Matteo raised a brow, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the damn place. “Nic, the couch is a glorified ottoman. We’ll share the bed or we’ll both wake up with spinal injuries.”
“Sounds preferable,” I snapped and jabbed a finger at his chest. “If you so much as snore, I’m smothering you with a pillow.”
He smirked and leaned in so only I could hear. “If you want to try new things in bed, all you have to do is ask.” His hands pulled up as if in defense, one dimple starting to show as he smirked. Then, voice louder, “But don’t worry—you’ll be too busy dreaming about me to notice.
“Shut up or people will hear you!”
He walked farther into the room, brushing past me on the way to the window. “You know, for someone who says it didn’t mean anything, you’re really going out of your way to prove it.”
My spine straightened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asked, not even turning around. “Don’t point out that every time I get close, you run? Or that you kiss me like I’m oxygen but look at me like I’m a mistake the second it’s over?”
“Because itwasa mistake!” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of my own lie.
Matteo finally turned, his expression softer than I expected. “Nicola.”
I closed my eyes, because I hated how my name sounded in his voice.
“I don’t do relationships,” I said, the words low and brittle. “I don’t do real. Real gets messy. Real ends. I’ve spent too long proving I can hold my own, and I won’t blow it all.”
He blinked. “So…youdohave feelings.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’tnotsay it.”
I stared at him, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re scared,” he said simply, walking closer. “And that’s okay.”
My breath hitched. His nearness was dangerous. Warm and grounding and far too tempting.
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” he said, voice softer now, more careful. “Just…don’t shut the door before we even open it. Let’s take this week and forget the rules. No pressure. No expectations. Just…you and me. Vacation time. Exploring time.”
I arched my brow. “Exploring time?”
He shrugged with a smirk. “Sunsets. Gelato. Occasional heavy petting. We’ll call it research.”
A reluctant laugh broke out of me. “You’re an idiot.”
“But I can be your idiot. At least for the next seven days.”
I hesitated. “And then what?”
“We get on the plane, and if you want to pretend none of it happened, I’ll let you.”
Something tightened in my chest. It wasn’t fair how easy he made it sound—how gently he held the very thing I was afraid to name.
Matteo stepped back, like he was giving me space to choose. “But for now,” he said, “We’re in Portofino. It doesn’t count.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then slowly exhaled.
“Fine. One week.”
A grin spread across his face, all dimples and triumph. “Best non-relationship of your life, I swear.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling despite myself.
