It's not a question.
I open my mouth.
She raises a hand."Don't."
I shut it.
She leans against the wall, arms crossed, voice low."It's cute.Also unfair.And not your business.But sure—cute."
"I wasn't—" I start.
She arches a brow.Don't lie to me.
I shift.My shoulder blades itch."I just—"
"You don't get to be angry about what I do when you're the one who walked off that night with a smug little joke about crazy fans."Her voice is still soft.Controlled.Like she's rationing energy.
"I wasn't—God, I didn't mean—" I sigh.I'm not good at this part.Never have been.
She rubs her temple."Look, I'm on my second espresso and three hours of sleep," she says."And I'm too tired to fight with you about a night I didn't even enjoy."
I blink."You didn't—?"
She looks up at me then, and for the first time this morning, I see her.Really see her.
There's no heat in her eyes.No spark.Just quiet.
Tired.
"No," she says, almost like a confession."It wasn't that kind of night."
I nod.Don't smile.Don't react.Just nod.But feel warmth spreading around my chest.
"If you need to know," she smirks."My clothes are in my room, soaking wet.Not from any kind of pleasant activity, but because my phone went dead and there are no fucking taxis in Wengen, obviously."
She pushes past me gently, back toward the room."I still have a briefing to finish."
I stay there a beat longer.
By the time I get back in, she's flipping through slides again, as if she hadn't just yanked the floor out from under me.
She's still impossible.
But she's not Matteo's.Not today.And that's enough to carry me through the rest of the meeting with a barely-there smile.
Chapter 9
The Golden Gams of Kitzbühel
Playlist:
Roxette: Sleeping In My Car
