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It wasn’t a question, and for a moment she thought Matteo would decline. Then he picked up the napkin in his lap and tossed it onto the table before standing. He straightened his already straight tie, and gave his father a nod. Walking to her side, he pulled her chair back, helping her to stand.
“Miss Wence?”
Vivi shared a look with Lincoln, who nodded his assent, before rising. She smiled at Matteo, who turned to walk away, and she followed. He led her back to the ginormous foyer before turning down a hallway. She had to two-step it to keep up, because his legs were a million miles long and she was the size of a Smurf. When he turned into a room, she all but skidded to a stop, almost slamming face-first into his back.
They were in a den of some kind. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves bracketed a marble fireplace. Two tufted wingback chairs rested in front with an ornate table between them. A large mahogany desk decorated the other side of the room, resting on a Persian rug. The traditional office setup lacked a computer or anything that pulled it into the twenty-first century. On the walls, however, were dozens of paintings, everything from landscapes to portraits. Like someone used the paintings as wallpaper.
“Oh, wow,” she said, starting with one wall and moving in a slow circle around the room. It was like she was in a museum.
“Ancestors,” he muttered. He walked over to a bar in the corner and poured himself a shot of amber alcohol from a decanter.
“You look like that dude,” she said, pointing. The man in the portrait had a classical Italian profile. “But your nose is better-looking.”
“Thanks?” It was more a question than an actual acknowledgement.
“Nice house you have.”
He snorted. “It’s a mausoleum.”
“Yeah, okay, I can see that. Still, if you’re gonna be stuck losing your mind in an overly large tomb, at least you have enough space to roam around in it.”
A reluctant smile pulled at his lips. He downed his drink, set the glass on the bar top, and came over to stand next to her.
“I’m far better-looking than him,” Matteo observed, almost absently.
She bit back her grin. “I think you’re right. His eyesarea little too close together.”
They stood in silence for a long moment. Vivi looked at him out of the corner of her eye, not moving. She sensed a change in him. His shoulders relaxed on a deep sigh, perhaps letting some of the ice melt.
“How did you know?” he finally asked.
“Know?”
“You said I looked sad. I was wondering how you knew.”
“I didn’t for certain,” she replied, “but your aura is grey. Don’t get me wrong, you have shades of red, some black, but the grey is dominant.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“I get that a lot,” she said, smiling. “Auras are basically an electrical energy of color surrounding all living things, and those colors represent emotions. Grey means you’re sad. Or depressed. It tampers down all the other colors.” She bit her lower lip before plunging on. “My brother was murdered not too long ago. My sister, Zaylah, had to identify his body and I was left alone in my home that suddenly didn’t feel like a home anymore. All my colors got leeched. Then I was kidnapped and kept in a bedroom for three months. I won’t go into the details of what my psyche went through, but it gave me an opportunity to think about Brady. To mourn him without anyone around. I’ll never forget him, but at least my grief was laid to rest with him. And slowly, my colors came back.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Still stayed retreated into his head, into whatever memory made him sad. His fists clenched, and suddenly the color around him flashed to black. Vivi touched the top of his hand.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just be calm.”
He took in a shuddering breath, as if he hadn’t breathed for a very long time. It was a breath of a man coming back to life. His grey aura faded, blue and red taking prominence.
“I lost someone,” he finally said. His voice was flat. Emotionless. “She was my everything.”
He broke off, a muscle ticking his cheek as if he tried to hold onto his feelings.
“Who was she?”
“She was no one. She didn’t come from my world.” He waved a hand toward the family paintings. “Wasn’t part of all this.”
“You loved her.”
He nodded. “She was taken from me. Killed by Romanelli enemies.” He rubbed the back of his hand, right where Vivi had touched him. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
