‘Oh. Christiano—’ She blinked quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.’
‘DeLuca,’ he supplied, with an easy, lopsided grin.
‘Christiano is my Italian tutor.’
Massimiliano glanced down at her sharply. ‘I didn’t know you had started that.’
True, she hadn’t mentioned it. It was a difficult thing for Amelia to navigate, given her complex relationship with the language. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was also because she’d had a childish desire to surprise him with her fluency, when she’d grown stronger.
‘Amelia is a gifted learner,’ Christiano said, then flicked his gaze—and smile—to Amelia. ‘If it weren’t for your medical aspirations, you’d be a great linguist.’
Massimiliano’s eyes seemed to pierce her completely.
‘Thank you, but you make it easy,’ she said as Massimiliano’s hand dropped from her side, his hand stretching at his thigh.
‘We have an interview,’ Massimiliano said, dismissively, stalking towards the front door.
Her jaw dropped at his rudeness. He couldn’t make it any clearer that he wanted Christiano gone.
Amelia shook her head in silent apology but Christiano waved his hand to silence her, winking as he passed. ‘Usual time tomorrow?’ he asked, not realising that the question was clearly poking the Italian billionaire bear.
‘Um, yep. Yeah, thanks.’
Massimiliano only nodded curtly as Christiano left the penthouse. He stood there, then, like a piece of stone, staring straight ahead, leaving Amelia with a thousand and one questions.
She had never really understood that expression about the air being thick enough to cut with a knife, until then. It seemed to take on a volume that was completely different from usual. She couldn’t breathe without feeling as though foam were occupying her lungs.
‘Massimiliano?’ she asked, stomach lurching when he turned to face her. His face was unmistakably angry. So angry she couldn’t fathom it.
‘I should have been clear, Amelia. While I respect your autonomy, and desire to further your sexual education, doing so in our shared home is both crass and disrespectful. You have money now; you can arrange a hotel room for this.’
Every single part of her exploded with rage. Even though she’d known he was jealous, she hadn’t expected this sort of accusation.
‘How dare you?’ she screamed, at the top of her lungs, angry tears misting her eyes. The stress and rejection of the past two weeks were loaded into those three single words. She heard her voice as if from a long way away, a tormented, furious sound, chilling her to the bone. Because in that moment, she felt more like her mother than ever before. Reacting with emotion, rather than thought. Arguing, rather than walking away, or pacifying.
‘He is my Italian teacher,’ she said, through the tears, still so angry, but also overcome by pent-up emotion. By all the feelings of rejection she’d experienced since those blissful nights they’d shared. It was as if a volcano had suddenly roared to life and were ejecting lava across the entire room. ‘We’ve been working together for weeks. Your assistant booked him for me. He is someone I consider to be a friend, but, my God, it is not romantic, it is not sexual. How can you even say that?’
He stood his ground, staring down at her, not reacting at all. Not to her tears, nor to her words. ‘Because I know you,’ he said, after a beat. ‘I have seen what a sensually demanding woman you are. Two weeks since we slept together, it’s natural that you would be wanting to explore that side of yourself more. Only please, as I say, consider an alternative location.’
She stared up at him in absolute shock. ‘I can’t—I can’t believe you—that’s—’
‘I will not bring women here, Amelia, rest assured. I’m only making sure we play by the same rules.’
She felt her whole world spinning completely out of control. She shook her head quickly, unable to think of anything to say, then spun on her heel and stalked away from him.
Fuck.
Not only had that escalated quickly, it had exploded way out of his control. He’d walked in and seen his beautiful wife with her head bent so close to another man’s, laughing at something he’d said. The other man, objectively handsome, much closer in age to her. Something inside Massimiliano had snapped. A part of him he hadn’t even known existed. Not once had he felt possessive of a woman. Even his real fiancée, all those years ago. Not once had he felt jealous.
It had caught him completely off guard, and rather than admit that to her, rather than be placated by her explanation, he’d gone out of his way to say whatever he could to cover his tracks. To make it seem as though he were approaching their situation from an etiquette consideration, rather than one of the basest emotions people were capable of.
He flicked his assistant a text, asking her to reschedule the interview and photoshoot, then poured himself a Scotch. He held it, staring out at the city, replaying the godawful scene in his head, knowing he had to fix the mess he’d just made, until he became conscious of a faint noise behind him.
He turned on autopilot to see Amelia walking through the room, dragging a small suitcase with her. The world seemed to tip sideways. Her face was pinched, a mottled pink.
He hadn’t seen his father leave. The coward had slipped out of their home in the middle of the night, leaving no note, nothing to indicate where he was going. But the same feeling of abandonment was spearing him in the side now. How absurd, given they’d met so recently. It gave him a thousand and one reasons to let her go.
Wasn’t this what he expected the people in his life to do? To leave? Wasn’t that a huge reason he’d spent the last sixteen years keeping people at arm’s length, rather than getting attached? Because abandonment hurt like hell. Being left stung. So he should let her go, get it over with. Like ripping off a plaster. At least then he’d know he was through it—that she was just like everyone else in his life.
