“I need you, my wife,” he would whisper. “I love you, Evie.”
But he no longer held me.
When I woke up this morning, I realized he hadn’t touched me in almost a week. The last three nights, I’d slept alone.
In desperation, I talked to Lila, who listened quietly as I spoke.
“I feel as if I’m losing him somehow. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”
She sighed, rubbing my arm. “Nothing, Evie. Matteo is very new at this.” She paused. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but they are working on a new situation. Geo said it was horrendous, but that was all he would tell me. I think this is Matteo’s way of trying to protect you. He becomes obsessed and different when a case is intense.”
“Different?”
“Do you remember when you met him?”
“Yes.” I shivered, thinking of that night. His coldness, and the fact that I had watched him kill people without blinking or showing remorse.
“I think,” she began and sighed again. “I think he is finding it harder, given the more tender edge you have brought out in him. There are two sides to him, and he is trying to keep them separate.”
“I know who I married. I accepted that when I agreed to become his wife.”
“I know. And he will figure out the balance. Be patient and love him. He will come back to you, and once he does, you can talk to him about it.”
“All right. I will try.”
She glanced over my shoulder. “You have a lot going on over there.”
“It’s our two-month anniversary. I’m making Matteo his favorite dinner. I even made special cookies that Marcus delivered earlier to remind him. I hoped they would make him smile.”
“I’m sure the date will not escape him.” She stood. “I should get back. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes.”
She left, and I finished dinner preparations. I went upstairs, showered, and changed into one of Matteo’s favorite dresses. Midnight blue, with an off-the-shoulder neckline that left my collarbone bare. He had informed me it was sexy the one time I wore it, and I wanted everything tonight to be what he liked.
I set the table with candles and flowers. At eight, I got the food ready.
Then I waited.
At eight-thirty, I knocked at his office door, but it never opened. I tried the handle, but it was locked.
At nine, I blew out the candles.
By nine-thirty, I put away the food, then, too tired and sad to worry about the rest of the kitchen, went to bed.
I poured a bath and slid in, still hoping Matteo would rush in full of apologies and we would make love in the tub. Then we could go downstairs and raid the refrigerator together as we had done a couple of other times, and the night would be salvaged.
But he never came.
I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. I curled into bed, wrapping my arms around his pillow, and gave in to tears.
I was still alone when I woke in the morning. I dragged myself from bed, got ready, and went to face the cleanup of the kitchen. However, I was surprised to find the kitchen cleaned. I wondered if perhaps Lila had done it, but at that point, it didn’t matter. I began to look around, mentally preparing the day’s menu, when I stopped.
Why was I bothering? Matteo wasn’t going to show up for dinner tonight either. If our anniversary meant nothing to him, then why was I continuing to spend hours cooking, only to throw out the food?
I sat in the wingback chair, feeling dejected and confused. I stared out the window at the lush grounds. People were working away, keeping it beautiful and pristine.
Yet, no one ever used or enjoyed it. It was a waste.
It hit me.
Just like this house.
It wasn’t a home. It was a façade for Matteo’s task force. It was where they planned their missions, plotted the deaths of those whom they caught.
I shivered. Matteo had stated he wanted a family. Children. I glanced around, trying to imagine happy little toddlers in this large, rambling house. Would their laughter ring out, or would they be silenced, cast to an unused spot in the house so as not to disturb anyone?
Tears filled my eyes at the thought. I wouldn’t allow that. I wanted my children raised in a home filled with light and love. For them to be happy. Was that possible here?
“I fear your clothing is suffering again.”
I started at the sound of Matteo’s voice. He stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. He looked exhausted, his shoulders bent and his expression weary.
I dashed away the tears from my cheeks and stood.
“I’m sorry, coffee is not yet made.” I slid by him. “I’ll send Marcus your mug once it is ready.”
“Evie—”
I ignored him. “Did you want breakfast? After all, you missed dinner last night.”