But he knew enough to nod his head in sympathy. “Ah. Well, maybe when you’re more settled at Wellesley, huh?”
I swallowed. “Let’s get going. I have a lot to do today.”
He slipped into the passenger side after I unlocked the door, and for a moment, I had to steady myself as his musk swept over me. Oh, God. Was I really spending the day with Matthew, unattended?
“Don’t worry,” he said as if he was reading my mind. “I won’t try anything, if that’s what you’re thinking?”
“What? Why not?”
He chuckled. “A little desperate for some action, are we, duchess?”
“Stop.”
“To answer your question,” he said lightly. “Because while I haven’t seen any tails, and neither has any of our other surveillance, there is always the off chance that your husband is having you followed. If you think there is any reason he might.”
I bit my lip. “No,” I said quietly. “I would honestly be shocked if he was.”
Calvin thought he owned me, plain and simple. And perhaps he did. For now.
Matthew gave me a queer look, but let the comment lie. “Be that as it may, we should still be careful. We can say pretty easily that I’m a guest of the Sterlings helping you out with the creeps in your house because I am. But that gets a little tougher if I’m caught sucking that lip the way I really fuckin’ want to right now.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. But I also wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
“Nina.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Stop biting your lip and drive, baby. Otherwise people are going to start looking.”
I started. There were, in fact, a few parents and teachers glancing at us curiously, obviously wondering why we were sitting in a car without moving.
“Right,” I said, then started the engine and pulled out of the spot.
“You’re quiet,” Matthew said after another fifteen minutes, when we were back on the freeway on our way to Wellesley.
I glanced at him, then back at the road. “Am I?”
“Well, you’re always quiet, but particularly right now. Not that I don’t like pensive Nina, but I do wonder what she’s thinking.”
I paused to change lanes, ruminating on the thoughts that had been running around my mind over the last few days.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said as the landscape raced by. “I want to tell Olivia the truth.”
“The truth,” Matthew said slowly. “About…”
“About her father,” I said. “Her real father.” I bit my lip again, thinking hard. “You’re going to do your job well. I know you are. And if that’s the case, I’ll have some space to start a new life for the two of us. It’s only right we begin it with honesty, she and I. Don’t you think?”
“You don’t think Calvin will have anything to say about that, even from prison?”
“He doesn’t have as many rights as he thinks he does,” I replied evenly. “Considering he’s not even on her birth certificate.”
At that, he looked genuinely surprised. “He’s not? Weren’t you married by that point?”
I nodded. “We were, yes. But he wasn’t at the birth. My friend Caitlyn was, actually. You remember her, don’t you? Caitlyn Calvert?”
Perhaps it was petty, but I rather enjoyed the way Matthew squirmed at the name.
“You know I do,” he said with a narrow green look. “I guess I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.”
“Not as close as you, if I remember correctly.” Outrageously, I winked, enjoying the way his jaw dropped when I did.
“Doll,” he said. “Did you just make a joke at my expense?”
I chuckled. “Could do.”
He grinned. I felt like the sun had just shone directly on me.
“Anyway, yes,” I said. “We were close. She was my best friend back then. And was until just recently.” I glanced pointedly at him. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Eric’s wedding? Yeah, I remember.”
“I thought she was family,” I said. “I’d always wanted a sister, and there were times she acted like one. But after the wedding…I guess I just realized that neither friends nor family would really do something like that.”
“No,” Matthew agreed. “They would not.”
I shrugged. “She was never much of an influence on Olivia. Over the years, it became clear that she was in my life more because of what she could get out of it rather than because we were actually friends. We have been talking more recently, though.”
Matthew frowned “You have?”
“Courtesies, mostly. But yes, from time to time she checks in.” I threw him a mischievous glance. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t mention you.”
His expression didn’t change
“You deserve better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than everyone.” His smile was sad. “Better than me, that’s for damn sure.”
There’s nothing better than you, I wanted to say. But I sensed it would only be an invocation of what we both wanted, but knew we could never have.
“Olivia’s father’s dead, right?”
I did my best to ignore the band of guilt that squeezed my chest whenever I thought about Giuseppe’s death. “Yes, he passed about a year after she was born.”
“So how would you tell her, then? Or…what would you tell her?”
“I’d like to take her to Florence. She’s old enough now. I could show her where I went to school. Where I met her father. Maybe I could find his family, and if they still own the olive farm, I’d take her there too.” I blushed, realizing suddenly that Matthew didn’t know its significance. “That, um, was where she was conceived.”
To my surprise, he didn’t look irritable the way so many men might when the subject of former partners arose. Most women I knew couldn’t say a word about past lovers to their husbands unless they wanted a fight on their hands. I certainly didn’t like hearing about Matthew’s, even if I could joke about them.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t care anymore, a small voice said.
“Not jealous?” I asked before I could help myself.
His dark brow rose. “It’s hard to be jealous of a dead man, doll.”
“But you don’t like the idea.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Honestly, doll? Not really.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the guy sounds like he was a fuckin’ asshole.”
My mouth fell open. “What an incredibly inappropriate thing to say. Giuseppe was absolutely not an—an—”
“Asshole?” Matthew finished for me. He shrugged, his irreverence palpable. “He wasn’t good to you. Don’t expect me to like anyone like that.”
I bit my lip. “I beg to differ. I thought he was very good to me, in his own way.”
Matthew removed his sunglasses so he could look at me straight on. “He was married.”
“So am I.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is!” he said fervently. “You are trapped in a marriage with a dipshit sociopath. Your professor was just a faux intellectual with a midlife crisis, but instead of taking care of his family, he decided to prey on a nineteen-year-old girl. It’s different.”
“He loved me,” I said bitterly, though even now, my resolve was cracking.
Matthew stared at me for a long time, breathing heavily.
“Yeah, well, maybe he did. I can’t fault him that, the poor bastard. But, Nina, that doesn’t make what he did right. And honestly? If he did love you?” Matthew shook his head, like he still wasn’t quite convinced. “I’ll tell you this much, it would take more than an ocean and a shitty marriage to keep me from you if I were in his place.”
“No, for you, it just takes a trial.”
Matthew’s eyes were suddenly pools of guilt. “Brutal, baby,” he said softly. “But I suppose it’s fair too.”
; We drove for a bit longer in silence until I took the exit toward Wellesley. Matthew’s accusations beat along with my heart.
“Look,” he said a few minutes later. “I get it. First love…that’s tough. It makes us look past all sorts of things in hindsight we should remember. No matter how bad that first love is, we never forget it, do we?”
“Like you and Sherry?”
I was being even more petty now, bringing up another lover who was firmly in the past. But for some reason the thought of the woman who had left Matthew when he was off fighting for his country bothered me more than any floozy he toyed with before we met. Caitlyn, someone I knew for a fact Matthew had never truly cared for, was one thing. It was another completely to bring up the only other woman he had truly loved.
“Don’t like it either, do you?”
I bit my lip. “I hate it.”
“Join the club, sweetheart. The thought of anyone besides me laying a finger on you makes me want to commit murder way too often for my personal comfort.” Matthew pulled at his collar and slouched in his seat, like he wasn’t quite sure he could handle his own thoughts even now. “And I’m the one who has to send the love of my life home to another man every fuckin’ night.”
The vitriol wasn’t aimed at me, but I felt it anyway. It was impossible not to. Our reality hurt us both.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I hate it too.”
His eyes dropped with shame. “Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry. I know you do.” Then he looked hopeful. “But you’re here now, right?”
I pulled onto campus and navigated toward one of the parking lots, but I didn’t answer.
“Now who’s the quiet one, doll?”
Once the car was stopped, he put his hand on my knee before I got out.
“The truth?” he asked quietly.
I looked at his hand. His palm was so broad and warm, like it belonged there, caressing my skin. I’d never wear pants again if he would touch me like this, right there, every day.
“Always,” I said. “Even when it’s hard.”
He offered a lopsided smile. “I am jealous of him. But not as a person, because he’s gone. I’m jealous because it feels wrong, somehow, that you’d go back there without me.” He pressed his lips together in thought. “Technically, I’m no more Italian than Olivia. A mutt, just like she is. And I’ve only visited once, plus the time I was stationed in Sicily.”
“You’re pretty Italian to me,” I said. “Given how you grew up. You speak the language and everything.”
“I speak a bastardized version, just like every other kid on my block,” he said. “I just…” And then he frowned. “Promise you won’t go to Italy without me?”
I smiled, like he was making a joke. “Okay, I promise.”
“No, really, doll. Promise. I can’t really explain it, but I don’t want you or Olivia there unless I can see it for myself.”
My smile dropped. “Okay. I promise.”
This time, I was the sad one because I had to lie. But then again, his smile was just as sad. Because I think he knew it too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The rest of the day passed in relative peace as Matthew accompanied me first around Wellesley to register for my classes, then to meet with a real estate agent to look at a few houses for rent in the northwestern suburbs of Boston. When he wasn’t purposefully trying to rile me up, Matthew was a delight. And so we continued, and I tried not to think about the fact that eventually this day would end, and we would be back to our normal of trying (and, it seemed failing) to associate with one another out of pure survival.
“It’s not funny,” I protested as we drove away from the realtor’s office in Brookline.
I had turned down the four properties she offered. She had promised to come up with a fresh list within a few days, but I didn’t have my hopes up. I was going to have to buy again, I knew it, which meant I likely wouldn’t be able to move for a month at the earliest.
“It is funny. I’ve never seen you shop before. You’re like the Queen of fuckin’ England, tapping around with your pointed finger.”
Matthew giggled. The man actually giggled, somehow made it look attractive, and it was at my expense. He propped up his hat, stuck out his nose and flopped his hand forward in the most irritating fashion as he continued his imitation.
“Tell me,” he said in a fake British accent that didn’t sound a thing like me, “are you really trying to convince me these floors are original oak when they are clearly laminate?”
“It was a perfectly fair question,” I protested. “I won’t be taken advantage of like that.”
“Come on, doll. You were a little hard on her.”
“Let me tell you something, Mr. Zola,” I returned. “People see this, and they don’t always see someone worth reckoning with. They see the pretty face and the blonde hair, and they assume I haven’t got anything but air between my ears. And then they see the big ring and the designer purse and assume I also have a lot to take. I have to act like that and ask abhorrent questions that way. If I don’t, I’m not given one iota of respect.”
“All right, all right.” Matthew patted me on the leg again—he’d been doing that a lot, I noticed—and offered a rueful grin. “I apologize, baby. But you do realize it only makes you that much more of a duchess, don’t you?”
I shrugged as I turned down Chestnut Lane. “As long as it’s not a princess, I can accept that. Besides…” I pulled to a stop in front of my sweet dilapidated white house. “How can I sign a lease when I have the perfect home right here already? It might be full of vagrants at the moment, but it’s mine.”
Matthew didn’t answer. He was no longer relaxed, but sitting forward on the edge of his seat while he peered at the house, seeming to take in all of its elements and flaws.
“This is your perfect home?” he asked, clearly aghast.
“Well, it was ten years ago. But I could bring her back to life, I’m sure of it. God, look at that awful van.” I noted the large brown thing taking up most of the driveway. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
“It wasn’t?” Matthew pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.
“No,” I said. “So what do we do now? Call the police, do you think? Skylar checked last night. There is no lease on record for this property—”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Matthew cut in. “Most landlords don’t record leases anyway. In most states, no one is required to file them with a government agency.”
“So I’ll have to ask Calvin about it, then.” I stared at my hands, full of dread.
“I don’t think you should do that yet.”
I looked up. “Why not?”
He didn’t answer, instead just stared at the house for a few moments, then sat back in his seat. “Do me a favor. Drive around the block, then park up the way we came, about five car lengths back. In the shade of the oak tree.”
“Why?”
“Nina, just do it, please.”
Reluctantly, I did as he said. A few minutes later we were parked on the side of the road, partially hidden under the shade cast by the oak in the front yard. Once the engine was turned off, Matthew pulled out his phone and chose the camera app as if he was going to take a picture.
“What are you doing?” I asked, making to get out of the car.
He put a hand on my arm. “Wait.”
I pulled it away. “Matthew, can we please just get this over with? I have a right to see what’s going on in my own house—”
“Nina, hush.”
Just as I opened my mouth to argue that he should hush himself, the door to the house opened, and three pale girls, led by the one who had answered the door yesterday, trudged out in a line toward the van. Matthew clicked away, taking pictures of all of them. The door opened again, and they were followed by the man from yesterday.
“There he is,” I said. “I’m getting out.”
“Nina, you sit tight in the fuckin’ car. I’m not kidding.”
<
br /> “Matthew, what is going on? That’s the man I spoke to yesterday.”
He just continued to snap photos as the party opened the van and got in. “Yeah, I figured.”
“What is going on? Do you know him?”
“Do you?” The question was curt and cold, suddenly laced with tension.
I frowned. “What? No, I told you I have no idea who he is.”
We watched the van pull out of the driveway and down the street until it was out of sight.
“Well, that’s perfect,” I said. “Matthew, I needed to talk to him.”
“Well, you can look around right now. They aren’t there, and if they’re squatting, entering isn’t violating any of their rights.” He looked at my purse. “You have your keys?”
I went still. Something about this felt very strange. “I…yes, but—”
“Well, come on, then,” he said curtly. “Let’s go.”
He followed my cautious steps up to the house, then watched as I slipped the key into the lock. It gave immediately. I frowned. I wasn’t sure it was a good thing that even the locks hadn’t been changed in ten years.
“Come on,” Matthew said again as he glanced up and down the street. Then he took my hand and pulled me quickly inside.
It was even worse inside than out. My beautiful house had been completely wrecked and was now clearly functioning as some sort of drug den. We walked into a living room that had been strewn with rumpled sleeping bags. Tourniquets and syringes were strewn in a few corners along with spoons and materials I assumed were used for some sort of drug production. The walls were scraped and stained. The only furniture was an old TV in one corner cramped by two battered couches that looked like they had been pulled from a dumpster.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, holding a hand to my nose to block the strange burnt stench that filled the room.
“Shit,” Matthew said. He took pictures of everything we saw, then grabbed my hand and pulled me through the house.
We didn’t venture upstairs, but the rest of the main floor was much the same. The kitchen was strewn with leftovers and rotting takeout.
Matthew opened a cupboard and swore loudly. “Jesus, that’s a shit ton of fentanyl.”
The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2) Page 32
