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Chapter Six

I hurry from the room, shutting the door behind me. Who the hell just walks into someone's bedroom? What is wrong with you?

I walk over to the couch, taking a seat slowly, visualizing his scar in my mind. The scar that covered a good half of his torso. Painful and pulled back together roughly, I finally realize that I was right.

This man has gone through pain.

The door opens suddenly and I stand back up, shaking my head apologetically. He's fully dressed now, in a white button up shirt that's opened just a couple buttons at the top.

"I'm so sorry. You didn't answer-"

He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. He's clearly uncomfortable. "Don't apologize. I'm sure you were surprised to be in here anyway."

"I was," I whisper, pressing my lips together. He walks to the countertop, setting down his phone and wallet.

"Would you like coffee? Um, Tylenol?"

I chuckle, moving around the couch slowly. "Coffee would be nice."

"Alright, well, take a seat. Make yourself at home."

I don't think I could... There's isn't a single color apart from white in this place. It looks as though the apartment came with this furniture and he just decided to leave it that way. I go to the couch and chuckle, sitting down.

"So, tell me... should I be worried?"

"About what?"

"What was said by myself last night. I'm a little spotty with the details."

"Oh. No, don't fear. You were fine."

Fine? "Okay."

He chuckles at the countertop, pouring black coffee into a mug. "I mean, you were more than fine. It was great."

"Fine? Great?" I laugh, biting my lip. "Why, your vocabulary is so advanced, Matteo. I don't possibly know how I'm going to keep up."

"Staggering, then," he says with a deep breath, resting his hands on the counter. "You were... are staggering to me, Emma."

I stare at him, my lips parted in amazement. That's better. He stares at me, betraying himself and that wall he's built before hurrying to grab the milk from the fridge. I sit, pleased with myself until he comes with a tray, complete with honey, sugar and milk. He sets it down onto the coffee table, taking a seat beside me.

"Thank you," I murmur, reaching for the sugar.

"Of course."

"So... tell me, why don't you have a single item in this room apart from the necessities?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, where are the colors? The photo frames? The evidence that you actually spend your time here."

"I'm never here," he says, looking around. "I'm only in New York for a couple of months and then I go to London for another year. I spent the last six months in Australia."

Whoa. "That must be hard."

"It's not for me."

"Well, where do your family live? When do you get to see them?"

"I don't have family," he confesses, quickly, as if he's trying to get through the sentence as fast as he can. I stare at him for a moment, my warm cup of coffee between my hands before I look down.

"Are you an orphan?"

He looks out the window, clearing his throat. "In a way."

"In a way how?"