Page 82 of Ice To Meet You

“The second time?”

I smiled. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, if you ever want to tell me, I’m all ears, and judgement free. Now that I’m married, I need to live vicariously through my single friends. So, how do you plan to proceed? I assume you won’t be disappearing into cupboards long-term?”

“I hope not. Dust makes me sneeze. But I do have a favour to ask and it’s a little unfair. Please don’t tell Luc. Not until after his exhibition. I know he can be a bit dramatic and moody when he’s under pressure.”

Iris giggled. “Yes, and I love it. Look, I won’t go out of my way to tell him, but if he asks, I can’t lie.”

I nodded, a weight tugging on my heart. I didn’t want to lie to my best friend, either. “I’ll tell him after tomorrow night.”

She nodded, but after a beat, her face brightened. “What are you planning to wear? Luc wants me in silk. He says it’s his lucky fabric. But I had a fancy for something a little more frivolous. Maybe something in polka-dots. What do you think?”

I chuckled. Oh, the delights of a life without a guilty conscience. “I’ll probably wear something sedate and boring.”

She nodded. “Like a nun’s habit?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, at the very least, your dress needs a high neckline. You don’t want anyone to catch Matteo staring at your boobs. Any stray glances could blow your cover.”

I stared at her in shock, and her face dissolved into a grin. “I’m only kidding.”

Teasing or not, she had the right idea. I needed to play it safe until after the exhibition—no mistakes, no drama, and nothing to arouse suspicion. I only hoped Matteo would be on the same page.

28

MATTEO

Iscanned the gallery, soaking in the lively atmosphere. Esmé had crafted the perfect setting for Luc’s exhibition—elegantly lit and filled with well-dressed guests, drinks in hand, mingling with effortless sophistication.

I let out a tight breath. Our lives couldn’t be more different. This room of wealthy people bore no resemblance to the places I spent my time. But this was Esmé’s life, and however different from mine, I’d be there for her.

A shock of silver hair caught my eye, and I peeked through the crowd to see my grandfather. He was completely in his element, shaking the hand of an equally rich looking man, his face aglow.

He’d greeted Esmé like family when he’d arrived, and now he basked in the glory of well-wishers and hangers-on. Yes, this was my grandfather’s life, too. And if Gio had his way, it’d also be mine.

I forced down the tightness in my throat and tipped back the rest of my wine. Could I really survive in this group of privileged and polished people?

I searched the room for Esmé but couldn’t findher.Instead, I found Marianne and Alessandro Rossi. They held court on the other side of the gallery, looking smug and thoroughly invested in the glow surrounding Esmé. I smiled. The woman who’d stolen my heart deserved all the praise she got tonight.

Marianne caught my gaze and sent a little wave. I waved back, hoping she didn’t read too much into my gesture. She’d cornered me earlier asking what my plans were for Rome and how heavily I’d be involved in Esmé’s gallery.

I’d given her a vague response, but then she suggested I accompany her on a tour of the mountain monasteries I’d mentioned. Apparently, she wanted to meet the squirrels and have an “immersive” experience that only a knowledgeable guide could give. At the glint in her eye, I dreaded to think what “immersive” might involve.

I scanned the crowd again and finally spotted Esmé weaving towards Luc du Comtois and his wife. Taking a steady breath, I watched as she moved gracefully in a midnight blue satin dress, the rich colour bringing out the warmth of her chestnut hair.

Earlier, upstairs, she’d put on a fashion show just for me, trying on potential outfits. I’d told her I preferred her naked, but she’d laughed and insisted she didn’t have the nerve for full nudity—not with my grandfather attending.

The memory pulled at my heart, remembering the way her eyes crinkled with laughter, then the soft sigh that escaped her lips when I showed her just how much I appreciated her skin.

Here in the gallery, she stole all my attention as she nodded, talking to someone, pointing to one of the portraits. Her face was alive with excitement. She looked beautiful. Even Luc du Comtois was flashing the odd, rare smile this evening. Despite his frosty demeanour, he was a good friend to Esmé, and he obviously adored his wife.

I turned towards the makeshift bar with a smile. My mood soured the moment Lola appeared. I tightened my eyes. Ashock of blond hair and a cheap suit caught my attention, too. I scowled. What the hell was Bruno doing here? I’d personally overseen the invitation list, and his name hadn’t been on it.

They giggled over his phone as they walked my way, but the moment they noticed me, Lola froze. Wide-eyed, she yanked Bruno back by his shirt cuff. As our eyes met, he swiftly pocketed his phone, his gaze bouncing around the gallery. A thin sheen of perspiration formed on his upper lip, glittering in the light.

“Bruno,” I said. “Long time no see. I notice you’re still wearing nylon. You really should change to woollen suits. They allow the skin to breathe.”

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