Page 67 of Ice To Meet You

“I’m not sure. But at least he likes you. It’s a great start.”

She furrowed her brow, pulling at a thread on the coveralls. “Tell me, though. Why do you do what you do? How come your grandfather has no idea? Isn’t it sad that you can’t share your passion with him?”

I shook my head with a smile. “I suppose. But I assure you, he has no problem sharing his passion with me. As often as possible.”

“So, he wants you to take over his business?”

Even coming from Esmé’s lips, the thought filled me with dread. “Yes. And I’m trying very hard to avoid it.”

Esmé paused, then sighed. “It must be hard. Why is he so insistent?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “My parents died when I was young.”

She turned to face me. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I was so young when they passed, I don’t really remember them—I only have photos. My father shared my grandfather’s love for art, and ever since he died, Gio has had this idea that I should step into the role he left behind.”

“Follow in his footsteps?”

“Exactly. But while I like art, it’s not what makes me happy.”

“So, what does?”

The atoms between us charged, sending a warm buzz to my chest. “As I said before. I like to be on the edge. Feel out of control.”

Esmé wrinkled her nose. “And now you’re stuck working with me at my boring gallery for six months.”

I looked over at her. How could I tell her just how out of control I felt right now? Every minute—every second I spent with Esmé—took me further and further away from my dream. From my plans.

“I enjoy working at your gallery. Being nearyoumakes me very, very happy.”

Esmé turned her head, her eyes wide. I don’t know why, butthe pulsing in my chest and something about the moment told me she wouldn’t reject me. I reached out and brought my open hand to her thigh.

She stared at my palm for a heartbeat before finding my gaze. Her lips turned up at the corners and she threaded her fingers through mine. I swear the angels in heaven high-fived, and my chest throbbed like it’d explode.

“Then tell him what youdowant. He’ll understand.”

I shook my head. “It won’t matter. Gio can’t accept that I don’t crave the same life as him. But I’m hoping that if I give him a little of what he wants, he’ll eventually give me less pressure.”

“But if he doesn’t know what you do in your spare time, how will he ever know how you feel?”

I squeezed her hand. “I don’t think it matters to him how I feel. He’s never been content with me. I don’t fit his mould. I’m not like my father. He says I’m too wild. He might be right, but a dull, uniform life terrifies me. The thought of every day being the same. It’d be like suffocating slowly.”

Esmé played with her hair, curling it through her fingers. Her eyes fixed straight ahead. “So, you’ll never be involved in his business? With his galleries?”

“I didn’t say I’d never be involved. But I have things I want to do first. Plans of my own.”

She opened her mouth, perhaps to ask what I meant, but at that second, we pulled up outside her apartment.

23

ESMÉ

Istepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in the silk robe Iris bought me on her and Luc’s honeymoon. The pyjama set included a slinky tank top and a pair of little shorts.

When the door clicked shut behind me, Matteo looked up and a spark of heat in his eyes made my skin prickle.

Was I nervous about my choice of clothes? Absolutely. Should I have worn a thick button up sleep suit to spend the evening with Matteo? Definitely. But thanks to our brush with danger on the zip line, I had a welt the size of a small country under my right butt cheek. The strap of the harness had cut into my skin and anything clingy was out of the question.

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