Abby’s POV
“You’ve got it wrong,” I grinned, clarifying.
“If I really wanted to use you, I wouldn’t have married you.” I let my gaze trail over his face.
“Honestly, your looks were a big part of why I said yes.”
I looked straight at him and went on, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have tied someone like you to me through marriage.” I gave him a soft laugh.
“Matteo, have a little faith in your face.”
His smile deepened, all charm.
“So I should be saying being chosen by you is a privilege, huh?”
I lifted my eyes, my smile faint.
“I mean, I just broke off an engagement—if I suddenly said I liked you, you probably wouldn’t buy it. But I really am interested. Like you said, why not give it a chance? You never know.” My expression firmed.
“But before that happens, I need to deal with what’s still in the way.”
Matteo knew exactly what those “obstacles” were—Nicholas and everything tangled up with the Sinclair family.
So he didn’t argue.
He looked at me for a long moment, then finally said, “Got it. Still… I mean, we’re already married and agreed to give this a shot—don’t you think calling each other ‘Mr. Romano’ and Mrs. Romano is a bit… distant?”
He clearly wasn’t a fan of the formalities.
He smiled at me.
“Maybe we can start changing that, beginning with what we call each other?”
I nodded.
“Sure, so what do you want me to call you?”
“Matteo, or Matt—either works for me,” he offered.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Matteo. I’ve already been calling you that. You’re the one who keeps insisting on ‘Mrs. Romano.'”
He didn’t seem surprised.
“Then can I call you Abby? Or Abigail?” He paused, his voice dropping, a teasing glint in his eye.
“…Baby?”
“Yeah, ‘Abby’ is fine,” I replied.
After all, friends and family called me that.
It wasn’t weird.
His voice softened as he tested it: “Abby…” Then, lower, “…baby…”
“Mm,” I answered quietly.
To my surprise, being called that by him didn’t feel awkward.
Actually, his low voice wrapping around my name…
it made my heart tug just a bit.
Then I cleared my throat.
“Just ‘Abby’.”
My cheeks burned.
His gaze was so intense, so focused, it was making me forget how to breathe.
I bit my lower lip and took a quick, nervous sip of the warm milk, just to have something to do.
“You’ve got…”
He leaned forward, and before I could react, he had picked up a napkin.
He wasn’t rough.
He was unhurriedly wiping away the small foam mustache from my upper lip, his thumb grazing the paper.
His eyes never left mine, and my heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.
I couldn’t help it.
I ducked my head and focused entirely on our breakfast, my skin tingling.
As we were finishing, my phone buzzed.
It was a text from Lia.
Lia: ON MY WAY.
Have news.
We need to talk NOW.
I sighed.
Wow, so early, this girl.
Matteo signaled for the check, handling it with an easy, discreet authority.
He glanced at my phone.
“Trouble?”
“No, just my best friend. She’s… on her way to see me.”
He nodded, then checked his expensive wristwatch.
“Alright.
Where are we going?
Or who are you meeting?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I have a meeting this afternoon,” he cut in, his voice smooth as he stood up, “but I still have time for my wife.”
My cheeks, which had just cooled down, flamed hot again.
Wife.
He just keeps saying it.
Stop it.
As we walked out, I had to ask.
“Speaking of… engagements,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“What happened to the top model you’ve been dating? The one you were engaged to? Did you… tell her you’re married now?”
He paused by the car door, his expression unreadable.
“Well,” he said, his voice flat.
“I think you just saved me from her.”
He looked away for a second, down at his perfect shoes, and a hint of something crossed his face—not sadness, but a kind of wry disgust.
“I was about to end it,” he said, “right when I caught her sleeping with another man… so, yeah.”
Right.
He’s rich, handsome, has it all…
but he still got cheated on.
Just like me.
I don’t know what came over me.
Maybe it was the flat, resigned way he said it, like he was used to being let down.
I just…
I understood.
I knew that exact, hollow sting of betrayal.
It was pure instinct.
I reached out and my hand landed on his arm.
And before I could second-guess the impulse, I stepped in and gave him a hug.
He went completely frozen, so stiff I thought he was going to push me away.
I was shocked at my own audacity.
Why am I doing this?
But just as I was about to pull back, embarrassed, his arms—strong and hesitant at first—wrapped around me.
And then they weren’t hesitant at all.
He pulled me in, crushing me against his chest in a hug so tight it almost hurt.
It wasn’t gentle; it was like an anchor, him holding on to the only solid thing in the world.
We just stood there for a long moment, me buried in the scent of his expensive suit, him holding me like he’d never let go.
Suddenly, a car horn blared, sharp and impatient, right beside us.
Lia.
I yelped, pulling out of his embrace so fast I nearly stumbled, my face burning.
Lia burst out of her little red convertible, a huge, chaotic grin on her face, already talking.
“Abby, you will not believe the shit I just—”
Her smile didn’t just vanish; it died.
Her eyes went from me, to the incredibly expensive Maybach I was standing next to, and then landed on the tall, imposing, and ridiculously handsome man I had just been wrapped around.
Her jaw dropped.
“Y-You?” she stammered, her voice a shocked whisper, pointing a finger straight at Matteo.