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I sighed. “I’m sorry, Matteo. You deserve better than to have to deal with this situation.”
He looked contemplative. “I don’t think we should communicate after you leave here.”
My heart sank. “What?”
He got up and reached into his side table drawer for a piece of paper. Then he returned to the spot next to me on the floor.
“I bought you a ticket to New Orleans for Valentine’s Day. Here’s all of the information for the reservation,” he said, handing it to me.
“What does this have to do with not communicating?”
“I think you need to take the time when you get home to figure everything out, without any interference from me. You make me feel as though you want me, that you want this—us. But Brady is clearly still in the picture. I don’t want you to make any decision you’ll regret, one way or the other. You can see from being here in Seattle that a life with me would be different than what you’re used to. I obviously can’t give you the financial stability that someone like Brady could. I don’t even know where we would live. Everything would be up in the air. But I will tell you one thing… I don’t want to be with anyone who isn’t absolutely sure she wants to be with me.”
This trip had only made my feelings for Matteo stronger. So I was confused as to why he seemed more worried.
“Have I done something to give you the impression that I’m still confused? Because every second I’ve spent with you here has made me more sure that you’re the one for me, Matteo.”
He looked like he wanted to believe my words, but something was holding him back.
He shook his head. “You say that now. You’re still with me here. But look what happened when you went back home the first time. Brady came crawling back, and you let him into your life.”
There was no disputing that. I’d definitely been confused when I got home from our road trip. At the time, Matteo—Milo—had been new and scary. And Brady was old and familiar. Even though he’d abandoned me, Brady had still seemed like the safer option. And I’d somehow felt like I’d owed him a second chance. But safe or not, my soul didn’t light up with Brady the way it did with Matteo. Over the past several weeks, I’d learned that my happiness was more important than stability.
“At this moment, there is no part of me that’s not yours,” I said. “But I know only time will show you where my heart is.”
Matteo was quiet for a couple of minutes.
He finally turned to me. “I always assumed having someone I loved die was the most devastating thing that could happen. But losing someone I love, who’s still alive, might be just as bad, if not worse.”
It took me a few seconds to realize Matteo had just told me he loved me—hidden inside a painful statement. But nevertheless, he’d said it. This might have been the best opportunity to return the sentiment, but it felt like the wrong time. I didn’t want him to think I was saying it only because he had.
He deserved to hear those words from me when I had nothing else tying me down. I wasn’t with my ex anymore, but until Brady knew the truth, Matteo and I were living in the shadow of a lie with a huge weight on our shoulders.
Before I could figure out how to respond to Matteo, my phone rang again.
Shit.
Brady again.
Terrible timing.
I knew every time Brady called, it was like a knife to Matteo’s heart. This time, rather than saying anything, he stood up and walked to the bathroom. When the door slammed shut, my body shook. But I couldn’t blame him. The bathroom was really the only place to escape in a studio apartment.
A few minutes later, I heard the shower running. It was an odd time to have decided to shower, but I understood. Matteo probably knew he was about to say or do something he’d regret, so instead he’d opted to cool off.
I didn’t want to leave on bad terms, especially since he didn’t want to communicate until New Orleans. I knew he was angry at how life had tricked us, but I also knew every bit of that anger was because of how much he cared for me.
What felt like an invisible pull led me to pick myself off of the ground and head for the bathroom. I was only going to make sure he was okay—at least that’s what I told myself.
But after I opened the door to the steam-filled room and took in the sight of his naked silhouette through the foggy glass door, I knew there was no turning back.
For a few minutes, I just watched him as he massaged soap through his hair.
