Читать книгу The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride - Scarlet Wilson - Страница 10

Chapter Two

FOR THE FIRST time in years Phoebe actually felt lucky. It was a strange concept. Unfamiliar.

Lucky had been something she’d taken for granted for so long. Then Jason, her fiancé, had been killed in a freak flying accident. They’d only just got engaged and started to make plans for the future. All of those things wiped out in the blink of an eye—or the failure of two engines at once. She still couldn’t even think about it. But Phoebe hadn’t needed therapy. She was strong. Or so she’d thought. She’d been devastated to lose her fiancé, but she’d picked herself up and continued to go through the motions.

Then her mother had got sick. Cancer. Surgery. Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy. And a million scans. Phoebe had been determined to take her to every appointment, every treatment. And she had. Running herself into the ground while she did it. Forgetting to eat. Forgetting to sleep. And eventually having to hit therapy. Because she did need it. She just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

It was just lately that she’d felt as if she was starting to come out the tunnel she’d been hiding in. Her mom was doing better. They only had to settle the medical bills now. But work had picked up. The apartment near Central Park had been a real coup for her. But this? This was the icing on the cake. Better than that. This was the sugar on the sprinkles, on the chocolate, on the icing on the cake.

She wasn’t the slightest bit perturbed by Matteo telling her he’d let her go. She’d been on a high. She still was. He was somewhere behind her as she rushed from room to room, throwing open shutters and taking photo after photo with her phone. Occasionally she stopped to make a few notes. But only for a second. The essence of this house was invading her senses. The myriad of bedrooms. The bathrooms that could do with a little updating. The totally and completely gorgeous central yellow glass dome. And the kitchen. She could do so much with the kitchen that she almost wanted to start this very second.

Matteo’s mood seemed a little odd. Almost sedated if that made sense. She got the distinct impression he didn’t want to be here at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even like the place.

By the time she returned to the main room Matteo was back on his phone. She should probably be paying some kind of deference to him since he was going to be paying her enormous salary, but she was far too excited for all that.

She walked straight over to him. “I still hurt from where you pinched me.”

He was mid conversation and raised one eyebrow at her. After the briefest of pauses he pulled the phone away from his ear. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“So am I. And you spent all the time in the car on the phone.” There was something about this guy. He was obviously far too wealthy for words. He was clearly a workaholic. But there was just something in his eyes. He liked someone to challenge him. He was amused by her. And somehow she already knew she wanted to earn his respect. If that meant demanding his attention, then she could do that.

He glanced at his phone, but didn’t continue with that conversation. The edges of his lips curved again. “You asked me to pinch you. I only did what you asked.” There was a cheeky hint in his tone.

“When do I get to meet your sister? I can already tell that I’ll be bruised from that pinch and I want to compare notes with her.”

He paused and disconnected the call. “The very last person I’m introducing you to is my sister. Brianna is even crazier than you are. You’d be a lethal combination.”

Phoebe folded her arms across her chest. “Brianna. I like the sound of her.” She nodded her head. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll meet her. And I promise to be on my best behavior.” She held up her hands. “Now, the house. I have so many ideas. So many plans. Let’s walk through and I’ll talk you through them. I can draw up something more formal in a few days. I’ll need to check if any of the people I regularly use are free to help out.” She raised her eyebrows. “For some people, this is the holiday season.”

Matteo frowned and shook his head. “No, no. I’ll leave all that to you. I don’t need to see plans. I don’t need to know your thoughts. I can give you contacts for teams to assist.”

Phoebe stood back a little and looked at him incredulously. “You are joking, right?”

He gave her a stern stare. “Why would I be joking?”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Mr. Bianchi, usually clients want consulted on the plans, the overall look for their home. Often they want consulted on any major purchases.” She couldn’t help but frown. “People are generally passionate about how their homes are marketed—what they look like. They usually want to be involved to ensure they get the best price possible.”

Matteo gave an ironic smile. “I take it you’re used to clients who generally care about their homes—and the price they achieve. I care about neither. I just want this place off my hands.” As he finished his phone started ringing again and he strode out of the room, pressing it to his ear, leaving Phoebe wondering whether to laugh or cry. It was clear the conversation was over.

* * *

He’d picked a crazy woman. At one point he’d thought Phoebe Gates would start cartwheeling around the place. She was barely managing to keep her excitement simmering beneath the surface. Her joy at having this job seemed to emanate from every pore in her body.

That actually made a tiny little part of him happy. There was something nice about her enthusiasm and straightforwardness. In his line of business he was used to fake smiles and poker faces; somehow he didn’t think Phoebe Gates would know how to do either one.

But Phoebe obviously had very different ideas from him. She’d thrown open shutters and flooded this dusty old house with light, her face brightening as she’d practically run from room to room. He was surprised that she loved the ancient furniture and fittings. He’d been sure any interior designer would just skip the contents of the house and redecorate the place from top to bottom. Phoebe had obviously decided to take a different tack.

He’d reached the kitchen by now and let out a long sigh. The sooner he got out of here, the better. He only had one association with this house. And it was one he had no intention of revisiting.

He stared around the kitchen for a few seconds as something flashed through his brain. A long-forgotten memory. His mother. Those memories were so fleeting. So scant.

Her dark hair and bright eyes. Dressed in a swirling red dress. She’d been excited. Just the way that Phoebe was. Full of ideas and plans for what she could do to the house. The house they’d just bought that was stuck in a time warp. It had been owned by an elderly actress who had died a few months earlier. His mother could hardly wait to bring it up to modern-day living.

He remembered his father leaning against the double sink and folding his arms, smiling and watching Matteo’s mother the way he’d always watched her—with love and adoration in his eyes.

When Matteo blinked, the memory was gone. He inhaled deeply and leaned back against the sink—just the way his father had. Was the memory even real? He would only have been around five when they stayed here for a few weeks. Brianna was only a few weeks old and Vittore around three.

But everything changed. The house was boarded up and they moved with their father back to Rome, flitting between the capital and an apartment in New York City, then London for a while. The house in the Hamptons was never mentioned. Ignored.

Too many painful memories. It was only now, thirty years later, the family had decided it was time to sell.

Phoebe floated into the kitchen. Literally, floated. Her smile spread from ear to ear, showing off her straight white teeth and enhancing her glowing coffee-colored skin. Her hair bounced as she walked, tight corkscrew curls resting on her shoulders. There was something about her. An aura. She made him want to smile. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like that. For a few seconds she’d even made him forget where he actually was. But the truth was, he just couldn’t shake the sense of this place. The dark memories. The secrets he’d learned to keep. The ones that kept him locked away.

Phoebe moved in front of him. She’d shed more layers. Now he could see the way her green fine-knit jumper and fitted black trousers clung to her curves. Many of the women Matteo came across in New York were skeletally thin. It was a look he’d never appreciated. Italian men much preferred women with curves—and Phoebe wore them well.

Her perfume drifted up around him as she fixed her chocolate-brown eyes on him. She paused for a second, with an amused expression on her face. It was clear she was contemplating how to phrase her words.

“Ms. Gates?” he prompted.

She gave a nod. “How about we settle on Phoebe and Matteo? I think that might make things a bit easier. After all, we will be seeing a lot of each other.”

There was a sparkle in her eyes.

He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a credit card. “I’m not sure that will be necessary. But I’m happy to call you Phoebe if that’s what you prefer.”

She took the credit card without a glance, merely sliding it into the back pocket of her trousers.

“We need to talk about this place, Matteo. We need to discuss my plans.” It was clear that persistence was one of her traits.

He was curt. “No. We don’t.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the front door. In the space of few seconds it almost felt as if the walls were closing in around him.

The cool air almost bit into his skin as he stepped outside and he blinked at the brightness. He hadn’t realized quite how blinkered the house had been.

His phone started ringing. He pulled it from his pocket—Brianna. He might have guessed. They were closer than some families. He spoke to both his brother and sister a few times a day. A few female companions in the past had commented on it—finding it strange. But Matteo had never cared for other people’s opinions on his family. They hadn’t lived his life, they didn’t know that he and his siblings were the glue that held their splintered family together.

“Did you get one?” Brianna was speaking rapidly in Italian. She was probably doing ten things at once.

“I did.”

“And? Are they good?”

Was Phoebe Gates good? He didn’t really know. He’d called her both on a whim and out of desperation. Captain Monaghan had been one of the most interesting men Matteo had ever had the pleasure of meeting. But his apartment had been a cluttered, claustrophobic mess. Rudy Monaghan was clearly a hoarder. He’d sailed the seven seas and collected just about everything he’d ever seen.

Matteo had never met Phoebe, but Rudy had been full of praise for the beautiful, enthusiastic and, most importantly, respectful interior designer that he’d hired. The crew she’d hired to assist her had been given very clear instructions. Carefully pack up everything without a yellow sticker. Walls had been painted, windows shined, pictures moved and rehung. She’d stripped the place bare but kept its heart and essence.

No, she’d kept Rudy Monaghan’s heart and essence.

Matteo had dropped in one evening just before he knew Rudy was due to move out and been struck by the enormity of the changes. Rudy had been sitting in his wooden rocking chair, his genuine ancient ship’s wheel still next to him, bathed in the orange setting sun, watching the view of Central Park. That sight would stay with Matteo forever.

He took a deep breath. Now he remembered the transformation he almost wished he’d called Phoebe first. He couldn’t help but smile. He could just imagine how she’d have been if he’d called her at seven instead of eight. “They’re not good, Brianna,” he said deliberately.

“What?” she shrieked from somewhere in New York.

“They’re great. She’s great.”

There was silence for a few seconds. He waited for the tirade of abuse from his sister for momentarily teasing her but it didn’t come.

“Matteo, who is she?”

There was something about his sister’s tone. Her curiosity. He instantly felt a prickle down his spine. Brianna was nosey. Brianna was beyond nosey. He probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.

He kept his voice brisk. “She’s Phoebe Gates. Remember Rudy’s apartment at Central Park? She did that one. She’ll do a good job for us.”

He could almost hear the cogs and whirrs of Brianna’s brain. “Yeah, I remember the apartment at Central Park. It ended up as part of a bidding war, didn’t it?”

“Well, if that’s what you heard, it must be true.”

“So, we know Ms. Gates can dress an apartment—but can she dress a Hampton house?”

She hadn’t said the words out loud but the implication was clear. An apartment at Central Park was big. A house in the Hamptons was in a whole other league.

“Have a little faith in your brother, Brianna.”

There was a loud sigh at the end of the phone. “I have a lot of faith in my brother. Both my brothers.” There was a pause for a second. Matteo had kept walking. The fresh air was calling to him, along with the spectacularly white snow. The tone of her voice softened. “How are you?”

He didn’t answer. Cold air was filling his lungs, letting his heart race a little quicker and letting him shake off the cobwebs.

It was hard to explain. The only other people to have walked in his shoes were Vittore and Brianna. No one else would ever understand. He wouldn’t expect them to. He wouldn’t want them to. And the truth was, Vittore and Brianna didn’t understand entirely either—because he didn’t want them to. He was oldest. It was his job to guard his younger brother and sister.

“Matteo?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Matteo closed his eyes. “I’m fine, Brianna. Of course, I’m fine. It’s just this place. You know that. I’m going to leave everything in Phoebe’s hands. She doesn’t see this place the way we do. She loves it. She thinks it’s great. She...she has the ability to dress it and make it sell. That’s all that we need.”

He could almost hear the shake in her voice. “Is it?”

It was as if the cold air penetrated every part of him. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t have the conversation that his sister sometimes pushed him toward. He’d learned how to deal with it over the years. It was as if he owned his own set of black shutters. Push him so far and he would just slam them shut. “Goodbye, Brianna,” he said smartly as he finished the call.

* * *

Phoebe was sitting on the curved staircase. Her feet had actually started to follow him out of the kitchen, then her instincts had kicked in and told her not to. Told her to give him a little space.

Mr. Bianchi was more than a little temperamental. Was this an Italian trait?

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to breathe in the essence of this beautiful home. Her brain instantly took her to the place she wanted to be. Right now she was recreating her own favorite musical and was tap dancing up and down these stairs in a bouffant yellow dress. She just hadn’t decided who her imaginary leading man was yet. A twinge of guilt set in.

For the first year after Jason’s death he’d been the main feature of every dream she’d had. But for the last year, several movie stars had started to creep in and take over. In a way, it had been a relief to stop waking up with her heart in her throat. That horrible little millisecond of time—the briefest of moments—where she thought everything was just the same, Jason was still here, her mom wasn’t sick yet and then, she remembered.

And that overwhelming colossal black wave swamped back on top of her, every morning, making her relive every moment and making her want to be sick all over her bed. It took months for that to fade. Months to wake up to the reality that was her life.

But every time she felt relief that didn’t happen anymore, guilt pricked at her conscience.

She took a deep breath and pressed her hands on the cool marble stairs, letting her eyes flicker open. She could imagine the beautiful women and men who’d walked these steps. The hopes, dreams and fantasy lifestyles. Things that were all so far out of her reach.

She shook her head and smiled. Jealousy had never been a Phoebe trait. She loved that this place had history. She loved that it had been captured in time. She would probably never get a chance like this again. She just had to know what to keep to help capture the story, and know what to replace to make this home still seem appealing to a modern-day buyer.

The color palette here was unreal. She’d found an avocado bathroom. That would definitely have to be dealt with. But so much else just needed tweaks. She pulled out her phone and flicked through her contacts as she breathed in deeply. There was a bit of an odor. A tang that frequently featured in houses that hadn’t really been lived in for a number of years.

Smell was so much. But she could deal with that. Carpets, drapes and upholstery could all be replaced. But she wasn’t sure she would change the style. So much of it was perfect.

She pressed a familiar number of her phone. It answered on the second ring.

“Hello, baby girl.”

“Hi, Momma. I’ve got news.”

“Are you at the sales? What did you buy?”

Phoebe laughed. “No, Momma. I’m in a whole different place.” She looked around as her heart gave a little jump. “I just want you to know that in a few weeks, the medical bills won’t be a problem.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. Her mother’s voice was panicked. “Baby girl, what have you done?”

It didn’t matter she was twenty-seven. It didn’t matter that she had her own place and her own life. She would always be her mother’s baby.

She laughed. “I haven’t done anything, Momma. I just got the job of my dreams. And it pays more than I could ever have hoped for.”

Her mother’s tone hadn’t changed from panic. “Phoebe, what kind of job is this?”

Phoebe shook her head. “It’s exactly the kind of job I do every day. But this house...” she pressed one hand to her chest and breathed in, as if saying it made everything real “...it’s in the Hamptons.”

“What?” Her mother’s voice came out as a squeak.

“Yes,” Phoebe said quickly. “I got a call this morning.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “A quarter of a million dollars if I can work over the next four weeks and redress this house.”

“How much?” This time it wasn’t a squeak. This time it was more like a shriek.

But Phoebe didn’t get a chance to answer. “Who is this person with a house in the Hamptons? Are they a criminal? Who have you got mixed up with? How did they find out about you?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Calm down, Mom. They know Rudy. That’s how they know about me. They liked the work I did on his apartment. That’s how I got this job. I came out to see the house this morning and...” she tried to steady her thoughts “...it’s a dream come true. It’s like walking into a fifties TV show. The whole place, it’s just...epic.” She laughed at using such a juvenile word, but nothing else seemed to come close.

Her mother cut straight to the chase. “Are you safe? Have you met these folks? Are they good people?”

“They’re an Italian family.”

Her mother’s voice lowered to a hushed tone. “Are they part of the mob?”

Phoebe choked. “What? No? Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve had this house for a while. It’s just time to sell it.” But something prickled. Matteo hadn’t been exactly straight with her. The timing did seem a little off. Exactly how old was he? “And yes. I’m safe. Matteo is a bit buttoned up. He’s a businessman. One of those high-flyer types. But he seems sincere. And I think I’m going to love doing this job. This could be it. This could be the one. It will pay off the bills and maybe put me on the map.”

There was a few seconds’ silence. “Then go nail it. I love you, baby girl.”

Phoebe smiled as she pushed her phone back in her pocket and stood up again. The front door was wide open to the world, letting in an icy blast. Matteo must have gone outside.

She’d left her jacket somewhere she couldn’t entirely remember, so she crossed her hands over her body as she walked outside.

Matteo had that strange, dark expression on his face again. The one where he didn’t really answer any questions. But Phoebe was determined. She might have the credit card, but she wanted to do the best job in the world. Her career could depend on it. Her bank balance certainly did. And for that, she needed a bit more information.

“Matteo?” He spun around, frowning. It seemed to be his default expression.

She walked up to him, close enough to let his body block out the swirling wind coming from Mecox Bay. “You haven’t been entirely straight with me.”

The furrow on his brow deepened. “What do you mean?”

She gave a gentle smile. “Unless, of course, you’re a modern-day Peter Pan.”

Now he just looked confused. “What?”

She inched a little closer. Probably more than she meant to. Her hair was getting caught by the wind, blowing her springy curls in front of her eyes. “The timing doesn’t fit,” she said quietly. “I’m trying to work out why you lived in a nineteen-fifties-style house.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied him a little harder. “Don’t get me wrong—I love it. But you don’t look in your sixties. Maybe you’ve discovered some secret cream the rest of the world just needs to find?”

She could almost see the penny drop. She expected him to smile. But he didn’t. Instead she could almost feel the wave of sadness. His voice was quiet. “We bought the house in the late eighties when I was a child. It belonged to some ageing starlet who had moved into it in the nineteen-fifties and not redecorated since. My parents had plans to redecorate the whole house. But...things changed. We only stayed here a few weeks. My father’s business meant we had to go to Rome, then London for a while. When we came back to New York, we had a few other properties that were ready to move into as a family.”

He said the words as if something were squirming in his chest, and his bright green eyes only met her gaze for the most fleeting of seconds.

It wasn’t a lie. But it didn’t feel like the truth. Trust your instincts, the voice in her head said. She wasn’t getting the fight-or-flight feeling. There was more to this. But whatever it was—it wasn’t enough to walk away from her dream job. A chance to pay the medical bills and possibly make her mark on the Hamptons.

“You’ve moved around a lot. The family business—what kind of business are you in?”

The fleeting mob reference from her mother was momentarily playing on her mind.

“I’m Italian.” He raised his eyebrows. “We’re in the wine business.”

“You own vineyards?”

Matteo gave a tight smile “We own seventeen vineyards in Italy. Sixteen in Spain, fourteen in California, and several in Portugal.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of wine.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I don’t need to worry about stocking the cellar, then.”

He gave a brief shake of his head. “Let me deal with that.”

She nodded. “Are you in a hurry to leave? I’d like to stay. I’d like to spend as much time as I can here, to get a feel for the place. I need to go over every room in detail, and I need to call contacts to check availability, and see what I can achieve over the next four weeks.”

She wanted him to know she was serious. She wanted him to know that this was important to her.

He glanced toward the limousine then shook his head. “Keep the car, it’s fine. I can arrange another form of transport.” His gaze actually met hers. This time there was something else. Something that made her heart swell a little. Respect?

She turned to go back to the house but his voice carried on the wind toward her.

“Ms. Gates? I trust you. I know you’ll do a good job.”

Her footsteps froze, but by the time she turned back around he already had the phone pressed against his ear again.

Had she imagined it?