Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“The shop, it is empty, and there were movers here the other day.”
“Oh. That. An antique dealer in Florence showed up at my door last week. He offered to buy everything in the shop—cash register and all—for a ridiculously low amount of money, but I took it.”
Matteo laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I almost got on a plane to chase you to another country when you were right next door.”
“Why would you chase me?”
He took a step closer. “Because I need something.”
“What?”
Matteo met my eyes. “You. I need you.”
A wave of emotions surged, and I had to swallow to force them down. I needed to be sure—really sure—of what he was saying, because I wouldn’t survive having my heart broken a second time. “What do you need me for?” I asked carefully.
He took a breath. “Do you think we can sit down and talk?”
I hesitated before nodding, and Matteo followed me into the house. I sat down in the living room, on the chair angled away from the couch to keep some space between us.
He frowned. “Do you think you could sit over here with me?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to be close to you. It’s been a long two weeks.”
My heart started to race, but still, I was wary. Matteo sat on the couch and looked at me, waiting. After a beat, I moved to sit beside him. He reached for my hands, and my eyes jumped to meet his.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
I held his gaze a long time before nodding.
Matteo took another deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know where to start. But I guess the best place is with an apology. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Allegra.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a hug. I stiffened at first—but it felt so good, so right, that I let myself fall into him.
“I’m so sorry, bellissima,” he mumbled into my hair. “I never meant to hurt you.”
After a long moment, he pulled back and looked into my eyes. “All this time, you thought you were the one who was afraid. But you were always open and honest about your fears. The truth is, it was me who couldn’t admit mine.”
He stared down at our joined hands. When he looked back up, his eyes were glassy. “I met Izzy when I was young. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met—a free spirit I didn’t fully understand. Her parents moved constantly, never staying in one place for long. I thought that made her crave stability, that she needed something solid, someone steady. So I tried to be that for her.” He gave a small, humorless laugh. “But the truth was, she didn’t want roots. She craved movement—picking up and going somewhere for months at a time, starting new hobbies and new businesses. Reinventing herself. I was the constant in her chaos, and I thought giving her space to come and go was the right thing to do. Eventually, she told me she needed more freedom than I was already giving. So I let her go.”
He shook his head. “Not like I had a choice. I told myself it wasn’t personal, that it wasn’t that I wasn’t enough. We wanted different things, different lives.” He paused. “She came back when she got sick, and I believed it was because she wanted to be with me in da end. I took care of her until she died, grieved her all over again, and told myself I’d made peace with it.” He stared off at nothing. “But then I saw that tea set…” His jaw tightened. “And suddenly, I had to face the truth. It wasn’t just about freedom. There was someone else. I wasn’t enough for her. That’s why she left.” He looked up, eyes glassy. “Izzy…she was my first love. Puppy love, really. But you? You’re my once in a lifetime. The kind of great love that people spend their whole lives hoping to find. And somehow, I found you right next door.” His voice cracked. “But what happens if I’m not enough again?”
I felt gutted, but after a moment, I found my voice. “You’re enough, Matteo. You’ve always been enough. She just wasn’t the one who could see it.”
***
Hours later, we walked next door so Matteo could get a bottle of wine from his cellar. We’d spent the entire day talking—sharing fears we’d both been carrying but never spoke aloud. I told him about more of my past relationships, how I’d secretly wondered if I wasn’t good enough to make partner, and I’d been using Sierra as a scapegoat. I admitted I wasn’t sure I’d ever fully come to terms with finding out my father was a cheater, but I was determined to not let that define the man who was always there for me growing up. He told me how he’d pulled away from most of his friends after slipping into a period of depression, too ashamed to let anyone see it.