Strictly Here To Tutor Matteo

However, when I stood up to leave, I could swear I saw his fingers twitch in the faintest, almost tentative wave.

I lead Ella along the hallway, my strides longer than hers, and she must scurry to keep up beside me. I don't slow down. If she's going to work here, she'll need to keep up.

The office is exactly as I left it—organized, efficient, and controlled, as against the turmoil in my head.

I gesture to the chair across from my desk. "Sit."

She hesitates for only a second before lowering herself into the chair. Her spine is straight, her expression stoic. But I've had years of experience reading people. She's nervous. Not the fidgeting kind, but the kind that's buried under practiced poise.

I don't trust that kind.

I lean back against my desk, folding my arms. "Let's get something straight—I don't do small talk. I am not interested in your life story. You're strictly here to tutor Matteo. That's it."

Ella doesn't blink. "Got it."

Her silence takes me by surprise. Most people try to placate me or become defensive. But she just sits, waiting.

I narrow my eyes. "Why did you take this job?"

For a second, something dances in her eyes. But it disappeared before I could catch it. 

"Because I need it."

That was not the answer I was seeking.

"You're overqualified," I say to her, watching her carefully. master's degree in music education and teaching experience at elite schools. So why take a part-time tutoring job for a six-year-old who refuses to speak?"

Her fingers clench a little on the strap of her bag. "Because I can help him."

The words themselves are simple. Direct. But I don't trust your intentions.

"Have you ever worked with a child like Matteo before?"

Her lips press together. "No."

I exhale through my nose. "Then you don't know what you're dealing with."

She tilts her head slightly as if studying me. "Neither do you."

I am quiet.

She meets my gaze, so level. There's something in how she says it—not defiant, not provocative, just matter-of-fact.

I don't like it.

Before I can respond, Matteo's soft footsteps are heard from the hallway. A second later, he stands in the office doorway, his slender frame barely visible behind the doorframe.

Ella turns to him and smiles. "Hi, Matteo."

He doesn't move. But he doesn't disappear either.

That alone is surprising.

Ella doesn't push. Doesn't coax. She just waits.

Matteo glances at me, then at her. Then, as quietly as he appeared, he's gone again.

Ella turns to me once more. "I'll let myself out."

She rises, adjusting her bag's strap, and moves in the direction of the door.

For some reason, I find myself watching her leave, a strange heaviness taking up residence in my chest. It was meant to be a straightforward deal.

So why does it already feel like anything but?

The moment I am outside Leo Hayes' office, I breathe out the air I was holding in. My palms are moist with sweat, and my heart is an uneven throb against my ribs.

I do know why I'm letting him get to me. I've encountered controlling, cold, and unreadable men in the past. But there's something about him that is different.

Maybe it's the way he gazes at me like I'm a threat. Or maybe it's the weight of his presence—the authority in the way he speaks, walks, and exists.

I dismiss the thought. It's none of my business. I'm here for Matteo, not his father—guardian, whatever Leo is to him.

The hallway is just as still as it was before—the kind of still that makes houses feel less like houses and more like empty rooms pretending to be one. I glance towards the living room, wishing to catch a glimpse of Matteo one last time.

I don't expect to see him watching me.

He's half-concealed behind the couch, clinging to his stuffed wolf like it's the only thing holding him to this earth.

I stop, not wanting to scare him. "I'll be right back, Matteo," I whisper.

His grip on the wolf tightens.

I don't expect him to respond. I don't expect him to move. But just as I am turning to leave, his small fingers lift almost imperceptibly in a small, tentative wave.

It's quick—so quick I almost convinced myself I dreamed it. But I know I didn't.

Warmth spreads across my chest.

"See you soon," I murmur as I make for the door.

I didn't look back, but I left with the feeling that maybe I was meant to be here.

I watch her leave from my office's security footage. I shouldn't. It's unnecessary.

But I do it anyway.

Ella moved through my house like she didn't belong. But Matteo's expression when he looked at her said a lot.

That is not how he looks at people.

Not his therapists, not his teachers, not me.

I took a deep breath and rubbed the back of my neck to release the tension. My decision to hire her was based on her competence. Given that I need someone to help him.

And that is all.

However, it is already obvious to me that Ella Richson will not respect my boundaries.

And it is a problem.

Matteo does not need someone else to leave his life.

And neither do I.

The air is cool at night as I step outdoors, yet not cool enough to soothe the nerves buzzing beneath my skin. I grasp the strap of my bag and force myself to keep walking, my heels cracking on the driveway.

The estate gates swing open with a gentle whir as I approach, and I pass through, releasing another slow breath.

One lesson down.

Another hundred to go.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and sigh the moment I see the name on the screen.

Mom.

I hesitate for only a brief moment before answering.

"Ella," she mumbles, as though she was not sure I would respond. What is it like at your new job?

I walked over to the nearest bus stop. "Good." 

"That is all you will say?"

I squeeze my nose bridge. How should I respond, Mom?

A pause. "Are you all right?" followed by a softer reply.

No.

I'm standing in front of a mansion that smells of old money, working for a man who looks at me like I'm a puzzle he can't figure out, trying to teach a kid who refuses to speak.

But I don't say any of those things.

"I'm fine," I repeat.

Mom is skeptical. I can hear it in the sigh she breathes into the receiver. But she doesn't push.

"I just worry about you, that's all."

"I know." I rub my forehead with one hand. "Look, I have to go. I'll speak to you later."

Another hesitation. Then, "Okay. Love you."

I gulp around the lump in my throat. "Love you too."

I hang up before she can hear the exhaustion in my voice.

The bus comes a minute later, and I board it, falling into the nearest vacant seat. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. I tell myself, a job. 

But deep down, I know that's a lie.

This is because all I see when I close my eyes is a little boy with sad brown eyes and a stuffed wolf in his fists. And it seems to me like the beginning.