Page 133 of Matteo

“That might be a ruse,” I counter, thinking the worst. My brain always seems to want to work out the worst-case scenario. “You’ve never met his fiancée. How do you know she's not a mail-order bride?”

“Matteo!” she cries, shaking her head. “Stop with the stereotypes.”

“This man gives me the shivers. And the idea that you see him as an older brother, and you have no idea what he does—”

“Oh, moral righteousness,” she shoots back. “You people are no better.”

This is new. “You people?” I echo. “Who? Me? My brothers? Knight Enterprises?”

“You think everything you do is clean-cut and above board.”

“We don’t—” I stop. “You know what I do. You know what the company does. I don’t keep it a secret, which is more than you can say for your friend Vlad.”

“He’s getting married. Please. I don’t want to have a scene. I already feel uneasy.”

I see it then. The tension in her shoulders. The way she’s holding herself. She’s not okay either. And suddenly, I relent and let go.

I can walk away from this.

But she can’t.

Not if this man means something to her.

And I don’t want to make this harder for her than it already is, because somewhere along the way, I’ve started to fall for this woman, and care about her deeply.

“I just wanted to have a few days away with you, Elizabeth,” I say quietly. “That’s all I wanted.”

I shift a little closer, while still leaving a gap between us. “He shouldn't have turned up like that, but it wasn't your fault that he did that. I'm sorry I took my anger out on you.”

I put out my hand. To my relief, she takes it and gives it a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry too,” she says softly. “It feels like we have a moment of happiness, and then something awful happens.”

I take her hand, lifting it to my lips, kissing the back of it. “I just want to enjoy the next few days with you. Can we do that, please?”

My heart feels lighter, like the deadweight resting on it has been lifted.

“We can, if you’ll be nice to Vlad.”

“I don’t have any beef against him. I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t know him.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t trust him.”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Should we put the bolt on when we go to bed at night?” I add. “In case he walks in and watches us?”

“Don’t say that.” She squeezes her eyes shut in revulsion. “I don't know why he did that. This isn't the Vlad I know.”

“This isn't the Vlad I know either,” I reply, grinning.

She looks at me, confused.

“I’ve just heard vague snippets about him from you,” I explain. “I didn’t know what to expect and now that I’ve met him I still don’t know. What does he do for a living to be able to afford this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”