So fucking wrong.
Having her made it worse. Having her made me want more. Having her made me realize that once is nowhere near enough, that I want days and weeks and months of her, that I want too much.
I want it all.
The front door opens before we're halfway up the steps and Matteo comes out. I watch Isabella's face transform the second she sees him, watch years of careful control dissolve into relief and something that looks dangerously close to tears.
She runs. Actually runs, which I've never seen her do, and Matteo catches her and wraps his arms around her and lifts her slightly off the ground in a hug that makes my chest tight for reasons I'm not examining too closely.
I stay where I am and watch them and tell myself this is good, this is right, this is exactly what should be happening after a week of being hunted through the countryside.
Matteo sets her down and holds her at arm's length, looking her over with the systematic assessment of a man who needs to verify that all the important pieces are still attached.
"You're okay?" His voice is rough with something he's trying to keep under control.
"I'm fine." She's smiling through whatever she's feeling. "I promise. I'm fine."
His eyes find mine over her head and I see the question there, the need for confirmation from someone he trusts.
I nod once.
He nods back and then pulls her into another hug, this one longer, and I look away because it feels like something I shouldn't be watching, something private.
When they finally separate, Matteo keeps one arm around her shoulders and looks at me properly.
"Thank you," he says, and loads the two words with more weight than they can reasonably carry. "For keeping her safe."
The guilt hits immediately, sharp and specific, because he has no idea what keeping her safe actually looked like in that motel room last night, has no idea where my hands were or what sounds she was making or the fact that I'm standing here now actively planning how to get her alone again as soon as possible.
"Just doing my job," I say, and the words taste like ash.
"Come inside," Matteo says, and his arm drops from Isabella's shoulders as he turns toward the door. "We need to debrief. Rafael and the others are already here."
Isabella glances at me as we walk inside, just a quick look, barely a second, but I feel it everywhere.
She goes upstairs to her room to shower and change and I watch her disappear around the corner of the landing before I force myself to turn away and follow Matteo down the hall to his office.
Rafe is already there, sitting in one of the chairs with his feet up on the coffee table like he owns the place, and he grins when he sees me.
"You're alive," he says cheerfully. "That's good. Matteo was getting worried."
"I wasn't worried," Matteo says, which is an obvious lie. "I was concerned."
"Right. Concerned." Rafael looks at me with eyes that see too much. "How was the cabin?"
"Fine."
His grin widens. "You look like you didn't sleep."
The fucking bastard.
"I didn't sleep."
"Oh, I definitely understand, being chased and all that."
"Rafael," Matteo says, his voice carrying the warning that means shut up before I make you, and Rafael raises his hands in surrender but doesn't stop smirking.
I sit in the chair across from him and Matteo settles behind his desk, and for the next twenty minutes we go through everything that happened, from the wedding to the cabin to the three men in the living room, to the gas station, the motel and the decision to come back.
