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Morning sunrays guide my walk up his long driveway. I barely pay attention to my surroundings, instead focusing on Matteo standing on his porch.
“Come inside.” He sighs and ushers me through his front door.
I take in my surroundings, eyeing knickknacks and photos lining the walls.
“I know w
hy you’re here.” He takes a seat on an old chair.
I follow suit, taking a seat across from him. “I need you to talk to Chloe. Today.”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head.
“Why the fuck not?”
He pauses. His eyes move around the room, landing on a spot behind my head. “Because I’m not her father.”
“She has a DNA test that says otherwise.”
He visibly swallows as he avoids my gaze. “I heard. But the test is wrong. I’m not her father.”
I can’t believe this guy. “I’m curious to know who you think the fuck her father is then if it’s not you.”
He looks up at me with eyes that weren’t glassy a second ago.
What the hell?
A single tear streaks down his cheek. “I can’t be Chloe’s father. I’ve never been with a woman from America, and I was faithful to my girlfriend—now ex-wife—at the time of Chloe’s conception. She’s not mine. She can’t be mine.”
“Are you denying this because you’re afraid of your ex-wife or son finding out that you were unfaithful back then? Is that it?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. My ex is the least of my worries.” He shuts his eyes. “It’s just not possible. I’m being truthful, I swear it.”
I try to wrap my head around the nonsense Matteo spews from his mouth but I struggle.
“The test linked Chloe to you. I don’t care what fantasy you create to deal with this, but Chloe is your daughter.
He bolts out of his chair. “No. You need to understand. There’s only one possible way Chloe is related to me.”
Something about the wild look in his eye has me biting on my tongue.
He paces the small living room space, running his hands through his hair. “Mio fratello mi sta fregando, persino dall’aldila.”
“What?”
“My brother is still screwing me over.”
My heart halts in my chest. I don’t dare breathe. I don’t dare move. I can’t do anything but look at Matteo in silence.
Brother?
Matteo doesn’t bother saying anything as he leaves the room.
I tap my fingers against my knee. The slamming of different drawers in the distance lets me know Matteo is still somewhere nearby. At least he hasn’t run away from the property before he has a chance to clear up whatever the fuck is going on.
The longer I wait, the stronger my nausea grows. What did he mean by his brother screwing him over?
Matteo steps back into the room, clutching a picture frame. He wipes the glass with his sleeve before passing it to me.
