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?
Chapter Four
THREE DAYS. THAT was how long she’d been here. Phoebe always worked long hours on the job once she got started and this house was no different.
With the avocado bathroom gone, the walls were now smooth and ready for retiling. The plumbing and electrics had been checked and any problems fixed. The ancient chi
mneys had been swept. The whole house smelled of paint, and there was a perpetual thin layer of dust wherever she went.
It wasn’t that the clean-up crew weren’t doing their job. They were. It was just they were having to do their job over and over again as the endless stream of tradesmen came and went from the house.
Today there was a joiner oiling and re-hanging some of the shutters. They really were gorgeous and they’d all been repainted a brilliant white. The kitchen appliances had been delivered, but not connected. The Belfast sinks were still to be fitted along with the new countertop. Phoebe had a spreadsheet with all times, dates and phone numbers for everyone responsible.
She walked up the curved stairs humming to herself with a pile of bedding and towels in her arms. Two of the bedrooms and half baths were ready for her inspection. The drapes for the bedrooms wouldn’t be here for another week. But there was no reason she couldn’t start to look at some of the finishing touches.
The porcelain sink and toilet gleamed bright white, along with the tiles. The clean-up crew had guaranteed they could restore the pieces to their former glory and they’d been as good as their word. She smiled as she put the pale yellow towels on the floor. She’d bought some cute ottomans for the bathrooms. She’d need to find them.
She glanced out the window toward Lake Mecox. Snow was starting to fall heavily again. She had hours of work still to do. She didn’t want to start the journey back home because of the bad weather—even more so, she didn’t want any of the tradesmen to leave early.
She’d ordered new mattresses for all the beds. So she spent a few minutes making up the bed in one set of bedclothes, then five minutes later in another. The pale yellow had seemed a little washed out in this room. The duck-egg blue was much better. Most people didn’t understand how much light played in dressing a house. One of the first things she considered was whether a room was south, east, north or west facing. It could make all the difference.