“Yes,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “He’s fun. It’s fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But the words felt sour in my mouth. Because it didn’t feel meaningless. It felt warm. Safe. Easy and impossible all at once.
It felt likemore.
And that terrified me most of all.
The suite was quiet, save for the hum of the sea breeze whispering through the cracked balcony doors. I sat at the little bistro table on the balcony, nursing my coffee as I replayed Lucia’s words over and over again in my head.
You deserve to be loved too.
I stirred my spoon in slow circles, watching the cream swirl until it disappeared.
I didn’t know what to do with that kind of statement. What did “deserving love” even mean? It wasn’t like you won a reward for surviving enough heartbreaks. If it were, maybe I’d believe I’d earned it.
So, here I was— trying not to think about how good it felt to fall asleep with Matteo this whole vacation.
The front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed through the airy villa, light and familiar.
“Back from your daily punishment ritual?” I called, glancing up as Matteo walked in. His T-shirt clung to his abs in a way that should be illegal, and he had two paper bags balanced in one arm like some kind of smug, sexy delivery boy.
“You say ‘punishment,’ I say ‘endorphin high,’” he smirked, kicking the door shut behind him. “Brought you something.”
He sat the bags on the counter and pulled out two croissants—one chocolate, one almond—and a flaky sfogliatella, my favorite. My stomach growled like a traitor.
“About time,” I said, pretending not to be touched.
Matteo only grinned. “You’re welcome.”
He leaned in close, brushing a kiss across my forehead before I could react.
My breath caught.
And just like that, he was gone—sauntering down the hallway toward the bathroom, whistling under his breath, towel draped over his shoulder.
I sat frozen, croissant halfway to my mouth.
The kiss shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a forehead. Harmless. Friendly. Soft.
But somehow, that made it worse.
Because there was something so tender about it—the easy way he did it, like it was a reflex. Like I was his to kiss.
My usual reaction to that kind of intimacy was to bolt—to tear it all down before it could unravel me. But instead…I felt warm.
Like maybe Ididn’thate it.
Like maybe I wanted it again.
God,I groaned and shoved half the croissant in my mouth. I needed to clear my head.
I came into this vacation to unwind, and we made a deal. A truce. It was just fun. No feelings. It wasn’t my fault he was being soft and golden and deliciously Matteo.
He wasn’t my forever. That’s not who I was.
I didn’tdoforever.
So I would stick to the original agreement. Keep it light, no feelings.
