The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

His green eyes were warm and sincere. She couldn’t help the second tear that slid down her cheek. Matteo reached up with his free hand and gently brushed it away. “Tell me about Jason,” he said. “Tell me what he was like.”

The breath that was caught in the back of her throat came out steadily. “He...he was good,” she murmured. “He was great.” It was odd to talk about Jason with someone that had never known him. Her brain tried to sort out her jumbled thoughts. “He was a couple of years older than me. We met in Central Park when I was nineteen. He was already in the navy, training as a pilot.” She nodded. “He loved his job, completely loved it. Flying was a huge part of his life.”

“And you?”

Matteo’s finger started tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand. “Oh, he loved me too. Just as much as I loved him.” Her voice stuttered a little as a memory swamped her. But it was a good memory, something that made her happy. “He used to make me laugh. He used to make me laugh so hard my sides hurt.” She shook her head. “And he shared my sci-fi addiction. Any film, any TV series that was remotely sci-fi was always playing in the background. It didn’t matter how bad it was.” She smiled. “We watched it anyway.”

She was aware of the gentle movements of his finger. She knew he was trying to distract her. Trying to keep her calm. But somehow, in the midst of all this, talking about Jason felt good.

“He’d left the navy and had just got a job as a commercial pilot. We were trying to make plans. Get our lives on track for the future.” Her voice drifted off.

Matteo didn’t jump in. He didn’t push her for more. He just kept doing what he was doing, watching her with those dark green eyes with tiny flecks of gold. “He sounds like a great guy.”

She nodded. “He was. And he was big.” She shook her head. “We looked like the odd couple.” She held up one hand. “I’m not exactly in the tall department and Jason was six foot six.” She raised her eyebrows. “It certainly came in handy when I had any clients I felt uncomfortable around. One look from Jason was enough.”

The air hostess bumped past them with the drinks trolley. It seemed the turbulence had ended and the “fasten seat belt” sign was off now.

It was nice. It was nice to talk about Jason and remember him. Remember how much she loved him and the part he’d played in her life. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“What for?”

She stared down at their hands. “For this. For distracting me. For letting me talk. For letting me remember.”

“Don’t you talk about Jason?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes with my mom. But I think she worries it makes me sad. What I worry about is forgetting. I feel guilty.”

Matteo pressed his lips together for a second. His voice was husky. “Remembering is good. We’ll never be able to remember every detail.” He put one hand on his heart, while using the other to intertwine his fingers with hers, “But what we hold in here is really important. Anyone we lose, we carry them with us every day. In our hearts and in our minds. That’s what’s important.”

There was something about the way he said the words that made her heart give a little flip. He understood. He got it.

And all of a sudden so did she. She’d loved Jason for so long. She always would. She shouldn’t be scared of forgetting him—that wouldn’t happen. But that didn’t mean that once she was ready, she wouldn’t be able to open her heart to someone else.

She shouldn’t feel guilt. Jason would have hated that. She nodded at Matteo as her heart gave another little pitter-patter against her chest.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “That’s exactly what’s important.”

* * *

The heat levels in Rome were mild. But compared to the chill of New York, it was practically balmy.

After their connection on the plane, Matteo seemed more relaxed in Rome; he spoke his native language fluently and she almost laughed out loud at the gestures he used when chatting to others. In New York, he was so much more reserved.

She was tired. She’d only managed a few hours’ sleep on the flight over the Atlantic and the bright morning light of Rome felt harsh on her eyes. But Matteo had assured her that the family home in Rome was much more habitable than the one in the Hamptons, and the interior design work would be much less intense.

The car passed through Rome, giving Phoebe a few glimpses of some of the wonders. She couldn’t help but smile. “First time in Rome?” asked Matteo.

“First time in Italy,” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to come here.”