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‘Wow.’ Matteo was staring at the model.
The individual features, which Rose had been working on so closely yesterday, were just the same. But suddenly she was looking at them as part of a whole. The jaw was a little too strong, the cheekbones a little too high for the face to be classically beautiful, but it was mesmerising. A strong face. One that you’d like to get to know.
‘She’s smiling.’ Matteo nodded with approval.
‘Yes, I thought that if she was loved.... Oh, dear...’ Suddenly two tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Wait.’ He caught her wrist before she could wipe her hand across her face. ‘Don’t, Rose. Please.’
For a moment she thought that he was going to wipe the tears away himself, but he didn’t. She was making a complete fool of herself again, and it seemed that all Matteo wanted to do was watch her cry.
She looked up at him pleadingly. ‘It’s okay...’
‘I really wish you’d stop saying that, Rose. Not giving yourself permission to feel whatever it is you feel isn’t even slightly okay.’
It’s okay. It’s under control. I’m fine. All the words that Alec had wanted to hear didn’t work with Matteo. And when she thought about it, they hadn’t worked for her either, but it was a hard habit to break.
‘So what do I do?’
‘You finish the model. You tell Aemilia what you want to say to her, face to face. And...’ He let go of her wrist suddenly. ‘I’ll leave it up to you whether you want to share it with me.’
‘Okay. You’re going to make coffee?’
He grinned. ‘Sì, capo...’
‘Capo?’
‘Yes, boss.’
* * *
Permission to feel. Matteo leaned in so close when he put the small cup and saucer down on the table in front of her that it seemed certain he’d touch her, but somehow he managed not to. And that left Rose breathless, desire crawling across her skin. His one quiet word—‘Enjoy’—seemed to brush her neck and linger long after he’d walked downstairs, not waiting for her reply.
Could she give herself permission to feel this? If she kissed him again, she’d no longer have the excuse that it was the heat of the moment, an answer to the challenge he’d thrown down.
Rose turned to the model, looking at it carefully. ‘One thing at a time, eh, Aemilia?’
She worked steadily for three hours, the quiet, muffled sounds of Matteo moving around downstairs keeping her focussed. At ten o’clock, just when Rose was thinking about taking a break, she heard the door that led out onto the veranda slam shut.
Rose walked over to the window, allowing herself to watch as Matteo walked down the beach, a towel dangling loosely from one hand. He stopped a few yards short of the shoreline and threw the towel down.
She caught her breath. Muscles that she’d felt tighten under her fingertips now flexed and stretched in the sun as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. He seemed unhurried, as if he were inviting her to take a look.
Turn around. Turn around... If he did turn and face her, she’d know that this was all for her benefit. And she longed to see what she’d only felt, dark, sun-kissed skin rippling over the taut muscles of his chest.
Matteo didn’t turn. Rose watched as he waded into the sea and then started to swim, long, languid strokes taking him away from the shore.
She went downstairs, taking her sandals off and leaving them on the veranda. Under the heat of the sun the sand was warm under her feet, and she picked her way down to the spot where Matteo had left his towel and sat down next to it, smoothing her dress over her legs.
He was striking back for the shore, glittering reflections spilling around him, like shards of broken light. Maybe, now he’d thought about things, he’d decided that he wasn’t the one to hear her jumbled thoughts spilling out like sand crabs, ready to bite anyone that got too close.
Matt
eo walked towards her, droplets of water streaming from his body. It was an almost palpable shock to realise that his lazy, everything’s okay smile was doing a great deal more for her than the image of him rising from the water. Although, thinking about it, the rising from the water thing hadn’t exactly been disagreeable to watch.
‘How’s it going?’ He picked up his towel and scrubbed at his hair.
‘Good. Nearly done. I thought I’d take a break from sitting in one position.’
