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The warmth of his hand on mine felt wonderful. ‘I do try to be strong.’
‘I can see your strength. You show your capability every time you get up and work in the kitchen. Losing a parent is … gut-wrenching. When I lost my papa, I found it extremely difficult to keep motivated, and I felt lethargic every day, but … exercise, food, and making people happy is what makes me happy, so I found peace in doing what I loved.’
I smiled my broadest smile in weeks. It felt so nice to be with someone who understood and was on the same page as me. ‘Me too. I just kept cooking because it made me feel closer to my dad, and it helped take my mind off the pain. A little, anyway.’
‘The pain will always be there deep down, but every experience has shaped you into the person you are now.’ His green eyes glanced at me.
I beamed at him. ‘I guess, if anything, it’s helped me become more mature.’
‘Your honesty is refreshing, Naomi. It’s a rare quality.’
It felt strange to have such a deep conversation with a man about my emotions, death, and family. Conversations with Seb were mostly shallow, and Deb was the main person I got deep with, which is what made the idea of moving out so hard. She was my rock. When things got out of hand, we’d always have each other’s backs. She was the one person there for me during my parents’ divorce, when I needed someone more than ever. But did I need to make my mental health suffer to be a good friend? There was no way she was going to change her drinking habit, and I wasn’t happy, so was the answer to put myself first and move out?
Patrick was the most mature and understanding man I’d ever met. He was so generous, and not to mention beautiful, I admitted to myself as I admired his profile.Uh oh, I cannot fall in love with my boss. This is dangerous.
As we pulled into his spacious garage, I turned to Patrick.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked in a sincere tone.
‘Yes, I feel much better after our chat.’ I nodded with a relaxed smile.
‘No, I mean your skin. It’s bright red.’
Oh no. I slipped the compact mirror from my handbag and stared at my red, blotchy skin.The glow oil. I stammered with embarrassment, ‘Uh, I guess this new skincare’s rave reviews were deceptive.’ I swallowed. ‘No glowing skin for me, just an allergic reaction.’
‘Well, you’re certainly glowing!’ He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly added, ‘It looks painful. Does it sting?’
‘No, it’s okay. I think I should rinse it off, though.’ I unbuckled my belt, ready to go to the bathroom.
‘I’d say so.’
We hopped out of the car, and Patrick escorted me down his lengthy hallway to his opulent bathroom, then closed the door, leaving me to clean myself up. His bathroom was tiled with travertine, floor to wall. The tall ceiling was a gloss white, and a crystal chandelier hung from the centre of the room.
I walked past the white spa bath adorned with gold taps and past the shower big enough for three people and made my way over to the double-basin vanity. The basins weren’t regular ones but were large, white clamshells made with some kind of porcelain. Golden highlights decorated the textured lines of the outer shells, which were adorned with more gold taps. I admired the ornate chandelier wall lamps on the outsides of the humungous mirror. They gave a soft, romantic glow to the setting, and the imitation wicks flickered slowly, looking identical to real candlelight.
After splashing water over my face in one of his double basins and patting myself dry with a fluffy, white handtowel, I stared inthe mirror and examined my face. My mascara had run down my cheeks, along with the oil.Great.I looked super attractive with more racoon eyes and irritated red skin.
I made a mental note to never buy skincare online before trying it again – rave reviews be damned!
Thanks to the help of more water and cotton tips, I managed to wipe the smudges away but was still left with irritated, burning eyes.This is as good as it’s going to get,I thought as I walked out of the bathroom and searched for Patrick in his huge, immaculate home.
During my search, I stumbled across an oil-painted family portrait encased in a baroque-style golden frame. It was positioned perfectly straight on his hallway wall. My heart stopped as I caught sight of his tall, handsome father, whose life had been robbed by a stroke. He had kind, golden-brown eyes, deep-olive skin, and a receding hairline. Next to the father stood Patrick’s mother with her hair backcombed and her dusty-pink lips pursed. In the bottom row stood Caterina in the middle, Patrick to her left, and a man who I assumed to be his older brother on the right. His brother had a larger build than Patrick and was taller too. He had his father’s golden-brown eyes, deep-olive skin, and the look on his audacious face showed he was the naughty one in the family. He also gave off an alpha-male vibe with his arms crossed while all the others had their hands knotted neatly together. They all looked young; I guessed Patrick and his siblings were in their late teens at the time of the painting.
‘Patrick, where are you?’ I called as I continued to search for him.
‘Just in the kitchen, Naomi,’ his soothing voice echoed down the hallway.
As I walked into the stainless-steel and marbled kitchen, I was presented with an antipasto platter on a round wooden board.There was a ramekin of olives in the centre, cherry tomatoes garnished with basil, folded salami, strips of prosciutto, a huge bunch of red grapes, a cup of breadsticks, and cubes of Camembert.Yum.
‘Who’s that for?’ I asked, looking at the platter, suddenly feeling embarrassed about my face.
‘Us, silly.’ He laughed. ‘Us Italians love a late-night meal.’ He winked. ‘How did you go with your rash?’
My body relaxed at the kindness in his voice.
‘Oh, it feels a bit better. I think the cold water helped take away some of the redness.’
‘I’ve got some aloe vera gel from my farm if you’d like to use some?’
