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This time, that niggling little voice was no longer quiet. It was loud and condescending and…right.
Closing his eyes, the images flashed, each one reigniting the pain he thought he’d overcome.
The constant drip-drip-drip of water.
Dark red blood congealed on the snowy-white tiles.
The blue-tinged skin of a lifeless arm.
“No! No! No!”
“How could she do this to me?!”
Look deeper.
Matt bowed his head, not even bothering to fight the heavy feelings, the anguish, the desolation. He’d learned the hard way there was no way to rewrite the past, no matter how much he wanted to. As such, he couldn’t change what he’d done all those years ago.
He was as sure of that as he was of…
Liza’s response.
She’d never forgive him.
Chapter Sixteen
“Are you sure I can’t help you do something?” Liza asked her aunt Berta for the third time.
Aunt Berta, now as always, was immovable. “No, no, no. I’m just putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches. You sit there and relax.”
Liza grinned as her aunt fluttered around the kitchen, slicing a tomato, washing the leaves of lettuce, digging through the dill pickle jar. Aunt Berta had been inviting her over for lunch ever since Liza returned from Hawaii, but she’d been so slammed after missing a week of work that she’d eaten lunch at her desk every day last week, plowing through all the crap that had piled up during her absence.
Today, Liza decided enough was enough. She hadn’t seen anyone in her family since she’d returned. Simply because she’d earmarked every free second of her day as Matt’s.
“Now then,” Aunt Berta said, carrying two plates to the table. “Tell me all about your trip to Hawaii.”
Liza went into great detail about the wedding ceremony, the reception, the resort where she stayed, and all the food she’d eaten. The only thing she made no mention of was Matt.
Not because she didn’t want to tell Aunt Berta but because she and Matt hadn’t discussed “coming out” to their families and friends yet. She’d bring the subject up tonight after work. Now that she was here, chatting with her beloved aunt, she realized she was dying to tell everyone.
The problem was that, while that realist side of hers was telling her to err on the side of caution, the too-inexperienced-with-romance woman inside was flittering around like a girl who’d just gotten her first kiss.
The second she thought about kissing, she recalled the X-rated kiss Matt had given her girlie parts this weekend in Vermont. They’d been making out like teenagers on the bearskin rug, laughing, tickling, talking. Then, alpha Matt had emerged, stripped her out of her clothes, and French-kissed her pussy until she thought the top of her head would fly off.
Mercifully, Aunt Berta chose that moment to grab the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator to refill their glasses. Otherwise, Liza would have to come up with an excuse for her suddenly flushed cheeks.
Liza still couldn’t believe Matt had whisked her off for a ski weekend. It was hands down the most romantic thing any man had ever done for her. Her feet hadn’t touched the ground since they returned last night, Matt driving them directly back to his penthouse, the two of them soaking in—and initiating—the gigantic Jacuzzi tub in his bathroom. Afterward, they’d laughed as they made a list of all the rooms and pieces of furniture they planned to “initiate” in his penthouse, his office at Russo, and her apartment.
And as perfect as everything had been—seriously, she’d been in a sex haze for two weeks, completely enthralled by the countless orgasms—she knew they were rapidly approaching the time when they should begin to broach some real-world topics. Things like the future, their families, and whether or not his view on marriage and kids had changed. Because—fuck her—that was going to be a deal breaker.
If Liza wasn’t so well-sexed, she’d probably take a minute to admit the thought of bringing those subjects up tied her insides in nervous knots. But for now, she preferred to remain safely ensconced in this “ignorance is bliss” state a while longer.
“Well, it sounds like you had a wonderful time.” Aunt Berta topped up their glasses and sat back down. Ever since she began working at the Initiative, Liza had enjoyed a standing weekly lunch date with Aunt Berta in her small apartment on the same floor as Moretti Brothers Restorations. Liza had always loved her aunt’s kitchen because it was clearly Berta’s favorite room. There were all sorts of cool cooking knickknacks, countless spices lining a shelf above the stove, colorful pictures of Italy and Philadelphia and family adorning the walls. There was a much-cherished recipe card framed and hanging above the table, the instructions and ingredients handwritten by Aunt Berta’s grandmother.
But it wasn’t the décor that left Liza with a warm feeling every time she visited. It was the smells. If Heaven had a scent, it would be called Aunt Berta’s Kitchen. Tomatoes and garlic and basil and cheese and, God, Liza’s mouth always started watering the second she stepped inside the apartment.
She and her aunt chatted for a few minutes more before they both rose and Liza helped her load their dishes into the dishwasher.
Liza was just about to head back to work when the door to Aunt Berta’s apartment flew open.
