The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride

by Scarlet Wilson

  He held her gaze. The candles flickered on the table between them, his dark hair falling across his brow. Her hand itched to reach over and brush it away. To touch him, to feel his skin under the palm of her hand. For a few seconds it really felt as if no one else were there but them.

  His voice broke through the silence. It gave the slightest waver. “Sometimes the thought of something is always worse.” He bowed his head a little. “And don’t be afraid, Phoebe. I’ll be with you on the way home.”

  She could hear the emotion in his voice. His shoulders had tensed, as had his jaw.

  “What are you afraid of, Matteo?” The words came out before she could think them through. From the moment she’d met him there had been glimpses of the man struggling to fight his way out from the dark looming cloud that seemed to hang above his head. He was someone in pain—and she could recognize that. She just didn’t know if she could help.

  She reached across the table and gently interlinked his fingers with hers.

  His gaze was dark, intense, but she held it, not letting herself flicker for a second.

  “I’m afraid of what might happen to my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  There was a flash of regret on his face and she could sense his fingers pull away a little. But she held them firmly.

  “She’s pregnant, isn’t she? Why could something happen to her?”

  His eyes fixed on the table. He sucked in a deep breath. “Because it happened to my mother.”

  It was as if the almost mild air in Rome vanished and a chill swept over her body. Every tiny little hair on Phoebe’s arms stood on end. Her stomach clenched.

  She reached over and put her other hand over their intertwined ones. “What happened to your mother, Matteo?”

  He pulled his hand back sharply, throwing it in the air in exasperation as he shook his head. “It’s...it’s too complicated.”

  Phoebe nodded her head slowly. “Okay, but...” she glanced around the virtually empty Coliseum “...I think we have time.”

  She was right at the edge. Dangling. Just waiting to find out what it was that caused Matteo to have that permanent frown marring his complexion. The thing that meant he wasn’t quite living life the way he wanted to.

  But the moment was broken as the waiter came to lift their plates, and deliver their main course. The rich aroma of ravioli drifted up around her. She stared down at the plate and licked her lips. “Well, it looks delicious. But we’re not starting until we finish this conversation.”

  “It’s maybe a good time to have a break,” Matteo said quickly as he picked up his fork.

  “Stop it,” she said sharply, annoyed by how instantly dismissive he could be. She could almost see him putting all his shutters back into place.

  “What are you afraid of, Matteo?” She let her voice soften. “Tell me what happened to your mother.”

  Silence. She didn’t fill it. She let him take his time and think. After a few minutes he put his fork down and sighed.

  “My mother...my mother committed suicide.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe couldn’t help it, her hand had instantly gone to her mouth. “I am so sorry, Matteo, for you and for your brother and sister.”

  She could see his tongue digging into the side of his cheek. It was clear there was more.

  He shook his head again. “My mother...was sick. But the condition she had wasn’t well known. Nowadays they would call it postpartum psychosis.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her nose. She’d heard the expression somewhere but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  Matteo pressed his hands on the table. “My mother didn’t have existing mental health problems. But after the birth of my sister—only a few days really—she became confused and a bit manic. I was the oldest, but I was only five. I couldn’t really understand what was going on. To be honest, my father didn’t understand either. Apparently, it’s really rare. It causes depression, paranoia and can cause suicidal thoughts.” He took another deep breath. “It can happen in a few days, or a few weeks after delivery of the baby and the onset is really sudden. My mother...she became unwell really quickly. One minute she was walking about the house, talking constantly. Next, she was lying in her bed sobbing. Some nights she didn’t sleep, but spent all night pacing the house. My father thought she was just overwrought. But she knew it was more. She knew she was unwell.” He wrinkled the fine linen tablecloth in his hands. “Apparently she started to have thoughts about harming my sister. She couldn’t make sense of them. She was worried she was going to do something awful. She panicked. She felt as if no one was listening to her—no one really understood how sick she felt. She became absolutely sure she was going to do something to Brianna. She didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. So she overdosed.”

  Phoebe had been leaning back in her chair, trying to comprehend the words that Matteo was saying to her. But as soon as he got to the end of the last sentence she was on her feet instantly, walking around the table and putting her arms around his neck. She didn’t hesitate. She sat in his lap and put her forehead against his as the tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh, your poor mother. I can’t even imagine how frightened she was.” She put her hand on Matteo’s chest. His shirt was open at the neck and she could feel his warm skin beneath her fingertips. “And you, as a little boy, must have been terrified by it all.”

  He gulped. His eyelids were heavy as he lifted his dark eyes to meet hers. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such sorrow before. “I found her,” he croaked. “She was lying on her bed, with a few of the tablets scattered on the floor. I just thought she was sleeping and I... I was happy, because she’d been so upset before and she looked peaceful. The note was lying on the bedside table but I couldn’t read it. It wasn’t until I told the housekeeper that she was sleeping, but hadn’t woken up for Brianna, that everything seemed to go mad.” A single tear slid down his cheek. “I should have told them sooner. I should have known something was wrong.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “You were five. You were a child. You couldn’t possibly know or understand.” She pressed her head against his. “Oh, Matteo,” she breathed as she put a hand at either side of his face. “And you’ve had this on your shoulders ever since?”

  He blinked, with the briefest nod of his head.

  “Your brother and sister, they don’t know?”

  His breathing was a little stuttered. “They know my mother committed suicide.” He shook his head. “They don’t know the circumstances. My father was never able to talk about it. I found out the real truth much later. I tracked down the housekeeper when I was an adult. She told me exactly how my mother had been in the few days before. She’d ranted to Rosa about wanting to hurt the baby—Brianna. She’d told Rosa to take the baby away from her. She’d been sobbing—breaking her heart. Years on, it’s easier to see what happened. But at the time? Any mental health condition was virtually not discussed.”

  Phoebe wiped the tear away with her finger. “What about Brianna? Why are you worried for her?”

  He closed his eyes for a second. She could feel his whole body tremble. “Because it can run in families. If someone else in the family has had it...” His voice tailed off.

  Phoebe felt her heart twist in her chest. “You have to tell her. You have to speak to her. You’ve been carrying this for too long. Your brother and sister are adults. They have a right to know what really happened.”

  He shook his head fiercely. “I can’t tell her. Her pregnancy has been difficult. I can’t tell her anything that would put her under stress. This baby means the world to her. They’ve had problems controlling her blood pressure. They’ve already told her they might need to deliver her in a few weeks. I can’t do anything that would put her blood pressure up and put her, and her baby, at risk.”

  Phoebe pressed her lips together for a second. “How long?
How long have you kept this secret? You’re adults, Matteo. You, your brother and sister are all adults. You should have sat down and discussed this a long time ago.” She knew it seemed harsh when he’d just bared his soul to her, but she was struggling to get her head around all this. Struggling to understand why the man she’d grown to care about—the man who’d made her start to feel again—would have let himself get in this position.

  “It’s family,” he said without hesitation. “You’d do anything for family.”

  Something started to unfurl deep inside her. She got it. She did. More than he knew.

  She kept her voice steady. “Yes. Yes, you would. I understand—probably better than you know.”

  His expression changed. “What do you mean?”

  She licked her lips. “I mean that, for the last six months I’ve been supporting my mother go through cancer treatment. She’s had surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. Part of the reason I took this job was the pay scale. We have huge medical bills to cover. This money...it will make things easier for us. I don’t want my mom to have to worry about covering the bills the insurance company won’t. She’s spent her life, and particularly the last few years, looking after me. It’s time for me to return the favor.” She met his gaze steadily. “That’s why I got on the plane.”

  “For your mom?” All of a sudden his accent seemed so much thicker.

  She nodded. Her insides were twisting. Part of her could tell he might have hoped she’d got on the plane for him. Not for the job. Or for the prestige of working on the house. Or for the chance to visit Rome.

  She lifted her hand and paused it for the briefest of seconds before running it through his hair. “I get why you did this, Matteo. But things have changed. You’re not a little boy anymore. The world has changed. Diagnosis and mental health services are so much better now. Isn’t the way to protect your sister to tell her the truth?”

  He held her gaze for the longest of times, as if he was contemplating her words. “It’s just never been the right time. Vittore was getting married—then he wasn’t. My father got sick. Then we had the funeral. Then there was all the family business to sort out. The houses were the last thing, but then Brianna announced she was pregnant and started having problems—what kind of brother would I be to sit her down and tell her something devastating now?” His hand reached up and closed over hers. He tilted his head to the side and gave her a sorrowful expression. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother was sick? Is she okay now? Is she feeling better?”

  Phoebe gave a nod. “She’s well on the road to recovery with a big support system. I would never have left her if I wasn’t sure she was okay.” His hand reached up and stroked her cheek.

  “But you did,” he whispered.

  “I did,” she replied.

  She felt it. The flicker low, deep down in her belly. The tiny pulses emanating out throughout her body. His lips touching hers confirmed everything she needed to know.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. Finally, she could acknowledge how she was feeling.

  She was ready. She was ready to let go and move on. And she’d found the person she wanted to move on with.

  She didn’t care that he was her boss. She didn’t care they had a million other things to talk about. He needed her just as much as she needed him. There was a reason they’d met.

  Matteo Bianchi was her reason to move on. Her reason to let her heart be exposed to the world again.

  As that thought crowded her brain she pulled her lips back from his to catch her breath.

  She let out a gentle laugh as the scent of the spicy ravioli drifted around them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’ve gone to such a fabulous effort, and it might smell wonderful, but all of a sudden I’m not so sure I want dinner.”

  His dark green eyes met hers. This time they were different. There wasn’t so much sorrow. This time there was a glimmer of something else. His fingers brushed over her cheek. “I ordered my favorite, but I’m happy to leave it behind.”

  His hands went to her waist as he eased her from his lap, stood up, then pulled her against him. “How about we go someplace else?” He gave her a sexy smile. “They say the world is your oyster. But tonight—Rome is your oyster. Where would you like to go?”

  She slid her arms up around his neck. She was delighting in feeling his body against hers. The angled planes, wide chest and taut muscles. It was easy. It was so easy. And she’d never wanted it more. She put her lips to his ear. “How about we just go home?”

  Chapter Seven

  HE WOKE UP to caramel-colored limbs tangled around his own, and tight springy curls just under his nose. Their breathing was synched. Phoebe’s chest rose and fell with his own. The remnants of last night’s passion was evident throughout the room. Her shoes were near the doorway. Her pink dress on the wooden floor, close to his pale blue shirt. His trousers were crumpled near the bottom of the bed. As for their underwear? He had no idea what had happened to it.

  For the first time in thirty-five years Matteo finally felt a true connection to someone outside his family. He’d had no idea about Phoebe’s mom. A tiny selfish part of him had been initially disappointed that she hadn’t braved the plane journey for him—but that was ridiculous. Phoebe Gates was the bravest woman he’d ever met. She’d lost her fiancé, helped her mother fight cancer, then faced her biggest fear to complete a job. And the job wouldn’t be completed for over a week. Somehow he knew that in that space of time Phoebe could work her magic and sprinkle her fairy dust on this villa. Right now, he was contemplating how many excuses he could make for work that would allow him to stay here this week in Rome with Phoebe.

  He hadn’t had a vacation in...how long? Plus, he could fly up and down to some of the vineyards in Tuscany in one day. He could have breakfast with Phoebe in Rome, leave her to do her work while he completed his, then meet her for dinner at night back in Rome. And then...

  Something squeezed inside him. Today felt different. Today was the morning after the night before.

  The first time he’d shared the secret he’d kept since he was five years old.

  For years he’d been haunted by the sight of his beautiful sleeping mother. Thankful she looked so peaceful after a strange few days. Except she hadn’t been sleeping. As a child, he would never have known that. Should never have known that. And he’d actually sat on the floor of her room for a while, playing with his trains while Brianna gurgled in the cradle.

  It was only when Brianna had started to get noisier and his mother hadn’t roused that he’d gone to find someone else. At five, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to pick up the squirming bundle. But he certainly hadn’t been ready for the reaction that had followed.

  Those days all blurred into one. Police cars. A quietly spoken doctor. People dressed in black around his father. A funeral that he’d never been told about and certainly not been part of. The invasion of a million Italian relatives who all squeezed him tight and whispered to his father. As for the house at the Hamptons? It had more or less been left exactly as they’d found it. They’d been whisked away to the apartment near Central Park where two female relatives of his father had helped settle him and his brother and sister, before hiring help for the new apartment.

  But that horrible feeling of something being really wrong had never left him. As a child he’d learned quickly not to ask his father anything about his mother—it just seemed to leave him eternally sad.

  As an adult, he’d made a few enquiries. It hadn’t been easy. But even when he knew the truth his father had still been pained to talk about it. He’d told Matteo to remember his mother as before, not in her last few days, and not to mention it to his brother or sister.

  And Matteo, being the good Italian son that he was, respected his father’s wishes.

  Suicide. The one subject most people didn’t want to discuss. P
hoebe’s face had crumpled last night. But the one thing that had struck him completely was her empathy. Empathy for the confusion his mother must have been feeling.

  But that didn’t surprise him. Not at all. On every occasion, Phoebe had proved to him what a good person she was.

  But was he as good a person as Phoebe was? Something was unsettling him. Phoebe had been brilliant last night. But there was more. She was blossoming. Phoebe had always had an internal glow—but when he’d first met her it had been tempered.

  Yet ever since they’d touched down in Rome, the sparkle in her eyes and passionate nature had been brimming over.

  Something twisted inside. Should he really be doing this? He’d never felt a connection like this. He’d never let himself. What if he wasn’t enough for Phoebe? The last thing he’d ever want to do was dim the light in the vibrant, happy person she’d become. He was so used to keeping secrets. So used to keeping his emotions in check. Could he ever behave any differently?

  And while he was comfortable here, lying with her in his arms, she’d made him face up to his next reality. At some point, he would have to speak to Vittore and Brianna. Just not right now. When Brianna had the baby he would make sure he was around her constantly. He would watch. He would monitor. He’d made a few casual enquiries about what to do if he needed to find some professional help. He was confident, in this day and age, things would be fine. And once that stage had passed, once Brianna had her healthy baby and was settled, he could wait and tell them both at a later date. Things would be fine.

  “Hey...” came a murmur.

  He glanced down. Phoebe was rubbing her brown eyes; she gave him a sleep-filled smile. “Hey,” he replied.

  Her stomach gave an involuntary grumble and she let out a deep laugh as she pulled her body back from his and flopped back next to him. Her eyes were twinkling as she turned to him. “I guess this is what happens when you cheat me out of my Italian ravioli.”

  “I cheated you out of your Italian ravioli?” He leaned his head on one hand so he could get closer to her.