The attention to detail was extraordinary. The main room still had the same nineteen-fifties sofa, but this time it was covered in what looked like pale blue leather. The drapes were striped in shades of pale yellow and gray. There was a sleek gray rug on the large wooden floor. All of this was dressed with bursts of bright yellow. A sunflower portrait on the wall. A few cushions, and a bright yellow table lamp. “You did all these in the last few days?”
Phoebe nodded. “Of course, I did. This is what I do.” She looked at him hesitantly. “I did do an alternative color scheme if you’d prefer.” She flicked to the back of the sketch pad where she had the same room sketches, but this time with white, beige and splashes of orange. It was more abstract, but more traditional. The kind of thing he was used to seeing in other houses. He gave a little shudder. Even though the yellow was a surprise, it was clear the more stark colors wouldn’t complement the house as much. The yellow gave the house a warmth that made it much more welcoming.
“What do you think?” She sounded a little nervous.
He nodded. “I think it’s good. You’re right about the yellow.” He glanced around. “I just hope you can find what you need—and quickly,” he added with a murmur.
They turned a corner in the warehouse and Matteo stopped walking. The shades of yellow were overwhelming. And it seemed this warehouse didn’t just keep the same color fabrics together. No, across wide display units there were rugs, bedding, vases, lamps and ornaments all in complementary shades.
Phoebe let out a little gasp and walked away, running her hand over a large dark gray rug, with pale yellow circles. “This is perfect,” she said, nodding to the assistant. “We’ll take it.” She moved without drawing breath over to a wooden cabinet with upright rolls of fabric. She pointed to a pale gray and yellow stripe. “I’ll have this one. And the one next to it with duck-egg blue and yellow.” She turned to face the wooden cabinets behind them. “I also want the pale yellow and cream pattern over there. It will be perfect for the master bedroom.”
Her bright pink coat swirled around her as she picked up bedding, ornaments, vases and lamp shades in a whole variety of shades of gray, blue and yellow. When she’d finished loading the trolley she waved Matteo over to another part of the warehouse. “Let’s pick some prints,” she said as she started flicking through a sheaf of prints held behind plastic frames.
The colors stood out, but it was clear that Matteo didn’t have Phoebe’s designer eye. She let out a little squeal as she found a yellow sunflower similar to the one she’d sketched in her designs. She flicked on and found a gold broderie anglaise design, some pale blue cornflowers, and a beautiful beach scene with a turquoise sea.
By now, it seemed that she’d forgotten her apparent bad mood with Matteo. Every single time she found another item she couldn’t stop talking. “This is perfect for the back room.” She was holding a swirling glass ornament in shades of pale blue. “I can see it sitting on a table with a view of Mecox Bay in the background.” She turned and pointed at a pale blue patterned fabric. “And this will frame the windows in the kitchen perfectly. It’s just the right shade of blue. And look at these ceramic jugs in blue and cream. They’ll be perfect to dress the kitchen.” She turned to face him. “Did I tell you I’m getting the sink replaced? There’s going to be dual sinks, deep white Belfast sinks, with a thick dark wood countertop. That, along with some replacement handles, will set the kitchen off perfectly. Oh, and I’ve ordered some new appliances.” She glanced in her diary. “They arrive tomorrow. We’ll need to have a chat about access.”
Matteo nodded. She was like a firecracker. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop. The enthusiasm just brimmed out of her. Part of him wished he’d met Phoebe Gates somewhere else. Anywhere but the house. She had a warmth about her. A glow. And an honesty about her that was sometimes missing in the people he normally came across.
But this was business. This was family business. He couldn’t let it be anything else. The family had decided it was time to get rid of all reminders. And that was what Phoebe would be now, because he would forever associate her with the Hamptons house.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
“Here, I got these cut for you. I’d be grateful if you could make arrangements between yourself and the caretaker to give all the trade personnel the access that they need.”
She held out her hand then paused. “What about the alarm?”
Of course. He’d forgotten about that. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
She looked surprised. He smiled as he pressed the keys into her outstretched hand. “It’s a digital alarm, remember? I’ll put the app and the code into your phone.”
She gave him a nod and fumbled in her pocket for her phone, her fingers brushing against his as she handed it over. He ignored the tingle—that little acknowledgement of warmth as skin contacted with skin. For the second time in as many minutes he reminded himself this was a business arrangement and focused on the phone.
It was more outdated than he would have expected. Most business people he worked with had the latest version of everything. After a few seconds he frowned. “No signal. We’ll need to go someplace else so I can input the code.”
He paused for a second as he looked at the loaded trolley. There really was no room for anything else. “Are you done?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I just need to pick some leather.” She counted down on her list. “There are seven sofas to be recovered, and twenty chairs.”
“How many?” His brain was beginning to throb. It was clear that even though he could manage multiple dealings in his company, across different time zones and continents—the minutiae of dealing with preparing a house for sale were beyond him.
She gave a smile and arched one eyebrow. “But hey? How long does it take to buy some fabric and some vases?” There was a twinkle in her eyes that he knew he deserved.
He couldn’t help but smile. In the last two days she’d literally sketched designs for every room in two color palettes, organized refitting of the kitchen and some of the bathrooms, decided what pieces to keep and which to refurbish, all without any help. He held up his hands. “Okay, you got me. I didn’t really know what it was that you did.”
“But you hired me for a quarter of a million dollars anyway?”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but Phoebe was already off again, talking to the assistant. “Is this the way to the leather?”
An hour later Matteo had seen, touched and smelt more varieties of leather than he’d ever really known existed and, even though he had no experience, it felt as if Phoebe had chosen well. She was still talking though. “I have a van parked outside. Can I get everything transferred into that?” she asked the assistant.
Matteo interrupted. “You brought a van? You’re not getting everything delivered?”
She shook her head. “Why would I do that? I want to take everything back to the house myself. I want to check I’m happy with the fabrics before I get the drapes and furnishings made up. The leather will be delivered direct to the upholsterer, and tomorrow the chairs and sofas will be taken to his workshop so his team can get started.”
Matteo pulled his credit card from his pocket and settled the bill. Yes, it was large. But no more than he’d really expected. The whole inside of the house needed a facelift, and he knew it.
Phoebe was still chattering away. She was very self-effacing but also extremely efficient. She had a way of getting things done. And she’d certainly moved with speed.
Something inside him was twisting around. It had to be the house. It had been so long since he’d actually been there, that it was only natural returning would be unsettling. But that didn’t explain why he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the girl in the bright pink coat, with the mad curls and coffee-tinted skin.
She bent
down and talked to a toddler in a stroller while the mother was paying for her purchases, tracing her finger around the little one’s palm as she sang “Ring-a-Ring o’ Roses.”
All of the women he’d been involved with spent their lives dressed in suits and formal dresses. Phoebe was wearing jeans, boots and a pale blue jumper under her coat. He liked her like that.
Like. A word he hadn’t contemplated in a while. He could almost hear the roaring in his ears. When was the last time he’d actually liked someone?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind. His phone signal was still poor, and he still had to put the alarm code into Phoebe’s phone. He had work to do. Being around Phoebe seemed to permanently distract him.
“Phoebe, do you want to grab some lunch? We need to find a place with a better signal so I can put the alarm code into your phone.”
Phoebe looked surprised. “Well, sure. But don’t you need to go back into the city? Because I was going to head down to the Hamptons.”
Why was he doing this? His head wasn’t entirely sure. The logical part of his brain was telling him this made perfect sense, it was all about an alarm code. If Phoebe had her own set of keys and the alarm code, then there was no reason for her to bother him again.
But even the rational part of his brain could sense this was a smoke screen. Whether he wanted to admit it, or not.
Phoebe licked her lips. They were painted pink today to match her coat, but the truth was she didn’t need any makeup. Her natural beauty shone through. From the glow in her cheeks, to the shine on her springy curls and the sparkle in her eyes.
Matteo nodded. “Let’s head toward the Hamptons. I’ll get the driver to follow you. We can pull in at the first café we see in Westhampton.”
Phoebe gave a nod. “You’ll need to give me time to get the van loaded.”
More time. There was only one thing for it.
He gave a nod of his head and held out his hands. “What am I here for?”
* * *
She wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Matteo Bianchi was still as confusing as ever. One second he was a pleasant guy with a spark in his eye and a sense of humor, next second he was a grump, with dark shadows sweeping across his face. She wasn’t sure whether he really found her a hindrance or a help.
She’d tried her best not to laugh as his suit had got wrinkled and smudged as he’d helped load up the van. She imagined that Matteo spent most of his life looking immaculate. Much like the people around him. Why did she get the feeling she’d never fit in?
Her stomach gave a growl as she arrived in Westhampton and signaled to pull into the parking lot. There were numerous cafés around and she was sure they would find something good to eat in most of them.
Matteo’s driver was close behind her and by the time she’d locked up the van, Matteo was standing on the sidewalk waiting for her. He gestured toward the Rose Bakery Café, adorned with yellow cladding and with red and white awning flickering in the strong winds. “Want to try in here?”
There was a smell of cinnamon wafting from the front door. “Absolutely.” She smiled.
They walked up the steps and he held the door open for her. The waitress quickly showed them to a table, gave them some menus and took their order for drinks.
Phoebe let out a laugh as her stomach gave an obligatory growl. “What do you want to eat?” Matteo asked.
Phoebe closed her eyes for a second and breathed in deeply. “There’s far too many delicious smells in here. I can smell omelets, cinnamon buns, raspberry croissants and some delicious soups.”
He leaned across the table toward her. It was the first time she’d had a chance to notice the shadow along his jaw. Or the lines around his eyes. She rested her elbows on the table. It was so easy to lean forward too. “Are you okay, Matteo? Did you sleep last night?”
He blinked but didn’t pull back. He just tipped his head a little to the side. “I hate that you do that sometimes.”
“What?” He might be saying he hated her, but the expression on his face was telling her a whole other story.
He sighed as the waitress appeared with their drinks. “Blindside me.” He stared down at his Americano and laughed. He gave his head a shake. “Not many people in this life can do that.”
She licked her lips and smiled as the waitress stood poised with her order pad. “What’ll it be, folks?”
Phoebe looked at the waitress with hopeful eyes. “What kind of soup do you have?”
The waitress checked her pad. “Today we have potato chowder, lentil and bacon, and chicken and rice.”
“I’ll have the potato chowder, please.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ll have the omelet, please, with mushrooms and cheese.”
The waitress raised her eyebrows. “With salad or fries?”
“Salad, thanks.” The waitress gave a nod and waved her hand at the glass cabinet behind her. “Just remember, we have some great desserts too.”
Phoebe watched her saunter away then smiled at Matteo. “Do you think our order wasn’t big enough for her?”
He shrugged. “Hey, she’s right. They do have some great desserts. Maybe we’ll have some pie.”
Phoebe leaned her head on one hand as she stirred her caramel latte. “You don’t strike me as a pie kind of guy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t? What kind of guy do I strike you as?”
She kept stirring her coffee as she contemplated her answer. “I think you might be a bit of a traditionalist. I’m surprised you didn’t try and steer us toward an Italian restaurant instead of a bakery.”
He gave a slow nod of his head. “Any other insights you want to share about me?”
This time his voice had the slightest edge. As if he were silently putting up walls between them.
She couldn’t help herself. She just started speaking. “You haven’t shaved. Last time I saw you, you were immaculate. And you look tired today. I’m sorry if I offended you. Because I didn’t mean to. I was just worried about you, because you looked so tired. You offered to help load the van and came out of your way to have lunch with me.”
“Do you always worry about people you hardly know?”
His steady green eyes were fixed on hers. She held her breath. She should take it as a compliment, but he hadn’t quite phrased it that way. He’d phrased it more as if she were just far too nosey.
She remembered talking to Captain Monaghan in the hospital. He’d been exhausted—and very sick. When she’d gone to get some light refreshments for her mother, she’d offered to get some for Rudy too. In fact, she’d ended up getting food and drinks for most of the other patients. It was her nature. Her way. She couldn’t and wouldn’t change it because Matteo Bianchi found her intrusive.
She shrugged and smiled. “Some people say I have a kind heart. I can live with that.”
As she looked up Matteo was studying her hard. A frown creased his brow and he leaned closer and lifted his fingers to her cheek. The contact made her flinch.
“Phoebe, did someone hurt you? Is that a bruise?”
She shook her head as she lifted her own hand to her cheek. “Don’t panic. It’s me.” She lowered her gaze, almost embarrassed to answer. “In my excitement to get started this morning I fell out of bed. I hit my face on my bedside cabinet.”
Matteo didn’t speak. He just kept staring. Then he glanced down at her hand. She could see the tension across his shoulders and the tic at the side of his jaw. “Is there someone in your life, Phoebe?”
She jerked and sat back in her seat, her mouth instantly dry. Everything about this felt wrong. He’d more or less just accused her of being too nosey, but now she could feel the intensity of his gaze. She could see both the sympathy and revulsion in his eyes. He’d jumped to a conclusion that was entirely wrong. She didn’t doubt for a second what Matteo Bianchi would do to a man w
ho was abusing his wife.
Tears pooled in her eyes. But for none of the reasons that Matteo was obviously assuming. She opened her mouth to speak but the words stuck in her throat. Why were they so hard to say?
“There...there’s...no one in my life, just me.” She shook her head as the tears threatened to fall. “Can’t blame anyone else for my clumsiness.”
His shoulders fell a little but the crease in his brow remained.
The waitress appeared at that second, gave them a peculiar glance and put their plates on the table. “Anything else?”
Phoebe shook her head quickly. “We’re fine,” replied Matteo.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Phoebe staring at her potato chowder. The smell that had seemed so delicious earlier, now just seemed to make her stomach do uncomfortable flip-flops.
Matteo lifted his fork and picked at his omelet. After a few seconds he let out a sigh and put his fork back down, sliding his hand over the table and letting it cover hers.
“Is there anything you need to tell me?”
She shook her head as one tear finally slid down her cheek. The lump in her throat had grown to epic proportions. Her other hand was still automatically stirring her soup.
Matteo pressed his lips together for a moment. His hand was warm against hers. Her fingers had never felt quite so cold. Up until a few moments ago she’d felt fine. Now, she just felt so...empty.
The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride Page 5
