Confessions

Amelia and Matteo walked back to the main hall quietly, unaware of the confession in the room. Matteo had handed the flute to Amelia to hold, and she decided to examine it closely, slowly twirling it in her hands to look for the supposed defects. 

There were some bumps and scratches, but Amelia knew that those were caused by her childhood self when she tried to use it as a conductor baton. It had nothing to do with the poor girl stuffing it into a locker. 

"Mr. Montgomery, actually… this flute isn't really damaged," Amelia said sheepishly. "I don't know how to tell you this, but the bumps and scratches were already there." 

He didn't need to scare the living daylights out of Mr. Giovanni.

"Is that so?" Matteo replied with a raised eyebrow. "And how would you know this?" 

Amelia froze, but then she sighed. What was the point of keeping this secret from her boss? 

He had already seen her with wine in her hair on her knees in front of Caleb. He could not think that she was any more pathetic to begin with.

"This used to be my mother's," Amelia said, caressing the flute. 

The stone was cold, much like her mother's hand when she held it for the last time before she was laid to rest. Tears began to well up in Amelia's eyes. 

"Back then, I sold it because I needed the money for Caleb― and I've regretted it ever since. I was such a fool. This was her favorite and I sold it for a measly five hundred dollars and―" 

And Caleb was loaded; he could spend one million dollars on this flute, but he never bothered to redeem it back for her, and after, it was gone.

She scrubbed at her eyes, trying not to burst into tears, but Matteo grabbed onto her hand tightly. 

"I should have him banned, charity be damned," Matteo said, his voice seething with anger. 

"Mr. Montgomery?" Amelia asked, gazing up at him weakly, her heart thudding a mile a minute. 

His bare skin was touching hers, and it felt like she was about to vibrate out of her skin at the sudden contact. This close, his eyes were like the waves that rolled onto the shore after a storm out at sea― peaceful and calming. It had the power to pull her in and it took her nearly all the strength left in her to blink out of it.

 "What are you doing?" she whispered. 

"I―" As though a spell had been broken, Matteo shook his head, letting out a small cough. He immediately let go of her wrist. "I'm sorry for startling you. It's just― it's bad to rub your eyes." 

"What?" Amelia felt like she was on a rollercoaster thanks to all the turns this conversation was taking. 

An embarrassed flush crawled up Matteo's neck. "My mother used to say that it would lead to blindness."

The unexpected response startled a laugh from Amelia. "Your mother sounds like a woman with a sense of humor. I would like to meet her." 

"So would I," Matteo said, and Amelia recognized the emotion in his eyes.

It was grief.

He too, had lost his mother. Amelia bit her tongue, cursing herself for opening old wounds. 

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. It happened when I was very young," Matteo said. "And why should you apologize? You were not responsible for her death." 

"I'm still sorry," Amelia said. She was curious to know how Matteo's mother passed, but not enough to court death to ask. Some wounds were still too deep for the passage of time to heal.

"My condolences. If it's any consolation, I'm sure she would be proud of you." Amelia meant every word of it. Matteo Montgomery was successful by every metric of society, and he even had a good heart underneath it all. 

"Thank you. It means a lot," Matteo said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. "It's getting late. I'll send you back first," he suggested. 

"You don't have to―"

"I asked you to come here. It would be remiss of me not to send you back, especially when it's so late," Matteo said, in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Amelia could only nod and thank him again; it wasn't as though she had enough money to spare on a cab at such a late hour, and taking the train in such a fancy outfit would attract the wrong sort of attention. 

They entered his car, and Amelia expected a peaceful drive home. At such a late hour, traffic should have been nearly negligible. There were hardly any cars on the road, and most did not follow the same route― Amelia could only spot a nondescript black car behind them.

Matteo's eyes darted to the rearview mirror, spotting the car. His expression darkened.

"Amelia, are you still staying at your father's house?" Matteo asked. He had her address from when he picked her up for the event. 

"Of course, where else would you be taking me?" Amelia asked, nonplussed. "Are we going back to the office?" Was her boss such a workaholic? 

"I'm afraid it might not be safe for you to return," Matteo said, his eyes darting back to the car behind them. "We have unwanted company."

Amelia's face paled as she realized the implications of Matteo's words. Instinctively, she whirled around to stare at the car, who maintained a uniform distance from their vehicle all this while.

It was simply too regular― either the driver was a complete stickler for rules, or they were utterly determined to keep Matteo within their sights. Amelia hoped that it was the former. 

"You mean… how can you be sure?" Amelia asked, "Maybe the driver is just going the same way."

Matteo's voice was grim. "Only one way to find out." 

Then, he stomped on the accelerator, and Amelia had to hang on for dear life. But the black car did not fall by the wayside, as she had predicted, instead, it sped up accordingly, and followed Matteo's driving faithfully as though it was a homing missile intent on striking its target. Every single change of lane was followed, and Amelia felt nausea growing in her gut. 

"Is that enough proof for you?" Matteo asked. Another man would have sounded smug to be proven right, but Matteo merely sounded curious. 

"Yes. But what are we going to do? Are you going to the police?" 

"No, the police won't be able to help with this," Matteo said, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. "We're going straight to my house."