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“But I won’t steal you again. I won’t take you against your will. I love you, Eden. I don’t know what that means or even how to love you, but I will work hard every day to love you more than I did before. I will become the man that you deserve.”
I take my coffee, walk out, and then I pull out my cell phone. She needs a grand gesture to come back. I know that. This phone call is the first step in making that happen.
21
Eden
I don’t know what I’m doing at Matteo’s doorstep with my luggage in my hand. All I know is I won’t run. I don’t know what’s going on between us. I doubt we can ever work through the damage we have caused each other, but if I leave without trying to figure this out, it will feel like running.
He will come after me eventually. He might be trying to change, but he hasn’t changed that quickly. And he will continue to haunt my dreams as he has for the past few weeks.
Our child will grow up without a father, and I won’t have a reasonable explanation as to why, other than he was a monster once and I never gave him a chance to change.
So I guess that’s what I’m doing knocking on his door. Seeing if he can change. And seeing if I can forgive.
I’m not sure if one or either is possible. But the growing baby in my stomach convinces me I need to try at least.
The door opens, and I’m shocked Matteo is the one that opens the door, but then I remember he has plenty of security to tell him who is standing at his door.
“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding weaker than I’d hoped.
“Hi, would you like to come in?” he asks, his voice just as weak.
I nod.
He takes my suitcase from my hand and holds the door while I step in. It’s strange walking in the front door instead of the side from the garage. It was strange ringing the doorbell. His house had started to feel like home the last time I was here.
“Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?” Matteo asks. He’s nervous.
So am I. I wanted to pretend he didn’t affect me when I stepped inside this house. That’s not possible.
“No, I’m fine.”
He tries to be patient with me, but it’s clear he can’t be.
“What do you want then?” he asks.
“Let’s go out back and talk.”
He nods and places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the house to the back patio. I like having his hand touching me, even if his hand has done wrong, monstrous things.
We take a seat on couches, opposite each other. I want him sitting right next to me, touching me, comforting me, but it’s not what this conversation needs.
I sit in silence, watching him squirm, trying to remain calm and patient with me. I like watching him squirm, so I take my time before I speak.
“I can’t forgive you,” I say.
He sucks in a breath, and his eyes turn sad.
“But I can try. Maybe I can’t forgive you, but we can start from here and grow into something better. Or maybe we can’t. I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to run. I want to stay and figure this out. I want to see if the man that sends me flowers and love notes every day is possible of actually loving this baby and me. I think he can.”
“I can. I love you more than I want to keep breathing.”
“I have a couple of conditions.”
He nods, his eyes glaring into mine as his hands grip the armrests to keep himself glued to his seat.
“I’m not a slave. I’m free—”
