The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

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?”

Chapter Seven

HE WOKE UP to caramel-colored limbs tangled around his own, and tight springy curls just under his nose. Their breathing was synched. Phoebe’s chest rose and fell with his own. The remnants of last night’s passion was evident throughout the room. Her shoes were near the doorway. Her pink dress on the wooden floor, close to his pale blue shirt. His trousers were crumpled near the bottom of the bed. As for their underwear? He had no idea what had happened to it.

For the first time in thirty-five years Matteo finally felt a true connection to someone outside his family. He’d had no idea about Phoebe’s mom. A tiny selfish part of him had been initially disappointed that she hadn’t braved the plane journey for him—but that was ridiculous. Phoebe Gates was the bravest woman he’d ever met. She’d lost her fiancé, helped her mother fight cancer, then faced her biggest fear to complete a job. And the job wouldn’t be completed for over a week. Somehow he knew that in that space of time Phoebe could work her magic and sprinkle her fairy dust on this villa. Right now, he was contemplating how many excuses he could make for work that would allow him to stay here this week in Rome with Phoebe.

He hadn’t had a vacation in...how long? Plus, he could fly up and down to some of the vineyards in Tuscany in one day. He could have breakfast with Phoebe in Rome, leave her to do her work while he completed his, then meet her for dinner at night back in Rome. And then...

Something squeezed inside him. Today felt different. Today was the morning after the night before.

The first time he’d shared the secret he’d kept since he was five years old.

For years he’d been haunted by the sight of his beautiful sleeping mother. Thankful she looked so peaceful after a strange few days. Except she hadn’t been sleeping. As a child, he would never have known that. Should never have known that. And he’d actually sat on the floor of her room for a while, playing with his trains while Brianna gurgled in the cradle.

It was only when Brianna had started to get noisier and his mother hadn’t roused that he’d gone to find someone else. At five, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to pick up the squirming bundle. But he certainly hadn’t been ready for the reaction that had followed.

Those days all blurred into one. Police cars. A quietly spoken doctor. People dressed in black around his father. A funeral that he’d never been told about and certainly not been part of. The invasion of a million Italian relatives who all squeezed him tight and whispered to his father. As for the house at the Hamptons? It had more or less been left exactly as they’d found it. They’d been whisked away to the apartment near Central Park where two female relatives of his father had helped settle him and his brother and sister, before hiring help for the new apartment.

But that horrible feeling of something being really wrong had never left him. As a child he’d learned quickly not to ask his father anything about his mother—it just seemed to leave him eternally sad.

As an adult, he’d made a few enquiries. It hadn’t been easy. But even when he knew the truth his father had still been pained to talk about it. He’d told Matteo to remember his mother as before, not in her last few days, and not to mention it to his brother or sister.

And Matteo, being the good Italian son that he was, respected his father’s wishes.

Suicide. The one subject most people didn’t want to discuss. P

hoebe’s face had crumpled last night. But the one thing that had struck him completely was her empathy. Empathy for the confusion his mother must have been feeling.

But that didn’t surprise him. Not at all. On every occasion, Phoebe had proved to him what a good person she was.

But was he as good a person as Phoebe was? Something was unsettling him. Phoebe had been brilliant last night. But there was more. She was blossoming. Phoebe had always had an internal glow—but when he’d first met her it had been tempered.

Yet ever since they’d touched down in Rome, the sparkle in her eyes and passionate nature had been brimming over.

Something twisted inside. Should he really be doing this? He’d never felt a connection like this. He’d never let himself. What if he wasn’t enough for Phoebe? The last thing he’d ever want to do was dim the light in the vibrant, happy person she’d become. He was so used to keeping secrets. So used to keeping his emotions in check. Could he ever behave any differently?

And while he was comfortable here, lying with her in his arms, she’d made him face up to his next reality. At some point, he would have to speak to Vittore and Brianna. Just not right now. When Brianna had the baby he would make sure he was around her constantly. He would watch. He would monitor. He’d made a few casual enquiries about what to do if he needed to find some professional help. He was confident, in this day and age, things would be fine. And once that stage had passed, once Brianna had her healthy baby and was settled, he could wait and tell them both at a later date. Things would be fine.

“Hey...” came a murmur.

He glanced down. Phoebe was rubbing her brown eyes; she gave him a sleep-filled smile. “Hey,” he replied.

Her stomach gave an involuntary grumble and she let out a deep laugh as she pulled her body back from his and flopped back next to him. Her eyes were twinkling as she turned to him. “I guess this is what happens when you cheat me out of my Italian ravioli.”

“I cheated you out of your Italian ravioli?” He leaned his head on one hand so he could get closer to her.