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Phoebe spread her arms wide. “What was the one place you know your family didn’t have any immediate plans for?”
Matteo shook his head again. He was still tired. He’d been tempted to lie down on one of the beds that Phoebe had already dressed upstairs, regardless of whether it would ruin the look of the room or not.
Phoebe jumped up. Literally, jumped up onto her feet, a wide smile across her face. “We’re dummies,” she declared before spinning around. “Here, Matteo. Here. The library. The place that was going to remain undisturbed. The place that children probably wouldn’t play, and the renovations wouldn’t touch.” She ran over and flicked the main light switch, flooding the room with light.
It was like being hit by a thunderbolt. Of course. Of course.
Phoebe had already made her way over to the shelves. She wagged her finger at him. “It’s time for us to stop sniggering like naughty school kids at the ancient sex manuals and look for the real prize. A red album. It has to be here.”
Phoebe climbed up the shaky rolling steps and started to look at the top shelves. She pointed downward. “Let’s be methodical about this. You look at the shelves underneath me.”
Matteo nodded. His eyes swept along the shelves. A lot of the books were far too thick to be a photo album. Most of them were the wrong color. He pulled out a few, checking they really were books, then pushing them back onto the shelves.
“Right” came Phoebe’s authoritative voice from above him. “Push me along a bit.”
He looked up and pulled a face at her.
“What? There’s no point in me climbing up and down, when you can just push me along.”
“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”
She shrugged and gave him a little smile. “Maybe. But push me along anyhow.”
The ladder squeaked and shook as he wheeled her along. “Don’t get used to this,” he murmured.
She laughed above him and his stomach gave a little flip. The horrible dread and associations he’d always had about this place didn’t seem quite so bad when Phoebe was around. Five minutes later—after she’d got used to ordering him around—Phoebe let out a squeal.
“I think I’ve got it!”
Matteo jumped back, stopping at the bottom of the steps. Phoebe spun around above him, clutching a red album in one hand. Excitement seemed to bubble from her. He lifted his arms up toward her. It just seemed so natural. So easy. And Phoebe didn’t hesitate—she let him lift her down the steps.
The album was in her hands. It looked old. She flicked open the front page then stopped and stared at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want to do this yourself?”
He hesitated. Part of him absolutely did.
But part of him absolutely didn’t.
All of a sudden the lights in the library seemed too bright.
“Give me a second.” He walked over and flipped them off. Somehow it seemed safer to be in the flickering firelight. “Let’s sit down,” he said.
Phoebe nodded and walked back over, sitting down in front of the fireplace with the album on her lap. She waited until he joined her, then opened the first page again.
There was no photo. Instead his parents’ names were written in calligraphy.
June 15, 1980
Roberto Matteo Bianchi and Lucianna Maria Aquino
His mouth suddenly felt dry and he was conscious of Phoebe’s eyes on him. He couldn’t remember ever looking at his parents’ wedding album before. He was sure he’d seen one wedding picture. His father had kept one in a frame, hidden away in his study for years. But the rest? Matteo had never seen them.
He flicked over the next page and caught his breath. His mother. So young. She was twenty-two when she got married. She was sitting in her wedding dress in front of her dressing table looking suitably nervous for a young bride.
Her dress was an Italian lace overlay over a white bodice. It was simple. Round necked and short sleeved. It cinched in at the waist, with the skirt flaring out. Her dark brown curls cascaded over one shoulder and clutched in her hand a bunch of white lilies surrounded by baby’s breath. His mother had always loved those. They’d decorated the house frequently.
Phoebe touched the plastic covering the photo. “Her dress is beautiful,” she murmured. Matteo licked his lips. He’d always known that Brianna was the spitting image of their mother, but never had it been so apparent. They could almost be the same person. That thought was enough to send a cold chill down his spine.
Phoebe flicked the page. The wedding album was filled with all the usual pictures. Matteo’s mother with her own father, looking suitably proud. A gaggle of bridesmaids, all dressed in wide pale pink dresses. A whole host of relatives that even Matteo wasn’t entirely sure of.
But then Phoebe flicked the page again and there was his father. His eyes full of joy and life. It was like a fist closing around Matteo’s heart.
It wasn’t that his father had spent the rest of his life miserable. There had been the odd glimmer of spark and happiness. But the truth was, those moments had been few and far between. After the death of his mother, his father had focused all his energy and attention on business. He’d been ruthless. Sometimes heartless about the decisions he’d made.
He’d never been a bad father. He’d never ignored his children. He’d just been a little...vacant.
Seeing this picture of him so full of life and joy almost wrenched the heart from Matteo’s chest. Phoebe was oblivious. She had a dreamy smile on her face as she flicked the pages. The next showed his mother and father clasping hands at the altar and exchanging vows. The love and devotion was painted on their faces for all the world to see.
Phoebe let out a little wistful sigh. “How gorgeous,” she whispered.
The twisting sensation in his chest stopped. He looked at the picture again with new eyes. It was gorgeous. It was a moment in time—a moment to remember. He lifted his fingers to the page. “I think I’d quite like to copy that photograph,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion.
“You’ve lost them both now, haven’t you?”
The emotions were bubbling up inside him. He’d been feeling anger—despair. Everything about this place overwhelmed him with sadness. But just that single comment. And just the chance to sit down and look through these photos was helping him to take stock.
His parents on their wedding day. So much happiness. So much hope. They’d lived a good life together. His father’s business had flourished. His mother had always been adventurous. She’d relished the move to the United States. She’d loved New York and been happy to plan to bring her children up here.
She’d been happy. She’d adored her husband, and looked forward to a lifetime together. Matteo’s stomach gave a little twist. But fate and misfortune had cut that short. He lowered his head. If he’d raised the alarm...if he’d realized she wasn’t sleeping...
Phoebe turned toward him, her rose scent drifting up around him. Her face was only inches away from his. Their bodies were so close. His arm was resting on the floor, but placed between h
er arm and her body. Just by looking at the album they’d practically found themselves intertwined. Was this fate? Or was this fortune?
It was almost as if all his instincts about Phoebe fell into place at once. She lifted her head, her nose brushing against his chin, and reached up and touched his cheek.
It was the smallest of movements, with a whole lot of heart.
“I think it would be beautiful as a black and white canvas,” she whispered. “Something to look at, and remember.” She paused for a second then added, “We all should remember the things that are precious to us.”
He looked up and met her gaze. In the flickering firelight it was possible he’d never seen a woman look quite so beautiful. Phoebe might be dressed in the most casual of clothes, her hair might show remnants of dust, but her light brown skin glowed, and her dark eyes pulled him in.
There was something there. Something he’d never experienced before. A connection. A feeling. A sincerity.
The timing might be wrong. The circumstances might be less than ideal. But he couldn’t help his instincts. As the world burst into life outside and fireworks filled the air to celebrate the New Year, Matteo bent his head and met her soft lips.
There was no shock. No disdain. Phoebe’s lips were as sweet and inviting as he could have hoped for. The kiss was gentle—sweet. She returned it, her lips parting ever so slightly, encouraging him.
His hand reached up and tangled in her curls, pulling her head closer to his. She let out a little sigh and it was almost his undoing. It would be so easy to continue. So easy to let this progress. They were already on the floor. The bedclothes were scattered around them. He could just pull her on top of him, or slip his hand under the pink top. He could see her gentle curves, and the temptation to touch them was overwhelming.
But, for the first time in his life, Matteo didn’t let his natural instincts set the pace. Instead, he swallowed, and reluctantly let his lips part from hers. He could still taste her, and he’d never felt so hungry for more. Every part of his body urged him to continue.
