by Sam Mariano
If Vince kills Mia, Mateo will empty his arsenal to destroy him. He’ll go down with this ship if he has to, because he’s so wrapped up in that girl it’s all he can do.
Swallowing down a lump of dread, I ask, “And then what? After you use all of your resources and connections to destroy your own family for a personal vendetta, then what, Mateo?”
“Then I nearly empty my clip into his face.” He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. Drunk Mateo is out full force. I don’t know how long he’s been drinking, but I suddenly wish I would have left him in here alone and gone back to my own bed. Tomorrow we could wake up and none of this would be said. I wouldn’t have to see it. I wouldn’t have to witness the pain he’s in because Mia isn’t with him. I wouldn’t have to hear the next words out of his mouth. “Almost. I save the last bullet.”
“For what?” I ask, quietly.
“My last gift to the world,” he says, dryly.
My blood runs cold. Actually, it might stop moving through my veins entirely, because with a crushing rise of adrenaline, my heart completely stalls.
I could throw up right now. Anger surges through me, blanketing every other feeling. It’s like a blood red curtain falling over everything else until it’s all I can see.
“I’m still here,” I grind out, slowly.
Shrugging and closing his eyes, he puts his hands behind his head and rests his gorgeous, pain in the ass head right on top. “Then be nice to Dante; maybe he’ll let you stay in the house.”
I hate him right now. I tell myself this isn’t really him—this is drunk Mateo, and drunk Mateo is a fucking nightmare. It’s not news. I’ve encountered him a couple times over the course of all these years. Right now as I look at this man, he looks like the man I love, but he isn’t.
Because I took away his light. I took away the person who matters most to him.
I don’t matter to him.
I’m not worth sticking around for.
The anger suddenly drains right out of me. Peace settles over me. I’ve been fighting this for so long. For years, I knew he still loved me. We were still best friends. When he came to my room, I still felt like he wanted to be there.
But he doesn’t anymore. He doesn’t want to be there anymore, and I don’t want him to be somewhere he doesn’t want to be. I deserve a hell of a lot better than that.
Tears try to burn behind my eyes because of my damn pregnancy. I know this is where the end begins. It has to be. I can’t even pry Mateo away from Mia when she isn’t here.
Plan B, it is.
“I want out.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even open his eyes.
“Of this relationship,” I add, to clarify. “I want out of this relationship. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I feel like I just swallowed a vat of battery acid. Blood rushes through my veins. There’s a teeny tiny part of me—a ridiculous, absurd, insane part—that hopes he’ll wake up. Realize that just because Mia’s gone doesn’t mean he has nothing.
But we have been nothing lately. Since shortly before Christmas. Since I went against his wishes and told Mia I was pregnant. He ended our relationship that day; the bastard just didn’t have the decency to tell me. He left me dangling in the wind, holding onto a phantom love while he completely threw himself into his real one.
Bastard. This bastard.
I almost feel relieved. I don’t know how I have time to cycle through all of these feelings before the bastard responds.
Finally, he says very simply, “All right.”
Despite all I’ve just told myself, this agreement stings. It feels like a slap in the face. I remain standing here, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
I hate the swell of tenderness that follows. I hate the sympathy. I hate the regret. I hate that I feel so damn bad for my part in all this, but I could’ve stopped this. It’s my fault he looks so lost and alone right now. His pain could’ve been averted. I could’ve told Adrian about Vince. I could’ve set a trap for him that day instead of letting him take Mia, but I didn’t.
Mia isn’t even here, he may never even see her again, and he still doesn’t care if I leave.
But then, why would he? Apparently life is too unbearable to face without her.
I’m tempted to take one last look at him, but I don’t.
I just leave him here alone and try not to think about what tomorrow will bring.
---
I’m surprised to see Mateo at the breakfast table this morning, all put-together like always, no sign of the wrecked Mateo I saw last night. There are still dark smudges beneath his eyes, speaking to his lack of sleep, but he’s fully functional, fully assembled, perfect hair, clean shaven, his suit without so much as a wrinkle.
I couldn’t really sleep. As much as I told myself I wouldn’t, I spent all night thinking about this. What happens to me now? Where do I go from here? I didn’t even leave Rodney, and now I’m going to leave Mateo fucking Morelli? We have children together and I’m carrying his first son—his heir. How does this work?
I’m further surprised when he raises his gaze to look at me as I head toward the kitchen, and his lips curve up slightly. He hasn’t smiled since the dinner Mia didn’t show up to. Now he gives me a nod of acknowledgement that feels normal, and for a couple of terrifying minutes as I go to plate myself some breakfast, I wonder if he was so drunk he doesn’t remember last night.
Is that better or worse? Most people are more honest when they drink, which is maybe why no one likes drunk Mateo. Sober Mateo is made of pretty lies, so no one is ever prepared for the ugliness of drunk Mateo.
I take my usual seat at his right, but I feel incredibly awkward. I try to mask it, flicking a glance at him. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like garbage,” he says, smiling wryly. “From what I can recall, I deserve to, though.” Now he meets my gaze, and it’s the most connection I’ve felt with him in four months. “I apologize for last night. I was out of sorts.”
My mouth opens in surprise, but I can’t seem to find words. What does that mean? Does this apology nullify last night’s conversation? Did I spend the whole night outlining my new life for no reason? Was he just being a maudlin drunk?
He reaches over into Mia’s empty spot and grabs a manila folder, dragging it across the table and flipping it open. He briefly looks over the paperwork inside, even though he obviously already knows what’s there.
Since I don’t, I await a sign of some sort.
“I have an idea to run by you. I don’t have a lot of time this morning, Adrian is checking on a few possible leads and I need to get to it, but I wanted to touch base with you first. I want to give you the piano bar.”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head slightly. “It’s called Meg’s Place—isn’t it already mine?”
“Well, yes, I bought it for you, but it’s in my name. I want to transfer it into yours. Whether you want to keep the current management or run it yourself is completely up to you, but all revenue it brings in will be yours either way. It’s been doing quite well,” he adds, meeting my gaze and nodding slightly, like we’re in a fucking business meeting.
“Um, why? Is this an ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole’ gift, or a divorce settlement?”
His smile is pleasant, but his words are not. “We’re not married.”
My head bobs of its own accord, responding to the insult before my mouth can catch up. He spends four years reassuring me of my status, then says that. I guess I know where I stand. “Wow. Yes, that’s….” All I can think to do at this point is get his ring off my finger—not my plan, because I figured I would sell it, but I also had no idea he would give me a business. My head is spinning with all this and my hands tremble with anger as I try to get the ring off my swollen finger. It’s like a Chinese finger trap; pulling on it makes the damn thing try harder to stay on.
“There’s no reason for this to be unfriendly,” he adds, closing the manila envelope and sliding
it across the table so it’s in front of me. “I’m not trying to be cruel; I just want to make sure you come out of this with something to show for it. You’re still the mother of my children and Mia’s friend; I want this to be friendly.”
I can’t help frowning as I give up trying to yank my finger off and instead open the manila folder, looking at the paperwork inside. Shaking my head as I leaf through it, I say, “I only proposed this last night. In the middle of the night. When did you have time to do all this paperwork?”
Mateo shrugs and grabs his coffee cup, lifting it to take a sip before saying, “I didn’t get much sleep.”
That’s true, but it’s not the truth. Maybe he wasn’t asleep, but the rest of the world was. He was also drunk out of his mind—not in the state of mind to do complicated paperwork. Flipping through the policies, account summaries and invoices, legal documents, I realize… he already had this prepared.
He already had this prepared.
It’s the last reaction I expect to have, but I suddenly burst into laughter.
Here I was struggling and trying to make things work, and he’s been waiting for me to give up. “Did you draft these the day I told Mia I was pregnant?”
I guess since I’m literally laughing about it, he doesn’t lie to me. “No.” After the briefest of pauses, he adds, “Later that week.”
I nod, but then I shake my head, because this man is enough to make me lose my fucking mind. “Do you have a pen? Do I sign these now? What do I do?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just giving them to you to look over. Once Mia’s home and everything gets settled, I’ll set up a meeting for you with my accountant, he can go over all the details with you so you’re as prepared as you can be. I don’t have time to deal with it right now, but in the event you don’t trust me and you want someone else to look it all over, you have time to do that now. Everything’s on the up and up, I’m not trying to screw you.”
Smirking, I leaf through the papers. “No, I know you’re not trying to screw me. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you were.”
Smiling faintly, he assures me, “It doesn’t have to be a mess. I’ll need you to change rooms, obviously, but you don’t have to leave the house. Nothing has to change for the kids. We’ll work out the details, but nothing really has to change for any of us.”
“I just won’t be your obligation fuck anymore,” I state, nodding my head.
“Well, what fun’s an obligation fuck?” he asks lightly enough, but he doesn’t even bother denying it.
I shake my head. “You’re a jerk.”
“That’s a very mild word for what I am. I’d have forgiven something much stronger this morning.”
Sighing, I close the folder and push it aside, turning my attention back to my plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. “You could’ve just been honest with me, you know. You didn’t need to string me along for four months, thinking maybe this was some never-ending punishment. Would it have been so hard to say, ‘hey, sister wives has been fun, but I need to downgrade my workload and I want my bedroom back. It’s been fun, but we’re done here’?”
Apparently unconcerned with the four months of my life he’s wasted, he says, “It worked out just fine. This was your idea,” he adds, firmly, like I need reminding. “You’re the one who ended things with me. So, when Mia comes home…”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “God. Yes, when your fairy princess comes home, I will take full responsibility for ending this relationship.”
He nods once, satisfied. “Good.”
I shake my head and take a sip of orange juice to wash down my last bite. “You really are the devil, you know.”
Apparently unconcerned, he replies evenly, “Aw, I don’t know. The devil wouldn’t let you leave once you fall out of love.”
My eyebrow jump halfway up my forehead. “I didn’t fall out of love. You fell out of love. I still love you; you’re the one who doesn’t love me.”
He seems to consider this briefly, then his gaze returns to mine. I only have time for the briefest flash of apprehension before he opens his mouth and shatters everything. “I raped Mia when I first met her. Repeatedly. At gunpoint, once. She was with Vince, she begged me to stop, she meant it, and I didn’t. I wanted to hurt her.”
My stomach rocks and bile rises up in my throat. I place a hand over my mouth just in case I can’t keep it in, but his horrible words sour my stomach more effectively than bad food or morning sickness.
I don’t know whether to thank him or punch him in the face.
Mental images rise unbidden to my mind, images of what that might look like. Aside from the gun, I don’t actually have to imagine that hard. When we finally gave him the threesome he was so interested in, Mia stipulated that while we could all play, he could only fuck her or she wouldn’t be able to handle it. So I watched him pin her down, watched her writhe under his body. She was no victim then, she was enjoying him, but as rough as he was with her, it did remind me of my earlier concerns about him and their sexual relationship. I knew sex between them would be more intense, but did it have to look so violent?
Since I still feel like throwing up, I place a steadying hand on my abdomen and take a deep breath, trying to will away the nausea. I close my eyes, but those flashes come back so I open them right back up.
I procreated with a rapist. Awesome. Where are the snappy onesies for that?
I can’t look at him, but I have to ask, “Were there others?”
His calm voice makes me more decisive; I definitely want to punch him in the face. “No. Only her. I thought it would be the quickest way to get the response I needed out of her so I could dispose of her without Vince being a pain in my ass. I assumed it would turn her on me more effectively than it did. I only intended it as a means to an end. It turned into something else.”
“Did you threaten her?” I flick a glance at his face, but it’s hard. It’s hard to look at the face I still vaguely longed for just a minute ago, because there’s no hint of yearning right now. A yearning to get away from him, maybe. “Did you make her lie for you?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I never asked her to lie about it. She was free to tell anyone what I did—outside of law enforcement, obviously.”
“This is very confusing,” I state, honestly.
“You suspected,” he returns, because he’s no idiot.
“Yes, but there’s suspicion, and then there’s outright admission. You’ve both spent four years telling me it was my imagination. We have children. Do I have to worry…?”
Thank God, his face contorts with disgust. “No, no—I would never hurt—No, that’s not…”
I cut him off with a nod. This is the last conversation I want to be having with the man whose child I’m carrying. Bile still burns in my churning gut. Normally I can roll with the punches, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in all my life. I feel like it changes everything, even the way I look at him and Mia, but now I’m not sure in what way. The love she bathes him in is too intense for her to be faking it. No one could pull that off for this many years. And why would she? However she managed it, she got away from him once; she was out from under his roof. She was with Vince. She came back voluntarily. She settled for sharing. She thanked me for sharing him with her.
“I don’t understand Mia’s brain,” I finally say.
Smiling faintly, with a hint of sadness, he says, “Neither do I. She’s a more loving person than I believed could exist.”
I don’t even know how this surprises me at this point. After all he’s done to her, I’m not even sure rape is the worst of it. That he told me communicates more effectively than anything else that he’s done with me, though. That’s where I told him I drew the line, and now he’s telling me the truth so I can let him go.
“Did the man I loved ever exist?” I ask, without looking at him.
I can feel his eyes on me, but he takes a minute before responding. “In part.”
I nod s
lightly, but there’s not much oomph behind it. “Why bring me into this? If it was always her, why did you ever bring me into this mess?”
“I don’t regret bringing you into the family, Meg. You’re a wonderful woman, an incredible mother, and I do love you—but I love you like I love Adrian, not like I love Mia. I crave Mia. I didn’t think I could ever have her. I thought if I took her, I would break her. I misinterpreted her softness for fragility, her acceptance for naiveté. I thought she wanted to move on and get away from me, and I thought that was probably for the best. I thought you more capable of handling me, and I thought we could be happy together. I was, for a while. But it’s no coincidence I’ve never married; I get bored with people or they wear out on me. It’s not your fault, it’s nothing you did or didn’t do. If I’d never met Mia, maybe we would’ve lasted longer. But knowing that exists, knowing I can have it, knowing I can feel that much... nothing else could ever satisfy me now.”
“If I would’ve said no to sharing, would this have still happened?”
“Oh, yes,” he says, without hesitation. “Our relationship would’ve ended a long time ago.”
It’s nothing I couldn’t have already guessed, but it does still feel like a little slap to the ego hearing him say it. I nod my head, trying to process all this. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“Better late than never,” he offers, before taking another sip of his coffee. Apparently finished, he pushes back his chair to stand. “If there’s anything else you want, just let me know.”
“What if Mia doesn’t want me living here?”
He pauses, then smiles slightly. “Mia would’ve shared me for the rest of her life to keep me from killing you. She’s not going to object to you living under her roof.”
Her roof.
I feel a little like I have whiplash, but Mateo is clearly already over all this. I’ll be damned if I’m left behind, lingering in a relationship that no longer exists.
