Page 111 of The Favor Collector

Piper stiffens beside me. “He what?” she whispers, her voice shaking. “Did you say a favor?”

Now that I’ve started talking, there’s no stopping it. I ignore her question and let the avalanche of words fall from my mouth.

I tell her about meeting Matteo—except his name—and about the instant, electric attraction, the sex that scorched every nerve ending I possess. About stealing his engraved lighter and thinking nothing of it. About waking to find him in my living room a week and a half later.

“And yeah, he gave me a choice,” I explain as though it makes it all better.

“What was it?”

“Ten favors to be called in whenever over however many years he chose.” I smile sardonically.

“Or?”

“Be his fake girlfriend,” I reply, picking at a loose thread on my sweatpants. “He said he needed someone to help him listen or something.” For some reason, going into specifics or quoting Matteo verbatim feels like a betrayal. So I stick to the highlights.

“Jesus Christ, Lee—”

“I know, I know. It sounds insane. But he said please. So I couldn’t very well say no, could I?” I leave out the part where he took his knife out, bound my wrists, and fucked my breasts. Some things are better left unsaid, even to your best friend.

I keep talking and talking. I tell her about our nights at the Leone Room, about how what started as a performance began to feel real. About how he showed me a side of himself I don’t think many people see.

“He said he loves me…” I trail off, throat tight. “That he’s in love with me. I guess I believed that he actually cared. That the fake relationship was turning into something real.”

Piper’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.

“Then Saturday happened,” I continue, my voice dropping. “He took me to this restaurant called Emilio’s. It felt like a date. A real one where we shared dessert. I told him about my family, and he told me about his parents dying when he was twelve.”

“That’s pretty intimate,” Piper observes.

“Right?” I throw my hands up in frustration. “So I’m sitting there thinking this is actually something, and then WHAM.” I slap my hands together for dramatic effect.

Piper lets out a startled laugh. “Wham?”

“Mhmm,” I nod.

Then I tell her about the bathroom encounter with Antonia, about the humiliation of realizing I was just there as part of Matteo’s operation. About how he sent me to meet her without warning or explanation.

“And now I feel like an idiot,” I finish, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Because he told me he loves me, Pipes. Multiple times. And I almost believed him.”

Piper’s silence stretches so long I finally look up from my hands to find her staring at me, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with shock.

“What?” I ask.

“And there it is.” Her voice pitches higher with each word. “You’ve been sleeping with Enzo’s cousin. Matteo Russo.”

It’s not a question, so I pretend that answering is optional.

“Is this why you called me and asked about Enzo’s family?” she asks, sounding hurt at the realization.

“Kind of,” I admit, only feeling about half an inch big right now. “In my defense, I didn’t feel good about it. I had to pin it, Pipes.”

She eyes me for so long I think she might actually have finally lost her patience with me. But then, ever so slowly, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

“You’re a piece of work,” she sighs. “But I love you, Lee. That’s not going to change.”

We sit in weighted silence, the revelation settling between us like a physical presence. Then Piper sighs, running a hand through her perfectly braided hair.

“I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping with Matteo Russo,” she says, shaking her head. “Of all the men in Cleveland.”