The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

She couldn’t help but smile. Hopefully whoever bought his place would appreciate it as much as she did.

“Is this what you always do when left alone?”

The voice cut through her thoughts and made her stumble. Her foot slid on the stairs and she fell—straight into a strong pair of arms.

Instantly, she was defensive. His skin was next to hers. The smell of his aftershave enveloped her. She pushed back. Heat rushing to her face. She’d been dancing around like a five-year-old. Singing. And he’d seen her. He’d caught her in the act.

There was a glimmer of a smile on his face. But she couldn’t return it. She was still angry at the way he’d treated her so indifferently.

She’d played on those few seconds over and over. What she should have said. What she should have done. So many different scenarios that all added up to the same thing.

She needed to get away from Matteo Bianchi as soon as possible.

Matteo must have noticed her expression because he didn’t even wait for a response to his previous question. “We need to talk.”

There was something in his tone. Something that sent a little shiver down her spine.

She tilted her chin up toward him and held out her hands. “What about? Haven’t you seen—I’m done here. The house is finished. The realtor’s been. All that happens now is that you pay me.”

She was being bold. She’d never been so forward with a client before. But then again, a client had never kissed her before. Or was it she that had kissed him?

Her insides turned over. Who had kissed who?

Something flickered in his eyes. Almost as if he were assessing the situation. Or assessing her. Something was off. Almost as if...was it hurt? A wave of pain? Why on earth would Matteo feel like that? What was it with this guy? Trying to figure him out was driving her crazy.

Matteo looked around. “Let’s take a walk through. Show me what you’ve done.” There was a waver in his voice.

She blinked. He hadn’t even reacted to her almost cheeky remarks. She spun around. “Absolutely, let’s start in the kitchen.”

It didn’t matter that her blood was currently racing through her veins. It didn’t matter that she really wanted to limp on the stumbled ankle. She was proud of her work. She’d done a good job—she knew she had.

She could do a walk-through. Then she could see about getting paid.

* * *

Matteo’s heart was somewhere between his mouth and the pit of his stomach. She couldn’t know. She just couldn’t.

But when he’d seen Phoebe twirling on the stairs he’d had a complete flashback to his mother. It didn’t matter that they looked entirely different. Matteo’s mother’s long dark hair and sallow skin was entirely different from Phoebe’s springy curls and pale coffee complexion. But it was the essence of them that seemed the same, that sent that surge of familiar emotions sweeping through his body. The life that was in them. Or used to be.

Phoebe’s bright yellow dress was beautiful. A little unusual for this time of year. Maybe she had plans? Maybe she had somewhere else to go today? His stomach gave another flip as he followed her into the kitchen. Could she have a date?

Why was the coffee he’d drunk an hour ago suddenly gurgling around inside him?

It was amazing how a few subtle changes could transform a place. The large Belfast sinks were definitely the focal point. Phoebe gave him a minute to look around. “You’ll see the sinks are now finished, the cream kitchen units have been revamped, some have been moved around. The walls are now a pale yellow to add a hint of color.” She ran her hand along the new countertop. “And the dark wooden countertop is just the perfect finish, don’t you agree?”

The way she phrased her words was almost as if she was challenging him to disagree. But he couldn’t. The kitchen looked impressive. As did the laundry room, and the storage room.

Phoebe led him through to the main room. “You can see how the color palette worked out,” she said. The drapes at the window were striped, the sofas and chairs covered in soft gray leather, with a large gray and yellow rug dressing the light oak floor. Most other houses he’d visited over the years were almost bland. Everything either white or cream.

But Phoebe had a good understanding of color. The room was light enough to still enhance its size, but the color added something else—a sense of life. A sense of harmony. With a citrus scent in the air.

He pressed his lips together as she led him through to the sitting room at the back of the house. This room had glass doors that opened out to Mecox Bay. Here, the drapes were minimal, tied back to let the choppy waters of the bay be the focal point. The colors in here were slightly different. More pale blue than gray. It was almost as if, instead of dressing the house, Phoebe had been dressing the bay. She understood even more than he’d given her credit for.