Ache For You

33

“Which you loved, by the way.”

“And f**k that stupid smirk on your face,” I say through gritted teeth, willing myself not to lose control and start screaming. “Now get out of my shop. And don’t ever come back, or I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

He stares at me in blistering silence, his gaze raking over my face. He looks as if he wants to say something else, but instead he shakes his head, turns around, and stalks out. He slams the door behind him.

I lean on the counter, breathing hard, still dizzy from his kiss. How many more times will I let myself be humiliated before I learn my lesson?

Men can’t be trusted.

Neither can my uterus.

From now on, I’ll only allow logic to run the show.

Still shaking, I lock the door to the shop and get to work.

Nine hours later, I’ve conducted an audit of the books, catalogued and repriced the inventory, reorganized most of the work space in the back of the shop, and managed not to think about Matteo more than once every four or five minutes.

My mind keeps wandering back to that kiss. The adrenaline levels in my bloodstream still haven’t returned to normal.

I make a list of things to buy—first being a computer—turn the lights off, and lock up. Then I walk down the street to the square, where I find a taxi to take me back to Il Sogno.

The house is dark when I arrive. I don’t have a key, so I’m forced to knock on the front door, hoping Lorenzo will still be awake so I don’t have to sneak through a window. I’m relieved when I hear a quick step approaching.

The door opens. “Sorry I’m so late, Loren—” I stop short because the man who opened the door isn’t Lorenzo.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me. My mother lives here, remember?”

Smirking, Matteo leans against the doorframe. He’s dressed casually, in dark slacks and a white dress shirt rolled up his strong, tanned forearms. He looks like a billionaire supermodel posing for a spread in Billionaire Supermodel magazine.

Incandescent with anger, I brush past him into the house. My house, I remind myself, fuming.

I head straight to the kitchen because I’m starving. Lorenzo’s there, sitting at the big wooden table, swirling a snifter of amber liquid in his hand. Another snifter sits on the table across from him. He looks up and smiles. “Ah. Signorina. We were just talking about you.”

Behind me, Matteo strolls into the kitchen. I feel him standing there in the doorway, making all the atoms in the room vibrate at a dangerous frequency.

“Were you now?” I say acidly. “Sounds like fun.”

Lorenzo blinks at the tone of my voice. He glances over at Matteo, who’s probably flipping me off behind my back. He rises, following me over to the fridge. “Can I get you something to eat?”

“You can get me a gun,” I mutter under my breath. I grab a yogurt, remember I hate yogurt, throw it back, and grab a hunk of salami and a block of cheese. The fridge is filled with all kinds of stuff, but I want something I can eat in my room, tearing apart with my teeth.

I’ve got to figure out a way to ban Matteo from the house.

Without another word to either of them, I leave Matteo and Lorenzo in the kitchen and head to my bedroom. It isn’t until I throw open the door and flip the light switch that I remember it isn’t mine anymore.

Cornelia is sprawled in the middle of the bed, snoring like a chainsaw.

She has a nightlight shaped like a giraffe. She has a water bowl that appears to be real china, elevated on a silver stand beside the bed. She has a pink blanket with frolicking bunnies that covers the lower half of her huge black body.

Her name is painted in flowery f*****g letters on the wall.

“Get out of my bed, dog!” I shout.

Waking with a snort, Cornelia jerks and scrambles upright. She sees me standing in the doorway, throws back her head, and howls in fright.

Drama queen.

I stand aside and point into the hallway. “Out!”

The dog launches herself from the bed. She promptly gets tangled in the sheets and falls to the floor. Frantically struggling, she kicks the stand with the water bowl, which topples over and smashes against the floor.

“Oh my God. This is a frickin’ circus.”

I stride over to the flailing mass of blankets and legs and grab a handful of fabric. I pull, and the dog is released like a rock from a slingshot. She blasts from the room in a blur of fur and tears off down the hallway, baying like a banshee.

Leaving the cheese and salami on the dresser where Cornelia’s wardrobe presumably resides, I stomp over to the bed and strip off the sheets. I wad them up and toss them into a corner. I sniff the mattress, certain it will reek of dog, but smell nothing. I don’t spot any suspicious stains, either. Satisfied, I get fresh sheets from the linen closet in the en suite bathroom and make the bed.

It isn’t until I’m finished that I realize I have company. Matteo’s leaning in the doorway, watching me with a smile.

“Look who it is. Count Egotistico. Here to give me another fake kiss?”

“If you’ll let me.”

His smile grows wider, the prick. I smile back violently.

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

With my chin held high, I go over to him, push him out of the doorway, and slam the door in his face.

The door instantly swings back open.

Shit. No lock.

“You know, hate and love aren’t so different, bella.”

He’s being philosophical now, pursing his pretty mouth and gazing at the ceiling, as if viewing the stars.

I could kill him.

“Why do you enjoy torturing me? Are you some kind of sadist?”