His Forgotten Obsession

Chapter 4

LIANA WESTWOOD'S POV

The first week flew by, living in Matteo Arden's house.

Later on, Matteo was never in the house half the time. I knew he worked, but I did not know what he did, and he was too cold half the time for me to question some things about him.

He'd leave following breakfast, sometimes with a casual "Make sure that you get some rest" and sometimes with nothing more.

Stanley, the butler, remained polite but never chatty. Having him present in the home with me still kept the home extremely quiet. He was just always available for my use, like a bodyguard who didn't even carry a gun. He scarcely ever spoke unless it was completely necessary to talk, and he always continued to look at me queerly. I took up watching TV shows and dramas to pass the time.

The initial week, during which I had Matteo's undivided attention, I spent my initial days in boutiques.

It was a very considerate, kind-hearted thing Matteo did to buy me new clothes. The best part was, Matteo's card had unlimited balance, and the stylists treated me as if I were some sort of princess.

But I did not enjoy shopping. Anything that I liked, whether it was jeans, tees or simple shoes, Matteo would not allow me to purchase them.

"Not that."

"But…"

"It's not the look," he'd gesture toward a mannequin wearing something tight-fitting or short.

He chose mini dresses and gowns with backs that were bare. I do not know why he liked them so much.

He'd pick out a batch of mini dresses, study my figure to estimate my size and then instruct, "Try these on. Here."

They all had pretty dipping necklines. He even picked out my undergarments for me, and I blushed just holding them.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable in these," I complained, holding a blood-red-colored slip in my two fingers. It was too slutty for me.

He gave me a stern look. "They will suit you. Trust me. "These are the kind of clothes you will need if you want to fit in with my lifestyle."

I didn't say anything. I didn't really have an option.

And the worst part?

All the things he chose felt like they had been made especially for me before I went into the shop.

He bought perfume for me.

It had a high-end name… Rivière Noire.

When I sprayed it on my wrist, it was also too flowery and feminine for me too.

I sniffed time and again, attempting to acclimatize myself to it, but I couldn't.

One afternoon, when Matteo was out, I started walking around the house.

I had gone through the whole house — even the garden and the pool — but not the wing where Matteo stayed. I made my way down the corridor very stealthily, knowing Stanley could pop out anywhere and mix me up like he always did.

There were two doors at the end of the corridor.

I opened the first one, and knew at once that it was Matteo's room. The scent of cider, musk, and aftershave that clung to him was drifting from the room. I took a step back at once, ashamed to have invaded his space.

We weren't that kind of couple, after all.

I stepped out and peered at the second door down the corridor. I turned the handle.

It was locked.

I attempted again, and I was still unable to open it.

Then I got down on my knees and looked through the keyhole.

Why had only this room been locked?

What on earth could be inside?

That's when I heard a voice behind me.

"What are you doing?"

I turned around. Matteo was standing behind me, while I was still on my knees looking through the hole. His eyes were furious, and I was barely safe at that moment.

"I was just looking around. I didn't know…"

"You shouldn't be here. "Nobody ever comes here," he growled, taking a step closer.

I stood up, clumsily, my heart thudding in my chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

He moved around me, and wrote me in the center, his hand on the door. He stared at me with an intense look. I gasped as my heart beat faster than I swear I could hear it.

"Don't do that again."

And he just walked off, and left me with some sort of feeling.

That night, I saw him drinking in the living room.

It was the first time I had ever seen him drink since I'd been there.

He sat on the couch edge, shirt sleeves rolled up to elbows, and hair un-bunned.

The smell of the drink floated my way before I'd gotten far enough in. It was whiskey.

How did I know that?

Did I ever used to be an alcoholic?

So many weird things went through my mind at random all the time about my previous life.

I stood close enough to look at him. He looked upset. "Did something occur?" I asked.

"No." He didn't lift his head.

He took a drink.

I lingered there awkwardly for a few seconds before slowly sitting down across from him. We hadn't talked so much since the first day, and I couldn't speculate on what was on his mind.

He began to stare at me, so I had to avert my eyes. He sighed and stared into the glass. "You look so much like someone I knew."

I swallowed. "A woman?"

He nodded, with a smile.

"Was she… was she your lover?"

He didn't say anything, and this only fueled my suspicions.

"Did she once live in that room?"

He glanced at me, as if he hadn't expected the question. I didn't know where I got that from either.

He didn't say a word. He just drank the rest of his drink and clutched the glass in a loose hold.

I waited, hoping he’d say more. Hoping I’d get some clue as to what was bothering him. Maybe even know the real reason why he had brought me here. Or why Stanley stared at me weirdly all the time.

But he just leaned back, and closed his eyes as he rested h

My head on the couch.

He’d fallen asleep.

I approached him, and removed the glass from his hand, and placed it on the table.