Valentina.
“We’re going on a date.” Matteo had announced barely twenty-four hours after we returned from the dinner date.
That morning, the rain had barely ceased, leaving behind a certain dampness in the air that clung to my skin.
I stood outside the estate, nervously biting at my lip as I waited for Matteo. He had strict instructions that I waited for him.
My fingers found the hem of my coat as I glanced up at the grey sky. The night seemed to stretch endlessly, a perfect backdrop for the war of emotions churning inside me.
Matteo hadn’t thought it would be prudent to mention where we were going to. So, I had no idea if I was underdressed or overdressed.
But when the sleek black car pulled up, and Matteo emerged from the driver’s seat, his normal attire of a crisp, perfectly tailored suit absent but this time he was dressed in a blue tshirt and some jeans, I knew my outfit of a plain white t-shirt and grey joggers wasn’t bad.
There was something different about him tonight.
“Tesoro,” he greeted with a nod, his voice deep and controlled. I had no idea that was a nickname he intended to keep. “Shall we?”
Shall we?
Should I do this?
A date with Matteo would complicate my already complicated feelings for him.
But catching that nervous flicker in his eyes was all it took for me to nod before I slipped into the passenger’s seat.
The car smelled like Italian leather and Matteo’s favourite oud perfume. I had a thousand and one things I wanted to say, but for some reason, I couldn’t.
Which meant the car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine, the only sound between us. I stared at the window, watching the city’s lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colour.
We arrived after what felt like an eternity, pulling up to a small, unassuming building.
*Art Haven*
The neon sign about it flickered dimly.
It had been weeks since I picked up a paintbrush. Something I considered doing for a while when I arrived at the Nevarro Estate but quickly abandoned when it yielded nothing.
A ghost of who I once was.
Matteo stepped our first and rounded the car, opening my door. “I thought this might be… a start.” He said quietly, his voice void of coldness and filled with something else…
Concern?
I looked up at him, surprise probably etched permanently on my features. “You thought of this?”
He gave me a small nod. “I… I knew you liked painting. I think I saw you once. I’m very observant, even when you think I don’t notice.”
Who would have thought the six feet five man standing close to me watched the things I did?
Certainly not me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, unsure how to process everything. He had brought me to an art shop, as though it were something casual.
And yet, I could feel something change between us.
Few things in life were enough to make me gasp. An art shop with flickering lights outside and a wonderland inside was one of them.
The shop was charming, with easels set up in front of the large windows that allowed the traces of daylight to filter through. The air smelled faintly of fresh paint and turpentine.
And close to the back was a small table set up with a canvas waiting for us.
I knew it was late, but no one else was here.
I narrowed my eyes at Matteo. “Did you rent this whole place?”
Matteo smirked, that familiar arrogance slipping through. “I didn’t think you’d want an audience.”
I had no argument against that.
Matteo gestured toward the table. “I thought we could paint something. Or, rather, you could. I’ll… watch.”
“You never dabbled in the arts, did you?”
He shook his head. “No. But I can learn.”
My lips twitched at that – Matteo Nevarro, willing to learn something for me. The very idea seemed absurd. He refused to let her sleep in his wing of the estate when they met.
Yet here he was, standing in this quaint little shop just to make me happy, a stark contrast to the cold man my mom had forced me to marry.
We sat down, and I stared at the blank canvas. My fingers twitched with a long forgotten ache to create something. To build a whole new world.
Having an audience around never made it hard for me to paint. But with just Matteo? It felt too intimate.
“Go ahead, Tesoro,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “This place is yours tonight.”
I picked up a brush, my fingers curling around the familiar shape.
An art date with anyone would never have been my first choice. An art date where the man watched me as I painted would never have been my twentieth choice as a first date.
But once I dipped the brush into the rich blue paint, nothing could have been more perfect.
Matteo sat quietly beside me, his eyes trained on me, not the painting. The intensity of his gaze made my heart race, but I forced myself to focus on the strokes.
With each motion, the tension in my shoulders eased, the outside world faded away.
For the first time since Isabella disappeared, I felt like I could breathe again.
“You’re really good at this.” Matteo’s remark came after a while , the smooth velvet of his voice washing over me.
“Did you expect me to be bad?” I shot back, unable to resist a teasing tone.
He chuckled softly. “No. I just didn’t expect you to look so…. at peace.”
I paused, the brush hovering over the canvas. I turned to him, my heart thudding behind my ribs. “It helps when my husband decides to be a normal human. It makes it easier to be at…. peace.”
“Is that so?”
The playfulness in his voice caught me off guard. Matteo never showed such emotions.
“That’s exactly so.” I said quietly, my fingers loosened around the brush.
I paused, staring at the painting, but my mind was no longer on those brush strokes. It was on the man behind me.
A man who I swore never to fall in love with.
And yet, here we were, in this quiet space that felt like it existed outside of time, where he wasn’t the ruthless Matteo Nevarro, but a man who might just care.
For a moment, neither of us said anything and just sat in silence.
Until I ended it.
“Do you ever regret it?” I asked suddenly, my voice small.
Matteo’s eyes darkened. “Regret what?”
“Getting married to me instead of Isabella,” I whispered, afraid if I spoke any louder, our peace would stop. “This. Everything.”
His gaze burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought I had pushed too far. Too soon. But then he stood, walking around the table until he stood directly behind me.
His hand rested gently on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm.
“I don’t regret you,” he daud softly, his breath warm against my ear. “I regret not making you fully mine from the beginning.”
My breath hitched. I didn’t realize in one simple moment how easy it was to dissolve the threads of doubts in my mind.
The honesty in his words, the rawness, made my chest tighten.
I wasn’t even sure how to respond.
The painting before me took shape – a swirl of blues and greens, capturing the storm within.
Time suspended for a brief agonising moment, just enough for both of us to reflect on our words.
Then, a groan shattered the spell, followed by a low curse.
That was the only warning I got before Matteo turned my head around, yanked me to him, and crashed his mouth on mine.