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‘We had to sell,’ he said softly.
‘But he bought it just to ruin it,’ Skye murmured, shaking her head. ‘Such needless destruction. I want to undo that.’
Matteo’s eyes met hers and it was a moment that was perfect and poignant all at once. Because his eyes locked with Skye’s and she felt, for the first time, as though maybe he did love her. And it wasn’t about her at all. It was about the hotel. The damned hotel.
She looked away awkwardly. ‘I know it will take time. And a lot of money. But can you imagine?’
‘I don’t need to imagine. I can remember.’
Skye nodded. ‘I presume you have an idea as to where to start?’
His nod was brusque. ‘Let’s discuss it over dinner.’
Skye rolled her eyes. ‘We ate on the plane.’
‘Is our marriage going to consist of me suggesting food and you insisting you are not hungry? I do not seem to remember this being the case before.’
‘Before, you found a way to deplete my energy and increase my appetite constantly.’
‘Ah. Something I am happy to do now, believe me.’
Her stomach swooped and a wave of nausea buffered her. Suddenly, the idea of something like hot chips or focaccia was infinitely appealing. ‘I could eat,’ she said, changing the subject onto safer ground.
‘And we will talk about Il Grande Fortuna.’ His eyes glittered and her heart stuttered. He loved this place, and she owned it. He loved the baby she was growing. Suddenly, the fact he didn’t love her seemed less important. Perhaps she could make do with these small crumbs?
She studied the hotel with renewed interest as they moved inside and down the stairs. While it was dark and dilapidated, so much of it was still glorious. The spine of the place was unmistakably perfect. The wide staircase, the chandeliers, the high ceilings and the skylights that were frosted over now with smog and dust but that had been, at one point, crystal-clear and had permitted light from the sun and the stars to filter into the hotel.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said as they reached the foyer, her eyes chasing the potential through the present.
‘It was,’ he agreed.
‘And it will be again.’ They walked towards the door in silence, but once there Skye paused. ‘Thank you for showing it to me. It’s helped me understand, I guess.’
‘Understand?’ he prompted.
‘I understand why it means so much to you. If it had been less special...’ She didn’t finish the thought. She wasn’t even sure of what she’d wanted to say.
Matteo pushed the door open and Skye stepped onto the street, looking left and right and imagining how they would rejuvenate even this aspect. She crossed to the other side as Matteo locked the door and stood with her hands on her hips, staring up at the façade, imagining it once it had been cleaned and had flags hanging from the brass poles that were languishing in neglect. She imagined it with window boxes that would be full of geraniums, all bright red, greeting the day as it rose overhead and offering their guests a hint of wild flora in the middle of Rome.
‘What are you thinking of?’ he asked as he came to stand beside her.
She smiled wistfully. ‘Of the geraniums we’ll have planted. On every window sill, just like at your villa.’ She sighed. ‘I loved waking up to them. Before. Before I left,’ she clarified, colour darkening her cheeks at the oblique reference to their first attempt at married life. ‘I used to pick them and place them in a vase—’
‘I remember.’ A gravelled interruption.
‘I mean they’re such an ordinary flower, I suppose, yet they’re beautiful and resilient and so willing to grow,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I can see them here.’
‘So can I,’ he agreed, without taking his eyes from her face.
* * *
Discussing the hotel with Matteo over dinner brought the project more to life for Skye, so that by the time they boarded the flight home late that night, and then arrived back in Venice, Skye was full of excitement.
‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep,’ she murmured as they walked in the door of the villa. It was almost midnight, and she should have been exhausted, but a strange feeling was flooding her body.
The nausea was back, and she knew why. It was the sheer thrill of what they were going to do. Not just the baby, but everything else.
The hotel—something she’d viewed as an intense negative—was now something she contemplated with enthusiasm. And she was also utterly in love with it. Yes, she could admit her love for the hotel. It was simple. It was impossible not to love it. Or perhaps that was the baby in her stomach, willing her to connect with the ancestry that meant so much to the Vin Santos.
