The Monaco Scandal

I dressed in my most boring outfit—black slacks, a white button-down, sensible flats—and headed downstairs to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I needed coffee, and a lot of it, if I was going to make it through this day.

I had a plan, of sorts. I would go to Matteo's café, I would apologize, and I would explain. I would tell him everything—about my family, about the scandal, about why I'd had to run away to Monaco in the first place. And then I would beg him to forgive me. To give me—give us—another chance.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all I had. I couldn't just let him walk away. Not without a fight.

The café was quiet when I arrived, just a handful of early-morning customers scattered at the tables. I spotted Matteo behind the counter, his back to me as he steamed milk for a cappuccino. My heart leaped at the sight of him, even as my stomach churned with nerves.

I took a deep breath and crossed the room, my palms sweating and my pulse racing. "Matteo," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Can we talk?"

He turned, his expression hardening the moment he saw me. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said flatly, turning back to the cappuccino.

"Please," I begged, reaching out to touch his arm. "Just give me five minutes."

He shook me off, his jaw clenched. "I've got nothing to say to you, Miss Cecchi."

The use of my real name was like a slap in the face. I flinched, my eyes stinging with tears. "Matteo, please," I tried again. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I wanted to tell you, I just—"

"What?" he snapped, whirling to face me. "You just didn't want me to know that you're worth more money than God? That you could buy and sell me and my family a hundred times over?"

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "It wasn't like that. I didn't want you to look at me the way everyone else does. Like I'm just a bank account with legs."

"And how do I look at you now?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like a liar? Like someone who played me for a fool?"

"No," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Never that."

"Could have fooled me," he muttered, turning away again.

"Matteo, I love you," I blurted out, desperate. "I know it's crazy, we barely know each other, but I do. I love you, and I'm so sorry I hurt you."

For a moment, I thought I saw a crack in his armor. A flicker of something soft and vulnerable in his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by a cold, hard mask.

"Love?" he scoffed. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You're just a spoiled little rich girl who's used to getting whatever she wants. Well, not this time. Not me."

I recoiled, his words hitting me like physical blows. "That's not fair," I said, my voice trembling. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you lied to me," he said. "I know you made a fool out of me in front of my family and my friends and the whole damn world." He gestured angrily at the window, where I could see a handful of paparazzi lingering on the sidewalk. "You think I want my face splashed all over the tabloids? You think I want to be known as Alessia Cecchi's boy toy?"

"I'm sorry," I said again, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"But it did," he said. "And now you need to leave."

"Matteo, please," I tried one last time. "Just give me a chance to explain."

"No," he said, his voice final. "I'm done, Alessia. We're done."

He turned his back on me, dismissing me as completely as if I were a stranger. I stood there for a long moment, my heart shattering into a million pieces. Then, with one last, longing look at the man I loved, I turned and walked out of the café.

The paparazzi swarmed me the moment I stepped outside, their cameras flashing and their questions coming fast and furious. I pushed through them blindly, tears streaming down my face, not caring where I was going as long as it was away from here.

I don't know how long I wandered the streets of Monaco, but eventually I found myself back at my hotel. I rode the elevator up to my penthouse suite, stumbled inside, and collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted to even take off my shoes.

I had lost him. I had lost the best thing that had ever happened to me, and it was all my fault. I had no one to blame but myself.

I don't know how long I lay there, crying into my pillow, but eventually I cried myself out. I sat up, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and reached for my phone. It had been buzzing non-stop since I'd left the café, but I'd ignored it, not wanting to face the reality of what had just happened.

I had dozens of missed calls and texts, most of them from my publicist and my lawyer. I scanned through them quickly, my heart sinking as I realized the extent of the damage.

The story was everywhere. "Hotel Heiress's Secret Romance!" "Alessia Cecchi's Mystery Man!" "Billionaire's Boy Toy: Who Is Matteo Pedone?" The headlines were lurid, the photos even worse. There was Matteo and me on the yacht, kissing and laughing. Matteo and me in St. Tropez, holding hands and looking loved-up. Matteo and me on the dock in Monaco, him looking furious and me looking shattered.

It was a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare. And I was smack-dab in the middle of it.

I took a deep breath and called my publicist, bracing myself for the fallout. It was going to be a long day. A long, miserable, heartbroken day.

I don’t know how long I lay there, crying into my pillow, but eventually I cried myself out. I sat up, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and reached for my phone. It had been buzzing non-stop since I'd left the café, but I'd ignored it, not wanting to face the reality of what had just happened.

I had dozens of missed calls and texts, most of them from my publicist and my lawyer. I scanned through them quickly, my heart sinking as I realized the extent of the damage.

The story was everywhere. "Hotel Heiress's Secret Romance!" "Alessia Cecchi's Mystery Man!" "Billionaire's Boy Toy: Who Is Matteo Pedone?" The headlines were lurid, the photos even worse. There was Matteo and me on the yacht, kissing and laughing. Matteo and me in St. Tropez, holding hands and looking loved-up. Matteo and me on the dock in Monaco, him looking furious and me looking shattered.

It was a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare. And I was smack-dab in the middle of it.

I took a deep breath and called my publicist, bracing myself for the fallout. It was going to be a long day. A long, miserable, heartbroken day.

I was just hanging up with my lawyer when a pounding on the door jolted me out of my daze. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Who could that be? The paparazzi? My publicist had assured me the hotel security was top-notch, but...

The pounding came again, louder this time. "Alessia, open the door. I know you're in there."

My breath caught. Matteo. It was Matteo.

I scrambled off the bed, my heart pounding. I hesitated for a moment, then padded across the room and pulled the door open.

Matteo stood on the threshold, his expression unreadable. He was still wearing the same clothes from earlier, but they were rumpled now, his hair mussed like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his voice tight.

I nodded, stepping back to let him pass. He moved into the room, his eyes taking in the luxurious surroundings—the plush carpet, the expensive furniture, the million-dollar view of the Mediterranean.

"Nice place," he said, his tone neutral. "A far cry from the yacht."

I flinched, wrapping my arms around myself. "Matteo, I—"

He held up a hand, cutting me off. "I didn't come here for apologies," he said. "I came here for answers."

I swallowed hard, nodding. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

He laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. "Where do I even start?" He ticked off his questions on his fingers. "How about why you lied to me? Why you pretended to be someone you're not? Why you let me fall in love with you when you knew it was all a lie?"

"I didn't mean to fall in love with you," I whispered, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."