“Mia started at the bakery,” I say, my words feeling a little slurry. I forget to watch his face, which was the whole point of saying that. Damn. I’m a bad sleuth. I also can’t hold my liquor, I’m quickly realizing.
By the time I look at him, his face is clear of any expression—his goddamn poker face. “Yes, I saw that. After I specifically told you not to bother.”
“Well, you didn’t issue an order,” I point out. “Obviously I would’ve followed your orders like a good little fucking soldier. Like I always do. No. You were just suggesting I not waste my time, but why not? I’ve got nothing but time.”
Now he grins, taking a sip from his glass. “You’re already getting drunk, you lightweight.”
My face feels funny. I open and close my mouth, shifting my jaw side to side. What a weird feeling.
Mateo reaches across the desk and slides my glass away from me.
“Hey!” I object, reaching for it and scowling at him. He lets me have it, so I hurry up and take another drink in case he takes it again.
“I don’t think you need to drink the rest,” he informs me.
“I do. It’s making me think of good advice.”
“Oh, wonderful,” he says dryly.
I nod, even though he was being sarcastic. “It is. First, stop feeding Elise’s crush on you so Adrian doesn’t keep getting hurt by it.”
“I’m talking to Elise tomorrow, actually. About their little…” He waves his hand, rolling his eyes.
“About her going with him?” I ask brightly. “Aw, that’s nice.”
“Nicer if she finds the idea appealing, but sure, it’s a good first step.”
I nod vigorously. “And when she says yes, stop feeding into it. Let her nurse an interest in Adrian. He’s more than earned it.”
Indicating his pen and notepad nearby, he asks nonchalantly, “Should I be taking notes?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding decisively. “And second—I think it was second. Was that just one thing? I don’t know. Secondly, it’s time to get over Beth.”
His amusement swiftly evaporates, but I’m too drunk to stop.
“I know she hurt you and she was the worst. I know the whole having to kill her thing sucked hard. But closing yourself off to actual human connections isn’t the answer. You need them more than anyone I’ve ever met. Meaningless hook-ups don’t count. That’s not connecting. You need to fall in love again. You need someone to love you, because having someone love you is incredible and I want that for you.”
He tips his glass back and drains it, then calmly stands, grabbing the decanter and taking it back over to the alcohol cart.
“I think it would be good for Isabella, too,” I add, because I do not know when to stop. “You don’t want her to grow up like we did. She needs a mother. Kids need mothers. I’m sorry we didn’t have one.”
Now Mateo returns to my side, helping me out of the chair and letting go to see if I can walk.
I totally can, I just weave a bit.
He ushers me toward the door.
“You can kick me out all you want,” I proclaim, “I speak the truth.”
“I’ll take it under recommendation,” he says dryly. “Do you need me to walk you to your bedroom?”
“No.” I grasp onto the doorframe as I step into the hall. “I’m fine.” Before I head off on the treacherous climb up the stairs, I turn back to point in his face. “I love you, you know.”
“Yes, drunk women love just about anyone,” he informs me, leaning against the doorframe. “Walk, so I know you’re not going to fall over.”
I shake my head at him, but I start walking toward the stairs anyway. “You’re impossible,” I mutter.
He’s an impossible bastard, but he still follows me out of the study and watches me climb the steps to ensure I make it. I take that as a sign of his affection, because it’s apparently all I’m going to get.
By the time I get to the bedroom, I feel somehow drunker. I belly flop onto my bed and dig around in my purse, extracting my Salvatore phone. I have to blink a few times to focus, but I manage to get the messages open and open up our message chain. The last one was about the doughnuts, and I’m suddenly immeasurably guilty. I have this wonderful man who loves me and wants me and treats me so well, and I’m jeopardizing things for a hypothetical beef between our families that may never even arise. That’s stupid. I’m not stupid, so I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to be like Mateo. I’m not going to push people away until they finally give up on me.
“I’m so sorry about earlier,” I type and send. “That sucked and I don’t want to fight with you. I love you. I just hate thinking about that because I never want it to happen.”