166

166
Gianna’s POV
I thought space would help. I really really thought it would.
When I noticed Matteo was keeping his distance again, I told myself it was what I needed. Time to clear my head, to focus on work, to push aside the ridiculous feelings that had been creeping in no matter how much I fought them. It was easier to breathe when he wasn’t hovering nearby, his presence a constant reminder of everything I wasn’t ready to deal with.
But space didn’t help.
Instead, it felt like something vital had been ripped away.
I didn’t notice it right away. The first day, I told myself it was a relief when he didn’t come by my office with his usual wry remarks about my overpacked schedule. The second day, I convinced myself it was just coincidence that he hadn’t found a reason to stop by my desk.
By the end of the week, I couldn’t deny it anymore. Matteo was pulling back.
And I hated it.
It wasn’t obvious, not to anyone else. He was still professional, still efficient, still the Matteo who could charm a client in two minutes flat. But he didn’t linger in meetings the way he used to. He didn’t offer to walk me to my car after late nights. And he certainly didn’t look at me with that mix of frustration and fondness that had started to feel like a lifeline.
It was like he’d taken all that energy he used to direct at me and tucked it away, leaving behind someone I barely recognized. And I hated it. And what I hated more is that I hated it. God. Now I’m beginning to sound like a maniac.
The silence in my office that Friday afternoon was deafening. I stared at my laptop, pretending to focus on the endless emails flooding my inbox, but my thoughts kept drifting. My chest felt tight, and I couldn’t shake the sense that something was missing.
I was missing him. Oh God. I was missing him much that I should. I wasn’t even supposed to be missing him anyways.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
I slammed my laptop shut and leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. How had I let it get to this point? Matteo wasn’t just another employee. Somewhere along the line, he’d become more. I knew that. And yet I’d pushed him away. I’d pushed him away times without number.
I told myself it was the right thing to do. I was his boss. I was older. I had responsibilities that didn’t leave room for personal complications. But none of those justifications felt like enough anymore. Not when I kept catching myself looking at the door, hoping he’d walk in.
The knock came so softly I almost missed it.
“Come in,” I called, my voice sharper than I intended.
The door opened, and there he was. Matteo. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and his expression neutral. Too neutral.
“Just wanted to let you know the DeLuca report is finished,” he said, holding up a thick folder.
I nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “Good. Leave it on the desk.”
He crossed the room in a few strides, placing the folder neatly on the edge of my desk. But instead of leaving, he paused, his gaze flicking to mine.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, his tone careful.
I froze. It was such a simple question, but the way he asked it-like he actually wanted to know-made my chest ache.
“Yes,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t press. “If you say so.”
He turned to leave, and I panicked.
“Matteo.”
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
I hesitated, the words tangling in my throat. What was I supposed to say? I miss you? I was wrong?
“Thank you,” I said finally. “For the report.”
He nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”
And then he was gone.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
By the time Monday rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. The distance was eating me alive. Hell, it was driving me crazy. And I needed to do something about it.
The problem was, I didn’t know what.
I spent the morning in meetings, distracted and irritable, snapping at anyone who so much as looked at me the wrong way. By lunchtime, I was ready to explode.
So when I saw Matteo in the break room, casually pouring himself a cup of coffee like everything was fine, something inside me snapped.
“Matteo,” I said, louder than I intended.
He glanced up, surprised. “Gianna. Everything okay?”
“No,” I said, my voice trembling with frustration. “Everything is not okay.”
He set his coffee down, his expression guarded. “What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I snapped. “You’ve been pulling back, and I want to know why.”
He crossed his arms raising a brow and leaning against the counter. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What I wanted?” I echoed, my voice rising. “Why would I want that?”
“You made it pretty clear you needed space,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “I was trying to respect that.”
I stared at him, my anger deflating as quickly as it had flared. He wasn’t wrong. I had asked for space, hadn’t I? But now that I had it, I hated every second of it.
“Maybe I was wrong,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”
“I said I was wrong,” I repeated, louder this time. “About the space. About pushing you away. About everything.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“I thought it would be easier,” I continued, the words tumbling out in a rush. “If I kept things professional. If I didn’t let myself get… attached.”
“And?” he prompted, his voice soft.
“And it’s not easier,” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration. “It’s harder. So much harder.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The break room felt too small, too quiet, the air between us crackling with tension.
“What do you want, Gianna?” he asked finally, his tone gentle but insistent.
I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. What did I want?
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I just know I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter.”
His expression softened, and for the first time in weeks, I saw a flicker of the Matteo I’d been missing.
“Then stop pretending,” he said simply.
It wasn’t that easy. It couldn’t be. But as I stood there, staring into his eyes, I realized maybe it didn’t have to be as hard as I was making it.
“Okay,” I said finally, the word feeling like a weight lifted off my chest. “Okay.”
A small, hopeful smile curved his lips, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself smile back.
“Okay,” he said too, his smile blossoming into a wide grin.