Waking up next to Matteo was quickly becoming addicting. Today, however, he woke up first and started bugging me. I sleepily swatted away his hand that poked my cheek.
“Wake up, Princess.”
“No,” I mumbled, pulling my pillow closer.
“Can you use a pillow so I can get up then? I assume you don’t want to get up before the sunrise to go on a run?” he asked, and my eyes flew open. Because I didn’t have my hand on the sheets but his shirt, and the pillow was in fact not soft at all, and it smelled fucking divine.
“Oh.”
“Who knew you were such a cuddler?” he smirked down at me. I smacked his chest.
“Fuck off.”
“You could ask nicely, ya know.”
“Have fun with your torture!” I flipped around, trying to readjust. Getting up before daylight should be a cardinal sin. Getting up before the sun to go for his runs, just plain psychotic. Matteo laughed and I felt the bed dip as he stood.
“Be back soon,” I heard him say as I drifted back off to sleep.
The next time I woke up, it was to the smell of coffee and an empty room. There was a coffee cup on the bedside table, a note with messy handwriting under it.
‘Enjoy your coffee, Princess.’ I caught myself smiling at the stupid piece of paper before pushing it away and flopping back on my pillow.
Then I pulled out my phone and typed out just about ten different versions of messages before landing on:
Nicola:
A pastry would go really nice with this coffee
Matteo:
…
Sweet or savory?
Nicola:
Surprise me.
A knock at the door startled me, just as I caught myself smiling down at my phone like an idiot. I blinked, shook my head, and tossed it onto the bed like it betrayed me.
Get a grip, Moretti.
I opened the door to find Lucia on the other side, eyes wide, hair slightly windblown like she power-walked here on a mission.
“I need girl talk,” she announced, already stepping in before I could say anything. She moved through the hotel suite like a mini hurricane, pacing in a tight line near the foot of my bed. I closed the door behind her, a sinking feeling already forming in my gut. I’d only recently learned how to be a decent friend, and whatever this was felt…heavy.
Then she blurted it out like it was physically painful, “I love him.”
She dropped onto the edge of the bed like her knees gave out. Her eyes darted to mine, wide and terrified, like she just confessed to something shameful instead of wonderful.
I sat next to her in the chair, softer than usual. “Okay,” I said gently, “That’s a good thing, right?”
“I don’t know!” she breathed out, her voice tight. “It started as nothing. Just fake. Just PR to help Alexander’s image, and mine by default. But then he started kissing me like he meant it. And then he startedmeaningthings. He says things that make me feel so…seen. And safe. And it scares the hell out of me.”
I reached for her hands, taking them into mine, grounding us both. “Love is terrifying,” I agreed, “But it’s also rare. And it’s not even a question that Alexander loves you back. The way he looks at you, Luce—like you’re the sun and he’s just trying to bask in the light.”
Her eyes widened. “He does?”
