Hours passed, and I didn’t even know how I made it to the alley, heels clicking on cobblestones, breath uneven, adrenaline swirling through me like poison, like something was wrong. Too many shots was what was wrong. I didn’t love the whole ‘feeling out of control’ thing, couldn’t stop thinking about Matteo and his hands. His goddamn hands. The cool night air slapped me in the face, slicing through the haze of alcohol, but not enough to clear it. Not enough to stop the ache behind my ribs at thiswant. I didn’t ask to feel this way, I didn’t want to feelanythingwhen Matteo DeLuca touched me. All I could focus on was getting out of the club.It felt too small and too hot. I just needed some air to get my head on straight.
“Nicola?” Matteo’s voice cut through the music still thumping from the club behind me, before the door slammed shut behind him.
I spun around. “Go away!”
He stopped, chest heaving, dark curls a mess like he’d been running. “Not happening.”
“I don’t need any help, Matteo. Especially not fromyou,” I shouted, louder than I meant to, voice cracking like I was about to cry, which Iwasn’t.
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, closing the distance. “Do you even hear yourself?”
I shoved him. Hard.
He stumbled a little—more from surprise than force—but then he steadied himself.
Just in time to catchmeas I nearly tripped over my own feet.
His arms came around me automatically, and I hated how safe I felt in them. “Careful, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” I muttered, but it came out breathy.
He sighed, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other still around my waist. “I’m calling a car. You’re not walking anywhere like this.”
“I don’t need?—”
“You’re drunker than I am,” he said. “And more dramatic.”
“Bite me.”
The car pulled up not two minutes later, and Matteo ushered me in. I slumped against the window, arms folded and glaring at the blur of lights.
When we got to the hotel, he walked me in without saying a word. I swayed on my feet in front of my room, jabbing my keycard at the door but missing the slot completely.
“Stupid fucking door.”
He took the card gently from my hand. “You’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a sleep-deprived raccoon.”
“Donotinsult raccoons,” I slurred. “They’re resourceful.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
I tripped over the threshold.
Matteo caught me again. “You and your heels are lethal.”
“It’s a gift,” I said, and then I groaned, face twisting. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna—” I didn’t finish the sentence before bolting for the bathroom.
Matteo was behind me in a flash, pulling my hair back as I threw up, misery coating my tongue.
“Jesus,” I muttered between heaves. “This is humiliating.”
“You’ll live,” he said, kneeling beside me, soothing a hand down my back. “You party like a rockstar. You crash like one too.”
Eventually, the nausea faded and I slumped to the tile, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. “I hate this.”
