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He leans back. "Trust me, you don't want to hear about my job."
"Why not?"
"Because it would confirm all your worst fears about what kind of men we are." His tone remains light, but his eyes don't match. "Let's talk about music instead. What's your favorite piece to play?"
I hesitate, surprised by the genuine interest. "Paganini's Caprice No. 24. It's technically challenging but emotionally rewarding."
"I don't know much about classical music," Matteo admits. "My mother used to play old records sometimes, but that's about it."
"What kind of music do you like?"
"Classic rock, some jazz." He grins. "Nothing as sophisticated as what you play."
For a while the conversation flows naturally. I find myself relaxing slightly, the grip on my violin case loosening.
Then Matteo chuckles, shaking his head.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"You." He points at me. "That was smooth, by the way. Getting me to change the subject when things got uncomfortable."
My cheeks burn. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you do." Matteo leans forward again. "We were talking about how you feel about Noah, and suddenly we're discussing Paganini."
"I was just trying to have a civil conversation."
"No, you were deflecting." His eyes sparkle with amusement. "Which means I hit a nerve. You do like him."
"I don't?—"
"It's okay to admit it, you know. I won't tell him." Matteo winks. "Well, maybe I will. Depends on how entertaining his reaction might be."
I need to end this conversation before I say something I'll regret. Matteo's knowing smirk makes my skin crawl—not because he's unpleasant but because he sees right through me.
"Is there a TV in here?" I ask abruptly, scanning the room.
Matteo raises an eyebrow. "Changing the subject again?"
"Just looking for a distraction from this stimulating conversation." I stand up, still cradling my violin case. "Where does Noah keep the remote?"
"Cabinet under the TV." Matteo points to a sleek panel on the wall that I hadn't even recognized as a television. "But you're not going to find any trashy reality shows if that's what you're hoping for. Noah's not much for television."
I walk to the cabinet and pull it open, finding a single remote. "I'll settle for the news. Anything to drown out your amateur psychoanalysis."
"Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy's feelings."
I press the power button and the massive screen flickers to life. A financial news channel appears—all stock tickers and serious-faced anchors discussing market trends.
"Fascinating viewing choice," Matteo comments dryly.
I increase the volume slightly and return to the sofa, positioning myself so the blaring financial news creates a wall between us. The anchor drones on about interest rates and corporate earnings, and I've never been so grateful for boring television.
Matteo shakes his head, amused. "You know, turning on Bloomberg doesn't make this conversation disappear."
"I'm not trying to make anything disappear. I just want to catch up on the markets." I force my eyes to stay fixed on the screen.
"Right. Because captive violinists are typically concerned with the Dow Jones Industrial Average."