Tongue Tied

Nico looked at the man standing right at the opened door staring back at him, the expression the same—one of tiredness and burnout. Even though the man hadn't said anything, he knew what would be reported to him.

He sighed, facing the papers at the top of his desk, drumming on the table with the tip of his fingers, before finally speaking, "What did Matteo say?"

He damn well knew it was Matteo, especially on a Friday morning; there had to be some whining, except the whining was silent, staring up at him with green pupils that had him wishing he could remake most of his life's decisions.

Like why he even thought of getting the papers almost four years ago. The worst decision of his life

The man at the door struggled to force a smile, "How did you know...?" Seeing Nico drop tired brows at him, he straightened up and began professionally, "He refused to go to school again."

Nico crashed back on his seat; so far, there was just one problem he couldn't solve with a snap of his fingers, and it wasn't the state's problem; it was a five-year-old boy with a locket around his neck who never stopped demanding for his mother.

Maybe, hopefully, this wasn't one of those situations. Besides, he hadn't heard anything about Elena from Matteo; although he held the locket every damn time, there was no complaint, so what was it this time?

"What did he say was the reason?"

Noah raised a brow, shaking his head, "Told me nothing; his legs are crossed on his bed, playing video games. And when he's in that mode..."

"He says nothing to anyone," Nico completed, finally losing interest in the work on ground; he threw the pen on the table, blowing out air from his cheeks, before standing up, loosening stiff shoulders, and he began to walk, passing the door opened for him, toward Matteo's room.

Matteo was Zayne's replica, not easily pointed out by others, but he knew. Each time the boy smiled, the sides of his eyes crinkled up—guilt being the one emotion he couldn't hide from his face.

Nico wondered if anyone would notice if the two were to stand side by side; helping matters was that Zayne never requested to see the boy, and the last he saw any of his family, except Milo, was at the hospital years ago after Alexa gave birth to Matteo.

And that he knew it was slowly killing his mother, but what could he do? Being President needed sacrifices; he only hoped they'd understand.

Understand why they never set eyes on their grandson.

Finally, he was before Matteo's door, and even with his overthinking, he didn't dare forget to knock; Matteo's anger wasn't one he'd like to experience, especially not today.

"Come in, Dad," the careful voice said, and turning the knob, he flowed in, coming in contact with a room that had Elena's pictures scattered on the wall, most of which she took with little Matteo and the others of which he had ordered to be ripped from the sitting room wall and placed in his.

Nico closed the door after him and placed his back on it, taking in the frame of Matteo's legs crossed on the bed, not even bothering to look up from the video game he didn't seem interested in.

Nico sighed and finally broke the silence, "What's going on?" 

"Nothing, Dad."

Nico couldn't help the frown that masked his face. "Did you say nothing?"

"I did"

Helpless President Nikolai Rossi nodded, understanding that anger was directed at him. Was it something the little guy found wrong in his speech about Elena?

"It's Friday, son; you should be in school."

Matteo shook his head; Nico could see his hand gripping the sides of the video game. "I can't go today."

"And why?"

When Matteo looked up, he could sense the accusation from the green orbs. "We were asked to bring our mothers to school today; I decided not to waste my time."

Sensing no reply from his father, the boy lowered his eyes to the game.

Nico offered, "You could have said something. I'd have had Miss Rita go with..."

"Miss Rita is not my mom." 

No, Miss Rita wasn't. She was just someone who had been around and helped when it came to Matteo.

But so was Elena.

"She's nice, Dad, but she's not my mom."

Nico left the door, walking the problematic steps toward Matteo, where he sat on the bed beside the boy, watching the boy press away at the pad.

"How do you play that?" He tried to make the atmosphere light, collecting the pad from Matteo, who let him, "Level 59, woah, that's a lot of hard work."

Matteo's next question had his borrowed cheer vanishing.

"Dad, did you divorce Mama?"

Nico knew that question would come up once the boy found the word's meaning, and he wasn't ready.

He shook his head, "No, Matteo." In a way, he wasn't lying; he never submitted the papers to the court. "I didn't divorce Elena; she had things to sort out."

Turning to look at the boy was a mistake; the unbelief was on Matteo's face.

Luckily, he had one trick up his sleeve.

He stood up, walked to where little Matteo kept tidy, his bat and ball, picked it up, turned to the boy, and smiled.

"How about a game?" Seeing he had caught the boy's interest, he added, "Besides, moms' things are boring; let's hit it boys style."

Knowing he was joking, Matteo jumped from the bed and went to the wardrobe, "I'll get my cap, Dad."

Nico smiled, watching the boy shift clothes from his wardrobe to get to his game polo. Inwardly, he sighed; he'd escaped this one. 

But this won't work forever.

He had to get to Elena as fast as possible.

But how?

In about an hour, he has his dark sunglasses on, along with a pair of black joggers under a matching polo shirt, matching Matteo's outfit.

Holding the instruments as Matteo got into the car, he threw the bats and the ball into the vehicle's trunk before joining Matteo in the back seat. Seeing Noah's questioning glance at him, Nico only nodded.

The car drove away with Matteo's voice filling the air about how his coach taught him new tricks to get the ball with the bat; Nico was in another world.

As usual, Nico wound the window down, and staring out of it, he fucking wished for a miracle, any miracle, and he swore he would never make any selfish decision again.

He wished he had seen her for her worth when he had her. Yes, it was a contract marriage, but it brought him so much stability; life was easy then.

What if, when he found her, she was already married with kids? Two? Three?

He blinked. That would mean he had to find a brown-haired woman who looked like her, acted like her, and even smelled like her: fresh lemons and exotic body sprays...

His eyes were on a blond-haired woman who was running towards a fashion house, clutching her black bag, and as he watched, she pulled off her shoes, continuing the run until she was beside another amused girl.

He felt a faint smile crawling on his lips. that reminded him of Elena; she was never used to heels and hated that she had to wear them to occasions with him, so most of the time before they reached home, she was kicking it off her femur.

The woman turned and waved at someone across the road.

Blonde hair smiled.

"Stop the car!"

The car screeched to a halt in a second, with Noah turning to Nico, who had his head out of the window,

"Sir, are you okay?"

Nico pulled back, leaning on his seat, relief clouding his face for the first time in two years.

He turned to Matteo and smirked, "I think I just found your mother."

***

Elena let another batch of girls, who wore the gold lingeries, walk down the runway from the dressing room; she could feel her hands sweat, knowing it was her turn next.

The dressing room was rowdy, hustling, and bustling; she could see Joey and Charlotte having a row over what color would go next, pink or blue.

She swallowed; they were having all the fun in Italy, but after this was over, it seemed she would still find her way back to Alessandro, concluding after she found out he also had control over the mini savings she had kept hidden from him in case of emergencies.

Or she went back to her parents.

But Alessandro would find her. She clutched her jeans.

Joey and Charlotte walked over to her.

"Elen," Charlotte's voice oozed fire, "only you can solve this; what color should go next?"

Joey rolled his eyes, walking to stand in front of Charlotte and raising the pink nightie he held in his hand, his red-painted nails shining up at her, "Everyone knows pink is the real deal, baby."

"it's blue,"

"You know nothing, Char."

"Excuse me; everyone knows you've got bad taste."

Joey sucked in his breath, hurt in his eyes, and looked down at Charlotte, who began to regret her words immediately. "I didn't mean it like that," Charlotte whispered, watching Joey walk away, and quickly she followed after him, the blue fabric hanging on her shoulders.

The red batch came in now, and gold went forth; after that, it was her, under the spotlight, with fake smiles and waves, getting more impatient to return to her daughter, whom she had left in the care of a nanny.

Looking at the far end of the room, where Joey and Char weren't bickering any longer, they gave her a thumbs-up, and she beamed before she turned.

Now she was before the train of lingerie-clad models, and they began to walk the runway.

As the cheers came, she waved and smiled at the people on their feet, the applause coming stronger now that she was at the edge of the runway.

She blew kisses into the air quickly; she couldn't wait to fly back into the dressing room and get the last two batches on stage before returning to Mia.

And among all the applause, whistles, and cheers came a loud, familiar voice:

"MAMA!"

It wasn't the contents of the voice that had her freezing.

It was who owned the voice, standing in front of all those people with unbelief in his widened eyes and a dropped open mouth.

Was that Matt...

"THAT'S MY MAMA!"