His smile was infuriatingly easy. “Popular, much?”
I sighed, resisting the urge to throw the wine in his face.
“Thank you,” I muttered begrudgingly instead, lifting the glass.
The moment the wine hit my lips, my stomach turned. Not from the taste—it was perfect. A Vienella Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, full-bodied and smooth, the kind of thing I would have ordered without hesitation. Of course he knew. Of course he’d noticed. And somehow that ruined it for me, the perfection soured by the thought of Matteo watching, cataloguing, remembering.
“Damn,” he said after watching me take a slow swallow, eyes trained on me again. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
I tilted my head, pretending innocence. “What?”
“Saying thank you.”
“I say thank you all the time,” I said, indignant, sitting up straighter. “I’m adelight.”
“True,” he conceded with mock sincerity. “But usually not to me. Kinda rude, actually.”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes again, the motion starting to feel habitual around him. “I’ve thanked you before.”
Had I?
My brain came up short. No specific instance, no recollection of extending him even the most basic courtesy. The realization was a little mortifying.
It wasn’t that Itriedto be cruel—I wasn’t that kind of person. Usually, I could smile through anything, smooth over tension, turn prickly situations into polite exchanges. That was what I was good at, my skill, myreputation.
But something about Matteo cracked through that veneer. Around him, my filter dissolved. The truth—sharp, unpolished, and often harsher than I intended—slipped out before I could catch it. He pulled it from me like a tide dragging loose stones, exposing everything I wanted neatly buried.
“Actually,” his smirk curled, slow and deliberate, as he lifted his glass of whiskey. The amber caught the light, his throat working as he swallowed before speaking again. “You don’t have to ever say thank you to me.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion pricking sharp. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, voice dipping lower, rougher, like the single word had weight, “pleasewas so much better.”
The flush hit me before I could armor up. Heat spread across my skin, traitorous and instant, as if my body had decided to betray me without running it by my brain first. Matteo was—God, he was alwaystoo much. Too close, too smug, too loud. His flirtation was relentless, a constant hum in the background of every room he entered.
But this, his voice wrapped around that word, was different. It struck low, sharp, pulling something tight in my chest I absolutely refused to name.
I straightened in my chair, spine a steel rod, and rolled my eyes as if that could douse the fire licking up my neck. “Fuck off,” I snapped, my glare a shield, a lifeline.
I stood and turned on my heel before he could see the crack in my composure. The slit of my dress skimmed high against my thigh as I walked, and maybe I let my hips sway more than necessary. I didn’t have to look back to know his eyes were still on me, fixed and unblinking, tracing every step like he couldn’t help himself.
Good.
Lucia:
SOS
Nicola:
What?
Lucia:
Nathaniel is here
Want me to shove my heel into his foot?
I can spill wine on him
