Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I smile faintly, but something in his expression makes my chest ache.
“You talk about him a lot,” I say quietly.
“Well, he gave up everything for me. Worked three jobs when I was a kid just so I could keep playing.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“We didn’t have money, but he still made sure I had boots, kits. Drove me to and from training, no matter how exhausted he was.”
I swallow, suddenly feeling worlds apart from him.
“What about your mother?” I ask carefully.
“She… struggled. A lot,” he says, his fingers toying with a loose thread on his light denim jeans. “Drank too much. Yelled too much. But she loved me. Just… not always in the way a kid needs.”
There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken but understood.
I hesitate, then reach over, brushing my fingers over his. He turns his hand, catching mine before I can pull away, holding it against his palm.
And, God help me, I let him.
“My parents weren’t like that,” I admit after a long silence.
Matteo tilts his head. “No?”
I shake my head.
“They were… good. On paper, at least. We didn’t struggle financially. They sent me to a private school, to all of the best clubs, made sure I got into a good university…”
I trail off, letting out a small, humourless laugh.
“They went on nice holidays. Expensive ones. Only, most of the time, they left me behind.”
Matteo shifts beside me, his body angled towards mine, the weight of his gaze pressing into me even before he speaks.
“They just… left you?”
His voice is quieter now, threaded with something I can’t quite place.
I nod, my fingers toying with the edge of my dress.
“They were busy. Still are.” I force out a small, humorless laugh. “I feel like I hardly talk to them at all these days.”
His expression hardens, his brows drawing together.
“That’s -”
He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply.
Then, to my surprise, he reaches for my free hand, his fingers warm and firm as they squeeze mine.
“That’s shit, cara.”
The bluntness of it pulls a soft, breathy laugh from my lips.
“Yeah. It is.”
I glance down at our joined hands, at the contrast of his tanned skin against mine.
“I guess it brought me here, though.”
His grip tightens just slightly.
“Here,” he repeats, voice low. “With me.”
I swallow hard, something unfamiliar twisting in my chest.
We sit there in silence for a long moment, the quiet hum of the city below us filling the space.
The sun is dipping lower now, casting its warm light over his sharp features, making his dark eyes gleam.
And when he finally turns to me, his gaze dark and unreadable, I know what’s coming.
I don’t stop him as he leans in.
His lips brush mine first, testing, teasing.
Then again, firmer this time, like he’s searching for something neither of us knows how to say.
A small sound escapes me, and Matteo takes it as permission, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, his thumb pressing just beneath my jaw, and heat flares low in my stomach.
It’s slow. Deep. Lingering.
And for the first time, I don’t think about what will happen when I leave.
I just let myself be here.
Chapter Forty-One
Daphne
The drive back is quieter than before, a comfortable kind of silence stretching between us.
One of Matteo’s hands rests on the steering wheel, the other on my bare thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against my skin. Every so often, I catch him glancing over at me with something unreadable in his eyes.
I should probably go home. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But when he asks, voice low and laced with something I can’t quite decipher -
“Come home with me?”
- I don’t even think before I say yes.
*
Matteo’s home isn’t in the city centre like I expected it to be.
Instead, he drives us further out, winding through quieter roads, past olive groves and rolling hills, the sky now a deep indigo overhead.
The further we go, the more I realise just how different his world is from mine -
And then we turn onto a private tree-lined driveway.
His house - no, his mansion - is breathtaking. All soft stone and towering archways, the kind of place that looks like it belongs in a luxury travel magazine.
The entire property is framed by high stone walls and wrought-iron gates, giving it a secluded, almost secretive feel.
The long driveway curves around an elegant fountain, and as Matteo slows the car, I glance around, taking it all in.
“This is your home?”
My voice comes out higher than I intend, and Matteo grins, clearly amused.
“You sound surprised.”
I shoot him a look.
“Oh, please. This place looks like a billionaire’s summer retreat,” I tell him. “Your car definitely belongs here, though.”
He chuckles, pulling up to the entrance and cutting the engine.
“What can I say? I worked hard for this.”
There’s something about the way he says it - quiet, almost thoughtful - that makes me look at him a little differently.