Page 131 of Matteo

His gaze bounces between me and Elizabeth, as he swipes his thumb across his chin, like he's trying to figure out who I am to her.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Elizabeth says, quietly.

“But, mala, I wanted to see you as soon as you landed.”

“Why?” She attempts an easy chuckle, but I hear the nervousness in it.

“You’re looking well,” he says, ignoring her question.

It’s not that Elizabeth looks scared. It’s more that she looks like she’s frazzled, trying to manage both me and him in this nightmare scenario. My insides relax a little, because I don't want to make her even more anxious than she is right now. But I do hate that this guy has interrupted our amazing time in bed. This is why I don’t like anyone paying for my shit.

“Mind stepping out, bud, while we make ourselves presentable?” I put my hands on my hips, adopting a posing stance.

“Just give us a few minutes, Vlad.” Elizabeth clutches the lapels of her robe. Her friend appears to consider it, then swipes his thumb across his lower lip.

“I’ll see you downstairs in the bar,” he says, and turns to walk away, but not before giving me a pointed look, like he’s X-raying my face, to store away and examine later.

My first impressions of him? I'm not sure. I think he's shady, and I have no idea what the hell Elizabeth is doing with him, or how they ever became friends in the first place.

She looks at me, meek and timid, not resembling the woman I know.

What the hell just happened?

She turned down everything I offered. The jet, I get. But first class—so we could at least enjoy the flight? She said no. And I respected it. But now we’re here, in this fairytale castle of a hotel, with a chauffeur, with everything paid for by this guy.

“Who is he?” I ask, again, wanting her to open up and fill in all the blanks her answers so far have left.

“He's a friend, I told you.” She puts her hand to her neck, her other arm wrapped around her.

Vague replies, as always.

“The man struts around like he’s your handler? Like he’s a pimp—” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My fury has fucked with my sense.

Too late.

“What are you implying?” she snaps.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. He’s …” I shake my head. I didn't mean that. I don't think that. I ... I just ...”

I just fucked up again.

Elizabeth’s eyes are so huge now, the whites are scaring me. “Are you serious? Did you just say what I—”

“Elizabeth,” I rush to her, “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it. Forget about it.”

But she steps away from me, revulsion swirling in her eyes. “I will not forget about it and let you get away with it. Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

What a mess this is turning into. “I’m sorry.”

I lower my head to my chest and let out a shaky breath. I usually watch from the sidelines. I don’t get involved. I like to keep my distance and my head, I stay out of the drama, but how can I in this instance?

We were being intimate, and the guy she's given me fragments of information about, walks in, and her entire demeanor changes. He gives off classic pimp vibes. Why can’t she see that? She’s always been vague about what he does for a living, or how she knows him.

What did she expect me to think?

“I’m sorry. Please, Elizabeth, I didn’t mean to say that—” I can’t even bring myself to say it, because that’s not what I meant. Now I dread to think what the wedding’s going to be like.

“So ...” I scramble to make things right again. “That’s Vlad,” I say, forcing a light chuckle, even though it feels off in the spiky atmosphere.