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“No!”
Matteo sits back in his seat, chuckling. “You’re jealous. Admit it.”
“I am not. I’m just trying to understand you. That’s all.”
“Fine. Tell yourself whatever you need to. But I think you’re jealous.”
“And I don’t care what you think of me.”
“You don’t?”
“No!”
Matteo’s laugh starts to grate. “Ok, ok. Whatever you say.”
I shake my head. “If I asked you not to be with any more women, would you do it?”
He sobers up. “If you told me you wanted to be with me, I’d die a happy man. I haven’t wanted to sleep with anyone else since we got engaged. I only did it because you told me to do it.”
“And you’re so easily swayed?”
“Fine. I slept with Emma last night because I was angry.”
“At me?”
“No,” he says softly. “At myself. I hated that I scared you. I was so angry at myself for that. So I turned to Emma.”
“Did you want to hurt me?”
He sighs deeply. “Maybe? In a way. I wanted to push you away like you did to me. The minute Emma and I were done, I regretted it. I should never have done that.”
I shrug, ducking my head. “It’s ok. I told you that you could … do that.”
“Maybe we should change the topic?”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
We’re both quiet for a moment.
Then Matteo asks, “How did you get into dance?”
“My mom. She wanted me to learn and put me into classes when I was two. I was still wobbly on my legs at times. I think she wanted me to get stronger.”
“And did you?”
“I’m still dancing to this day, so I’d say yes. When she died …” I pause, collecting myself. The memory of my mom still hits me. I wish I had her here for guidance. Matteo reaches over and hovers his hand over mine. I don’t move. He takes that next step and rests his hand on top of mine, giving me the strength to talkabout her. “When she died,” I try again, “it was an incredibly hard time. My dad died at the same time. Serafina and I were only eight. It was tough to grow up without them. At the time, I was tempted to stop dancing. It was the one thing my mom and I shared that no one else did. Serafina was never into it like I was. And when our mom died, I wanted to stop dancing, to rebel against the thing that constantly reminded me of her. But I knew she’d be disappointed if I stopped. So, I continued to dance, and I’m so glad I never stopped. It’s like she’s beside me every time I dance, helping guide me.” A tear slips out of the corner of my eye. “I’ll always have that.”
Matteo smiles, a softness in his eyes. “I’m glad you have that. I never knew my parents.”
“No?” I wipe away the tear. I notice that Matteo keeps his hand on top of mine.
“I was raised in foster care. I have one memory of my mom from when I was a kid. She was sitting next to me. We were at a park. I remember her looking sad, dejected. I kept asking her to play with me, but she wouldn’t. Soon after that, I never saw her again. The next thing I knew, I was being placed with different families. I’d act out, and they’d send me to another family, who’d send me to another family, and on and on. I was trouble, to say the least.”
“Yeah, I got that from earlier,” I tease.
His lips quirk. “Yeah, I had trouble in my bones from an early age. After a while. I got used to being on my own. Even though I was placed in different foster homes, they never felt like home, you know? I kept to myself when I wasn’t causing trouble. Then, when I turned eighteen, I joined the club. That’s the only home I’ve ever had.”
“That’s why you protect your men so much, isn’t it?”
