CHAPTER 172
The drive to Matteo’s building felt strangely unreal to Amelia. The city lights smeared across the windows in soft streaks of gold and white, and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the warmth of his hand resting lightly on her knee, she wondered when her world had shifted so completely.
She knew the boy who used to walk barefoot to school with a torn backpack and sun-bleached hair. She knew the laugh, the stubbornness, the quietness. But the man pulling into the underground parking - in a car so sleek it barely made a sound - felt like someone she had only ever seen on movie screens. And yet, somehow, he was still him.
They stepped out, and Matteo guided her toward a private elevator tucked behind a frosted steel door. Only one button. The top floor. His floor.
He reached for her hand. She let him.
Inside, the elevator doors closed. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her gently against his side. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to bring you here,” he said quietly. “All those times I wished I could show you my real life… I held back because I was scared. Scared that if you knew what I had, you’d walk away.”
Amelia tilted her face toward him, expression perfectly serious.
“Well,” she whispered, “now that I’ve seen the car… and the private elevator… and the suit… I think the Matteo I knew is gone. Maybe I should take a step back.”
It took a full second for her words to register.
Then….
His face drained of colour.
His arm froze around her.
His lips parted.
“A-Amelia… I…”
She burst into soft laughter and placed her palm over his mouth.
“I’m kidding,” she murmured.
Relief washed through him so visibly she almost felt guilty. He caught her wrist, lowered her hand, and said, “You just shaved three years off my life. You’re paying for that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How exactly?”
His answer was simple and soft and devastating.
“This.”
His mouth met hers.
A gentle kiss at first - warm, coaxing. Then deeper. Hotter. A slow burn that curled into her spine and stole every breath. Her fingers knotted in his shirt. His hand slid to the back of her neck, the other anchoring her waist. The air thickened. Her heart hammered.
She whispered against his mouth, “That wasn’t expensive to pay.”
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Oh, it wasn’t? I should charge more then.”
“Really?” she teased. “And how much would a pacemaker cost for the heart attack I just gave you?”
“Too much,” he murmured, leaning in again. “You’ll have to kiss me for the rest of my life to pay it off.”
She barely had time to laugh before he kissed her again - harder, hungrier. The elevator hummed around them. Her back hit the mirrored wall. His hands were everywhere - gentle but sure, tracing the shape of her waist, her shoulders, the curve of her spine. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, meeting warm skin.
Heat coiled, rising sharply between them.
And then….
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open into his penthouse.
Matteo didn’t break the kiss. He simply bent, swept her into his arms, and carried her through the darkened living room. The city glittered through floor-to-ceiling windows, but all Amelia saw was him - his mouth, his breath, his hands.
He laid her on his bed, following her down with a kiss that made her toes curl. His hands cupped her face, then slid to her waist, drawing her closer. Her fingers traced the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. The air grew thick, electric.
And then he stopped.
Breathless. Forehead resting against hers.
“Wait,” he whispered. “We’re moving too fast.”
Amelia tugged him closer. “No, we’re not.”
“Yes.” His voice cracked with restraint. “We are. Amelia… have you…?”
She shook her head.
He closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself. “Your first time will hurt. I don’t want it to be rushed in an elevator-heated frenzy. I want it to be special.”
“But I want…”
“So do I,” he said, breath trembling. “God, Amelia, I want you so much. But not like this.”
Slowly, he helped her button her blouse, his fingers brushing her skin with reverence. It made her feel cherished. Seen. Desired in a way that warmed her bones.
He helped her to her feet and led her out of the bedroom.
Only then did she see it.
Soft lights glowed along the floor, forming a path to a dining table near the window. Candles flickered inside protective glass globes, petals scattered like spilled rose-coloured whispers. A vase of white lilies sat at the centre. Two plates were covered with polished silver domes.
Her breath caught.
“You… did all this?” she asked.
Matteo rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted tonight to be beautiful. Something just for us. If it led somewhere… good. If not… dinner still stands.”
She stepped toward the table, touched by the softness behind his confidence.
He pulled out her chair, and she sat. When he lifted the silver covers, her favourite dishes appeared - creamy pasta with truffle oil, grilled lemon chicken, garlic bread, and a small bowl of fresh berries.
She looked at him, heart thudding. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you,” he said simply.
They ate. They talked. They teased each other. He poured her wine; she nudged his foot beneath the table; he smirked; she blushed. The moonlight spilled across the room, painting them in silver.
At one point, he leaned back in his chair and said, low and playful, “If you’re still hungry after this… you can eat me next.”
Her fork froze mid-air.
“Matteo!”
“What?” he asked, all innocence. “I’m delicious.”
She covered her face with her hands, cheeks burning, and he laughed softly.
“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “I love seeing you blush.”
Amelia peeked through her fingers - and found him already watching her as if she were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
The night stretched warm and golden around them - a soft, stolen moment carved out of all the chaos waiting outside.
And for the first time in a long time, Amelia felt something like peace unfurl in her chest.
Something like belonging.
Something like love.