Page 203 of Matteo

I miss that.

“Is that your way of saying I didn’t burn the place down?” she asks, looking away and lifting her beer bottle to her lips again. I hesitate, and wonder if I should tell her once more that I miss her, that she was the best thing in my life. Another voice, Rio's, maybe Dex's, tells me to not be such a wuss.

I clear my throat. “I never forgot what you told me, when you said that if you wanted to destroy my company, I wouldn’t have one.”

“You remembered. You were listening,” she cries, her gaze dropping to my lips, before quickly shooting back up again. My heart flips inside my ribcage.

“I always listen to you.”

Her eyes meet mine again. “That’s a start.”

“Elizabeth,” I say, slowly, leaning forward in protest. “I have always listened to you. I believe in you, even if my later actions showed otherwise.”

“I know. I know.” She dismisses my words with a small wave of her hand, flashing another one of her beautiful soft smiles that are imprinted on my brain. “Let’s not go down there again.”

That hurts. She doesn’t want to talk about us or the possibility of us. I have to let her go.

This is it. After this, she won’t be in my office. She won’t be in the tech lab. She won’t be sitting in front of me. Her desk will be empty, and I’ll feel emptier inside for her not being around.

Tell her how you really feel. It's Enzo's voice in my head this time. But it's too late.

She glances at her watch. “I should get going.”

Gone. The moment is over.

We finish our drinks in companionable silence and while it’s not easy, it’s not unbearable. It’s just not how things should be.

We leave together, walking out into the chilly night air. Office lights glow in the distance like jewels in an inky night sky. We pass a small courtyard just off the street, tucked between the buildings, and catch a glimpse of stone walls, cobbled streets, and a fountain trickling quietly under dimly lit lamps.

Elizabeth veers toward it and I follow.

“This reminds me of Dubrovnik,” she says, her face lighting up.

Dubrovnik.

Something inside me loosens.

My insides start to fizz, as a buried memory slowly comes to life. Back then, when we found each other, when everything felt easy, before everything got so complicated. When I loved being with her. We had some good times in that city; wandering those ancient streets together, sitting in cafés. Elizabeth taking endless photos of us. I suddenly want to see them again.

She leans against the low wall, looking out over the small square. “Being here makes me forget we’re in New York,” she murmurs. “It feels like we’re back in Dubrovnik.” She's smiling, happiness oozing from her face. She seems to have such fond memories of that trip.

My pulse starts to race. “You want to go back?”

Her eyes, large and shiny, stare at me. “Commercial or private?”

She seems suddenly happier and effervescent. And she's talking about flights. Not dismissing.

“Are you serious?” I ask, then in the same breath I tell myself that I’m a fool and she’s just mocking me.

“No.”

My heart drops, and my pulse stutters.

“But … maybe also … yes,” she says, softly, playfully.

I can’t tell if she’s still messing with my heart, but it’s enough for my spirits to lift. “Is it … something you’d like to do? Go back?”

She fingers the strap of her handbag, like she's considering it. “I don’t know, Matteo. I’m just throwing things out there.”