The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

The sinking feeling changed to more like a plummet to the bottom of the Marianas Trench. This time there was no “thinking.”

“I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Vittore looked at him in complete confusion. He turned to Brianna. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Brianna nodded. “Unfortunately, I think I do.” She gave a little smile. “And I think her name is Phoebe.”

Chapter Nine

IT WAS DARK. She hadn’t meant to stay out so late. But she’d been on a date.

A date.

It was a month since she’d seen or heard from Matteo. She hoped and prayed that his sister was well. But after that? She refused to allow him anymore space in her brain.

She’d checked yesterday and the house in the Hamptons still wasn’t sold. That surprised her. She was sure it would have sold quicker than this. It made her stomach flip-flop a little. Maybe she hadn’t done as good a job as she thought?

Nonetheless, it was time for some changes. Work was flooding in. There had been a sizeable bank transfer into her account and she’d wasted no time in paying her mother’s bills. There was no doubt. It was a weight off her mind.

Last week a casual acquaintance had asked her out for dinner. For the last three years her default position had been to automatically refuse. But this time, she hadn’t. This time she’d agreed—which had resulted in dinner tonight.

He’d booked an Italian restaurant and it would have been rude to insist on going someplace else. So Phoebe had smiled and tried not to baulk when John, her date, had ordered ravioli. It was almost as if everything about this date was trying to stir up memories of Matteo.

Two glasses of wine later it was clear there was no spark, no electricity—at least on Phoebe’s side. And John had been gentlemanly enough to accept her thanks for dinner graciously before she’d made her excuses and left.

Trouble was...the date had stirred up a lot of emotions and as she’d walked home she’d ducked into a little jazz club and sipped a cocktail for an hour, soaking up the music and trying to shake off her melancholy feelings.

She climbed the stairs to her apartment on automatic pilot but when she turned the corner she stopped dead.

Flowers. Lots of them. All lined up outside her apartment door.

Her neighbor, Latisha, must have heard her footsteps because she opened her door and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, Phoebe Gates. What have you been up to?”

Phoebe shook her head as she walked up and down the line.

“These are for me?”

“Do you think I would have left them in the hall if they were for me?”

Phoebe shook her head and bent down and plucked the card from the first beautiful display of yellow roses.

Can we talk please?

Matteo.

She pulled a face and stopped herself from throwing the card on the floor.

Latisha raised her eyebrows. “Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’ve read all the cards.”

Phoebe looked at the line and counted along, “Six, seven, eight, nine.”

Latisha smiled. “He gets kind of desperate at the end. Apparently there’ll be a car outside for you at nine tomorrow morning.”

Phoebe shook her head as she stomped past the coral-colored roses, the white lilies and the purple lisianthus. “I’m not getting in any car.”

“Well, honey, if you don’t, I will.”

Phoebe spun around and glared at Latisha. “You would not.”

Latisha looked along the line of flowers on the floor. “I wouldn’t? Whatever it is he’s done, I guess he’s sorry.”

“Not sorry enough!” Phoebe slammed her door closed and squeezed her eyes closed for a second, willing the tears away.

He’d left her. He’d left her to fly home alone when he’d known how scared she was. He’d waited more than a month to contact her. Why now?

* * *

She was angry with herself. Even though she’d spent all night telling herself she wouldn’t, by 9:00 a.m. she’d found herself washed, dressed and sitting in her brand-new green coat at her kitchen table.

When the knock at the door came she gulped as a wave of anger swept over her again. She swung the door open and started as she saw Matteo’s driver, Carlo.

He gave her a smile. “Morning, Ms. Gates. Are you ready?”

He held out a caramel latte and a strawberry frosted donut. She blinked. It was a little unexpected. Carlo nodded his head toward the line of flowers along the floor.

“You didn’t like them?”

Phoebe pressed her lips together. “Flowers aren’t an apology,” she muttered.

Carlo nodded in agreement. He waved out his hand. “Are you ready?”