Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

Meg cuts in, “He really likes those psych majors.”

“Hey, I picked Mia out before I knew she wanted to be a psych major,” Mateo defends.

“Right, because she was a high school senior at the time. That’s much better, you’re right; don’t know what I was thinking.” Meg barely misses a beat, then with her balls of steel, she adds, “Was Beth a psych major, too?”

My eyes widen slightly at Meg across the table, but she ignores me and acts like talking about Beth is totally normal.

Much to my relief, Mateo doesn’t seem bothered. “No, Beth was studying nursing. She didn’t have a passion for it, just a way to make a living. Once we got together, she dropped out.”

Rafe gives a short, derisive laugh. “Nursing. Can you imagine Beth taking care of anyone other than herself?”

“Well, I could imagine it back then, obviously,” Mateo replies, dryly.

Meg shakes her head and addresses Rafe. “I’m so jealous you got to meet Beth. She’s a legend around here. I mean, a legendary example of what not to do, but still a legend.”

Rafe shakes his head. “She wasn’t impressive, you’d be disappointed. She was just a selfish, superficial skank who found a back tunnel into Mateo’s head somehow and then fucked it up even worse than it already was.”

I shake my head. “I hate her so much. I’m glad I never met her. I’d scratch her face off.”

Mateo seems mildly amused as he spears a strawberry.

I turn my attention back to Rafe, wanting to get the train back on the tracks before he loses his humor. “Anyway, enough about her. Go on with your story.”

“All right. Well, it’s far less exciting than the story of Beth. No epic affair, no climactic murder. We’d been involved for a little while, had a nice thing going. Then she met this bastard,” he says, indicating Mateo with his fork.

Mateo bows his head, smirking lightly.

“I think her interest started out more academic in nature,” Rafe offers. “He’s obviously a unique specimen and she wanted to figure him out.”

Meg nods her head. “Like a moth to a flame. I get it. Someone could write a hell of a thesis on the inner workings of Mateo Morelli.”

Rafe nods, not arguing. “But because he’s an asshole, he had to take it too far.”

Mateo couldn’t be more dismissive. “I don’t think Rebecca liked you as much as you thought she did. She wasn’t exactly a challenge.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, his gaze drifting back to me. “Anyway, he shouldn’t have been able to take control from me like that, and once he did, I lost interest in her.”

“In her defense, he’s really hard to resist,” I inform Rafe.

Leveling me a look more speaking than it ought to be, Rafe replies, “Yes, well, some women feel the same way when they’re alone with me, little one.”

I narrow my eyes at his use of that goddamn nickname in front of Mateo, then I take a sip from my wine glass and attempt to remain casual. “Sure, maybe when Mateo isn’t in the room, they do. You lost control of your girlfriend to Mateo when you were right there to hold onto her. I’m reasonably sure Mateo would never lose control over his woman to you or anyone else.”

Rafe’s eyebrows rise, but he seems amused that I’m challenging him. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” I reply, without hesitation. “That’s right.”

Reaching for his wine glass, Mateo clears his throat, meets his cousin’s gaze, and casually backs me up. “As far as borrowing goes, Rafe, I think we can call it even now.”

Rafe’s eyes widen with surprise and his gaze darts to me. I shrug and glance at Mateo, who seems entertained that Rafe thought there was even a chance his commands might overrule Mateo’s with me.

—

After dinner, Mateo says good night early and hauls me back upstairs.

Back to his room.

“Shouldn’t we go back to our room?” I ask, as he hauls me up the corridor toward his bedroom.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t haul me inside the bedroom. Instead he backs me up against the wall, his fingers skating down my arms until they close around my wrists. He presses his body against mine, pushing my arms over my head and pinning me against the wall. There’s no pressure on my wrists, nothing legitimately trapping me here now, but there doesn’t need to be; nothing could ever make me leave. Rejecting him now would be like rejecting a piece of my own soul. I thought long ago I was selling pieces of my soul to him, and it turns out I was right. He possesses me now, wholly and without question. It’s not scary, though. It’s exhilarating. It’s perfect. It’s a relief. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met, and he shares all he is with me.

Mateo is a dark, impenetrable wall, and I’m the soft ivy he’s grown to climb it.