last thing I want is for this man to see my embarrassment.
I swallow hard. “H-how are you?”
“I’ve been well,bella. You… look like sleep hasn’t touched you in days.”
My head snaps up, and I glare straight into his eyes. “Excuse me?”
I open my mouth again, but nothing comes out.
Why have I suddenly forgotten how to speak? I shift my weight from foot to foot and look at the floor. When I look up, he’s still staring at me. His gaze is striking, sharp; it slices right through me.
I feel naked under his eyes. Like he sees the parts of me I try so desperately to hide.
I tug at my scarf to give my hands something to do. I don’t know what to say to him.
“Hey. I never thanked you properly for… you know. For stepping in… I should?—”
“Order for Beatrice?” the barista calls my name. I raise my hand to show her I’m coming.
When I turn back, his head is tilted slightly, observing me.
“Beatrice?” he repeats, my name on his lips for the first time. “It suits you.”
“Yeah, that is my name. Funny, I thought I’d told you.”
“You ran,bella. I didn’t even get the chance.”
I try not to get distracted by his voice. It’s smooth like velvet and dangerous. “What’s your name?”
He takes my hand without warning and brings the back of it to his lips. He kisses my skin, and prickles of electricity shoot up and down my arm. He flicks his gaze upward, a glint of mischief playing in his pupils.
“My name is Matteo Davacalli,bella.”
“Matteo.” I pull my hand back, my body feeling things it never has before. It’s unsettling, unnerving. I don’t know if I like it or hate it. “You have a beautiful name. Italian?”
“Si,” he says with ease. “Do you speak?”
I shake my head. “My father does, but he never taught me.”
“I see. Pity—it’s a beautiful language.”
“Beatrice, your order is ready,” the barista calls again.
“I should get going. It was nice seeing you again, Matteo. Thanks again for earlier.”
“You’re welcome.” He slips his hands into his pockets.
“Good thing the night didn’t go sideways.”
I purse my lips. I know he’s joking, but the reminder lands like a punch.
“I should be going now.” I walk to the counter and grab my coffee. I don’t turn back to wave at him; there’s no need. I’m already incredibly mortified.
