Page 89 of Ice To Meet You

ESMÉ

The second Matteo shut the gallery door behind him, my heart shattered to a thousand pieces. Everything felt wrong. He wasn’t here, making me laugh. He wasn’t massaging my shoulders or stroking my hair, and he wouldn’t be in my bed tonight, either.

I cast my eyes around the gallery. There was still so much clearing up to do, but I couldn't summon the energy.

Claudette sat on the corner of my desk, watching me with her large green eyes. “No judgment, please. I’ll clean up tomorrow.”

Instead, I crossed to the cupboard behind my desk and picked out a bottle of wine, running my fingers over the label with a shake of my head. Montepulciano. The irony.

I poured myself a large glass and sank into my chair. “What a mess,” I said to Claudette. She just stared at me, and I sighed. “Of course, you were too busy chasing mice or birds to catch the action.”

I leaned over and picked up the laptop projector remote that lay on my desk. “Look,” I said, pressing play. The wall flickered to life once more.

I watched the video. Twice. The sight of my bottom—and Matteo’s hands on it—still made me groan. But on closer watching, his chivalrous “hands-on’” help wasn’t the only thing that held my attention.

It was the way he cared for me. The tenderness in his touch, the gentle smile on his face as he whispered encouragement, the unmistakable glow in his eyes when he looked at me even when I wasn’t looking back.

I swallowed hard, my head and heart tangling in a whirlwind. Had anyone else noticed? Or was I losing my mind?

A quiet knock at the door pulled my attention, and I paused the video. I checked the clock. Almost midnight. Who on earth would be here this late?

I rose from my chair, crossing the room with near-silent steps on the floorboards. It had to be Matteo. I was surprised he’d left when I’d asked him to. His absence had been a relief. If he’d stayed even a minute longer, my resolve would’ve shattered.

I turned the lock and opened the door. “Matteo?”

“No,” replied a deep, crisp voice. “It’s Gio.” He stepped into the light from above the door and I swallowed. He hovered on the step, looking grave. “Is Matteo here?”

“No.”

“Then may I come in?”

I stepped away and let him inside, following his still-suited back into the centre of the gallery. “Gio,” I said in a quiet voice. “I'm so sorry. I’ve let you down in so many ways. I want you to know how much I’ve valued your guidance, but I understand if you want nothing more to do with me.”

He paused. “And your new gallery?”

I let out a dry laugh. “What new gallery? I think we both know that Rome is even further away from me now than ever.”

Gio sighed, looking at the projection of Matteo and me on the wall. He shook his head, then crossed to my desk.

“Is this Claudette?” He ran the back of his hand over my little cat’s head.

My heart skipped a little. “You know about her?”

Gio smiled. “It may surprise you to know that my grandson and I actually do talk.” He looked back at the projection on the wall and chuckled. “I take it you’ve discovered what my grandson does with his spare time?”

I nodded. “I have. He told me you didn’t know.”

He pulled his brows together. “I heard whispers in Rome. It didn’t take me long to find out. I never told Matteo I knew, though.”

I stared at the wall, at Matteo’s beautiful face. “Then you know he’s all over the internet?”

“I do, but …” Gio shook his head like he couldn't fathom it. “Jumping, climbing, falling out of planes. I knew he liked adventure, but I didn’t know how much.”

I smiled, remembering the warmth of his grandson’s arms. “He’s incredible. He loves art, too, but it’s not his real passion. Not like it is for you and me.”

Gio sat on the corner of my desk with a groan. “May I join you?” he asked, nodding to the open bottle of wine on its top.

“Of course,” I said, pouring him a glass.

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