Resisting Mateo (Morelli Family, #5)

by Sam Mariano

  Today is Sunday, but there’s no dinner. Maria tells me that when she comes back and sits on the edge of my bed, watching me. I don’t expect it, because Maria’s not especially warm, but she places a steadying hand on my arm and tells me, “You’ll heal. You’re strong, Mia. You’ll be okay.”

  Her words trigger new tears and I shake my head as much as I can without lifting it from the pillow. “I’m not strong.”

  “Yes, you are. You’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at you and kept your spirit. You’re just sad now. That’s okay. But don’t let them win. Don’t let them drain you. You rest and mourn and you come back stronger.”

  I don’t tell her that’s impossible, because I don’t want to be mean. I didn’t even think Maria particularly liked me, and here she is offering me comfort. I nod my heavy head. “Thank you, Maria.”

  With a heavy sigh, she gets up and goes back to her tasks.

  But when she leaves, I cry.

  ---

  When the door opens and closes again, I know it’s Mateo before he comes into my line of sight.

  He came in here last night, too. He went into my bathroom, stripped off his soiled suit, and showered. Then he came out and climbed into bed beside me. He didn’t touch me. We didn’t speak. I don’t know why he couldn’t have just left me alone to cry in peace. I didn’t hide my pain to protect him. I made him lie there beside me, unable to touch me, and I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Until there was nothing left, and I finally drifted off to sleep.

  I feel emptier tonight. Last night I felt broken, emotional, but tonight I’m dead-empty.

  It stirs bitter memories as he undresses wordlessly and climbs on the bed, the same side he takes in his room. His presence here makes my stomach ache, and I wish he’d leave.

  Mostly I wish he’d leave. There’s some sick part of me that’s glad he stays—not because of any affection for him, but because he deserves to endure every second of my pain.

  I wonder if this was how Vince felt when Joey died. When I was so goddamn heartless, because Joey had tried to kill Mateo. I didn’t really feel his death, but Vince did. Vince felt it hard. And I left him alone in his pain. Because of Mateo.

  He ruins everything. He’s surrounded by all these beautiful things, gifted with irresistible beauty himself, and all it does is cover up all the darkness. It’s like a spell, an enchantment, to cloak the unbearable reality.

  But last night, for a horrible stretch, I couldn’t feel the spell anymore. There was a break in the enchantment and I could only see what was really there. There was nothing to mask the horror all around me. I was living in a dream and it abruptly turned into a nightmare—but it was real. It is real. Not the beautiful veneer. Not the façade. The nightmare is the reality.

  I don’t know how I can ever unknow that.

  Mateo doesn’t keep to his side tonight, and that makes me angry. He reaches over to pull my hair back away from my face. My hair’s a tangled mess. I only moved from this bed today to use the bathroom. I’m a mess. I couldn’t care less. I don’t want to be another one of Mateo’s pretty things.

  If only I would’ve realized that a week ago.

  Finally finding the energy to speak, I grind out, “I don’t want you here.”

  “I know,” he answers.

  It doesn’t make a difference. It’s not like he’ll leave because I don’t want him. He’s Mateo; he does whatever he wants, no matter who it hurts.

  “You should go back to Meg,” I tell him.

  “You need my attention more than she does.”

  I try to laugh at this, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how. A bitter, jagged sound comes out instead.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he tells me. Even the way he says it is everything. He’s sorry I’m hurting, not sorry for what he did. Not even sorry for hurting me himself—just sorry I’m feeling it. Sorry I feel so goddamn much.

  “I’m sorry you’re not,” I reply, honestly.

  “You’re the only reason I didn’t kill Vince a long time ago, Mia,” he states. “He was unpredictable. Dangerous. He was a time bomb, and he would’ve detonated eventually. He had the worst parts of our fathers in him. My father’s crazy, his father’s short fuse. He was a deadly mix and every time I pissed him off, he inched a little closer to exploding. Would you have preferred he kill me?”

  I’ve thought about that a time or two throughout the night. Maybe that would’ve been better. Vince was unpredictable, unstable, and definitely a threat—but he wasn’t pure evil. There was still so much good in him—a little less each day, but that was because of me. Because of Mateo. We were hardening him, chipping away at the good. What if it would’ve stopped? What if we would’ve stopped damaging him? There was still so much good in him.

  There’s not in Mateo. I thought there was, but I was wrong. Again. Only there’s no one left to save me this time.

  He fooled me once, when I didn’t know him, when I was more trusting, when I hadn’t really seen him yet. I could’ve maybe forgiven myself for that one, though I never really did. I let myself sink into it. I floated into his current and got dragged under.

  But now he’s fooled me twice, and there’s no excuse this time. I saw what I wanted to see. I believed there was good in him because I wanted it to be true, not because it was.

  Even as I think that, my mind dumps salt into my wounds, reminding me of his playfulness, his tenderness. I didn’t imagine it all. It was there; it happened.

  Since he’s not going anywhere, I roll over to face him.

  He doesn’t look surprised.

  “I thought there was good in you.”

  “I told you there wasn’t,” he replies.

  “But you showed me there was.” I pause, but he doesn’t respond fast enough, and my mind is starting to work, the tired cogs finally moving. “Even if there was nothing in it for you. That’s the thing. Maybe you primarily do good things when there’s a reward in it for you, but not always. I never expected you to apologize to me. You got nothing out of doing that. I was already yours for the taking, you knew that. So why bother?”

  Mateo sighs, capturing my hand and placing it over his heart. I want to move it, but to be honest, right now I need evidence that it beats, so I leave it there. “Mia, I’m not a character from one of your storybooks. I’m not drawn from lines; I’m not filled with ink and printed on a page. I’m a person. I’m flesh and blood. I feel things, too. I’m not sensitive like you, but I can still feel. And I’m from the same violent blood as Vince—I just exercise more self-control. I take the time to think things through. My father was wild and soulless. Last night would’ve been nothing for him. He drove women to kill themselves to escape him. I’ll push your limits, Mia, but I’ll never push you that far.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

  Something fierce crosses his face then and his hand comes up to cup my face protectively. “Yes.”

  “Would it hurt you if I died?”

  I’m not suicidal, but the worry that flits across his face when I ask that reassures me. “Of course it would. Don’t say things like that, Mia.”

  “Because you know it would be your fault?” I question.

  That time he doesn’t answer, he just studies me, frowning. He’s trying to get a new read on me. His goddamn logic is in the driver’s seat again. He’s reclaimed the hold on his mind that he clearly lost last night. He’s doubting now—me or himself, I’m not sure. I don’t care.

  “That’s how I feel now,” I tell him, since he isn’t answering. “Because you killing Vince? That’s my fault. I can never get out from under that. He tried to keep me safe from you, and he paid with his life.”

  He’s dark and unreadable as he says simply, “Vince knew the cost before he made the purchase.”

  I shake my head, pulling my hand from his grasp, swatting his hand from my face. “You can’t always get your way, Mateo. You have to lose sometimes.”

  “Even my wins come with losses, Mia,�
� he says, simply. “That’s the problem when you play with people. You can’t always prepare for every eventuality.”

  I don’t want to look at him anymore so I roll back over. “You shouldn’t play with people. We’re not here for your amusement. We’re not toys.”

  He doesn’t respond to this, and I can’t see his face, so I can’t even read whether or not he agrees. I guess he doesn’t, because his actions say plenty.

  Instead of leaving me alone tonight, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me back against him. I don’t want it, but I know it doesn’t matter. My will means nothing to him. He’s shown that many times over, I just haven’t been paying attention.

  I hate that his arms locked around me still sort of make me feel safe. I hate that right on the heels of every truth he demonstrates, my foolish heart still longs to believe his lies.

  His lips travel slowly along my neck, dropping tender kisses. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out.

  “There’s nothing in our way now,” he tells me. “I know it’s not the way you wanted it, but the course is clear.”

  “No, it’s not,” I tell him, moving my head to try to get him to stop kissing me. “You’re in the way, Mateo. You are.”

  He stops kissing me, but his hold on me tightens. “I know I’m hard to love, Mia. Just don’t stop trying.”

  He doesn’t understand.

  It’s not hard to love him—it’s hard to love him and still love yourself.

  It’s hard not to love him. It’s hard to look at him and see what’s really there. Vince’s body isn’t even cold, and Mateo’s goddamn lips across my skin already make my body tingle again.

  I thought once I’d have to sell my soul to be with him, but even then, even mere days ago, I didn’t understand what that meant. I didn’t understand how it would feel. I thought loving him would hurt less.

  Hating him hurts just as much.

  Everything with Mateo hurts. Everything.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Meg

  I’m starting to forget what it’s like to sleep next to Mateo.

  He still comes in each night for the girls, but he leaves me as soon as they’re in bed. He goes to Mia. Every. Single. Night.

  And that scares me. Not from a territorial place, but because no one has actually seen Mia since Vince died, and the mood of the house has gone completely dark. The same gloomy cloud that seemed to hang over the house when I was locked away in the dungeon hangs again, and it’s more pronounced when you’re above stairs. Everyone seems to understand Mateo’s in one of his dark places, and they accept it, they ride it out, because they’ve seen it before, and they know they’ll see it again.

  I didn’t, though. I didn’t know.

  I never saw it before, and I wasn’t on the outside when it happened. I was inside the darkness with him. It’s different inside. It’s different when you have him in the storm with you.

  I’m a bystander now, and I don’t like it.

  On Friday, I catch Elise in the kitchen making lunch. Mateo and Adrian are both out, and I feel a little excited for human interaction. I’ve considered going to Mia, since she’s really my only friend, but I’m too afraid. I’m not good with death, clearly. I’m not soft enough. I don’t know what to say to people.

  Also I don’t want to see if he’s hurt her. That makes me the worst kind of coward, but every flutter of baby kicks in my womb spawns more fear. I’ve never been afraid of Mateo, but I’ve always known to be frightened of what he’s capable of. I’ve never been able to wholly believe the reassurances, that there’s a line he won’t cross, that he didn’t cross with Mia. Now each night that he spends in her bed I lie awake, consumed by it. Is there even a slim possibility she wants him there? I tell myself there is. She’s always had a soft spot for him. It’s just hard to imagine the feral, broken creature I last saw accepting his affection.

  And it makes me want to throw up to consider the alternative.

  It makes me want to leave, and I don’t know if I’m allowed to anymore.

  Elise gives me a polite attempt at a smile as she stands at the counter, mixing ingredients in a bowl.

  “Making lunch?” I ask, lightness I don’t feel manufactured in my tone.

  “Adrian said they’ll be home for lunch today.”

  “Oh.” My stomach shouldn’t drop. I shouldn’t dread the prospect of seeing Mateo.

  “So I’m making something I know he likes,” she continues, answering my original question.

  “It must be nice, huh?” I ask, again lightly, managing a smile. “Hitching your star to a man with a soul?”

  Not even bothering to look surprised, Elise nods. “I highly recommend it.”

  “Mateo doesn’t tell me when he’s coming home for lunch,” I tell her. I don’t know why I tell her that. It just spills out of my mouth. “He doesn’t tell me much of anything right now. I’ve never seen him like this before. I’ve never…” I pause, unsure how to put it into words. “You were here when he was with Mia before, right?”

  Elise nods her head. She knows I already know that, because I asked her about it before, but she doesn’t look eager to offer me anything.

  “What was it like?”

  “Like this,” she says, flatly.

  “This?” I question.

  She indicates around the room, around the house, I guess. “The pall. The darkness. When Mateo’s in one of his maniacal fits, it weighs on all of us. I guess it’s a little different this time, since Vince isn’t storming around, adding his fury to the mix. But otherwise it’s the same.”

  “Mia wasn’t happy then either?”

  Elise practically glares at me for that one. “I already told you she wasn’t. It was exactly like this,” she says, and this time, I think to be mean. “Nobody saw her. She was locked away and kept in his bed every day. Eventually he’ll make her come to at least Sunday dinners again, only Vince won’t be there this time.” Elise shakes her head. “It’s exactly like it was. At least I don’t have to change the sheets now, I guess.”

  That makes me want to cry.

  I blame the baby, but the blame now probably lies with the baby’s father.

  Maybe its mother.

  I think we’re all to blame. Each and every one of us has, at some point, agreed to loyally serve this disaster of a man.

  At the time we probably didn’t think we’d have to witness him beat one of our family members to death. That was maybe a little more than we realized we were signing on for. But that was our own naiveté. We should’ve known it was possible. Without violent reminders of his dark side, we let ourselves forget. He has different sides, like a person, so it’s hard to be vigilant and remember that even when he appears harmless, there’s a monster just beneath the surface.

  I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to feel safe with him again.

  I don’t know how to convince myself Mia’s safe.

  Since Elise doesn’t like me anyway, I don’t linger in the kitchen. I was going to grab food, but I’m no longer hungry.

  I decide to go to bed. Who cares if it’s afternoon? Francesca is back from her honeymoon, so she’s back at the bakery, and between the pregnancy and the events that have recently unfolded in life, my sleep pattern has gone to shit.

  I’m worried about everything, and the only way to stop is to sleep, so I do.

  ---

  I watch Mateo read to the girls about mermaid genies. I study him like there’s an exam afterward—on him, not the book. I watch for any sign that this is all an act, that he’s more of a liar than I ever realized. That he’s a monster with a pretty face and a nice suit, and maybe there’s nothing underneath.

  But it doesn’t seem fake. When Lily wrings a little smile out of him with her bedtime story pop quiz, the affection looks real. The affection for my daughter. The affection for his daughter. It doesn’t happen as much now, because he’s completely distracted by Mia, but when he rubs my belly, his affection for the little person we created—it
all feels so real.

  I’ve never needed to live in a black and white world, but right now, I hate the color gray.

  Once the story is finished, he kisses them both, lets them tackle him to give hugs. My heart aches, because he looks so much like the man I love; he just doesn’t feel like him once they’re gone.

  Then again, I don’t get him once they’re gone anymore. Maybe he still feels the same and I just don’t know because he’s never with me. He’s on the other side of the house, possibly harming someone else.

  I take the girls to bed, like always. Tuck them in and give goodnight kisses. Slowly, dread weighing on me every step of the way, I go back to our bedroom. I expect he’ll leave now. Not right this second; he’ll linger for a few minutes, ask about my day, and give me a kiss. But then he’ll be gone.

  For now, he’s still in our bed. So I climb up there and lie down beside him.

  “I feel like I should get you a change of address form,” I tell him, lightly.

  “Hm?” he murmurs, glancing over at me.

  “It doesn’t even feel like this is your bedroom anymore,” I clarify.

  “I know,” he says, sighing. “I’m sorry. Mia is being more difficult than I hoped.”

  “Well, you killed her boyfriend,” I state, reasonably. “With your bare hands. In front of her. So… you know. That’s not really a turn-on for most women.”

  It usually wouldn’t bother me that this amuses him. That his eyes twinkle and he turns to wrap his arms around me, to pull me close. “Most women aren’t you, huh?”

  I don’t fight his embrace, but I certainly don’t do anything to encourage it. I can’t get the icky doubts out of my head.

  “I’m surprised she even lets you stay in her bed,” I remark.

  He doesn’t respond to this. Now I feel worse.

  I hear a trace of fear in my own voice as I ask, “Is she letting you?”