Chapter 10 - NO MORE PRETENDINGEmma did not immediately move into Matteo’s bedroom.
Matteo apparently expected that.
Sophia did not.
“You kissed him.”
Emma stared at her.
“How do you know that?”
“My son smiled at breakfast.”
“That proves nothing.”
“My son has smiled approximately fourteen times since adolescence.”
Emma laughed.
Their first real date took place at a restaurant Matteo did not own.
Emma insisted.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because I want one evening where threatening the chef is logistically inconvenient.”
“I have never threatened a chef.”
“You told one his risotto lacked discipline.”
“That is criticism.”
“Your security chief was standing behind him.”
Matteo sighed.
The date was almost normal.
Almost.
People recognized him.
A photographer waited outside.
Two security men occupied another table.
But Matteo did something Emma had rarely seen.
He asked questions without already knowing the answer.
Why had she become an event planner?
Because she loved making chaos look effortless.
Why send so much money home?
Because her father’s retirement had been harder than her parents admitted.
Why refuse Matteo’s investment offer when she wanted to grow her company?
Emma smiled.
“That one is easy.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know I can build something without you.”
Matteo went quiet.
Emma expected argument.
Instead:
“Good.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“You told me what you need.”
“And?”
“I listened.”
Emma smiled.
He had learned.
Slowly.
Inconveniently.
But genuinely.
Weeks passed.
Emma returned to her apartment.
Matteo visited.
The first time, he stared at her tiny kitchen.
“Where is the rest?”
“The rest of what?”
“The kitchen.”
“Not everybody needs an island the size of Wisconsin.”
He opened a cabinet.
Two mismatched glasses.
Three mugs.
One chipped bowl.
“This is alarming.”
“You survived kidnapping and gunfire.”
“This is worse.”
Emma laughed.
Their relationship became ordinary in fragments.
Bad takeout.
Arguments over schedules.
Matteo falling asleep during documentaries.
Emma leaving shoes in places specifically because she knew it irritated him.
And something else changed.
Matteo stopped making decisions for her before asking.
Not always.
Sometimes Emma would simply stare at him.
He would stop.
“Right.”
Then start again.
“Would you like—”
Better.
Love was not fixing someone instantly.
It was watching them practice a different way of being.
And allowing them to choose it again.
Then one Sunday morning, Sophia arrived without calling.
Again.
And found Emma’s black heels beside Matteo’s shoes.
Again.
May you like
This time she knew better than to walk through the door.
Mostly.
