MATTEO
I stood facing the floor-to-ceiling windows of my living room, a glass of scotch in my hand, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white.
I'd been standing here for the better part of an hour.
Still in my suit. Tie loosened. Jacket discarded somewhere. Thinking.
About things I'd been avoiding thinking about for weeks now.
About Isabelle.
The scotch burned going down, but it did nothing to quiet my mind.
I couldn't deny it anymore.
There was more to this. More to her. More to what we had than I'd ever intended.
The urge to see her, to be with her, to have her in my space-it consumed me in ways I didn't recognize.
I'd never been this person.
Never been the man who thought about a woman constantly. Who checked his phone, hoping for a message. Who planned his
