Exposed

Chapter Eleven

"Is this the last one?" I ask, straightening with a groan. Matteo smirks, hooking a suit jacket onto the rack in the closet.

"Yeah, the one by the bed is the last one."

Taking the scissors, I cut through the tape on top of the box in one glide, pleased that after two hours of unpacking, my apartment looks more like our apartment. Pulling back the sides of cardboard, I glance around the room with a smile. There's a stack of his books against the wall, the place they'll stay until we get a bookcase. Files of compositions. His t-shirts on the bed. I reach into the box and my nails clash with metal. I look inside, blinking when I find trophies, metals, plaques...

"You have a lot of awards," I say, fishing one out carefully.

He shakes his head, reaching out for it. "No, we can put those in storage."

"Are you crazy? What was this one for?"

He sighs. "Julliard. It's an achievement award from there."

"Well, you should have this out. All of these."

"No, that's weird," he says, taking the award I hand over to him.

"Why?"

"Because," he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "I'm not full of myself."

"You know you're amazing. You should be proud of these. Why don't I make a place in the music room?"

"Because I don't want you to, Emma." He shuts the flaps and lifts the box, setting it by the door with the rest of the items heading to storage.

"I don't understand. Why keep them if you don't like them?"

"It's not that I don't like them. I just sometimes feel... I don't know, undeserving of them."

Oh, Matteo.

I tilt my head, curious. "Is that why the pamphlets at the theatre don't have your picture on them?"

"I'm not there for the awards or even for the audience. I don't play for them. I never have, even when I first started. I didn't ask to have this money, or to be known. It's the last thing I wanted."

"When was that?"

He turns, running a hand through his hair. "When I first started?"

I nod, wondering whether he'll tell me. I've known this man for so long. I'm living with him. I love him and yet, I still know nothing about him.

"I don't know where I'd start."

"Wherever you want," I press, smiling softly, patting the bed beside me. He takes the space next to me with a sigh.

"After what happened with the fire, there was an investigation. The firecrackers were found, but they couldn't tell whether or not they were from New Years, which was three days before. They figured it was the candles my mother always had lit." He shakes his head. "I didn't say anything. I didn't... I should have. I should have taken responsibility-"

"You were young."

"Old enough to know better, Emma," he argues, looking at me. I catch sight of the tormented man I met, the man I know is secretly behind this calm façade, this desperate attempt to be normal. And the reason I know he's hiding is because he gives nothing away. His features remain impassive. "Anyways, I had no family that I was close to. I was sent to live with my aunt, Gwen... the woman you met.

Oh, so that's where she comes in. I always wondered about her.

"She hated me," he confesses, chuckling darkly. "She never wanted me around and I was messed up, really messed up. She paraded around her town, telling everyone what had happened to my parents, making herself look like a saint for taking in the suspicious orphan. Not three months there, I found out that she was collecting money from the town-donations-even though she had plenty of money from the guy she was seeing. I found the money, locked in a safe in her closet.

I grimace. "Shit."

"After that, I left. I packed my things and found my way to New York."

"What did you do then?"

"Nothing," he admits. "I lived on the streets for years. It was the most comfortable I ever was with myself. I felt I belonged there."

"You didn't."

He ignores me. "I met a guy, Enrique. He had been on the streets for over twenty years. He knew I had no idea what I was doing and helped me, more than I can remember now. He died in his sleep when I was twenty from an overdose. He had nothing, nothing but a simple acoustic guitar. He let me play it sometimes, always liked it when I did." He scratches his head, clearing his throat. "It's the one in the music room, the one-"

I nod, knowing which one. It's worn down, but well taken care of. "The one with the chip in the bottom?"

He nods. "I began playing at small cafes, clubs to find any money to live on. I played whatever instruments they had. Most of the time I didn't even get paid. I just did it to pass time. A man saw me, an arts professor from Julliard. He wanted to get me an audition to the school."

I smile softly, amazed how ten minutes ago, I knew none of this. "And you took it?"

"No," he chuckles. "No, I told him to fuck off basically...I told you, I was content where I was. But he came weekend after weekend and one day brought one of their music professors who pulled me aside, and insisted on an audition. He ended up convincing me into it at Casey's café...and well, the rest is public knowledge."

"You went?"

"Yes, I was accepted on scholarship. In the last leg of my senior year, I was approached by Doug, who took me on as a client."

"And you became world famous. How did you handle that?"

"I didn't, as you saw. I pushed everything back. I made money. I focused on music. I kept everyone at a distance... until you."

"Until me?" I smile.

"Yes. You changed everything. I wish I could describe to you what I felt when I saw you, yelling at Harold."

"Probably thought I was a real ball buster."

"It was very entertaining."

"And you took great enjoyment in pissing me off, didn't you?"

He laughs, relaxing. "Yeah, I hadn't really met a woman like you. I was in new territory."

I shake my head, leaning my head onto his shoulder. "Matteo, you deserve to feel proud of your accomplishments. I am."

He kisses my hair. "Thank you."

"So now will you let me put the awards up?" I ask after a moment.

"No."

"Oh, come on," I whisper, warmly, kissing the softest part of his throat. He groans to the ceiling.

"Emma."

"Please?"

He shakes his head in dismay. "I'll never understand you."

And just like that, I grin, knowing I've won.

***

"Oh my god! That was amazing!" I shriek excitedly when Matteo exits the velvet curtain, leaving the audience in an uproar after his first performance back in New York. After almost a month of rehearsals, they have finally begun. I practically leap into his arms, ignoring the chuckles that come from the company as they file in behind him to the backstage, watching me douse him in kisses. "Your best one yet!"

"Do you think so?" he asks, breathless, setting me down on my feet.

"I mean, the part in the middle- that part with the vi-"

He grins at my excitement. "Violins?"

"It was spectacular, baby, really-" I say, humming in surprise when he kisses me, hard, ceasing my speech.