Page 145 of Matteo

“Where were you?” I ask, feeling relieved, but also annoyed.

He doesn’t look at me straight away. “Needed some air.”

“I can’t zip up my dress. Can you help, please?” I turn around, showing him my mostly bare back. I’m anticipating something, but he simply zips up my dress and walks away. Then he strips naked and heads for the shower.

He offers no explanation, and I don’t chase it because I don’t want another scene. I don’t want more tension between us. So I walk back into the bedroom, and start combing my hair, trying to breathe slowly, hoping to steady myself.

He's out quickly, a towel wrapped around his damp skin as he moves past me toward the wardrobe, detached and silent.

I hate this already.

Earlier today we’d been laughing together and wandering through the city as though we were the only ones here. Now it feels like we’re strangers sharing a hotel suite.

Is this what being with Matteo will be like—moments of happiness followed by stretches of painful silence and misery?

I can't take days of this.

I just can’t.

He starts rifling through his closet and pulls out some clothes. Black T, black blazer, black jeans. Those will go perfectly with my black dress. We look like we’re going to a funeral, not a pre-wedding party.

“Vlad’s sending a car at seven.” I remind him.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t turn around.

I'm already dreading the barbecue tonight, and the thought of tomorrow's wedding makes my stomach sink. If Matteo and I can't make it through one afternoon without fighting, how are we supposed to survive an entire day surrounded by people who know me? People who know things about my life that I haven't told him. Every time someone mentions my past, I see the questions gathering behind his eyes.

I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, then stand, then sit again, restless, and unsure of how to get through this.

He starts to get dressed, so I walk away, needing space between us. There are still two more days to suffer after the wedding. Days of mingling with false smiles and pretending that all is okay.

I consider cutting the trip short, but realize I can't. That would make Matteo even more suspicious and Vlad would be offended.

I’m trapped in a mess I can’t get out of.

***

The view is spectacular as we step out of the sleek black Mercedes. We're high on a cliff top, in a beautiful venue overlooking the Adriatic.

The sea glitters under the setting sun. Guests in elegant dresses and linen shirts mill around, while servers with champagne flutes on trays weave through the crowd. Lanterns are strung up in the air, and long wooden tables are laden with mouthwatering food.

The scent of meat roasting over open flames suddenly reminds me of how hungry I am.

Our hands accidentally brush as we survey the scene in front of us. For a moment my heart floats and I feel hopeful. Then, catching me completely unawares, Matteo wraps his hand around mine and the tension in my muscles vanishes.

I glance at him.

He smiles back, and I can’t help but smile back. The mood lifts and I suddenly feel lighter.

“Let’s enjoy this evening,” he says, his words making me so happy I could shower him with a thousand kisses. He has every right to be mad at me, but somehow he always finds a way to meet me halfway.

“I would like that.”

It’s a beautiful evening, a happy occasion, and I don’t want to be in another lousy mood. I look up to see Vlad walking towards us, hand in hand with a woman I instantly know is his fiancé, Valentina. She’s stunning, and elegant; everything I’d expect Vlad’s girlfriend to be.

“Elizabeth, Matteo.” Vlad’s gaze flicks between us. “You made it.”