The moment they got into their room, Matteo locked his grip on her arm and pulled her toward him and wrapped her in his arms, cradling her face against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," He whispered against her head, squeezing her tenderly. "I should've known that you would not like my gift."
"It's not that I don't like it," she spoke in a muffled voice. He released her head, allowing her to pull back and look at him. This time, there was no vexation in her gaze, only something he recognized all to well—and it sent an arrow right through his chest, as he knew there would be absolutely no way for him to reciprocate it.
"Then what is it?"
