Resisting Mateo (Morelli Family, #5)

by Sam Mariano

  “She trusts you enough to share you with someone else, and you’re going to deny her the one thing she asked of you.”

  Frowning, he looks up at me. “For you. You’re the one who wants a goddamn baby, Mia.”

  “Well, I don’t want your baby,” I state, turning my attention back to the laptop.

  This annoys him. He pushes himself up on his elbow, narrowing his eyes at me. “Bullshit.”

  “Your genes are fucked up,” I state. “You’re all angry, explosive, soulless monsters. I don’t want to have a little monster. I’ll go to a sperm bank.”

  He laughs shortly, amused. “Like hell you will.”

  “Get some PH.D level sperm. Some doctor sperm. Maybe some NFL linebacker sperm. Really any other kind of sperm.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I’ll ask Adrian for sperm,” I say, just to annoy him now.

  Mateo rolls his eyes. “Elise will kick your ass. And he’s a soulless monster, too, remember?”

  “Still better than having a Morelli,” I reply.

  “Touché.”

  “You have to start using a condom,” I tell him. “Or you have to let me have birth control. One way or the other, we have to do something. Maybe you don’t care about respecting Meg’s wishes, but I do. You never even spend the night with her anymore.”

  “I’ve had my hands full with you. If you’d just hurry up and forgive me, we could all move on with our lives.”

  Meeting his gaze, I tell him seriously, “I’m never going to, so I wouldn’t wait around for that.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he says, turning over and crawling across the bed. He closes my laptop and moves it to the nightstand, then he sets himself up among the pillows.

  “Well, you should. I told you I wouldn’t and I meant it. If you’re waiting around for my forgiveness, I’ll consider giving it to you at your funeral.”

  “Ouch.”

  I shake my head, not amused. “You crossed the line, Mateo. I told you where it was because I thought it would matter to you. I tried to stop you, I didn’t want you to ruin this, but you’re you and you can’t be bothered with limits. But people have them, and if you can’t respect that, then you have to be prepared to lose the feelings they had for you. I told you all this. Not even just as a warning that night, I told you all of this the first night we were together in this room, when I was trying to impart lessons that I paid a heavy price to learn.” I shake my head, so frustrated with him I can hardly handle it. “But you didn’t hear me. You didn’t learn. And you can keep me here, you can even fuck me, we both know I can’t stop you. But you won’t get back what you had those first three nights. You’ll never have my heart again.”

  He studies me long and hard, his arms crossed, considering my words. Finally he asks, “Why would you want to live like that? You must’ve realized by now I meant it very literally when I said you would never leave me again. You’ve seen how far I’ll go to make sure of that. I won’t change my mind. I’m going to keep you here for the rest of your life. Why would you choose unhappiness? Why would you deny us both like that, when you have no alternative?”

  I consider this for a moment, because it’s actually a good question. I wouldn’t have before all this happened. I thought exactly the same way when it was Meg he was keeping forever, when it was Meg who was stuck with him, whether she liked it or not. I thought if she was stuck with him, she might as well be happy with him. I lied to her to give her that. But now, when it’s me in her position, he’s right—I’ll deny myself, even if I actually want it, just to deny him.

  “It’s my responsibility now,” I tell him. “To Vince. To you. To the world, maybe. I never held you accountable before. I let you get away with anything. I gave up everything for you. I completely sabotaged my relationship with Vince because I wouldn’t let you go—because I kept glorifying you in my mind. He needed me to be sorry, and I wouldn’t. And why? For what? I didn’t need to fight him on that. If the shoe was on your foot instead of his, if the roles had been reversed, if Vince had raped me and I thought it was you, and you needed someone safe to blame, and you knew you couldn’t lash out at him so you needed to blame me, I would’ve let you. I would’ve accepted it, I would’ve apologized, I would’ve done what I had to do to heal you, because I can take it. Because I’m stronger than he was. I’m stronger than you are, because you don’t have a heart. You don’t have empathy. You don’t care about people, and I do. I can endure any trauma that you put me through and I will be fucking fine. Would I have preferred happiness? Of course. That was all I wanted. I thought I was finally leaving Vince and I would be with you and it would be fucking great. I would get more nights like the ones we had. I would get to actually enjoy you this time.” I shake my head, surprised the disappointment of losing this future doesn’t feel heavier, but it doesn’t right now. “I wanted that, Mateo. But you couldn’t let us have it. And now I realize, you may be a monster, but I helped make you that way. I lied for you. I protected you from the consequences of your own actions out of misplaced loyalty, but it didn’t serve you, it spoiled you. I forgave you for everything you did to me, because again, I can take it, but that was the wrong thing to do. It made you think you could get away with anything. And you can’t get away with this. You went too far. You’re you, so there’s no justice system, there’s no court of law, there’s nobody who can punish you. Only me. So I will. I will be your consequence until you get sick of me and kill me, too.”

  Mateo watches me as I conclude my speech. He doesn’t look angry, just annoyed. “I wish you wouldn’t commit to that.”

  “And I wish you would’ve just listened to me when I begged you to, and none of this would’ve ever happened.”

  “And what would have happened, Mia?” he throws back, watching my face. “Say I didn’t come over to Vince’s that night. Say I gave up, told Colin to go home, and let you stay with Vince? What then? Did you and Vince live happily ever after?” he asks, more than a little mockingly. “Did all your many fucking troubles just evaporate into thin air? Did you stop having feelings for me and endure your martyrdom to make him feel better about me being inside you?”

  “Fuck you, Mateo,” I fling back.

  “No, I want to know what magical happy ending I took from you. Because you know what I think I took from you, Mia? A kid who wasn’t fucking ready for you. A borderline abusive boyfriend—and I’m being generous here by using borderline, let’s be honest—who flew off the handle every time you said my name. And you said my name a lot, because I’m the one you wanted. Do you know what I took, Mia? I took out the fucking garbage for you.”

  I’m up on my knees now, riled. “He wasn’t garbage. He was a person. And he had good in him.”

  He rolls his eyes, ridiculing me. “Oh, you think everyone has fucking good in them, Mia. I’d love to hear your take on Charles Manson sometime.”

  “I think you’d be great friends,” I toss back. “You could bond over all the murders you commit together.”

  “You didn’t fucking mind it before, now did you? This isn’t new. I didn’t just become a murderer, Mia. I killed the last person I was in a meaningful relationship with, for god’s sake. I run half the crime in Chicago. Did you think my hands were clean before now?”

  “I didn’t think about it. But you made me. You made me see it. And this wasn’t some random person, it was Vince. He was important to me and he was your cousin. Your family. That’s supposed to mean something. You want everyone to have unwavering loyalty to you, Mateo, but you don’t give any back. Not a drop.”

  Now he looks a little like he does want to kill me. “Do you have any idea how much work I had to put into getting you back here? How much I risked? I’ve done everything in my considerable power to keep your meaningful relationships intact, to make this as painless as possible for you. The only person I couldn’t work around was Vince, and that’s because he’s so fucking difficult! I tried. I would’ve let you keep him around, but he was too goddamn s
tubborn. Too possessive. Too unbending. I kept everything else in your life the way you wanted it—everything but the loose cannon. You’re my fucking masterpiece, and you want to punish me.”

  That’s a super weird thing to say.

  That knocks me down a few pegs. I sit back on my legs, frowning at him.

  “I have risked everything for you,” he states. “Everything. And I’m sure I’ll do it again, before all is said and done. Now, tell me again how I have no loyalty to anyone, Mia. I fucking dare you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say quietly.

  “I know you don’t,” he says, apparently annoyed by it. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me. It’s one of those occasional instances where I realize how much smarter he is than me, how far out of my league he is on every level, and it makes me a tad uncomfortable.

  Climbing off the bed, he begins to undress. It’s not where he usually undresses, so his chair isn’t over here, but he’s off-kilter anyway from our fight.

  “You have class in the morning. Let’s just go to bed.”

  I don’t even argue this time. He’s confused me, thrown things at me that I don’t understand. Even though I meant everything I said tonight, after I turn out the lights and climb over to my side of the bed, I wait to see if he still wants to hold me. He obviously doesn’t appreciate being lectured, maybe especially by me, and I’ve clearly aggravated him this evening because he never yells at me.

  But he still pulls me into his arms. He still snuggles me, dropping a brief kiss to the nape of my neck before settling in.

  Maybe he’s settled, but I’m not. As he holds me tonight, I feel decidedly unsettled.

  And the most unsettling thought of all is that I may never know what the hell he’s talking about, because he’ll probably never tell me.

  Chapter Twenty

  Meg

  “You can be a ballet princess.”

  I watch from my post on the folding chair as the girls prepare for a fashion show. Ju is taking a much-deserved break while Mia plays with us today. She’s already been on the tour de Paris; the girls took her shopping (I was the cashier) and dragged her into the townhouse. She’s a little too tall for it, but she’s not pregnant, so she can crawl and twist herself to fit into tiny person spaces.

  Now she’s part of the fashion show. The first run through, the girls were the fashion girls and we were the audience. Then Isabella decided Mia had to be a model because she’s so pretty, and since she doesn’t have a little Morelli making her waist disappear, Isabella’s little pastel tutu stretches enough to accommodate Mia’s tiny waist. Isabella slaps a pair of purple rhinestone encrusted sunglasses on her, and boom, she’s a ballet princess. She looks ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter.

  “All right, should I hit the tunes?” I ask, my phone at the ready with their Taylor Swift song of choice.

  “Yeah!” Isabella and Lily say, almost in unison.

  Lily is physically possessed and has to jump around like a lunatic once Swifty’s voice blasts out of my phone, but Isabella stays focused, prowling down the catwalk. Mia has no idea what she’s supposed to do, so she just bounces a little with an absurdly exaggerated duck face and waits for Isabella to tell her what to do.

  “Lily, come on, it’s your turn,” Isabella commands, once she gets to the end near me.

  Lily comes bouncing down the walk now. Her version of dancing is mostly jumping and flailing her arms, so she does that down the catwalk and we call it a success.

  “Your turn!” Isabella says, signaling Mia.

  “Sure,” Mia says, prancing down the catwalk with her hands on her hips, sashaying dramatically. Then she gets to the end, where Lily is still bouncing along to the song, and Isabella can’t resist the Swifty either, so it turns into a dance party. I don’t join in, since I’m not all about jumping in my second trimester, but I grin and bounce my foot along to the music in solidarity.

  Isabella grabs Mia’s hands and they bounce together, Mia bobbing her head like a goofball. Lily tugs on Isabella until she faces her again, and then Mia’s on her own and she glances at me for direction.

  “Disco!” I call out.

  Mia laughs, but then she does a mocking little disco dance.

  “No, dance with us,” Lily says, realizing they’ve lost her attention to me.

  She goes back to just jumping around with them while she sings along, since we all know Shake it Off.

  I need to pee. I wonder if I could slip out without them noticing for a minute. I hate to interrupt the dance party, but pregnancy bladder is no joke.

  I glance back at the doorway, and I’m a little startled to see Mateo standing there. He’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching the dance party. There’s a rare look of unguarded affection on his face, one that quickens my heart and goes right to my gut. Because he doesn’t see me. He sees Mia. The look is for Mia.

  He does love Mia.

  It’s not like this is a shocking revelation. He told me that himself. But it feels awkward to see it so plainly on his face. Maybe just because I’m left out—again.

  Now he notices me. At least he doesn’t dim, like I half-expect him to. He shares the tender look with me, lets me into the moment, and my heart opens up like a flower basking in the sunshine.

  This is what I thought it would be like. This. Him happy. Us happy. Everyone happy.

  Mia hasn’t seen him yet though, and that’s the only reason this moment is remaining happy. He understands this, too, so he backs out of the room.

  “Mia, can you stay here with the girls a minute?” I ask. “Pregnancy bladder.”

  Mia is still jumping along to the song, but she spares me a nod. I put the phone down on the chair so they don’t lose their soundtrack, then I slip outside the room with Mateo.

  “Hey, you,” I say, winding my arms around his neck.

  “I see you girls are having fun,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me closer. The bump is a little in the way, keeping us from molding to each other the way I want to, but he put the bump there, so I guess I can’t complain.

  “So much fun. We should take the girls to actual Paris one of these days. Isabella’s a little shopper already, she’d definitely cost you some money.”

  “I can’t wait until she’s a teenager,” he says dryly.

  “Family Paris vacation. Just throwing it out there.”

  “Sounds hectic,” he remarks. “Two little ones in Paris?”

  “Um, I think you mean it sounds awesome,” I correct him, raising an eyebrow.

  Whether or not he agrees, he shrugs. “Maybe when Mia’s not mad at me anymore. I’m sure Mia and Isabella together in Paris would put a dent in even my bank account.”

  I grin up at him. “Our little shoppers.”

  He gives me the kind of smile that feels like a direct reward, but I’ll take it. I haven’t decided if I like the way he’s trying to train me, but I guess I’ll let him get away with it. I can’t be trained. I don’t have to tell him that. It’s cute how he tries.

  “What?” he asks, since I’m smiling a little mischievously.

  I shake my head. “Just you.”

  “What about me?”

  “I just love you.”

  Dropping a kiss on my lips, he assures me, “I love you, too.”

  “You know what I think we should do?” I ask, my heart kicking up a couple speeds, but I keep my face light and breezy.

  “What do you think we should do?” he asks.

  “Quickie. You. Me. Some kind of surface somewhere. A wall. A chair. A sink. I’m not picky.”

  He laughs, glancing around the hall. “A quickie, huh?”

  I nod once, then drop a few kisses along his neck to further my cause.

  I know he can’t tell his answer is going to make or ruin my day. If he turns me down again, it’s going to sink me. I won’t let him know, because fuck that, but it will. I almost expect it at this point, though.

&nbs
p; But Mr. Unpredictable laces his fingers through mine and tugs me down the hall. “Let’s find a room.”

  I feel like I could fly.

  I haven’t lost him.

  He still wants me.

  Everything is going to be okay.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Mia

  Another week passes.

  Mateo still comes to my bed every night. Until Friday. Friday he doesn’t come.

  And of course I notice. That’s not surprising.

  But I miss him. That is.

  I’m used to him already. I’m used to falling asleep in his arms, whether I want them there or not. Most nights he fucks me, and I try to convince us both I don’t want him to. A couple nights he just holds me. We don’t fight again like we did, but I sort of want to dig back into that. I want to know exactly how much work went into getting me here. I want to know how I’m his masterpiece. I want answers that maybe he’ll never give me, and that frankly I shouldn’t ask for, because that will only make him think I care.

  Friday night I’m alone, so when I’m done processing Mateo’s absence, my thoughts turn to Vince. I’m up late since I kept waiting for Mateo and he never came. My homework’s all done. I’m going back to the bakery for a shift in the morning, so I should sleep, but I can’t. I’m tired, but my head is too full for sleep. I’m too afraid of what kind of dreams are waiting for me when my eyes finally close.

  So, I do the dumb thing. I grab my cell phone, curl up in my sea of blankets, and scroll through old photos. I haven’t taken any lately, but I took one the first night with Mateo. He’s rolling his eyes because he thinks it’s stupid to need a selfie to memorialize our time together, but I wanted proof. I wanted something I could look at forever, in case it slipped away. It hurts to look at it now. There’s a reluctant smile on his lips, even though he’s rolling his eyes at my behavior, because he’s happy. And I’m happy. I’m literally glowing with happiness, eyes sparkling, grin wide. I look somehow lighter as I hold my phone out with one arm and hook the other around his neck, bringing him close so our faces are together in the shot.