“For example…. Why do you only drink beer? It’s in poor taste.”
“Hey, Peronis are great. It’s my favorite thing to drink,” he defends.
I laugh. “That might be the weirdest thing about you. It just doesn’t fit your whole persona.”
“And what is my persona?”
“Mysterious, broody, calculative, rich. Maybe a little uptight.”
“I guess I am all of those things,” he agrees.
“Yes, but you’re also so much more. You’re incredibly smart. You’re a great dad, and you’re loyal. You protect the things you care about fiercely.”
My face grows a little hot by the end of all of that. But it’s true and I want him to know that sometimes I see him for who he is underneath it all. I see the man he tries to hide.
The smile Matteo gives me is nearly enough to make my heart stop. It’s sweet and genuine, and for a second I think the look on his face isn’t dissimilar to the one he gives Leo. Like he’d burn the world down to keep him safe.
“Alright your turn, princess. Now I get to psychoanalyze you,” he states.
I roll my eyes. “Go on.”
He pauses for a moment, staring at me like he could drag out all my innermost thoughts and lay them bare.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he begins, “full of light and energy, and you’re capable of making the world and everything in it fall at your feet. Success has always come easily to you. You’ve always been intelligent and capable, and so you set out on a path you thought would prove that the most. You climbed the ladder and I’m sure you’ll climb even further.
“However, I’m not sure you really want that. You love being a prosecutor because it’s proof of your capabilities, but you alsowant something more, princess. I’m not sure what it is, but I see it in you. The desire to find yourself. The ache in your chest that you don’t understand. You’re searching for something. I’m sure if you pursued it, you’d find it just as easily as anything else. You’re just… scared,” he finishes, his voice gentle, soft.
The expression on his face is hesitant and cautious. Meanwhile I’m reeling as I take it all in. It’s like he did read all my innermost thoughts and lay them all bare.
A part of me wants to get angry. Because I can’t believe I’m that transparent. He read me even better than I do myself and it’s left me feeling naked, vulnerable. I could lean into that feeling, the anger.
I could tell him it’s all a lie. And that he has no idea what he’s talking about.
Instead I turn away from him, facing forward, and taking a sip of my tequila. “Wow, Matteo, you should really look into being a therapist. It would probably suit you better than being a mobster,” I say lightly.
He wasn’t expecting me to react calmly to his little speech. I take that as a win. He turns as well, facing forward.
“Like I keep telling you, Kitten, I’m not a mobster. I’m an?—”
“Accountant,” I finish for him. “Yeah, yeah, keep selling your bullshit.”
“My MBA from Wharton would disagree with you,” he says, offended.
I smile, “You’re such a snob.”
“Oh yeah? Says the rich girl who went to law school at Columbia.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.
“This is so annoying,” I say, groaning softly, “Do you know everything about me?”
“Not everything. Some things you can’t find with a background check and scrolling through all your social media,” he points out.
“Like what?”
“Let’s see… what’s your favorite color?”
“That is so lame. It’s not like you have one.”
“I do,” he protests. “Black.”
