Page 32 of Hidden Empire
He sighs sadly. “Nah, but I could have guessed.” Gesturing me over to him with his hands, he holds his arms out. “Come here, hug your idiot brother while he says he’s sorry.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No need to apologize and definitely no need for a hug. I’m not upset. I’m pretty sure that it is technically a small room. You’re allowed to make observations.”
“No hug?” His face scrunches. “My therapist said physical connection is important to girls with absent fathers. Unless they don’t like hugs, and you love hugs.”
I roll my lips, hiding a smile. “You see a therapist?”
“I do since you showed up,” he exclaims. “You took away my status as the youngest sibling and gave me a complex.”
When my eyes widen, he cracks up. “Kidding, that’s what I told her though. Just wanted to see if the lady had any solid advice to help you adjust. Couldn’t really get any applicable information on account of keeping the mafia thing a secret. So hugs are all I’ve got, I’m afraid.”
That’s so fucked up and so sweet at the same time.
“Going for brother of the year?” I joke, opening my arms for a quick hug.
“Brother of the decade,” he counters, sweeping me into a gentle hug but lifting my feet from the ground. “Can’t have any of the other losers beating me out for the title.”
“So competitive,” I tsk.
“Anyway, you’re right across the hall, but you can sleep in our room anytime you want,” he offers, referring to the triple room he shares with Remo and Nico. “We have a no-girl rule, but you’re the exception, of course. Sister privileges and whatnot.”
“Of course,” I agree. “Sister privileges, huh? Is another one of those that my super strong and capable brothers have to help me put my fitted sheet on?”
Matteo’s face twists. “Ask Armani, I don’t do housework. These hands were made for destruction and chaos, not sorting your frilly bed sheets.”
“Frilly bed sheets,” I mock, echoing his tone. “You sound like a frat boy.”
“You don’t know what a frat boy sounds like,” he argues.
“I can guess,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never made your bed? Don’t tell me you make Martha do it?”
He harrumphs. “Martha would never touch my bed. I’ve made it under duress before, but I don’t make a habit of it. Why should I waste precious minutes breaking a sweat to give my bed an outfit?”
Give his bed an outfit? Matteo can make anything sound ridiculous. Even the most normal things, like keeping a neat bed.
“You ever think that you like hanging out in my room so much because it’s clean and taken care of?” I challenge, lifting an eyebrow.
“What an odd thing to think,” he replies seriously. “I didn’t hang out in there before you came, did I?”
“Well—”
“I like hanging out in your room because my best friend lives there,” Matteo informs me sweetly. “Seems like that’d be obvious.”
“Did you just turn your aversion to making beds into somehow complimenting me?” I can’t help but laugh. “You have a way with words, brother. A way with words.”
“Done,” Armani says, scaring the breath out of me.
I hold my racing heart, turning around to find that he’s made my whole bed. I wouldn’t have been able to get my sheet on, let alone all of my bedding, as fast or as quiet as he just has. He’s like an athletic, tattooed magician.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, heart warm with appreciation. “Thank you, Armani.”
“S’no big deal.” He shrugs. “I’d offer to do your wardrobe but?—”
“No need to offer,” I interrupt. “I prefer there be zero possibility of you seeing my underwear.” Back home, Armani filled my entire closet with clothes, but I made it clear that bras and panties were my responsibility. I did not need someone to pick those out for me, let alone my brother.
Armani didn’t have a problem with this, but he did make himself the director of everything I wear. He consulted me, of course, before just buying whatever he liked. He sat me down five days into living with them and asked me question after question whilst having me touch-test different fabrics. He really is the fashion guru that Matteo and Dad lead me to believe, that’s for sure.
When he asked me if there was a style I favored, I shyly asked if he’d ever seen Coyote Ugly. It’s one of the only movies Kim had on DVD. Anytime she went out of town or away for the night, I was safe to pop it on the TV after 8 p.m. when the electricity switched into free mode.