I felt like I was drowning.
The tension in the car had been palpable, like an invisible force pressing against me from all sides. Matteo had sat beside me, his face a mask of silence, his thoughts locked away behind those blue eyes.
No words had passed between us after Luca’s warning.
“Trust no one, Valentina.”
It echoed in my mind like a sinister chant, planting seeds of doubt and fear deep inside me. But it was too late to turn back now.
Matteo had gone straight to his study the moment we returned to the house earlier, ensuring I was safely in my room, secluded from the chaos that swirled around us. He hadn’t uttered a single word about the strife between him and his father. He was a man who hid his pain behind a wall of ice, yet I could feel it rolling off him.
Even now, as we stepped out of the car and approached the museum for Giovanni’s birthday party, that tension clung to him like a second skin
His hand hovered over the small of my back, guiding me through the lavish entrance.
This wasn’t like the last Giovanni’s party I attended. That one was to bring me into his society in a way. This one was just to be here.
The room was filled with a sea of faces, some familiar from the lessons I had with Caterina, while the others I knew in a way. All of them eyeing Matteo with a mixture of respect and fear.
“It’s so nice to see you here.” Luciana had said the moment she was able to get her hands on me, placing chaste kisses on my cheeks.
So she was still alive.
I gave her a shy grin. “It’s nice to see you too.”
I could feel the stares of them all around, their whispers barely concealed behind the tinkling of champagne glasses and polite conversation.
None of them knew I wasn’t the one originally betrothed to Matteo.
But I wasn’t focused on them.
I was focused on my husband.
I had noticed it the moment we stopped near the grand display in the centre of the room – a sculpture of a younger looking Giovanni, holding who must have been his wife. His hand, which had been resting lightly on my waist, trembled.
At first, I thought it was my imagination.
But when I glanced up at him, I saw it. The wild eyes, the sheen of sweat on his brows and the top of his lips…
“Matteo?” I whispered, leaning closer so only he could hear. “Are you alright?”
His eyes darted away from me, the smirk on his lips fading away. “I’m fine,” He muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. “We should keep moving. There are others to see…”
If he thought for one second…
I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. I wasn’t going to let him carry whatever weight he was shouldering all on his own.
Not anymore.
Without another word, I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers with his, and tugging him gently. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching mine, but then he followed me.
I led him away.
Far from the crowd, down what seemed like a hallway that led to the quieter parts of the museum.
We passed room after room, the sounds of the party fading into the background until we were surrounded by silence. Until I found an empty room – a small, intimate space at the end of the hallway.
Matteo let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of what he was carrying had finally caught up with him.
“What’s going on?” I asked softly, stepping closer to him. My hands moved on their own to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “You’re not yourself tonight.”
Not that I expected him to be.
I wasn’t.
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on a spot over my shoulder. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke.
“My father had no right to speak to you the way he did,” He began, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve already been through enough. I had no right to drag you into this mess.”
He wasn’t done.
“I never had a strong and solid relationship with my father,” He continued, his eyes finally meeting mine. “The things he’d done. The things I’ve done. It’s almost like the present is a mirror of the past.”
I held his gaze, my heart aching for him.
I knew from the start that Matteo’s life wasn’t an easy one. There would be secrets webbed in with so many lies, but hearing him admit it…
“Tell me,” I urged gently. “I’m here for you, Matteo. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
For a long moment, he simply looked at me while his lithe fingers moved a strand of hair from my face. It’s been so long since we were close like this.
It came without warning. Like something opened up within him.
“My father was a tyrant in the house,” He started, his voice low and bitter. “He used deceit to marry my mother. He controlled everything… my mother, me, my sister. I wasn’t allowed to show weakness, make mistakes.”
He paused, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“My father wanted me to be perfect,” He continued when I said nothing after. “The perfect heir. The perfect son. But it just wasn’t happening. Then my mom died…”
I reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Matteo…”
“The one woman who loved me then. She was killed in our own estate, alongside my sister,” His voice cracked slightly. “They had done nothing wrong. My father and I came home to find their bodies. He brought in his mistress a month after, and I was only nine.”
I felt a lump form in my throat as I listened.
Even Pedro Nevarro shouldn’t be that wicked.
Matteo was older than Luca with just a few months.
“Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?” I asked softly.
“I didn’t want you to see such a man,” He admitted, scoffing as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t want anyone to meet him, actually.”
And I thought he was ashamed of me.
I found myself cupping his face in my hands. “You don’t have to hide anyone from me, Matteo. I don’t care what they think.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his. “No matter what happens, I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he leaned down and kissed me. It was a kiss filled with desperation, with need, as if he was trying to pour all the emotions he had kept bottled up into that one moment. I kissed him back, my hands sliding around his neck, pulling him closer.
When we finally pulled apart, I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“We’ll get through anything,” I promised. “Together.”
He tightened his arms around me, holding me as if I was the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.
Before I could respond, the sound of the door creaking open interrupted the moment. We both turned, and I froze at the sight of the figure standing in the doorway.
It was my sister.
Isabella.
Alive, and very much real.
Her eyes were wide, her face pale as she took in the sight of us. For a moment, none of us moved, the shock of the moment holding us in place. Then, slowly, Isabella stepped into the room, her gaze flickering between me and Matteo.
“I… I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her voice shaky. “But I need to talk to my sister.”