THE PHOTOGRAPHS OF how the house looked right now were printed. She’d spent the last two days sketching her new vision for the house. The avocado bathroom was already gone. Some things didn’t need to wait. She’d learned very quickly that Matteo really didn’t want to take her calls.
He’d given her a credit card that she hadn’t used yet. But working with contractors was different. She’d had to agree the price for a few jobs—and at this time of year—and for a house in the Hamptons—some of the prices quoted had been exorbitant. Any good interior designer would run those past her employer and that was all Phoebe was doing. Though Matteo wasn’t really interested in contractor prices. So far, he’d said yes to anything without so much as a blink.
Her biggest expense for the house was going to be fabric. She wanted new drapes for just about every room, and lots of the signature pieces reupholstered. And good quality fabric was not cheap. Which was why she standing in one of the most prestigious, well-stocked warehouses on the outskirts of New York.
But this place didn’t like to waste time. The assistant assigned to her held out her hand. “We’ll just put your credit card on file to ease things along.”
She got it. She did. The assistant didn’t want to spend the next four hours helping Phoebe find everything she wanted, only to have the credit card declined at the end.
Phoebe slipped the black card from her purse and handed it over. She had a long list of fabrics she wanted to find. A color palette already existed in her head, but would she find a match in this warehouse? That was always the danger of getting too carried away with one idea. Sometimes color trends and seasons just didn’t match. So, she’d prepared some sketches with one set of colors, and prepared some more as a backup plan.
The assistant walked back over and held out the credit card as if it had the plague. “I’m sorry. Your credit line doesn’t seem to be approved. Do you have another card you can use?”
Phoebe felt her cheeks flush. She did have another credit card. Unfortunately it was maxed out with her mother’s medical expenses, and the amount of money she’d likely spend in here today could never be covered by the small amount of money in her current account.
She’d had a bad start already this morning, tangling herself up in her sheets when the alarm had gone off, falling out of bed and catching the side of her cheek on the bedside cabinet. She was just hoping it wouldn’t bruise.
“Give me a minute,” she said, trying not to seem embarrassed. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Matteo’s number. Please answer. She didn’t want to have to walk out of here after presenting a dud card. She’d never be able to show her face again, and this place was every interior designer’s dream. She couldn’t afford to have a bad rep in here.
“Matteo Bianchi.” His reply was curt. But he couldn’t hide that wonderful Italian accent that sent tingles down to her toes. Every time she called she forgot about it and spent the first few seconds of their conversation lost in a little fog.
Right now she didn’t have time for a fog. She cut to the chase. “Matteo, the credit card you gave me isn’t working.”
It took a few seconds for a reply. She could almost picture him staring at the name on the phone. How many people did he give credit cards to? “Phoebe?”
“Of course, Phoebe. Who else would it be?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at a warehouse on the outskirts of New York. I need to buy fabrics, leathers—a whole host of things for the house.” She lowered her voice as the assistant glared at her, obviously labeling her as a time waster. “This place is expensive and you’ve given me a limited amount of time.”
“Let me speak to them.”
Phoebe sighed and handed over the phone to the assistant, pacing at the side while Matteo obviously had a curt conversation with her.
“No, Mr. Bianchi. Your personal guarantee is not good enough.”
Phoebe tried not to smile at the thought of Matteo’s response.
“You’ll need to speak to your credit card provider.”
The assistant rolled her eyes and held the phone a little away from her ear. Phoebe walked over to some large rolls of fabric and started to study them closely.
“The only way around things is for you to come down yourself and bring your alternative credit card. No, we can’t just take the number over the phone. We need to see the card, along with your signature.” The woman let out a sigh. “Yes. That’s the only way.”
She replaced the receiver and gave Phoebe a fake smile. “Mr... Bianchi will be with you shortly.”
“Great,” Phoebe muttered as every little hair on her arm stood on end. Just what she needed, an angry Matteo.
This day was getting better and better.
* * *
Matteo tried not to curse at his driver as they took another wrong turn. It seemed the sat-nav had decided not to work properly and this industrial estate had dozens of identical giant warehouses, along with no map at the entrance to the site.
He was annoyed at himself. He was sure he’d activated that card. But in amongst the family discussions at Christmas it was possible he might have forgotten. And he should have kept a copy of Phoebe’s signature on record so it could be verified, but visiting the house in the Hamptons again had scrambled his normally precise brain.
He hadn’t expected to be hit by the wave of emotions. How much could a five-year-old really remember? But being back in that environment had swamped him in a way he hadn’t expected. And having the unconventional Ms. Gates with him had probably been a blessing. She’d distracted him from too much melancholy. Too much emotion. Too many flashbacks he hadn’t counted on.
And now? Now, more than ever he just wanted to finalize the sale of the house. In his head this was the only way to push all these feelings back into the box where they belonged.
“It’s this one,” said the driver as they pulled up.
Matteo gave a nod and stepped outside onto the frost-covered ground. This shouldn’t take long. He had work to do.
The warehouse was massive, cavernous with an echo that seemed to reverberate all around him. But the first thing that struck him was how methodical everything seemed. The fabrics were stored by color, stacked for what seemed like miles. Large trolleys were pushed around by assistants, who guided customers around the warehouse.
He could pick Phoebe out easily. She was wearing a bright pink coat with matching furry hat and leather gloves. She gave him a rueful smile as he approached. “You might have checked the card worked before you gave it to me.”
He tried to hide his annoyance as he pulled his own from his wallet. He glanced around him. “What do you need me to pay for?”
Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Nothing...yet. They wouldn’t let me start shopping until I had a credit line.”
“You mean you haven’t even started shopping?” His voice echoed louder than expected.
Phoebe pulled back a little and gave him a frown. “No. I haven’t started.”
Matteo strode over to the counter and thrust his card in front of one of the assistants. “Here’s my card. Can you take the details, so I can leave?”
The assistant gave him an icy stare. It was clear she didn’t like being treated so dismissively. She gave him a haughty smile. “I can take your details now—but you have to produce your card and match the signature to complete your purchases.” She gestured to the side. “You can always get yourself a coffee while your wife shops.”
Matteo started. She thought Phoebe was his wife? He stared at the boutique-style coffee shop housed inside the warehouse. While the smell of coffee was tempting, the waste of his time was not.
He turned to face Phoebe, who was standing open-mouthed. She must have heard the comment too. “How long will this take?”
Phoebe cringed. It was clear she didn’t want to give the true answer.
He flung up his hands. “How long does it take to buy some fabric and some vases?”
Phoebe’s face became pinched. She strode over to the nearest large trolley and turned to one of the assistants. “Are we ready to get started?”
Matteo tried not to let his mouth bounce off the floor. She’d just completely ignored him. Part of him was amused, part of him was annoyed. She had a huge sketch pad balanced on top of the trolley. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pointed to her first sketch. “This is the color palette I’m interested in. Can we go in that direction please?”
Matteo’s curiosity was piqued. Didn’t every interior designer just paint houses in white or shades of cream?
The assistant looked positively excited. “Oh, that’s so unusual.” She leaned over the sketch. “And I love this color palette. I’m sure we can find you some perfect fabrics that will suit.”
The assistant started pushing the trolley in one direction. Matteo glanced at the coffee shop. He could sit there. But as he glanced at his phone he could see the signal here wasn’t great—probably why the sat-nav hadn’t functioned. How much work would he really get done?
Before he could think again, his feet started to follow the trolley and Phoebe and the assistant. They moved past the white and cream rolls of fabrics, away from the brighter reds and oranges and toward the back of the warehouse. Whatever color she’d chosen it clearly wasn’t the most popular. His stomach gave a little twist. Maybe he should be showing more interest?
He walked quickly, catching up with them and leaning directly over Phoebe’s shoulder. He blinked. Then nearly stumbled, reaching out and catching onto the handle of the trolley.
“Yellow?” he asked Phoebe.
She gave him a firm stare. “Oh, you’ve joined us.” Her tone reminded him of a headmistress.
His eyes couldn’t move from the sketch. It was more than good. A hand drawing that had captured the whole breadth of the main room, gently shaded with coloring pencils in shades of gray, yellow, pale blue and cream.
It was beautiful. Exquisite even. But yellow was a color he’d never really seen at any other houses for sale. It did seem unusual.
Phoebe pointed to the sketch. “I always like to choose a color palette—a theme—for any house that I dress.” She pressed her lips together for a second. “While it makes sense to use a neutral background color, I always have to pick some secondary colors to highlight parts of the interior.” She turned to face Matteo. “In your case, what other color could I choose? The yellow dome above the atrium is really the focal point of the house. It bathes the whole house in that magical yellow light. Yellow seems the natural color to pick out. I’ve teamed it with some shades of pale blue, gray and cream.” She flicked the first page to show him a sketch of one of the bathrooms, followed by one of the bedrooms, then the back room that looked out over Mecox Bay.
The attention to detail was extraordinary. The main room still had the same nineteen-fifties sofa, but this time it was covered in what looked like pale blue leather. The drapes were striped in shades of pale yellow and gray. There was a sleek gray rug on the large wooden floor. All of this was dressed with bursts of bright yellow. A sunflower portrait on the wall. A few cushions, and a bright yellow table lamp. “You did all these in the last few days?”
Phoebe nodded. “Of course, I did. This is what I do.” She looked at him hesitantly. “I did do an alternative color scheme if you’d prefer.” She flicked to the back of the sketch pad where she had the same room sketches, but this time with white, beige and splashes of orange. It was more abstract, but more traditional. The kind of thing he was used to seeing in other houses. He gave a little shudder. Even though the yellow was a surprise, it was clear the more stark colors wouldn’t complement the house as much. The yellow gave the house a warmth that made it much more welcoming.
“What do you think?” She sounded a little nervous.
He nodded. “I think it’s good. You’re right about the yellow.” He glanced around. “I just hope you can find what you need—and quickly,” he added with a murmur.
They turned a corner in the warehouse and Matteo stopped walking. The shades of yellow were overwhelming. And it seemed this warehouse didn’t just keep the same color fabrics together. No, across wide display units there were rugs, bedding, vases, lamps and ornaments all in complementary shades.
Phoebe let out a little gasp and walked away, running her hand over a large dark gray rug, with pale yellow circles. “This is perfect,” she said, nodding to the assistant. “We’ll take it.” She moved without drawing breath over to a wooden cabinet with upright rolls of fabric. She pointed to a pale gray and yellow stripe. “I’ll have this one. And the one next to it with duck-egg blue and yellow.” She turned to face the wooden cabinets behind them. “I also want the pale yellow and cream pattern over there. It will be perfect for the master bedroom.”
Her bright pink coat swirled around her as she picked up bedding, ornaments, vases and lamp shades in a whole variety of shades of gray, blue and yellow. When she’d finished loading the trolley she waved Matteo over to another part of the warehouse. “Let’s pick some prints,” she said as she started flicking through a sheaf of prints held behind plastic frames.
The colors stood out, but it was clear that Matteo didn’t have Phoebe’s designer eye. She let out a little squeal as she found a yellow sunflower similar to the one she’d sketched in her designs. She flicked on and found a gold broderie anglaise design, some pale blue cornflowers, and a beautiful beach scene with a turquoise sea.
By now, it seemed that she’d forgotten her apparent bad mood with Matteo. Every single time she found another item she couldn’t stop talking. “This is perfect for the back room.” She was holding a swirling glass ornament in shades of pale blue. “I can see it sitting on a table with a view of Mecox Bay in the background.” She turned and pointed at a pale blue patterned fabric. “And this will frame the windows in the kitchen perfectly. It’s just the right shade of blue. And look at these ceramic jugs in blue and cream. They’ll be perfect to dress the kitchen.” She turned to face him. “Did I tell you I’m getting the sink replaced? There’s going to be dual sinks, deep white Belfast sinks, with a thick dark wood countertop. That, along with some replacement handles, will set the kitchen off perfectly. Oh, and I’ve ordered some new appliances.” She glanced in her diary. “They arrive tomorrow. We’ll need to have a chat about access.”
Matteo nodded. She was like a firecracker. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop. The enthusiasm just brimmed out of her. Part of him wished he’d met Phoebe Gates somewhere else. Anywhere but the house. She had a warmth about her. A glow. And an honesty about her that was sometimes missing in the people he normally came across.
But this was business. This was family business. He couldn’t let it be anything else. The family had decided it was time to get rid of all reminders. And that was what Phoebe would be now, because he would forever associate her with the Hamptons house.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
“Here, I got these cut for you. I’d be grateful if you could make arrangements between yourself and the caretaker to give all the trade personnel the access that they need.”
She held out her hand then paused. “What about the alarm?”
Of course. He’d forgotten about that. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
She looked surprised. He smiled as he pressed the keys into her outstretched hand. “It’s a digital alarm, remember? I’ll put the app and the code into your phone.”
She gave him a nod and fumbled in her pocket for her phone, her fingers brushing against his as she handed it over. He ignored the tingle—that little acknowledgement of warmth as skin contacted with skin. For the second time in as many minutes he reminded himself this was a business arrangement and focused on the phone.
It was more outdated than he would have expected. Most business people he worked with had the latest version of everything. After a few seconds he frowned. “No signal. We’ll need to go someplace else so I can input the code.”
He paused for a second as he looked at the loaded trolley. There really was no room for anything else. “Are you done?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I just need to pick some leather.” She counted down on her list. “There are seven sofas to be recovered, and twenty chairs.”
“How many?” His brain was beginning to throb. It was clear that even though he could manage multiple dealings in his company, across different time zones and continents—the minutiae of dealing with preparing a house for sale were beyond him.
She gave a smile and arched one eyebrow. “But hey? How long does it take to buy some fabric and some vases?” There was a twinkle in her eyes that he knew he deserved.
He couldn’t help but smile. In the last two days she’d literally sketched designs for every room in two color palettes, organized refitting of the kitchen and some of the bathrooms, decided what pieces to keep and which to refurbish, all without any help. He held up his hands. “Okay, you got me. I didn’t really know what it was that you did.”
“But you hired me for a quarter of a million dollars anyway?”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but Phoebe was already off again, talking to the assistant. “Is this the way to the leather?”
An hour later Matteo had seen, touched and smelt more varieties of leather than he’d ever really known existed and, even though he had no experience, it felt as if Phoebe had chosen well. She was still talking though. “I have a van parked outside. Can I get everything transferred into that?” she asked the assistant.
Matteo interrupted. “You brought a van? You’re not getting everything delivered?”
She shook her head. “Why would I do that? I want to take everything back to the house myself. I want to check I’m happy with the fabrics before I get the drapes and furnishings made up. The leather will be delivered direct to the upholsterer, and tomorrow the chairs and sofas will be taken to his workshop so his team can get started.”
Matteo pulled his credit card from his pocket and settled the bill. Yes, it was large. But no more than he’d really expected. The whole inside of the house needed a facelift, and he knew it.
Phoebe was still chattering away. She was very self-effacing but also extremely efficient. She had a way of getting things done. And she’d certainly moved with speed.
Something inside him was twisting around. It had to be the house. It had been so long since he’d actually been there, that it was only natural returning would be unsettling. But that didn’t explain why he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the girl in the bright pink coat, with the mad curls and coffee-tinted skin.
She bent down and talked to a toddler in a stroller while the mother was paying for her purchases, tracing her finger around the little one’s palm as she sang “Ring-a-Ring o’ Roses.”
All of the women he’d been involved with spent their lives dressed in suits and formal dresses. Phoebe was wearing jeans, boots and a pale blue jumper under her coat. He liked her like that.
Like. A word he hadn’t contemplated in a while. He could almost hear the roaring in his ears. When was the last time he’d actually liked someone?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind. His phone signal was still poor, and he still had to put the alarm code into Phoebe’s phone. He had work to do. Being around Phoebe seemed to permanently distract him.
“Phoebe, do you want to grab some lunch? We need to find a place with a better signal so I can put the alarm code into your phone.”
Phoebe looked surprised. “Well, sure. But don’t you need to go back into the city? Because I was going to head down to the Hamptons.”
Why was he doing this? His head wasn’t entirely sure. The logical part of his brain was telling him this made perfect sense, it was all about an alarm code. If Phoebe had her own set of keys and the alarm code, then there was no reason for her to bother him again.
But even the rational part of his brain could sense this was a smoke screen. Whether he wanted to admit it, or not.
Phoebe licked her lips. They were painted pink today to match her coat, but the truth was she didn’t need any makeup. Her natural beauty shone through. From the glow in her cheeks, to the shine on her springy curls and the sparkle in her eyes.
Matteo nodded. “Let’s head toward the Hamptons. I’ll get the driver to follow you. We can pull in at the first café we see in Westhampton.”
Phoebe gave a nod. “You’ll need to give me time to get the van loaded.”
More time. There was only one thing for it.
He gave a nod of his head and held out his hands. “What am I here for?”
* * *
She wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Matteo Bianchi was still as confusing as ever. One second he was a pleasant guy with a spark in his eye and a sense of humor, next second he was a grump, with dark shadows sweeping across his face. She wasn’t sure whether he really found her a hindrance or a help.
She’d tried her best not to laugh as his suit had got wrinkled and smudged as he’d helped load up the van. She imagined that Matteo spent most of his life looking immaculate. Much like the people around him. Why did she get the feeling she’d never fit in?
Her stomach gave a growl as she arrived in Westhampton and signaled to pull into the parking lot. There were numerous cafés around and she was sure they would find something good to eat in most of them.
Matteo’s driver was close behind her and by the time she’d locked up the van, Matteo was standing on the sidewalk waiting for her. He gestured toward the Rose Bakery Café, adorned with yellow cladding and with red and white awning flickering in the strong winds. “Want to try in here?”
There was a smell of cinnamon wafting from the front door. “Absolutely.” She smiled.
They walked up the steps and he held the door open for her. The waitress quickly showed them to a table, gave them some menus and took their order for drinks.
Phoebe let out a laugh as her stomach gave an obligatory growl. “What do you want to eat?” Matteo asked.
Phoebe closed her eyes for a second and breathed in deeply. “There’s far too many delicious smells in here. I can smell omelets, cinnamon buns, raspberry croissants and some delicious soups.”
He leaned across the table toward her. It was the first time she’d had a chance to notice the shadow along his jaw. Or the lines around his eyes. She rested her elbows on the table. It was so easy to lean forward too. “Are you okay, Matteo? Did you sleep last night?”
He blinked but didn’t pull back. He just tipped his head a little to the side. “I hate that you do that sometimes.”
“What?” He might be saying he hated her, but the expression on his face was telling her a whole other story.
He sighed as the waitress appeared with their drinks. “Blindside me.” He stared down at his Americano and laughed. He gave his head a shake. “Not many people in this life can do that.”
She licked her lips and smiled as the waitress stood poised with her order pad. “What’ll it be, folks?”
Phoebe looked at the waitress with hopeful eyes. “What kind of soup do you have?”
The waitress checked her pad. “Today we have potato chowder, lentil and bacon, and chicken and rice.”
“I’ll have the potato chowder, please.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ll have the omelet, please, with mushrooms and cheese.”
The waitress raised her eyebrows. “With salad or fries?”
“Salad, thanks.” The waitress gave a nod and waved her hand at the glass cabinet behind her. “Just remember, we have some great desserts too.”
Phoebe watched her saunter away then smiled at Matteo. “Do you think our order wasn’t big enough for her?”
He shrugged. “Hey, she’s right. They do have some great desserts. Maybe we’ll have some pie.”
Phoebe leaned her head on one hand as she stirred her caramel latte. “You don’t strike me as a pie kind of guy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t? What kind of guy do I strike you as?”
She kept stirring her coffee as she contemplated her answer. “I think you might be a bit of a traditionalist. I’m surprised you didn’t try and steer us toward an Italian restaurant instead of a bakery.”
He gave a slow nod of his head. “Any other insights you want to share about me?”
This time his voice had the slightest edge. As if he were silently putting up walls between them.
She couldn’t help herself. She just started speaking. “You haven’t shaved. Last time I saw you, you were immaculate. And you look tired today. I’m sorry if I offended you. Because I didn’t mean to. I was just worried about you, because you looked so tired. You offered to help load the van and came out of your way to have lunch with me.”
“Do you always worry about people you hardly know?”
His steady green eyes were fixed on hers. She held her breath. She should take it as a compliment, but he hadn’t quite phrased it that way. He’d phrased it more as if she were just far too nosey.
She remembered talking to Captain Monaghan in the hospital. He’d been exhausted—and very sick. When she’d gone to get some light refreshments for her mother, she’d offered to get some for Rudy too. In fact, she’d ended up getting food and drinks for most of the other patients. It was her nature. Her way. She couldn’t and wouldn’t change it because Matteo Bianchi found her intrusive.
She shrugged and smiled. “Some people say I have a kind heart. I can live with that.”
As she looked up Matteo was studying her hard. A frown creased his brow and he leaned closer and lifted his fingers to her cheek. The contact made her flinch.
“Phoebe, did someone hurt you? Is that a bruise?”
She shook her head as she lifted her own hand to her cheek. “Don’t panic. It’s me.” She lowered her gaze, almost embarrassed to answer. “In my excitement to get started this morning I fell out of bed. I hit my face on my bedside cabinet.”
Matteo didn’t speak. He just kept staring. Then he glanced down at her hand. She could see the tension across his shoulders and the tic at the side of his jaw. “Is there someone in your life, Phoebe?”
She jerked and sat back in her seat, her mouth instantly dry. Everything about this felt wrong. He’d more or less just accused her of being too nosey, but now she could feel the intensity of his gaze. She could see both the sympathy and revulsion in his eyes. He’d jumped to a conclusion that was entirely wrong. She didn’t doubt for a second what Matteo Bianchi would do to a man who was abusing his wife.
Tears pooled in her eyes. But for none of the reasons that Matteo was obviously assuming. She opened her mouth to speak but the words stuck in her throat. Why were they so hard to say?
“There...there’s...no one in my life, just me.” She shook her head as the tears threatened to fall. “Can’t blame anyone else for my clumsiness.”
His shoulders fell a little but the crease in his brow remained.
The waitress appeared at that second, gave them a peculiar glance and put their plates on the table. “Anything else?”
Phoebe shook her head quickly. “We’re fine,” replied Matteo.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Phoebe staring at her potato chowder. The smell that had seemed so delicious earlier, now just seemed to make her stomach do uncomfortable flip-flops.
Matteo lifted his fork and picked at his omelet. After a few seconds he let out a sigh and put his fork back down, sliding his hand over the table and letting it cover hers.
“Is there anything you need to tell me?”
She shook her head as one tear finally slid down her cheek. The lump in her throat had grown to epic proportions. Her other hand was still automatically stirring her soup.
Matteo pressed his lips together for a moment. His hand was warm against hers. Her fingers had never felt quite so cold. Up until a few moments ago she’d felt fine. Now, she just felt so...empty.
Why? Jason had died three years ago. She’d had to tell friends and family about the terrible accident. But she’d simply never found herself in a circumstance like this.
Matteo was only showing concern over something he’d misinterpreted. It should be no big deal. She should just have waved her hand and laughed it off.
But when he’d stared at her with those big green eyes and asked her if there was someone in her life it was the first time in three years she actually felt something.
And that terrified her.
She shook her head and stared down at her soup. She could tell him why she was tearful. She could tell him that her fiancé had died a few years before. Then, he would know that there was no hint of trouble in her life.
But somehow she couldn’t find the words.
She’d tried dating. Once or twice. But her heart just wasn’t in it. Jason had held every part of her heart. She’d loved him. Totally. He’d been her soul mate. And when he’d died? She’d tried so hard to soldier on.
But the hurt was inexplicable. Something she could never, ever forget. And it had made her learn to build walls, put up barriers, to keep herself safe. It was the only way. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever allow herself to feel like that again.
Which was why being around Matteo and feeling something again—no matter how small and unexplained—was unsettling her beyond words.
But then he did something unexpected. His hand was already sitting over hers. He gave it a squeeze and gestured down to their plates. “I think maybe our waitress was right. I think we should move straight on to desserts. Why waste time when we both know we want an explosion of sweetness?” He stood up and took her hand in his, pulling her up toward him and giving the waitress a wave. Phoebe’s legs were shaking. What on earth was wrong with her?
But Matteo did his best to put her at ease by throwing a relaxed arm behind her waist and moving her a little closer to the glass counter. The waitress gestured toward the cakes. “What’ll it be?”
Matteo nudged Phoebe. “What’s your favorite?”
There was a mountain of choice. Chocolate cake, cheesecake, carrot cake, apple pie, cherry pie, strawberry shortcake, cupcakes and cookies. Too much choice. She couldn’t even pick. Matteo waved his hand. “Just give us one of everything. We’ll share.”
The words seem to bring her back to her senses. “Matteo? We’ll never be able to eat all that.”
He smiled. “No. But we can take a bite of each. Can’t you remember as a kid always wanting to do something like that? Let’s relive a bit of our childhoods.”
It was the most relaxed she’d seen him. They sat back down at their table and the waitress brought over a large tray with every dessert on a separate plate and lots of cutlery. She topped up their drinks, cleared away their other plates, then left them to it.
Phoebe picked up her fork as Matteo raised his eyebrows. “How do you want to do this? A bite each?”
Phoebe put her fork against her lips. “That sounds fair. But who gets to go first?”
He smiled. “Well, that’s easy. My grandmother trained me well. Ladies first.”
Phoebe took a deep breath. The tension was finally starting to leave her muscles. She grinned and reached over, digging her fork into the carrot cake with frosting. It was delicious.
She took a sip of her coffee and sat back in the seat. Matteo grinned back and didn’t hesitate, heading straight for the cherry pie. “You thought I wasn’t really a pie kind of guy? Well, watch and learn. Apple, peach, plum, cherry, I’m not fussy. I’ll take them all.”
“Does anyone else get to try the cherry pie?” She snagged a little from the side. “Hmm. Lovely.”
She gave another smile. “So, I take it the sugar burst is helping with the tiredness?”
His eyes widened in surprise. He’d just gotten a forkful of chocolate cake. He stared at it for a second then nodded. “Actually it is. Do I really look that bad?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. Just tired. Were you working late? I imagine it’s hard coordinating things on different continents.”
He pressed his lips together for a second. “Sometimes.” He lowered his eyes as he ate the piece of chocolate cake.
Phoebe tried the strawberry shortcake. “Oh, wow, this is delicious. It’s my favorite.”
Matteo looked up. “Why don’t you just finish it? Go on.”
She shook her head and put her fork down. “No, honestly, I couldn’t. But—you were right—just being able to take a bite out of each is fabulous.” She put both hands on the table. “Thank you for this, Matteo. I’m so looking forward to getting this job started. The house is just wonderful. And I promise, once I’m sure about the fabrics, I’ll get the order for the drapes placed. The painters start tomorrow and I’ve already agreed on the colors for every room. The only other major thing I need to see about is replacing some of the carpets.” She was starting to babble again. She couldn’t help it. Interior design was the area she was comfortable with. She couldn’t wait to get started on the job.
But instead of being enthused by her response it was almost as if Matteo switched off. The warmth that had been in his eyes seemed to dissipate.
She kept talking. “Do you want to look at some more of my sketches? Is there anything you’d like to discuss about them? I am open to any changes.”
Matteo shook his head and held out his hand. “Give me your phone and I’ll put the alarm code in for you.”
She handed the phone over and he programmed it in a few seconds.
His phone buzzed and he stood up. “Like I said, I’m happy for you to carry on with the changes. You’ve told me about most of them, and I’ve seen some of the sketches. That’s enough. I don’t need to know the details. I’ll contact the bank and make sure your card is activated. You can let me know when you’re done. At that point, we can discuss the house in Rome.”
She could almost feel all the blood being sucked from her body. Rome. A few plane rides away. They hadn’t really mentioned it.
She’d had a chance. She’d had a chance to tell Matteo the truth about her life, and the fact a plane ride might not be so easy for her.
But when the chance had arisen, she just couldn’t find the words. Pathetic really.
It wasn’t as if it were a state secret. But saying the words herself was different.
And saying the words to a man she barely knew, who was confusing her in a dozen different ways, wasn’t exactly easy.
She took back her phone when he offered it and turned it over in her hand. It looked easy enough. She just had to bring up the barcode and show it to the reader on the alarm.
“This will be fine, thanks.”
Matteo nodded and picked up the check. The sparkle from his eyes had vanished. The façade was back in place. What was it with this man?
She watched as he settled the check and then headed to the door. He paused, as if his manners were telling him he should wait for her, but she shook her head. “Go ahead.” She glanced down at the table. “I’m going to pack some of these up. The tradesmen that are coming to do some of the jobs will be grateful.”
She lifted her chin as she tried to calm her jangling nerves.
It was amazing. One minute he was cold and distant, the next, care and compassion seemed to shine from those dark eyes. But nothing seemed to meet in the middle. She felt like Belle in Beauty and the Beast, torn between two people.
If this was how it was going to be, how on earth would she survive the next four weeks?