He took it from me with a quirk of one eyebrow. “You know, I’m sad he didn’t feel he could tell me. His adventures seem like such a big part of his life.”
I returned to my seat, taking a sip of my wine. “I think he didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Gio chuckled. “I must be some kind of monster in his eyes. I’ve watched his videos. Watched them all. He looks so happy.”
“He is. I suppose we can’t all be art connoisseurs.”
Gio’s smile dropped. “But what will he end up doing with his life? I worry about him. I lost his father. I don’t want to lose Matteo, too.”
I played with the stem of my glass. “Don’t worry. Matteowill always succeed.” I cast my mind back to the day on the zip line, to the people who’d recognised him. To Marianne and Alessandro Rossi. “People love him. They go out of their way for him. And you know, he has so much respect in his field.”
He scoffed. “Respect?”
“Yes. He’s very good at what he does. You must have seen how many followers he has? They look up to him.” I thought back to the blond man on the zip line platform. The adoration in his eyes. “They idolise him, even. And he’s been offered contracts and endorsements. He could build a solid business out of what he does, particularly with your backing. If he knew you were supportive, I don’t doubt Matteo would make you proud. He loves you.”
Gio smiled and took a sip of wine. “And what about you, Esmé? Do you think you can put up with his ‘spirit’?”
I swallowed. Just how much had he guessed about us?
He tipped his head to the side and pointed to the wall full of Matteo and me. “I see him look at you like this and I think of his father. The way he looked at Matteo’s mother. Like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.”
My breath escaped me, and I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“My son was a lot like Matteo. Impetuous and high spirited, but he fell in line with my wishes. He joined me in the business. He probably begrudged me, but in the end, he made me proud. A lot of that was because of Isabella, Matteo’s mother. She was more like you. She grounded him. He knew she would always be there.”
At the intensity in his eyes, my heart sped up.
He chuckled. “Even if it was just to rein him in.” He turned his steely eyes on me. “You strike me as a little more grounded than my grandson.”
I gripped the stem of my glass tighter. “What makes you think I have any influence over him?”
He gave me a look, like I was crazy. “I’m not blind. Anyone can see there’s something between you.”
The hair on the back of my neck raised. “I … um …well …”
“Please. Give an old man a little credit. And just so you know, I’m not upset.Perhaps I’m a little surprised, but then my grandson has never followed any path I expected.”
My stomach twisted. So, he knew. Or at least suspected. And he wasn’t upset—yet. He had to know Matteo was nearly five years younger than me. But how would he handle the scrutiny I dreaded?
When he considered how it might look to others? Would he see me as an opportunist, taking advantage of his grandson’s youthful enthusiasm? Or worse—would he assume Matteo was just playing around, indulging in a fling that would fizzle the moment he got bored?
The weight of his gaze made my skin prickle, and I forced myself to keep my expression neutral.
“Matteo and I have become … close.”
He shook his head slowly, but his smile was still in place. “You’re being very diplomatic.”
“Fine. We’re very close. And I know it’s not an ideal situation. He’s a little younger than ….” The words died on my lips as his canny eyes swept over my face.
“He is, but only by a few years. He can be remarkably mature when he needs to be. He dealt with the death of his parents with barely a complaint.”
I took a sip of my wine, grateful for the change in subject. “He said he doesn’t remember them. What he remembers most is the ideal that he was held to. The stories you told him about them. You and Maria were the only parents he knew.”
Gio’s eyes widened, and I bit my lip. Did my words overstep a boundary? Were they too on the nose? But with the absolute mess of the exhibition under my belt already, what did I have to lose?
Again, Gio looked at the vision of Matteo on the screen—his arms closed around me, his grandson’s eyes shining bright.
“I always made him feel like he was never good enough,” he murmured.