Page 39 of Ice To Meet You

I waited for her to continue, but her eyes momentarily drifted back to Matteo. “Is?” I asked. Would she ever get to the point?

She stared at me like I’d asked her about the square root of six. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your husband. You were trying to tell me something about him.”

Her eyes widened, and a smile crept over her lips. “That’s right.” Marianne curled an arm through mine, drawing me closer. “I wanted to speak to you in confidence. Alessandro, my husband, heard some interesting gossip, and I wanted to see if there was any truth to it.”

The skin across the back of my neck prickled, and I swallowed. “Gossip?” Had she discovered who Matteo was? Had she heard about our chairlift kiss, his late-night visit and the new bed he’d bought for Claudette? No, that was silly. He’d only bought the bed this morning. Still, the other options were plausible.

“He heard on the grapevine that you were opening a gallery in Rome.”

My stomach rolled. I’d hoped the news could stay secret until I was sure I could truly afford the move. With Gioonboard, I was more confident, but I couldn’t take anything for granted.

“Well, is it true? You know my husband is Italian. He admires your gallery and would be very interested in investment opportunities. He’s always wanting to dip his toes back into the art scene of his home country. According to him, France, and Paris particularly, is a little, shall we say, snobbish?”

I didn’t disagree with him. “But he’s never met me. Why would he trust me with his money?”

“ButI’vemet you. And he knows how highly I think of you and your gallery. Esmé, I’m your greatest cheerleader.”

At that moment, Matteo walked past and sent Marianne a show-stopping smile.

Her face infused a bright raspberry, and she gave him a little wave of her fingers. “You,andyour team.”

I smiled, fighting the urge to chuckle. Lola, Marianne, and I were indeed newly signed-up members of the Matteo Romano fan club.

“And can I be honest? Alessandro needs a project. Since his retirement, he’s been getting under my feet. I find him wandering our house like a lost soul. Investing in a new gallery would give him something to talk about. Something to boast about to his rich friends.”

At Marianne’s words, my brain fizzed into action. If I had other investors, I wouldn’t be so reliant on Gio’s money. I wanted Gio on board, but additional stakeholders would give me more breathing room.

More money to spend meant a sharper gallery and more influence. After all, two prestigious investors were better than one. Matteo’s grandfather and Alessandro must know each other—the art world was so incestuous.

“Tell me, what are you doing tomorrow night?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” Marianne said, tearing her eyes from what I highly suspected was Matteo’s buttocks. He was currently bentover, picking something up off the floor. I had to admit, I found his buttocks a distraction at the best of times.

“Tomorrow night. Let me take you both out to dinner. We can talk about art and business.”

Marianne nodded so vigorously I thought her head might pop off and bounce over the floorboards.

I quickly trawled through my limited knowledge of local Italian restaurants. Apart from the pizzeria which operated out of a window in the wall, I came up blank.

I couldn’t ask Matteo. I didn’t want him to know I was hedging my bets with his grandfather’s funding, and I couldn’t be sure his culinary tastes ran much further than baguettes. It was all I’d seen him eat since he’d been here.

“Better still,” I said, “Why don’t you and your husband come here? I live in an apartment above the gallery. I’d love to have you both for dinner and talk more about my plans.”

I’d always heard that Italians loved home cooked food. Though not known for my prowess with a skillet, surely even I could come up with something tasty. And after a few glasses of my father’s wine, who could really tell?

Marianne’s eyes sparkled. “We’d be delighted,” she said. “Shall we say seven p.m.? Can we bring anything?”

My mind raced. Damn, I hadn’t planned on shopping and cooking this weekend. But I didn’t want to look disorganised in front of the Rossis. I had a hair appointment, but if I visited the market on my way home, I could probably make do with what I had in the cupboard. I even had a pasta machine tucked away somewhere.

“Only yourselves,” I said. “You’ll find the entrance to my apartment at the side of the gallery. Ring the bell and I’ll come down and let you in.”

Marianne beamed. “Oh, how lovely! Alessandro will be so excited.”

I wasn’t sure if anyone could be more excited thanMarianne, but if I could impress her husband with some decent home cooking, then my already sound business plan would only look better.

“Then I’ll see you both at seven,” I said, bundling her towards the door. She turned back, I swore to find Matteo, but I encouraged her on. I didn’t want her thoughts about him to muddy any waters. He was far too distracting, on many fronts. I needed Marianne and her husband to focus on me andmytalents.

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