Page 128 of Matteo

Soon enough the car slows to a halt, pulling up outside the hotel. My breath catches.

“Holy crap.”

I can’t believe what I’m seeing, or where I’m staying.

Where Vlad put us up.

I didn’t pay much attention to it when I looked it up online after he gave me the address. It seemed like a typical old building.

But looking at it now, it’s not just any old building. It’s not just a hotel. With its stone walls and balconies it has an olde world feel to it—it’s distinguished and moneyed. I’m curious and feeling guilty for not asking what he’s been up to. He seems to have money now, and I have no clue what he does. I wonder if he’s still hacking, because this is a level of wealth Vlad never had before.

Matteo steps out beside me, a tightness in his expression. He looks up at the building. “You didn't want to fly first class yet you can afford this?”

“I-I didn’t pay for this,” I say quickly. “Vlad did. He booked the room.”

“He booked this?” His voice goes cold. “It's okay for him to send a chauffeur and put you up in this, but it's not okay for me to try to do something nice for you?”

I have a feeling Matteo’s going to hold this against me for the entire time we’re here.

“This is his wedding, Matteo.” But I feel uneasy, because our vacation has gotten off to a terrible start. I feel like a hypocrite now, telling Matteo not to bring the jet. He seemed so excited about it, now that I look back.

I was so against it because I knew Vlad would be horrified that I'm with someone who has the type of wealth we used to disapprove of. I was so scared of Matteo taking the family jet to the wedding, and now that I'm here, Vlad is the one who has surprised me. “Please tell me you’re not going to be moody every time his name is mentioned,” I beg.

“I don't have anything against a guy I've never met, but ...”

“But what?” I lay my hand on his arm.

“Let's not go into this.” He looks ahead, nodding as the concierges take our luggage.

“Vlad and I are good friends,” I insist, hating that he’s got the wrong impression of us.

“So you keep saying.”

“You asked.”

“He seems to be a very good and wealthy friend.”

“What are you insinuating?” I snap.

“I'm not insinuating anything. I just wish you'd open up and tell me.”

“I have told you.”

If only Matteo wasn't as watchful. He knows I'm withholding information and he fills those gaps with his own misinterpretation.

I don't think he's jealous, because he's already said that he doesn't care if Vlad and I were together; it's all in the past.

We were never together. I just don't want to elaborate on our relationship for fear it might reveal things I want to keep hidden.

“You tell me selective pieces, Elizabeth.”

We’re still bickering as we approach the reception desk. Inside it’s marble floors and soft lights. It’s hushed, but understated. This place screams exclusivity and wealth, and my mind churns with so many questions.

The receptionist watches us approach, a polite smile fixed in place as Matteo and I fall into strained silence. I feel ridiculous. Embarrassed. Like everyone can see the tension between us.

I smile, give her my name and check in. We take the keys and get into the elevator, then walk down the thickly carpeted hallway to our room.

Neither of us says a word.