Professor Leoni goes on to tell us about how Matt was always writing, ever since he was young. She’s relaying a particularly detailed story he wrote in the second grade that got him sent home from school when I lean in a drop toward Matt’s side.
“Thank you for giving us that insider tip about season three. I’m pretty sure we all lost sleep over it at some point.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, looking down at me. “I like to do what I can for the fans.” He flashes me that condescending smile and I’m horrified to realize that this pulseless subhuman is the writer who weaved some of my favorite fictional love stories. I’ve been catfished. Brutally space opera catfished.
“I don’t get it,” I tell him. “How can you write romance and relationships the way that you do and be the way that you are? Your characters are all deep and passionate and you’re...you.”
A little smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I use my imagination,” he answers. “I imagine that I can get away with writing whatever far-fetched crap I want so long as there’s plenty of tormented romance and lots of banging going on all over the galaxy. Viewers take what I write and interpret it into what they want it or need it to be. When people are lonely and desperate for love, the bar for entertainment is fairly low, as I’m sure you can attest to.”
He picks up the spoon then, taking his share of risotto, and for someone so successful, he seems disproportionately miserable. If he wasn’t such a jerk, I might have been tempted to find out why. But as it stands now, his patronizing words only serve to stoke my spiteful fire. Lonely and desperate for love, am I? He must have forgotten that as far as he’s concerned, Iamin love. I’m wildly in love withhimand I think it’s time to remind him of the fact.
“I just think it’s amazing how you wrote a show that captivated the world. You’re so talented, Matt.” I gaze longingly over at him and his smile falls. “And that’s so adorable that you wrote as a child, too. Do you want a big family someday?”
His spine straightens and he’s now intensely focused on his food. “I don’t think about stuff like that.”
“Maybe you should start to,” I tell him. “That way, when you meet the right person, you won’t have to figure out what you want since you’ll already know. I know that I know.”
“You know that you know what?” he asks, confused and a little afraid.
“I know that you know that I know. And everyone else should know, too.” Without hesitating, I take my fork and clank it against my wineglass to get the table’s attention.
“Sweet Jesus,” Matt says under his breath, nervously leaning into me. “Please reconsider whatever you’re about to say. I swear, I’m a really, really horrible person.”
He’s terrified. It’s delightful. I shake my head with a sigh. “I don’t believe that, Matt. And I’m sorry. I have to speak my truth.”
I push my chair away from the table and stand up. Matt’s face is maroon, and I think he might implode. Serves him right.
“Everyone,” I say, strong and clearly. “I just want to take a moment and thank Professor Leoni for preparing this fantastic meal. Being in Italy is wonderful in and of itself but being here and staying with such a generous host is more than any of us ever imagined.” Marco is happily holding his glass high up and is smiling from ear to ear. His eyes routinely flicker from me to Matt.
“And, Matt.” I turn to look at him and he’s staring dead ahead, holding his wineglass and seeming as comfortable as someone in the mid-to-late stages of natural childbirth. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long but I have to tell you...” My words trail off and Matt physically clenches. I wait as long as is socially acceptable before going on, “I have to tell you that we really appreciate your hospitality as well. I know it can’t be easy for you to deal with the three of us popping up all the time. In your eyes, we probably come off as overexcited meerkats, so thank you for being so cool about everything.” His eyes dart up to mine at my words, but they don’t stop me.
“Especially to someone like me,” I go on to say, “who’sobviouslyolder than most students, your kindness and understanding really means a lot.” I raise my glass higher. “Here’s to Professor Leoni and Matt.” Everyone echoes my toast, and we tap our glasses together. Matt is the last person I clink glasses with, and I bask in the grim line that’s across his face when we do.
Two hours and three courses later, dinner is done and went by without any notable disasters. Matt stayed stoically silent for the remainder of the meal and was the first to leave the table. The rest of us enjoyed our time talking about school and our plans for the competition.
I’m just walking inside from the terrace after having a quick FaceTime with Daniella when a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me to the side. I’m disoriented and completely off guard, only managing a muddledumphwhen I look up to find that I’m now tucked away in the living room alcove with Matt standing directly before me in the cramped space.
“Was it really necessary to manhandle me?” I ask, pulling my hand out of his grasp. I step back but it barely creates any extra distance between us, only a foot or two. He doesn’t answer me right away; instead, he looks down at me, regarding me with eyes that are both thunderous and calculatingly calm.
“Did you have a good time scaring me today?” he asks.
I try to hide the smile that appears on my face, but I’m not quite fast enough. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh no?” He shifts forward, regaining the ground I just took. “Then is this the part where you tell me you’re in love with me? You seemed happy enough to say it to Marco this afternoon.”
“Maybe you should get your ears checked,” I tell him. “It’s important for people to stay vigilant about their hearing. Particularly people in advancing years, like you and me.”
He pauses, his head tilting to the side. “I see. So your little stunt was all because I said you were older than Marco and Holly? You’re that insecure?”
My temper swells and flares, as it always seems to do in Matt’s presence.
“I’m not insecure. I just don’t appreciate it when people take low blows.”
“And you making me think you watched me sleep last night wasn’t a low blow? You’re a hypocrite.”
“I was reacting toyou!” My feet pull me forward, bringing us chest to chest. I’m glaring up at him, he’s scowling down at me and a charged current pulses between us. Why does he have to be so infuriating? It’s not fair. I want to get under his skin like he’s gotten under mine.
I imagine reaching up and pulling his stupid hair. He’d stumble forward and I’d tell him to leave me alone. To stay out of my way. He’d be furious. His face turning red and those brown eyes flashing.
