The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

by Scarlet Wilson

  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.

  Phoebe’s bright yellow dress was beautiful. A little unusual for this time of year. Maybe she had plans? Maybe she had somewhere else to go today? His stomach gave another flip as he followed her into the kitchen. Could she have a date?

  Why was the coffee he’d drunk an hour ago suddenly gurgling around inside him?

  It was amazing how a few subtle changes could transform a place. The large Belfast sinks were definitely the focal point. Phoebe gave him a minute to look around. “You’ll see the sinks are now finished, the cream kitchen units have been revamped, some have been moved around. The walls are now a pale yellow to add a hint of color.” She ran her hand along the new countertop. “And the dark wooden countertop is just the perfect finish, don’t you agree?”

  The way she phrased her words was almost as if she was challenging him to disagree. But he couldn’t. The kitchen looked impressive. As did the laundry room, and the storage room.

  Phoebe led him through to the main room. “You can see how the color palette worked out,” she said. The drapes at the window were striped, the sofas and chairs covered in soft gray leather, with a large gray and yellow rug dressing the light oak floor. Most other houses he’d visited over the years were almost bland. Everything either white or cream.

  But Phoebe had a good understanding of color. The room was light enough to still enhance its size, but the color added something else—a sense of life. A sense of harmony. With a citrus scent in the air.

  He pressed his lips together as she led him through to the sitting room at the back of the house. This room had glass doors that opened out to Mecox Bay. Here, the drapes were minimal, tied back to let the choppy waters of the bay be the focal point. The colors in here were slightly different. More pale blue than gray. It was almost as if, instead of dressing the house, Phoebe had been dressing the bay. She understood even more than he’d given her credit for.

  She flicked on a small lamp in the corner. He sucked in a breath. “Is that a Tiffany?”

  She laughed. “Of course not. I didn’t spend that much money. It’s a reproduction. But I thought it helped. There’s very little color in this room, just cream and pale blue. Can you imagine, at night, sitting here, staring out over the dark bay, and flicking on this lamp, having the reflections of the blue, yellow and red glass across the walls? It would be almost magical.”

  For a few seconds, Matteo held his breath. He could almost picture it in his head. The trouble was that picture seemed homely. Warm. Inviting. Things he just couldn’t associate with this house anymore.

  He kept his voice steady. “Interesting. I think you’ve done a good job in the house, so far.”

  Phoebe made the tiniest movement. Did she flinch? Her face appeared a bit pinched. He’d thought he’d just complimented her work, but maybe not.

  She swept past him and kept going. “Let’s move up to the second floor.”

  They moved back out to the staircase, and Phoebe practically ran up it—obviously trying to shake the memories of being caught dancing on it earlier.

  The bedrooms were all finished to a high standard, each with a few unique or quirky items just to personalize the rooms. The bathrooms were similar. Sparkling white, with some yellow or pale blue accessories.

  Phoebe walked at speed, moving from room to room and talking constantly. Her work was impeccable. He’d already had a call from the realtor, who had gushed and complimented him so much he’d actually wondered at one stage if she was going to offer to have his baby. The realtor loved the house and had hinted that she predicted a sale would be quick.

  “This is obviously the master bedroom so it’s been dressed a little more demurely than the others. Again, since the view is a pivotal part of this room I’ve kept the color palette sedated.”

  She was tugging at a little bit of hair at the nape of her neck. She’s nervous. Of course she was. The last time he’d seen her they’d been kissing.

  His fingers crackled the paper in his pocket. He’d come here to question her about the expenses. But, as he walked from room to room, he could see exactly where every single cent had been spent. The house wasn’t completely transformed. But it was different.

  It felt different. Even to him. There was no question he was still haunted by the memories of his mother. But at least now he could start to dissociate himself from this place. Phoebe had made everything look new. It even smelled different.

  Phoebe was still talking. Still tugging at her hair. “So, there’s only a few other rooms. But I don’t think you need to see them.” She turned to face him.

  “As you can see, my job here is complete.” She gave him a bright smile that seemed forced. “Maybe we should talk about my payment?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe we should talk about Rome? That is our agreement. Complete both houses, not just one. I can arrange plane tickets for tomorrow. Once I’ve shown you the house, and introduced you to the staff, I can leave.”

  Phoebe visibly blanched but Matteo continued, his hands in his pockets as he walked around the room. “You’ve done an excellent job. The look of the house is much improved.” He gave a little smile. “Even though you might have broke the bank this last week.” He moved over to the window and stared out at the bay. Even in the middle of winter, the choppy sea was a mixture of blues and grays. There were a few boats out on the bay. The view was entirely spectacular and would probably be the selling point of this house. “I think it’s time to move forward.”

  He turned back around to face Phoebe. She was staring at the floor, fumbling with her hands. “I think that Rome might not work. It would make more sense for you to deal with an Italian interior designer who has a good idea of the best selling points for the Italian market. And the best tradesmen to work with. I have absolutely no grasp of the Italian language. I think I’d be far more of a hindrance than a help.”

  Matteo frowned and stepped forward. “But we had an agreement. I asked you to do both houses for me.” He dug his hands a little deeper in his pockets. “And wouldn’t a house in Rome be good for your CV? As well as the house in the Hamptons?” Matteo wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly how much kudos doing this house would give her. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to also have an international mansion on her portfolio.

  Phoebe still refused to meet his gaze. She was shaking her head the whole time. Did she even realize she was doing it?

  He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. “Let me book the flights. When you see the house, you’ll love it.” He started flicking through the contacts in his phone.

  “No.” The word was almost a whisper.

  His head jerked back up. “What?”

  “No.” The word was now a little less shaky. She lifted her head and finally met his gaze again. It was almost as if she were struggling to get her breath.

  “What are you talking about?” He moved even closer. He was starting to get annoyed. “I employed you to dress both house
s, the one here and the one in Rome.”

  “I know that...” she started, “but...”

  “But what?” He threw up his hands. “Why on earth are you stalling? We had an agreement.”

  “I... I... I...”

  There was something about the way she was stuck for words. That didn’t seem normal for Phoebe. Her eyes filled with tears as he watched her.

  He stepped over and touched her bare arm. “What on earth is wrong?”

  She glanced down at his hand on her arm and he frowned. Something shot through his head and he was flooded with panic. “Is this about us? Is this about this kiss?”

  Darn it. He knew he’d handled things badly—probably closest to a hormonal teenager. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man with a world of experience in kissing women.

  But he’d never kissed a girl like Phoebe. He’d never kissed a girl who’d made him feel as if the fireworks going off outside were actually part of him. He’d never wanted to continue a kiss more than he’d wanted to that night. But it had been an impulsive thing. A lapse of judgement.

  So why couldn’t he get it out of his head?

  Phoebe met his gaze again. “It’s nothing to do with the kiss.” She sounded exasperated, and a little bit sad. “It’s just a whole other part of my life that I’m just not ready to deal with.”

  Matteo pulled back a little. “Phoebe, what is going on? Is something wrong?” The mark on her face the other day? Was this something to do with that? It was amazing how instantly protective he still felt about her.

  She took a deep breath and he let his hand fall from her arm. Physical contact between them wasn’t a good idea. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  He was getting impatient. “Then I’ll see you at JFK airport tomorrow. The flight takes around eight and a half hours and it’s a red eye. Dress comfortably.”