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“Yes?”
He bent down to her ear. His voice was quiet. “Today I think you were exceptionally brave. You should be proud of yourself.” He brushed a kiss to the side of her cheek, “Sleep well,” he said before disappearing down the corridor.
Phoebe stood in the perfect silence. Outside she could hear the rustle of trees and the chirping of birds. The citrus smell of lemon and orange was drifting through the house.
Maybe it was fatigue, or maybe it was the setting, but Matteo seemed different here. More relaxed. More...accessible.
She put her hands up to her face. The kiss was nothing. A gesture of sympathy. Or maybe of friendship.
She walked up the stairs slowly and crossed into the airy bedroom. The shutters were wide open, allowing her a tiny glimpse of the Coliseum. She smiled. Dressing this house would be a joy and a pleasure.
And maybe something else...
* * *
He’d wanted to kiss her. First, on the plane when she’d been so upset. But that had hardly seemed appropriate when she’d mentioned the loss of her fiancé. Then second, when her eyes had lit up with pure pleasure at the house.
Her excitement was palpable. And it felt infectious. No matter how worried he was, no matter how many other things he had on his mind, being around Phoebe just seemed to make the world feel a little more right.
She’d been in the villa five minutes before she’d been able to visualize what she could do to make some improvements. And she’d been right. He’d known that instantly.
A few hours later he was showered, changed and only slightly jet-lagged. Phoebe appeared a little more tired. Dressed in a bright pink dress with a light cardigan, her bag on her arm and a notepad in her hand, she seemed ready to go.
“Would you like to have some brunch?” he asked.
She shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “I’m feeling a little queasy to be honest. Give my body time to realize what zone it’s in.” She pulled a bottle of water from her bag. “I’ll just stick to this for now.” Then she glanced around. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re much more used to traveling than I am. Do you want to have brunch?”
Her openness was so refreshing and his heart gave a little twist. Brave. That was what else Phoebe was. But it wasn’t her most obvious trait until you got to know her. Was that what had happened to him? He’d got to know her?
Phoebe had shared probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She’d also showed him that fears could be conquered if you really faced up to them.
He could learn a lot from Ms. Gates. He still hadn’t had that conversation with Brianna. Every day, time grew shorter. His sister had experienced enough during this pregnancy; at the end she was hoping and praying for a healthy baby—and so was he. But he was also hoping for a happy, healthy sister.
Brianna had no idea what had happened to their mother. She couldn’t possibly understand that the happy, well-balanced woman had acted strangely after the delivery of her third child. Matteo hadn’t understood it himself. He just remembered her shouting and acting irrationally. But those memories were fuzzy. Because his father had tried to shield him from the worst of it.
As an adult he understood a lot more. Postpartum psychosis had been a little-known diagnosis thirty years ago. His mother had no history of mental health problems. So, her disintegrating mental capacity had bewildered those around her. The sudden paranoia, delusions, severe confusion and manic behavior had been confusing for her friends and family. The ultimate tragic outcome, overdosing on medication and leaving a suicide note, telling her husband how she couldn’t bear the thoughts she was having—thoughts of harming her new baby—was quietly hushed up. It was years before Matteo finally put the fragments of his memories together in his brain, and when he had, his father had begged him not to tell anyone else.
But he should tell someone else. He should tell Brianna. Because Brianna was more at risk. Postpartum psychosis could run in families. And from the day and hour his sister had told him she was pregnant, he’d thought about nothing else.
“Matteo?” Phoebe was standing directly underneath him, her hand touching his wrist and her light floral scent floating up around him. Her dark eyes were fixed on his. “Matteo, are you okay?”
He nodded and gave himself a shake. Focus. That was what he needed to do. “Sure. Everything’s fine. Are you ready to see Italian-style warehouses?” He crooked his elbow toward her and she gave a smile as she slid her hand into place.
“Lead the way. I can’t wait.”
* * *
It seemed that Italian warehouses were very like the ones in New York. A few hours of serious shopping seemed to get her most of the things she would need to dress the gorgeous home. By the time they’d finished, the sun was a little lower in the sky and the air a little closer. Matteo made arrangements to get all the goods shipped directly to the villa.
