The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

Her gaze narrowed. It was almost as if she could partly read his mind. “Matteo, did you find it—did you find the album?”

He gave a nod and walked back to the desk, sliding open one of the drawers and pulling out the red album. He hesitated. “Phoebe helped me find it.”

Brianna walked swiftly around the desk, righting Matteo’s chair and sitting down with the album in front of her. She rested her hands on the album tentatively. “Have you looked at this?”

He pressed his lips together, then walked back to the door, picking up something behind it. It was a canvas. He’d listened to Phoebe. He spun it around and Brianna let out a little whimper. She was on her feet instantly. “Oh, my goodness.” She reached her hands out to gently touch the canvas. “This is beautiful. They look so happy. It’s just so, so...” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How on earth?” Her voice tailed off.

Matteo’s heart was heavy in his chest. “It’s one of the photos in the album. Phoebe suggested getting it made into a black and white canvas.” He gave a nod of acknowledgement. “She has a good eye.”

Tears started to flow down Brianna’s cheeks. “Oh, she so does.” She looked over her shoulder. “It’s one from the album?”

He nodded and she walked back over and sat down, spending the next five minutes flicking slowly through the pictures. He couldn’t speak—only watch as his sister went through the same experience that he had. When she reached the last page she closed the album and held it close to her chest. She stayed that way for a few seconds then stood up and walked over, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for going back to the house and finding this for me.”

Her swollen stomach was pressed against him and her baby decided to give a little kick. He jumped back in surprise as Brianna smiled and put her hand on her stomach.

“My little one is grateful too. Now, he or she gets to see pictures of their past. Pictures of the people we love.”

Matteo gave a slow nod. He knew she was right. But everything just seemed so raw right now. Brianna stepped forward again. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

He felt a chill all over his body. Of course Brianna wasn’t talking about their mother. She couldn’t possibly know. His brain tried to rationalize. “About the album?”

She reached down and picked up the piece of paper. “About this? What did you do to her, Matteo? What did you do to upset the girl who has finally put a little sparkle in your eyes?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You like her. I know you do. You’ve been different these past few weeks.”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “I’m different because I have things to deal with. We have two houses to sell.”

Brianna gave a nod of acknowledgement. “We have. And I thought you might find this stressful. You were the oldest. You saw much more than Vittore or I did. But...” she looked up at him “...you’ve been better than I thought.” She took the crumpled paper from his hand. “And I think it’s because of this. I think it’s because of her.” She glanced at the figure at the bottom again and smiled and shook her head. “And it looks like you better start apologizing soon. Otherwise it will be a very long flight to Rome.”

* * *

Phoebe looked around. She’d thrown herself into finishing this place, bringing down some clothes from her apartment and even spending the last few nights here. She’d hired extra staff and yet another cleaning crew to achieve everything she wanted.

The last person had left half an hour ago. So, she’d taken some time to shower and change out of her grubby clothes into something bright, something fresh, and probably far too cold for a winter’s day. But Phoebe didn’t care. There was a paycheck on the horizon. Her bright yellow dress was a signal of triumph.

The drapes were hung, the light fittings all changed, the beds remade. The recovered chairs and sofas were exquisite. The leather was soft and tactile, the muted shades suited the rooms perfectly. All the finishing touches were in place. The lamps, the vases, cushions and throws. New prints and mirrors hung on freshly painted walls and light streamed in every window.

She walked from room to room, lighting candles along the way. Orange and lemon in the main rooms, clean linen candles in the bedrooms, and lavender and rose in the newly finished kitchen. She wiped a cloth across the deep white Belfast sinks. They were gorgeous. Just perfect in the old-style kitchen.

There was an aura about this place. Something special. She’d felt it the moment she’d arrived. And now, finally, she was finished.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at it a few seconds. The realtor had already visited this morning, measuring rooms and taking hundreds of photos. Her overeagerness at the possibility of a sale was palpable. Phoebe looked around. How much would a place like this be worth? It had to be over fifty million dollars. It had to be.

Everyone had left now. She was entirely alone. The scented candles started to gently fill the air around her. She drifted back down the corridor to the main entrance and that gorgeous atrium and curved staircase.

Images floated into her mind of her favorite childhood cartoon movie. She started to hum one of the tunes and dance a little around the bottom of the stairs. All she needed was a yellow ball gown. Her yellow dress only reached her knees, but it was floaty enough. She lifted her hands as if she had a magical partner and started to waltz around as the humming changed to singing. Phoebe had never really been a singer, but who could hear? Right now, this was her palace. In here, her mother had never been sick. There were no bills. Jason had never died.

She started to dance up the stairs. That was the favorite part of the movie for her. She didn’t need a partner. It was much easier if it was all just in her head. She’d probably never get the chance to do something like this again. She was going to just enjoy every minute.

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.