Page 29 of Ice To Meet You

Just then, Matteo laughed at something Lola said, tipping his head back. The overhead light bounced off the olive skin of his neck, and I tugged at the corner of my lip with my teeth. What would he taste like? I’d tried to relive our accidental kiss every night, but the memory slipped further away with each passing hour.

Lola batted his arm, and he straightened up. The second he did, his eyes locked onto my mouth. His expression shifted—quick, almost imperceptible—and I released my lip. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and when he smiled, I ran my hand over the tablecloth, desperate to repatriate my fingers with my glass.

His eyes sparkled, and I wanted to curse him out loud forbeing so achingly handsome, so distracting, and everything I didn’t need in my life right now.

“What do you think?” Bruno asked at my side.

I turned to face him. “About what?”

He tipped his head to one side as if I’d asked him about the current time in Bolivia. “About the impressionists.”

I blinked. When had we moved on from fishing quotas and succulents?

“I’d love to hear your opinion,” he said, draining his glass. “I think they’re a little overrated.”

“Well, I … ah …” What had his question even been?

“I’m afraid you’ll have to join the queue, Bruno,” said Matteo from across the table.

Bruno quirked a blond brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Matteo settled back in his seat and folded his arms. “You’ll have to make an appointment to get an answer to your question. Do you know how many excitable men we turn away each day at the gallery? They’re lining up to hear Esmé talk about art. I’m surprised she doesn’t have her own fan club.”

Bruno stared at Matteo like he had two heads. I almost joined him.

Lola giggled nervously. “Stop teasing, Matteo.”

Yes, stop teasing, Matteo.His ribbing Bruno was just like his exchange with Marianne Rossi all over again. It verged on the ridiculous. I wasn’t sure of his motive, but the way he watched Bruno, jaw tight, made it impossible not to wonder—was he jealous I was talking to Lola’s friend?

Lola turned to Bruno. “How about you and Matteo organise some more drinks?” She tipped back her almost full glass. “I’m nearly empty.”

“Of course, your highness,” Matteo said, getting to his feet and squeezing past Lola and Maurice.

He and Bruno headed to the bar, and Lola settled back in her seat. She ran her eyes over me, and they sparked withmischief. A pit formed in my stomach. Why did I have the feeling I was in for trouble?

“You know, Esmé, I admire you. Not only are you a successful gallery owner, but you never lose your cool. And you have that timeless elegance thing going on. Like Grace Kelly or … Queen Elizabeth.”

Maurice guffawed into his wineglass. “Aren’t they both dead?”

I raised an eyebrow, willing the pressure building in my chest to dissipate. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

Her smile widened, with a side helping of saccharine sweetness. “Oh, I just mean you’ve got that whole composed and in-control vibe going on. Confidence, you know? It must come with age.”

My lips tightened, and I took a sip of my drink to stall my reply. “Must it?”

I narrowed my eyes at my employee. These were technically after work hours, and she hadn’t been outright offensive, but the edge to her voice made my teeth grind together.

Before I could suggest we drop the subject, Lola’s gaze slid to the bar, where Matteo and Bruno stood. Matteo chatted with the bartender, a smile on his face. Bruno faded into the ether in comparison.

“Our new recruit is really something, isn’t he?”

I swallowed, tucking some loose hair behind my ear. “He’s a diligent employee,” I replied, keeping my tone as even as possible.

She turned back to me, her expression full of barely hidden glee. “Right. Of course. He’s been diligent. Though, I hate to say it. If I were you, I’d worry about … appearances. People might get the wrong idea.”

My chest tightened. What was she insinuating? Yes, Matteo had been … attentive. He brought me coffee every morning, checked in on me more than was necessary, and had a way of being in the right place at the right time. But that was professional courtesy.

“What exactly do you mean?” I asked, my heart pounding.

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