All thoughts and feelings that any psychologist in the world could pick apart and dissect, and reconstruct in a more healthy, rational manner.
But never had it been clear to him until this moment.
He’d spent the last month tiptoeing around Brianna, watching for any sign of postpartum psychosis. Any sign that might alert him, as an adult, to what he’d missed as a child.
But Brianna was just Brianna. Initially elated and overwhelmed with parenthood like any new mom. Then tired, overemotional and occasionally irrational. Entirely just Brianna.
But there was something else too. A side he’d never seen of his sister. He was obviously imagining it, but sometimes he could swear Brianna just seemed to glow. Jay had put the biggest smile on his sister’s face that he’d ever seen. In fact, Jay had put the biggest smile on the whole family’s face. The little guy just had to make one squeak and there were ten adults around the crib, palms itching to pick him up.
Brianna walked across the room and wrapped her arms around her brother. “How long have you felt like this? Have you always felt like this? You thought she was sleeping?” Brianna shook her head as a single tear fell down her cheek. “That’s so much for a kid to shoulder. Didn’t you have anyone to talk to about it?”
Matteo shook his head. Vittore sat down on the chair next to him. “So...how did you find out? You said you figured it out.”
Matteo nodded slowly. “Do you remember Rosa, our housekeeper?”
Both shook their heads.
“Of course you don’t. You were both too young. Never mind. I tracked Rosa down. She could fill in all the details. She told me about the note and what was in it. She told me exactly how Mom had been acting—what she’d been saying. Rosa had been so upset about what happened. It turns out in later life she’d been diagnosed herself with depression. Her own psychiatrist and counsellor told her what Mom’s likely diagnosis was. Thing were different thirty years ago and it wasn’t well recognized or diagnosed. They helped her come to terms with the fact that she hadn’t done anything wrong. And she...helped me understand that my mother had committed suicide out of complete desperation. She didn’t want to harm her baby. She couldn’t stop the way she was feeling, and she couldn’t bear feeling like that. She didn’t feel as if she could be responsible for her own actions.”
Matteo’s words hung in the air as Vittore put his head in his hands, and Brianna stared wordlessly at the doors behind which her baby lay.
She put her hand to her chest. “So, the risks, the worry. Why were you worried about me?”
Matteo reached over and clasped her hand. “Because women who have a close relative who’ve suffered from postpartum psychosis are slightly at higher risk.”
“That’s why you’ve spent the last month looking over my shoulder?”
Matteo cringed and nodded.
“You couldn’t just tell me?” She held her hands out. “Tell us? Then I could have spoken to my physician. Asked him about the risks. Don’t you think that would have made more sense?”
He shook his head slowly. “It might seem that way. But how could I tell you? Your blood pressure was up, you’d had that scare... What kind of brother would I be if I’d told you something like that, at a time when the last thing you needed was stress?”
Brianna gave him a sad smile. “I understand. I do.” She looked around and put her hands on his shoulders. “Now I get it. Now I understand why you wanted to sell the Hamptons so quickly. Why you wanted to get rid of the place.”
Something washed over him. A realization.
He looked at them both. “You don’t?”
Brianna and Vittore exchanged glances. Vittore frowned a little. “Well, obviously it’s worth millions of dollars. But I don’t have bad memories of the house—to be honest, I don’t have any memories at all. I’ve always thought of it as a bit of a forgotten beauty. I’ve always been sorry it’s been neglected and left empty.”
“Do you want it?” Somehow that made Matteo’s skin prickle.
Vittore shook his head. “I spend most of my life in California. What would I do with a house in the Hamptons?”
Matteo turned to his sister. “Brianna?”
She shook her head. “I love my place here in the city. I don’t want to move to the Hamptons. But I don’t care about selling. I never really have. I just went along with it because you seemed so insistent.” She waved her hand. “I understand about the villa in Rome. It seemed ridiculous to keep it when we are never there. And your interior designer? Oh, my goodness. What a great job she’s done. The photographs are amazing. As for the selling price for the house...”
As Brianna’s voice tailed off Matteo sagged in the chair. Every time he’d thought about Phoebe in the last few weeks he’d felt instantly sick. He’d let her down. He’d left her.
He’d known exactly how worried she was about the flight, but he’d been so worried about Brianna he couldn’t even think straight. He’d convinced himself he was protecting Phoebe by leaving the way he did. Someone as closed off as him could never offer her the love and life she deserved. As soon as he was back, he’d arranged the transfer of her fee for doing all the work on both houses. The offer for the villa in Rome had been more than expected. It seemed that someone had their eye on the place and was waiting to snap it up.
But who was he kidding? Phoebe might need the money to pay her mother’s medical bills but, somehow, he knew that the transfer of the money was a cold, hard way to complete the end of their business.
As for the house in the Hamptons? He’d had three offers already. But something had stopped him discussing them with his brother and sister, and until this minute he hadn’t really understood why.
He lifted his head.
Now he was seeing the house through new eyes—eyes like Phoebe’s. Because now when he thought of the house at the Hamptons, his first thought wasn’t a sad, horrible one of his mother dying. Now his first thought was bright, and featured Phoebe dancing on the stairs in her yellow dress. When he closed his eyes he could see the brilliant light shining through all the windows in the house, leaving it clean and airy. When his mind drifted, it went straight to the red library with a fire burning, a comfortable rug and fireworks going off in the background.
Phoebe had done this. He’d made these memories with Phoebe.
All of a sudden he realized that the heart he’d been guarding so fiercely had a mind of its own.
“Matteo, what’s wrong?” Vittore was looking at him curiously.
Matteo ran his fingers through his hair. “I might have done something I shouldn’t.”
“Again?” Vittore raised his eyebrows.
Matteo stood up and started to pace. “I might have treated someone...not as well as I could have.” There was a hideous sinking feeling in his stomach. “I might have made a big mistake.”
Brianna’s eyes locked onto his. “What did you do?”
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?”
She bit her bottom lip. What was she doing? Was she crazy?
She grabbed her bag and pulled the door closed behind her. “Let’s go.”
The route was familiar. It didn’t take her long to realize where they were going. For a few minutes she had a mild panic. Were they returning to the home in the Hamptons because Matteo’s family were unhappy with her work? Surely, if they were unhappy they wouldn’t have paid her?
She took a deep breath and settled back against the comfortable leather seat. New York City disappeared behind them making way to the cute streets of the villages and to the wide open spaces of the Hamptons.
By the time they turned into the driveway of the house her stomach was churning.
Carlo pulled up outside and opened the door for her. She waited a few seconds, sucking in a few steadying breaths before she grabbed her bag and stepped out.
She hated it. The way she loved this place. The way just being here made her skin tingle. She knew this place was blackened and tinged with bad memories for Matteo, and maybe now she should have a few bad memories herself. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Every part of her loved this place. Every room. Every piece of furniture. Every scent. And every thought.
Because most of them were filled with Matteo.
She tried to clear her head. She tried to focus. Flowers, coffee and donuts were not an apology. Not in this lifetime.
She might have decided she was ready to move on. But she would ultimately decide when, and with whom.
Her heels clicked across the marble floor, the steps echoing up the spiral staircase she loved so much. She stopped.
There was a different kind of scent in the house. A mixture of lemon and fresh linen with a hint of something else. Was it lavender?
“Hello?” she shouted. There was no response, so she started to walk. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know this place.
Flowers. That was the extra scent. Flowers in every room. A different display, sometimes shades of white, yellow and pale blue to match the surroundings. Sometimes something completely different to add a splash of color. As she walked through to the back sitting room, a tall vase of orange gerberas adorned every table.
She walked over and touched one of the petals. Bright orange and green. It was an interesting combination.
There were footsteps behind her. She turned around as Matteo walked in, holding a tray with coffee and a china plate filled with desserts. He gave her a tentative smile. “I visited our favorite bakery and bought you one of everything.”
She didn’t respond. Just watched as he walked over and slid the tray onto one of the tables.
She was tempted. Tempted by the smells. Tempted by the sight of him again after a month. That strong jaw, his floppy hair and broad shoulders. But she wouldn’t waver.
“What is this, Matteo? What do you want?”
It was the first time in her life she’d seen him look a little uncertain.
“I want to talk,” he said quietly.
She moved across the floor quickly. “Is something wrong with the house? With my work?”
He shook his head. A familiar furrow creased his brow. “Why would you think that?”
She glanced around. “The house—it’s been a month. Why hasn’t it sold yet? I know it’s the wrong time of year. But a place like this? I expected it to be snapped up in a second.”
Matteo licked his lips and nodded. “I’ve had three offers.”
Now it was her turn to wrinkle her brow. “And they didn’t offer enough?”
He shook his head and glanced out the window at Mecox Bay. “They offered more than enough. We... I mean... I decided I didn’t want to sell.”
“You don’t?” She couldn’t hide the surprise from her voice.
She moved over beside Matteo and hesitated for only a second before sitting down.
He turned to face her. “You made me think about things. You made me think differently—” he held up his hands “—about this place.”
She shifted on the seat. “What
do you mean?”
He sighed and looked around. “You didn’t have the same cloud hanging over your head when it came to this place. You saw it through different eyes, and you helped me see it through different eyes too.”
Her heart rate started to quicken. “But you have reasons for how you feel. I don’t want you to hang onto something that you’ll always associate with something bad from your childhood. You need to move on. You need to let go.”
“Like you did?”
It was like a dozen little caterpillars crawling gently up her spine. “What do you mean?”
He reached for her hand. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, Phoebe. And the one with the biggest heart. I’m sorry I left you in Rome. I’m sorry I left you to travel home alone.”
She pulled her hand back. “I’m not.” She couldn’t help how blunt the words were.
“What do you mean?”
She turned away from him and looked at the array of desserts in front of her. She didn’t want him touching her. She didn’t want little electrical sparks shooting up her arms and heading straight to her heart. She picked up a slice of pie and a fork. She stabbed at the pie. “I mean, it was good for me. It was probably what I needed. Life is about looking after yourself. The first time I got on the plane it was for you—and for my mom. I could tell myself there was a reason to do it. I needed that money. I needed to complete the job. But the second time? It was for me. It was to tell myself I could do it. I didn’t need anyone else. I could do this on my own—on my own terms. It was more important than you could ever imagine.”
Matteo shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to her, eyeing the way her fork continued to stab at the pie.
“And what did you learn?”
She licked her lips. “I learned I could trust myself. I learned I could do anything.” Her voice wavered a little. “I learned I could live this life on my own.”
He reached over; the hand holding the fork was trembling and she hadn’t even noticed. He put his warm hand over hers. “And do you want to? Because I believe, Phoebe, that you can do anything you want to do.”
The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride Page 15