Page 8 of My Ghost

“What was that?”I turn to him with a saccharine smile, pretending I didn’t hear him.His glare could melt any metal and everyone starts to laugh again.

“Hey, let’s go out tonight!Chiara found this karaoke dive bar that’s hilariously bad,” Lily exclaims enthusiastically.“But the patrons are great, and so are the drinks.They even make decent mocktails.”

I can’t hold back a squeal.“Karaoke?Count me in!I do a mean Britney Spears impression.”

Next to me I hear Matteo mutter, “God help us.”

Before I give in to my urge to strangle him, I turn to him with the brightest, fakest smile I can muster.“Oh, are you coming with, Mr.Landlord?I bet you’re a secret Elvis impersonator.”

“I don’t sing,” is his dry reply, and I dramatically roll my eyes.

“Tragic.All that intensity and no fun outlet?”

“Maybe he saves his fun for private moments.”Lucas snickers, which earns him a death stare from Matteo.Lucas holds up his hands, indicating that he wants no problems with him.

After an awkward silence, Lily helpfully tries to lighten the mood.“I’ll come and help you girls with the chorus.”

I turn to her and give her a thumbs-up.“You better.We need backup on Shania Twain.”

“You girls and your karaoke obsession.”Lucas chuckles.

“Well, you guys should come.Let loose a little,” Chiara chimes in.

“Yup, absolutely,” I say.“It would be fascinating to see if Mr.Landlord here is capable of fun.”

Matteo doesn’t react.His jaw tics slightly and a muscle near his eye twitches.

Faaaascinating, I just found my new hobby.

I send him my sweetest and most innocent smile.

“I dunno.I think his idea of fun involves glaring at people until they apologize,” Lucas mock-whispers my way and I snicker.

“Mmmh.Maybe.Or maybe he’s hiding absolute superstar potential.You know the type—quiet until the mic hits his hand, and thenboom, he serenades tortured ballads in a growly voice.”

The warning gaze Matteo sends my way is blank but razor-sharp.I go on, ignoring him.“Picture it, the lights dim, smoke machine cranks up, and bam, he’s onstage with his sleeves rolled up, singingAin’t No Gravelike it’s a threat.”

Lucas cracks up.“Stop it, I’m picturing it.”

Matteo’s fork clinks gently against his plate when he stabs a piece of fruit and it amuses me to no end.I tease him some more, leaning into him and singsong in a syrupy voice, “Pretty sure this is your ringtone.Don’t be shy, you can tell us.”

There is a deadly pause, Matteo is grinding his jaw and looks straight ahead.Then he grits out in a low voice, “Skye, if you keep talking, I’ll make you shut up, and believe me, you won’t like that.”

Everyone freezes.Even Lily blinks.

But if he thinks I will back down he is sorely mistaken.I turn my upper body his way and playfully knock my fist on his biceps.“Oooh.Threaten me with a good time.”

The tension at the table coils tight.Matteo’s hand flexes around his fork like it’s the only thing keeping him from flipping the table.Okay, I admit I might have gone a bit overboard.

I turn back to my plate and cheerfully change the subject.“This coffee is amazing, where did you get it, Lily?I need some of it for my awesome coffee grinder at the condo.”

Chapter Six

Erin

After brunch, we all go outside to settle on the patio.It’s a beautiful, sunny day, perfect for relaxing and enjoying the weather.I am sitting with Lily in the outdoor lounge, sipping cucumber and sage water as we catch up on our lives.Chiara and Lucas are sitting by the swimming pool, dangling their feet in the water and talking quietly, their heads bent together.Chiara looks radiant, her blonde hair swaying gently in the breeze, and Lucas looks like he is eating her up with his eyes.Huh, something’s definitely up.

My gaze drifts to the Adirondack chairs on the other side of the coffee table where Matteo and Damiano sit, deep in quiet conversation.Judging by their grim expressions, it must be somethingwork-related.Both have shed their suit jackets, but it is Matteo who steals my attention.His white dress shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing bronzed forearms that look like they were carved to torment me.Thick cords of muscle shift beneath his skin when he gestures, veins prominent and roped under a swirl of dark ink creeping up from under the fabric.And I know for a fact that the rest of his body is inked as well and that his muscled chest is a work of art, carved from power and control.I can’t tear my eyes away, and my throat dries up like I’ve swallowed sand.It’s only forearms,I tell myself.But to no avail, because my lady parts don’t think they areonlyforearms.How someone who wears a shirt and suit jacket twenty-four-seven can get this tan is beyond me.