What if it’s not women? What if it’s just one woman?
A girlfriend. A wife. He could have that, couldn't he? I’ve seen it happen in the movies, and even in books. Someone he keeps locked up for her own safety and with her consent, for whom he feels strongly enough to bar anyone else from her quarters. Someone he would stand close to in the library late at night.
Someone he might actually kiss.
The jealousy hits me low and sharp, completely uninvited. I hate it immediately. I have no claim on him. No right to feel anything beyond gratitude and complicated attraction I didn’t ask for.
Still, the feeling coils anyway, warm and uncomfortable, sitting heavy in my gut.
I turn back toward the house, the rosebud brushing my cheek as I walk.
I tell myself I’m being ridiculous.
I don’t entirely believe it.
Trusting people doesn't come easy to me. Not after what I've seen in my previous life. And Matteo—even if he's not doing anything wrong up there, he's still the whole package. Rich, smart, funny. Hotter than sin and then some.
It would be stranger if he didn't have a woman.
The thought depresses me for the rest of the day, for reasons I don't want to examine too closely. I sit on the bed and cuddle Wasabi against his will and nap longer than socially acceptable.
Later that night, I head back to the library. I tell myself it’s for the books, for the distraction, for anything that will quiet the noise in my head.
That I definitely don't hope to see him there again.
The lights are low when I step in. Matteo is in fact, there, seated at the long table, a laptop open in front of him. His posture is intent, focused. The kind of focus that means work, not leisure. The screen throws a soft glow up across his face.
Wasabi slips ahead of me and hops onto a chair like he owns the building.
Matteo looks up at the sound.
In one smooth motion, he shuts the laptop.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I tell him, suddenly aware of the silence I’ve walked into.
“You’re not,” he answers, and his gaze drifts—not to my face, not this time—but to the rosebud still tucked into my hair.
His eyes soften, just a fraction.
Heat rises up the back of my neck. “Lara put it there,” I say quickly. “In the garden.”
“And you kept it.”
"Forgot I had it."
We stay in awkward silence for a long moment. Or at least, awkward on my part. Nothing about Matteo could ever be awkward. He’s charm itself when he wants to be.
Right now, I’m not sure what he wants to be.
“Did you enjoy it?”
My eyes snap up. “What?”
“The garden.”
“Oh.” My mood lightens instantly. “Yeah. I did. You have lovely grounds here.”
“Our gardener takes great care of them.”
