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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.”
