SHE HADN’T EVEN met his gaze since she’d climbed in the car.
Pride and terror wouldn’t let her. But as the car had got closer and closer to the airport she could almost hear the tattoo of her heartbeat against her chest.
The worst thing had been her mother. When she’d told her she was going to Rome to do a job, her mother’s eyes had filled with tears and she’d cupped Phoebe’s face and told her how proud she was of her. And how it was time.
All the words of fear and anxiety that had been ready to spill out of her mouth had halted instantly. Her mother was feeling well. Her treatments were finished and she was under instruction to rest for the next month. Phoebe couldn’t use her mother’s illness as an excuse not to go. Her mother would never forgive her.
Matteo’s secretary had contacted Phoebe for her passport number and checked them both in online. As soon as they’d stepped out of the car the noise of the airport had overwhelmed her. The constant whoosh of planes taking off and landing. The chatter of people arriving or leaving. The thumping of cases. The toot of taxis.
It was like a roaring in her ears.
Matteo, of course, seemed oblivious. He steered her to the priority security line and then in the direction of the first-class lounge. First class. They were flying first class. Of course they were.
She’d never been in a first-class lounge before. It was luxurious and open, but bright and friendly with decadent décor and dramatic lighting. The seats were comfortable and the service impeccable.
But the lounge had a mezzanine level with views across the airport. If she was sitting down, the bottom half of the glass was smoked. But when she stood up...she could see all the planes sitting at their gates, with others taxiing to and from the runways.
Which was why her heart was currently in her mouth. She took another gulp of the champagne that was sitting next to her.
It was ridiculous. It was irrational. And she knew all that.
Over the course of her life she’d been on dozens of flights. But ever since Jason had died, just the glimpse of a plane made her uncomfortable.
Right now, her skin was itching, her breath catching somewhere in her throat and her heart racing inside her chest.
She stood up and made a grab for her bag. “Excuse me.”
With her head fixed firmly on the wall adorned with bright prints she made her way to the ladies’ room.
The bright lights and white tiles were a relief. Phoebe splashed some water on her face and took some deep breaths. They’d be due to board any minute now. She fumbled in her bag.
Phoebe stared at the pills in her hand. She’d never taken anything like this before.
Never had to. Never wanted to.
But, after verging on a panic attack at the thought of boarding a plane, she’d gone to see her doctor first thing in the morning. She’d been sympathetic, and talked Phoebe through all the irrational fears she had. She’d wanted to try other methods, other therapies, but Phoebe had told her the urgency of the trip and how much depended on it.
So, she’d given her some breathing exercises. A few methods of control, and, as a last resort, the chance to take something that could reduce her anxiety.
There was nothing shameful in taking a few tablets. Lots of people had problems flying. Once the flight had taken off, she could try and sleep. And once they were due to land again, she could take another.
It was a temporary measure. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Life with Jason had been easy, relaxed. He’d been her best friend.
But New Year’s Eve with Matteo had been entirely different. The fireworks hadn’t just been exploding outside the room. And that connection had been terrifying. Not least, because there seemed to be so much that Matteo was hiding.
She splashed more water. Three years. Three years since Jason was gone. He wouldn’t recognize the wide-eyed, terrified girl in the mirror right now. Her hand went to her throat as she held back a sob. And he would hate the fact that she was now petrified of the thing that he loved. The thing that had practically flowed through his veins.
She took a deep breath and shoved the tablets back in her bag. She tried a few of the breathing exercises her doctor had shown her. She could do this. She could do it. She could get on this plane and land in Rome. Yesterday had been key. She’d gone home to the final bill for her mother’s medical expenses. She needed this money. She needed to be paid. This job would lift a huge weight off the shoulders of both herself and her mother. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to be stressed about paying for her treatment. Stress could impede her full recovery and Phoebe would never let that happen.
She walked outside. Matteo was pacing outside the door impatiently. “Are you ready? It’s time to board.”
Phoebe gulped. The sooner this was over—the better.
* * *
What was wrong with her? She’d checked her seat belt a dozen times and had her eyes fixed firmly on the screen in front of her. Her endless fidgeting was driving him nuts. Phoebe had never struck him as a fidget.
“Miss? Can I get you a drink prior to departure?” The stewardess had a trolley filled with fine wines, champagnes and spirits. Phoebe glanced in the direction of the trolley for a few seconds, then shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”
Her hands twisted in her lap again as the stewardess moved away and a few minutes later the plane started taxiing. Phoebe leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, her hands gripping the seat rests so tightly her knuckles were white.
A strange feeling washed over Matteo. She’d objected quite strongly to the trip to Rome. “Phoebe, are you scared of flying? Haven’t you ever flown before?”
She didn’t even open her eyes, or release her grip. There was a tic at the side of her jaw as she spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve flown lots of times. Just not recently.”
“And are you always like this when you fly?”
He was astonished. She generally seemed quite relaxed and happy. This was a whole other side of her. The plane started to pick up speed for take-off. As the nose lifted her hand stopped gripping the seat rest and grabbed his hand, squeezing so tightly he lost all feeling in his fingers.
Matteo leaned back in his seat and said nothing. It seemed Phoebe’s grip was stronger than expected. After a few minutes he put his other hand over hers. “Phoebe, you okay? Want to talk?”
Now he was feeling guilty. He’d given her an ultimatum. He’d forced her to come on this trip. He’d been so blindsided by getting the houses finished and on the market that he hadn’t really considered anything else.
Phoebe started doing some breathing exercises. In. Out. In. Out. He felt himself breathe along with her. Now he knew why she’d been so tetchy. He should have considered something like this.
“Take it easy, Phoebe. We’re up. Safe take-off. You can relax.”
She opened her eyes, and he was surprised to see they were wet with tears. “I won’t relax until we’re back on the ground.”
“You’re that scared of flying? Why didn’t you say?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I couldn’t. It’s new. Well, not that new.”
He rubbed her hand again. “At some point I’m going to have to regain the feeling in my fingers. I might need them.” He gave her a gentle smile. “What happened that you feel like this?” He knew he was prying. He knew this was none of his business. But he hated seeing Phoebe like this.
Her grip loosened just a little on his hand, but she didn’t pull it away. “Sorry,” she breathed, then stayed quiet for a few minutes. After a bit she licked her lips and met his gaze. “I had a fiancé. Jason. He was a pilot. He died in a flying accident three years ago.”
It was like being punched in the guts. A fiancé?
“I’m sorry, Phoebe. I had no idea.” He couldn’t help the next words. “What happened?”
She blinked. Her voice was a little shaky. “Engine failure. Double engine failure. Something that shouldn’t happen. Jason tried to land the plane. He had to divert it away from a built-up area and ended up crashing in woods.” She gave her head a shake. “I’ve just had a thing about flying since then.” She took a deep breath. “I had a funeral to go to last year—an old school friend. I’d bought a plane ticket but just couldn’t do it. I ended up driving the four and a half hours to Washington instead of taking the hour-long flight.”
“Is this the first flight you’ve been on?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Matteo hadn’t let go of her hand yet. He gave it another squeeze. “You should have told me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I tried to say no. You didn’t like that.”
He sighed. “I thought you were just reneging on the deal. I didn’t know there was something else going on. If you’d told me, I would have acted differently.”
“Would you?”
“Of course I would.” He waited a few seconds then added, “But I’m really glad you’re here. Just wait. It will be worth it. The first time you do anything again is always the hardest.”
She frowned as she looked at him, almost as if she were connecting the words with something else, then she gave him a soft smile and nodded. “You could be right.”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I promise you, you’ll love Rome, and you’ll love the house.”
“I hope so,” she said, as she leaned back in her chair and finally pulled her hand away.
Matteo stared down at his hand.
All of a sudden it surprised him how empty his hand felt.
He glanced sideways. Phoebe had been engaged. She’d had a fiancé.
He couldn’t help but be curious about the man that had captured Phoebe Gates’s heart.
He just couldn’t figure out why it made him so uncomfortable.
* * *
The plane gave a jolt and Phoebe felt a tear escape down her cheek. She couldn’t breathe. Was it engine failure? What if she never saw her mother again?
Matteo’s hand closed over hers again. “Grip as hard as you like. It’s just a little bit of turbulence. I can take it.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m here with you, Phoebe. We’ll get through this.”
His green eyes were warm and sincere. She couldn’t help the second tear that slid down her cheek. Matteo reached up with his free hand and gently brushed it away. “Tell me about Jason,” he said. “Tell me what he was like.”
The breath that was caught in the back of her throat came out steadily. “He...he was good,” she murmured. “He was great.” It was odd to talk about Jason with someone that had never known him. Her brain tried to sort out her jumbled thoughts. “He was a couple of years older than me. We met in Central Park when I was nineteen. He was already in the navy, training as a pilot.” She nodded. “He loved his job, completely loved it. Flying was a huge part of his life.”
“And you?”
Matteo’s finger started tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand. “Oh, he loved me too. Just as much as I loved him.” Her voice stuttered a little as a memory swamped her. But it was a good memory, something that made her happy. “He used to make me laugh. He used to make me laugh so hard my sides hurt.” She shook her head. “And he shared my sci-fi addiction. Any film, any TV series that was remotely sci-fi was always playing in the background. It didn’t matter how bad it was.” She smiled. “We watched it anyway.”
She was aware of the gentle movements of his finger. She knew he was trying to distract her. Trying to keep her calm. But somehow, in the midst of all this, talking about Jason felt good.
“He’d left the navy and had just got a job as a commercial pilot. We were trying to make plans. Get our lives on track for the future.” Her voice drifted off.
Matteo didn’t jump in. He didn’t push her for more. He just kept doing what he was doing, watching her with those dark green eyes with tiny flecks of gold. “He sounds like a great guy.”
She nodded. “He was. And he was big.” She shook her head. “We looked like the odd couple.” She held up one hand. “I’m not exactly in the tall department and Jason was six foot six.” She raised her eyebrows. “It certainly came in handy when I had any clients I felt uncomfortable around. One look from Jason was enough.”
The air hostess bumped past them with the drinks trolley. It seemed the turbulence had ended and the “fasten seat belt” sign was off now.
It was nice. It was nice to talk about Jason and remember him. Remember how much she loved him and the part he’d played in her life. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“What for?”
She stared down at their hands. “For this. For distracting me. For letting me talk. For letting me remember.”
“Don’t you talk about Jason?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes with my mom. But I think she worries it makes me sad. What I worry about is forgetting. I feel guilty.”
Matteo pressed his lips together for a second. His voice was husky. “Remembering is good. We’ll never be able to remember every detail.” He put one hand on his heart, while using the other to intertwine his fingers with hers, “But what we hold in here is really important. Anyone we lose, we carry them with us every day. In our hearts and in our minds. That’s what’s important.”
There was something about the way he said the words that made her heart give a little flip. He understood. He got it.
And all of a sudden so did she. She’d loved Jason for so long. She always would. She shouldn’t be scared of forgetting him—that wouldn’t happen. But that didn’t mean that once she was ready, she wouldn’t be able to open her heart to someone else.
She shouldn’t feel guilt. Jason would have hated that. She nodded at Matteo as her heart gave another little pitter-patter against her chest.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “That’s exactly what’s important.”
* * *
The heat levels in Rome were mild. But compared to the chill of New York, it was practically balmy.
After their connection on the plane, Matteo seemed more relaxed in Rome; he spoke his native language fluently and she almost laughed out loud at the gestures he used when chatting to others. In New York, he was so much more reserved.
She was tired. She’d only managed a few hours’ sleep on the flight over the Atlantic and the bright morning light of Rome felt harsh on her eyes. But Matteo had assured her that the family home in Rome was much more habitable than the one in the Hamptons, and the interior design work would be much less intense.
The car passed through Rome, giving Phoebe a few glimpses of some of the wonders. She couldn’t help but smile. “First time in Rome?” asked Matteo.
“First time in Italy,” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to come here.”
Matteo gave a small nod. “We’ll need to try and see if we can fit in some sightseeing.”
“Really?” She hadn’t expected that from him, and when he gave another nod she settled back into the soft leather seats and took a deep breath. Rome. Wonderful.
The car pulled onto a long winding road set on a hill. After a few minutes a sixteenth-century-style house appeared in front of her with panoramic views over Rome, the sea and Tivoli.
“How beautiful,” sighed Phoebe as the driver stopped the car and came around to open the door for her.
Matteo opened the front door to the house and gave her a smile as they stepped onto the red-tiled floor. He waited a few seconds as she let out a gasp.
He gave a nod of acknowledgement. “The villa contains within its walls works of art by masters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The galleries and lounges all have late baroque and rococo frescoed ceilings. I think you’ll like all the features—the oval staircase, the trompe l’oeil, the wood paneling and the parquet.”
Even though she was tired from the flight the sight of the magnificent villa was enough to kick-start her again. Matteo did a walk through, showing her the five elegant state rooms and thirteen bedrooms. “This place is wonderful,” she said as she clasped her hands to her chest. “Why on earth would your family want to sell it?”
Matteo shrugged and held out his hands. “Because we never use it. You’re right. It is a great property, but when anyone from the family is in Italy we are generally down at the villa in Tuscany where the vineyards are. In the last year I think someone from the family had used this villa for less than two weeks. We only stay here for the odd day on business. It doesn’t make sense to keep the house any longer.”
Phoebe gave a nod. “It just seems such a shame.”
Matteo turned back to her. “So, what do you think? Can you can dress this place to sell?”
Phoebe nodded. “Without a doubt. And you’re right. It won’t take much.” She gave a little smile. “Because this has been a family home, it really just needs a little...” she tried to find the right word “...streamlining.”
Matteo raised his eyebrows. “You mean decluttering?”
She smiled. “I might. The selling point for this house is actually the frescos. Everything else just needs tailing back to let them shine. And I need to help with the flow of the house. That can be done easily by having one color palette throughout the house. I think cream would work best with a few little splashes of red. That will complement the tiled floor and the frescos.”
Matteo nodded. “I think that could work.” He slipped his jacket off. “Which room would you like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which room? You can pick any one you like.”
“We’re staying here?”
He looked surprised. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you that. I imagine you want to get some sleep. Even for a few hours? Then perhaps I can take you to one of the warehouses in Rome. I had my PA search out places similar to the one in New York. I thought it would save some time. Then, we can have a late dinner.” He gave a soft smile. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find somewhere in Rome no matter what time it is. I know you think New York is the city that never sleeps, but give Rome a chance, I think you’ll like it.”
She wasn’t quite sure what to say. “You seem to have everything planned.”
He nodded. “I feel at home here. So, pick a room. Which one did you like best?”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t one of these rooms yours?”
He waved his hand. “That doesn’t matter. I’m happy to sleep in any of the rooms.”
She gave a smile and a small nod. “In that case, I’ll take the room at the back that looks out over the garden.”
“The one that can give you a glimpse of the Coliseum?” He smiled knowingly.
“And the one with the huge canopy over the bed and the ceiling fan.”
He laughed. “It’s all yours.”
She glanced at her watch. “What time should we get up?”
There was a pause as Matteo met her gaze with an amused expression. Blood rushed to her face. What time should we get up? She hadn’t meant it like that, but sheer exhaustion was obviously taking its toll.
She shook her head as Matteo put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get someone to wake you around 1:00 p.m. If we sleep too late,” he emphasized the word with a glint in his eye, “it will knock off our body clocks.”
“I guess you’re right.” She looked around for her bag, but Matteo shook his head. “Don’t worry. Carlo, the driver, has taken it up to your room.” He paused for a second. “And, Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
He bent down to her ear. His voice was quiet. “Today I think you were exceptionally brave. You should be proud of yourself.” He brushed a kiss to the side of her cheek, “Sleep well,” he said before disappearing down the corridor.
Phoebe stood in the perfect silence. Outside she could hear the rustle of trees and the chirping of birds. The citrus smell of lemon and orange was drifting through the house.
Maybe it was fatigue, or maybe it was the setting, but Matteo seemed different here. More relaxed. More...accessible.
She put her hands up to her face. The kiss was nothing. A gesture of sympathy. Or maybe of friendship.
She walked up the stairs slowly and crossed into the airy bedroom. The shutters were wide open, allowing her a tiny glimpse of the Coliseum. She smiled. Dressing this house would be a joy and a pleasure.
And maybe something else...
* * *
He’d wanted to kiss her. First, on the plane when she’d been so upset. But that had hardly seemed appropriate when she’d mentioned the loss of her fiancé. Then second, when her eyes had lit up with pure pleasure at the house.
Her excitement was palpable. And it felt infectious. No matter how worried he was, no matter how many other things he had on his mind, being around Phoebe just seemed to make the world feel a little more right.
She’d been in the villa five minutes before she’d been able to visualize what she could do to make some improvements. And she’d been right. He’d known that instantly.
A few hours later he was showered, changed and only slightly jet-lagged. Phoebe appeared a little more tired. Dressed in a bright pink dress with a light cardigan, her bag on her arm and a notepad in her hand, she seemed ready to go.
“Would you like to have some brunch?” he asked.
She shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “I’m feeling a little queasy to be honest. Give my body time to realize what zone it’s in.” She pulled a bottle of water from her bag. “I’ll just stick to this for now.” Then she glanced around. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re much more used to traveling than I am. Do you want to have brunch?”
Her openness was so refreshing and his heart gave a little twist. Brave. That was what else Phoebe was. But it wasn’t her most obvious trait until you got to know her. Was that what had happened to him? He’d got to know her?
Phoebe had shared probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She’d also showed him that fears could be conquered if you really faced up to them.
He could learn a lot from Ms. Gates. He still hadn’t had that conversation with Brianna. Every day, time grew shorter. His sister had experienced enough during this pregnancy; at the end she was hoping and praying for a healthy baby—and so was he. But he was also hoping for a happy, healthy sister.
Brianna had no idea what had happened to their mother. She couldn’t possibly understand that the happy, well-balanced woman had acted strangely after the delivery of her third child. Matteo hadn’t understood it himself. He just remembered her shouting and acting irrationally. But those memories were fuzzy. Because his father had tried to shield him from the worst of it.
As an adult he understood a lot more. Postpartum psychosis had been a little-known diagnosis thirty years ago. His mother had no history of mental health problems. So, her disintegrating mental capacity had bewildered those around her. The sudden paranoia, delusions, severe confusion and manic behavior had been confusing for her friends and family. The ultimate tragic outcome, overdosing on medication and leaving a suicide note, telling her husband how she couldn’t bear the thoughts she was having—thoughts of harming her new baby—was quietly hushed up. It was years before Matteo finally put the fragments of his memories together in his brain, and when he had, his father had begged him not to tell anyone else.
But he should tell someone else. He should tell Brianna. Because Brianna was more at risk. Postpartum psychosis could run in families. And from the day and hour his sister had told him she was pregnant, he’d thought about nothing else.
“Matteo?” Phoebe was standing directly underneath him, her hand touching his wrist and her light floral scent floating up around him. Her dark eyes were fixed on his. “Matteo, are you okay?”
He nodded and gave himself a shake. Focus. That was what he needed to do. “Sure. Everything’s fine. Are you ready to see Italian-style warehouses?” He crooked his elbow toward her and she gave a smile as she slid her hand into place.
“Lead the way. I can’t wait.”
* * *
It seemed that Italian warehouses were very like the ones in New York. A few hours of serious shopping seemed to get her most of the things she would need to dress the gorgeous home. By the time they’d finished, the sun was a little lower in the sky and the air a little closer. Matteo made arrangements to get all the goods shipped directly to the villa.
Rome was a bustling, vibrant city. She was here to do a job, but part of her wanted to steal away on one of the open-topped buses to see the sights of the city. What chance would she ever have to come back here?
Phoebe licked her lips and looked around. She’d got on a plane. She’d actually got on a plane. And in a few days, she’d have to do it all again. Part of that made her stomach flip-flop. And part of that made her proud. Jason would have been proud of her. Her mother was proud of her. And, she was proud of herself. Even if she was still a little terrified.
It seemed that in the last few weeks she’d made more progress than she had in the last three years. Her first kiss. Her first connection. Her first plane ride. And the one constant thing was Matteo Bianchi.
He turned toward her. “I know you’re probably tired, but it’s best if we try and stay up late, to try and get into the time zone. How about some dinner and some sightseeing?”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows. “You’re actually going to let me see a little of Rome?”
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Only the most important parts.”
A little tremble snuck down her spine. “Am I dressed appropriately?”
His smile reached from ear to ear. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re perfect.”
* * *
When the car pulled up outside the Coliseum bathed in the oranges and reds of the setting sun, Phoebe almost couldn’t breathe. She twisted in her chair in excitement. “Is it still open? Can we still go in?”
Matteo gave a nod as the car door opened. “Oh, we can do more than that.”
The ancient monument towered above her. Matteo walked around the car and held his hand out toward her. She couldn’t help but stare up in wonder as she slid her hand into his. Tingles shot up her arm as Matteo pulled her toward him and slipped his arm around her waist. He held his other hand up to the magnificent structure. “Some of the outer wall has crumbled, due to earthquakes and stone robbers. What you see now is mainly the old interior wall.”
Phoebe held her hands in front of her chest. “It’s just huge. You can’t really understand the size until you’re standing right here.”
Matteo was still smiling at her. “Can you imagine what this was like? Eighty thousand people crammed in here, shouting, watching the main event—watching the gladiators?”
His words sent a thrill down her spine. There were other people around, late tourists who looked as if they were heading home for the night.
“Can we really go inside?”
Matteo’s gaze connected with hers. “Let me give you a special tour. Then we can have dinner.”
She stared at him for a few seconds then nodded with excitement. Matteo led her to a special entrance and she held her breath as she walked inside.
There were only a few people left inside the structure. The illumination from the setting sun was a perfect backdrop of orange with streaks of lilac. Phoebe took a few tentative steps forward.
Matteo held out his hands. “Most of the arena floor is gone now—as is a lot of the seating. It was arranged strictly by social status.” He raised his eyebrows, “Boxes at the North and South ends for the Emperor and the Vestal Virgins, podiums at the same level for the senatorial class.” He gave a little wink. “They could bring their own chairs, you know.”
Phoebe let out a laugh. “Really?”
“Really.” He pointed to the next row up, “This was for the non-senators or knights, the one above that was for ordinary Roman citizens, split into two parts, one for the rich and one for the poor.”
Phoebe gave a nod as she glanced around in wonder. “Hundreds of years on, and we’re still obsessed with social class. You’d think we’d be past all that now.”
Matteo looked at her thoughtfully. “I know. We should be.” They moved a little further into the amphitheater. He pointed out some other parts. “There were specific sections for other people. Boys with their tutors, scribes, priests, soldiers on leave and foreign dignitaries.”
“Where did the women get to sit, then?” asked Phoebe. “The ones who weren’t vestal virgins.”
Matteo shook his head. “You might guess. The other women were allowed to stand with the slaves or the common poor.”
Phoebe gave a nod and kept looking around. “Well, I love the wonder of the place. I love the structure. The architecture.” She spun around, holding her hands out. “But I’m not sure that I agree with the history of the place.”
Matteo held out his hand again. “Come on, I’ll show you some more history.”
His hand held hers firmly as he led her down some steps. It was darker down here, with some dim lights that only added to the mysterious atmosphere. He gave her a knowing smile over his shoulder. It was colder down here. Threatening. But the warmth from his hand was reaching up all the way to her heart. This was a wonderful surprise. Something she could only have dreamed of. Matteo had done this for her?
He lowered his voice as they walked slowly. “This is the hypogeum. It literally means underground. Two levels with a subterranean network of tunnels and cages underneath the arena where the animals and gladiators were held.”
Phoebe stopped walking. “That makes the gladiators sounds like prisoners. I thought the Romans treated them like heroes?”
Matteo pulled a face. “It was complicated. There was a gladiator training school, ludus magnus, just outside the Coliseum. The gladiators could come straight through the tunnels to get here. They didn’t need to walk with the crowds. Some were volunteers, and some were slaves. Stories about them fighting for their freedom are greatly exaggerated.”
Phoebe looked around and rubbed one hand over her arm. All of a sudden this beautiful place gave her chills.
“You okay?”
She gave a small smile. “Maybe just a little overwhelmed. People died here. For sport. I know it’s glorified, but suddenly it all seems so real.”
Matteo nodded and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go back upstairs.” His arm felt entirely natural there. More than comfortable. It certainly wasn’t comfort that was flooding through her veins right now.
He took her up a few flights of stone stairs and walked her out to one of the upper levels. There, sitting in front of her, was a table covered in a white linen cloth with candles flickering on top of it.
It was as if the world stopped.
“What...?”
Matteo walked over and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat, Phoebe. We can look over the rest of Rome as we dine.”
She blinked, wondering if any second she was actually going to wake up. “Wh...when you said we were going for dinner I imagined we were going to a restaurant somewhere.” She looked around again, not quite believing what she was seeing. The sky had darkened around them, and yellow lights were illuminating the arches of the Coliseum. “I didn’t think we would be eating dinner...” she waved her hands “...here.”
For a second Matteo looked worried. “You want to eat somewhere else?”
She shook her head as she strode over. “No. Of course I don’t.” She sat down quickly and a few seconds later her glass was filled with wine and an entrée salad appeared in front of her.
She looked around once again. There was a waiter. But she couldn’t see another single person.
“Where is everyone?” she whispered.
“Oh,” said Matteo easily, “we have the place to ourselves. The evening tours have just finished and the Coliseum has closed its door to the public.”
Phoebe lifted her fork and took a breath. “Matteo, just how rich are you?”
He winked at her. “Not rich at all. Haven’t you heard? I’m selling two houses.”
She let out a laugh and tried her food. “Did you get them to build a whole kitchen for you too?”
He held up his hands. “You got me. I sweet-talked a local chef at my favorite restaurant.”
Now she put down her fork. “You sweet-talked someone? You? Matteo Bianchi? You actually know how to sweet-talk?”
He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Sometimes, I can be nice.”
She kept a hint of teasing in her voice. “Just not to me.”
He looked at her warily. “I might have been...short with you. But that’s all. You think I haven’t been nice to you?”
She could see the hint of worry in his eyes. She held out her hands. “Matteo, we’re sitting in the Coliseum, in Rome, having a private dinner.” She picked up her wine glass and gave an appreciative nod. “I think we can put this one in the nice column.”
He sighed as he picked up his wine glass too. “Well, thank goodness. I don’t know if we could have made it to the Leaning Tower in time for dessert.”
She smiled and leaned across the table toward him, clinking her glass against his. “Hmm... Pisa, now there’s a thought.”
“You want to visit Pisa too?”
She shook her head. “Not right now. In my lifetime? Yes, I’d love to. But right now, I’m just getting over the shock of finally getting back on a plane and completing a journey.” She picked a little at her salad. “You know, it wasn’t quite as bad as I thought.”
“No?”
She leaned back in her chair as she studied the beautiful surroundings. “No, it wasn’t. It was more just the thought of it. All the fears. The expectations. I knew they were irrational. The sensible part of my brain could tell me that.” She met his dark gaze and gave him a smile. “I just had problems listening to it.” She tilted her head to the side. “I’m not promising I won’t be terrified on the way home.”
He held her gaze. The candles flickered on the table between them, his dark hair falling across his brow. Her hand itched to reach over and brush it away. To touch him, to feel his skin under the palm of her hand. For a few seconds it really felt as if no one else were there but them.
His voice broke through the silence. It gave the slightest waver. “Sometimes the thought of something is always worse.” He bowed his head a little. “And don’t be afraid, Phoebe. I’ll be with you on the way home.”
She could hear the emotion in his voice. His shoulders had tensed, as had his jaw.
“What are you afraid of, Matteo?” The words came out before she could think them through. From the moment she’d met him there had been glimpses of the man struggling to fight his way out from the dark looming cloud that seemed to hang above his head. He was someone in pain—and she could recognize that. She just didn’t know if she could help.
She reached across the table and gently interlinked his fingers with hers.
His gaze was dark, intense, but she held it, not letting herself flicker for a second.
“I’m afraid of what might happen to my sister.”
“Your sister?”
There was a flash of regret on his face and she could sense his fingers pull away a little. But she held them firmly.
“She’s pregnant, isn’t she? Why could something happen to her?”
His eyes fixed on the table. He sucked in a deep breath. “Because it happened to my mother.”
It was as if the almost mild air in Rome vanished and a chill swept over her body. Every tiny little hair on Phoebe’s arms stood on end. Her stomach clenched.
She reached over and put her other hand over their intertwined ones. “What happened to your mother, Matteo?”
He pulled his hand back sharply, throwing it in the air in exasperation as he shook his head. “It’s...it’s too complicated.”
Phoebe nodded her head slowly. “Okay, but...” she glanced around the virtually empty Coliseum “...I think we have time.”
She was right at the edge. Dangling. Just waiting to find out what it was that caused Matteo to have that permanent frown marring his complexion. The thing that meant he wasn’t quite living life the way he wanted to.
But the moment was broken as the waiter came to lift their plates, and deliver their main course. The rich aroma of ravioli drifted up around her. She stared down at the plate and licked her lips. “Well, it looks delicious. But we’re not starting until we finish this conversation.”
“It’s maybe a good time to have a break,” Matteo said quickly as he picked up his fork.
“Stop it,” she said sharply, annoyed by how instantly dismissive he could be. She could almost see him putting all his shutters back into place.
“What are you afraid of, Matteo?” She let her voice soften. “Tell me what happened to your mother.”
Silence. She didn’t fill it. She let him take his time and think. After a few minutes he put his fork down and sighed.
“My mother...my mother committed suicide.”
“Oh.” Phoebe couldn’t help it, her hand had instantly gone to her mouth. “I am so sorry, Matteo, for you and for your brother and sister.”
She could see his tongue digging into the side of his cheek. It was clear there was more.
He shook his head again. “My mother...was sick. But the condition she had wasn’t well known. Nowadays they would call it postpartum psychosis.”
Phoebe wrinkled her nose. She’d heard the expression somewhere but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
Matteo pressed his hands on the table. “My mother didn’t have existing mental health problems. But after the birth of my sister—only a few days really—she became confused and a bit manic. I was the oldest, but I was only five. I couldn’t really understand what was going on. To be honest, my father didn’t understand either. Apparently, it’s really rare. It causes depression, paranoia and can cause suicidal thoughts.” He took another deep breath. “It can happen in a few days, or a few weeks after delivery of the baby and the onset is really sudden. My mother...she became unwell really quickly. One minute she was walking about the house, talking constantly. Next, she was lying in her bed sobbing. Some nights she didn’t sleep, but spent all night pacing the house. My father thought she was just overwrought. But she knew it was more. She knew she was unwell.” He wrinkled the fine linen tablecloth in his hands. “Apparently she started to have thoughts about harming my sister. She couldn’t make sense of them. She was worried she was going to do something awful. She panicked. She felt as if no one was listening to her—no one really understood how sick she felt. She became absolutely sure she was going to do something to Brianna. She didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. So she overdosed.”
Phoebe had been leaning back in her chair, trying to comprehend the words that Matteo was saying to her. But as soon as he got to the end of the last sentence she was on her feet instantly, walking around the table and putting her arms around his neck. She didn’t hesitate. She sat in his lap and put her forehead against his as the tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, your poor mother. I can’t even imagine how frightened she was.” She put her hand on Matteo’s chest. His shirt was open at the neck and she could feel his warm skin beneath her fingertips. “And you, as a little boy, must have been terrified by it all.”
He gulped. His eyelids were heavy as he lifted his dark eyes to meet hers. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such sorrow before. “I found her,” he croaked. “She was lying on her bed, with a few of the tablets scattered on the floor. I just thought she was sleeping and I... I was happy, because she’d been so upset before and she looked peaceful. The note was lying on the bedside table but I couldn’t read it. It wasn’t until I told the housekeeper that she was sleeping, but hadn’t woken up for Brianna, that everything seemed to go mad.” A single tear slid down his cheek. “I should have told them sooner. I should have known something was wrong.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You were five. You were a child. You couldn’t possibly know or understand.” She pressed her head against his. “Oh, Matteo,” she breathed as she put a hand at either side of his face. “And you’ve had this on your shoulders ever since?”
He blinked, with the briefest nod of his head.
“Your brother and sister, they don’t know?”
His breathing was a little stuttered. “They know my mother committed suicide.” He shook his head. “They don’t know the circumstances. My father was never able to talk about it. I found out the real truth much later. I tracked down the housekeeper when I was an adult. She told me exactly how my mother had been in the few days before. She’d ranted to Rosa about wanting to hurt the baby—Brianna. She’d told Rosa to take the baby away from her. She’d been sobbing—breaking her heart. Years on, it’s easier to see what happened. But at the time? Any mental health condition was virtually not discussed.”
Phoebe wiped the tear away with her finger. “What about Brianna? Why are you worried for her?”
He closed his eyes for a second. She could feel his whole body tremble. “Because it can run in families. If someone else in the family has had it...” His voice tailed off.
Phoebe felt her heart twist in her chest. “You have to tell her. You have to speak to her. You’ve been carrying this for too long. Your brother and sister are adults. They have a right to know what really happened.”
He shook his head fiercely. “I can’t tell her. Her pregnancy has been difficult. I can’t tell her anything that would put her under stress. This baby means the world to her. They’ve had problems controlling her blood pressure. They’ve already told her they might need to deliver her in a few weeks. I can’t do anything that would put her blood pressure up and put her, and her baby, at risk.”
Phoebe pressed her lips together for a second. “How long? How long have you kept this secret? You’re adults, Matteo. You, your brother and sister are all adults. You should have sat down and discussed this a long time ago.” She knew it seemed harsh when he’d just bared his soul to her, but she was struggling to get her head around all this. Struggling to understand why the man she’d grown to care about—the man who’d made her start to feel again—would have let himself get in this position.
“It’s family,” he said without hesitation. “You’d do anything for family.”
Something started to unfurl deep inside her. She got it. She did. More than he knew.
She kept her voice steady. “Yes. Yes, you would. I understand—probably better than you know.”
His expression changed. “What do you mean?”
She licked her lips. “I mean that, for the last six months I’ve been supporting my mother go through cancer treatment. She’s had surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. Part of the reason I took this job was the pay scale. We have huge medical bills to cover. This money...it will make things easier for us. I don’t want my mom to have to worry about covering the bills the insurance company won’t. She’s spent her life, and particularly the last few years, looking after me. It’s time for me to return the favor.” She met his gaze steadily. “That’s why I got on the plane.”
“For your mom?” All of a sudden his accent seemed so much thicker.
She nodded. Her insides were twisting. Part of her could tell he might have hoped she’d got on the plane for him. Not for the job. Or for the prestige of working on the house. Or for the chance to visit Rome.
She lifted her hand and paused it for the briefest of seconds before running it through his hair. “I get why you did this, Matteo. But things have changed. You’re not a little boy anymore. The world has changed. Diagnosis and mental health services are so much better now. Isn’t the way to protect your sister to tell her the truth?”
He held her gaze for the longest of times, as if he was contemplating her words. “It’s just never been the right time. Vittore was getting married—then he wasn’t. My father got sick. Then we had the funeral. Then there was all the family business to sort out. The houses were the last thing, but then Brianna announced she was pregnant and started having problems—what kind of brother would I be to sit her down and tell her something devastating now?” His hand reached up and closed over hers. He tilted his head to the side and gave her a sorrowful expression. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother was sick? Is she okay now? Is she feeling better?”
Phoebe gave a nod. “She’s well on the road to recovery with a big support system. I would never have left her if I wasn’t sure she was okay.” His hand reached up and stroked her cheek.
“But you did,” he whispered.
“I did,” she replied.
She felt it. The flicker low, deep down in her belly. The tiny pulses emanating out throughout her body. His lips touching hers confirmed everything she needed to know.
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. Finally, she could acknowledge how she was feeling.
She was ready. She was ready to let go and move on. And she’d found the person she wanted to move on with.
She didn’t care that he was her boss. She didn’t care they had a million other things to talk about. He needed her just as much as she needed him. There was a reason they’d met.
Matteo Bianchi was her reason to move on. Her reason to let her heart be exposed to the world again.
As that thought crowded her brain she pulled her lips back from his to catch her breath.
She let out a gentle laugh as the scent of the spicy ravioli drifted around them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’ve gone to such a fabulous effort, and it might smell wonderful, but all of a sudden I’m not so sure I want dinner.”
His dark green eyes met hers. This time they were different. There wasn’t so much sorrow. This time there was a glimmer of something else. His fingers brushed over her cheek. “I ordered my favorite, but I’m happy to leave it behind.”
His hands went to her waist as he eased her from his lap, stood up, then pulled her against him. “How about we go someplace else?” He gave her a sexy smile. “They say the world is your oyster. But tonight—Rome is your oyster. Where would you like to go?”
She slid her arms up around his neck. She was delighting in feeling his body against hers. The angled planes, wide chest and taut muscles. It was easy. It was so easy. And she’d never wanted it more. She put her lips to his ear. “How about we just go home?”