Page 6 of A Winter Wedding Adventure
She didn’t have the faintest idea what to make of him. She was annoyed, yes. His promo performance had cost them the night here and he’d laughed far too heartily at the suggestion that they could be a couple – before using that florid term with an earnestness she had to assume wasn’t genuine: lovers.
But despite being grumpy and annoyed and inconvenienced, she was also… a little protective. Wobbly – inside – ever since she’d heard him sing.
Look after Matty… She didn’t know why the bride seemed to think he needed looking after, but she felt it and it wasn’t entirely comfortable.
She studied his face while his eyes were closed: the pinch between his brows, soft lips tensed flat, the locks of hair tumbling over his forehead as though someone had styled him like that. He didn’t give off helpless vibes exactly, although he certainly seemed to cover his eccentricities with an unnecessarily effective dose of charm.
It wasn’t helplessness – it was vulnerability. He’d splashed it all over her when he’d sung from the depths of his soul that evening and made her think of idiotic turns of phrase like ‘singing from the depths of his soul’. Singing was his job. He surely kept his soul out of it, for his own sake.
His eyes snapped open and he caught her watching him. She forced her gaze to remain where it was for long enough that he wouldn’t get the impression she was embarrassed. She hadn’t been admiring his sharp jaw or the indentation in one cheek that suggested a dimple – at least she hadn’t only been admiring those.
‘Did you call the bride?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t had a chance yet.’ His voice was gravelly and he had to clear his throat. ‘I’ll do it when I get into the room. I’m not sure she’ll want to hear I’ve been kidnapped so close to her wedding day, since she needs me to sing.’
‘Is that why you’re getting the special treatment?’
He made a gesture that wasn’t quite yes or no. ‘She probably thinks I wouldn’t make it on my own,’ he said with a wince. ‘She’s not wrong. We’ve known each other since we were babies – well, since I was a baby and she was two. Our mothers are close friends.’
‘She still thinks you’re a baby?’
‘Something like that,’ he replied with an effortlessly stylish shrug.
Their rooms were on the top floor – a standard double and a single tucked in the far corner under the roof. Kira would naturally take that one. Just before they reached the door of Mattia’s room, another one flew open, farther down the corridor.
Mattia flinched, as though he’d expected a gunman to appear and start shooting. It was a couple wrapped up in coats and scarfs, who ignored Kira and her companion; nothing unusual about the encounter, but Mattia was on edge.
Coming to a stop outside his hotel room, Kira prompted, ‘This is yours,’ when he stood staring at the door with a twisted frown. ‘I’m at the other end of the corridor, okay?’ Matty. The bride’s nickname for him suited.
He took a deep breath as though he expected dragons on the other side of the door. ‘Okay.’ Fumbling with his keycard, he managed to get it open and stepped over the threshold.
Kira peered at him doubtfully, then turned for her own room. She could eat and lie down soon in her own blessed company. A quiet evening with a takeaway and the spy series she was currently watching, and she’d shake off this strange opera-induced mood and gird herself for the wedding dramas to follow.
Even in the limited experience she’d gained over the past four months since the merger, she’d learned that with weddings, there could always be more drama. And that was before she added her own memories: her mortifying mistake that had to remain hidden at all costs.
Halfway down the corridor, she realised they hadn’t made arrangements for the following morning, so she headed back. Just before she reached his door, he shot out of the room, his hair askew and his eyes wild. The door closed with a snick. He struggled to take a breath before opening his mouth to blurt out, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t stay here.’
3
Kira swallowed a groan at this new setback. She wondered what could be wrong with the room. Any hotel was the height of luxury to her: crisp sheets and an ensuite bathroom, when she was used to musty dorms with twenty other unwashed bodies up a mountain somewhere.
‘I know you’ll think I’m a prima donna, but I really can’t sleep here. The fridge… It hums.’ His throat bobbed and despite Kira’s gnawing stomach and the haze of frustration, she noted the irregular rise and fall of his chest.
‘Are you all right?’
His first response was a wobble on his feet and Kira kicked herself for asking. ‘I— Ehm…’ He rummaged in the pockets of his long coat, tugging out a pack of lozenges, a leather card purse, a ring which he slipped onto his little finger, some sweet wrappers, several receipts – and finally a small bottle. Spraying a puff into his mouth, he sucked in a purposeful breath and released it slowly, along with the scent of citrus and herbs.
With one final rummage, he frowned and peered at the door he’d just emerged through. ‘I locked myself out.’ His eyes slammed shut. So much drama in a single face. When his eyes blinked open again, Kira jumped. ‘Can I use your shower?’ he asked.
‘Uh…’
Not waiting for her answer, he stalked down the hall, his coat billowing. Hurrying ahead of him, she reached her door and fumbled for her keycard, shooting a wary glance at him. There was a lick of sweat at his temple.
He all but tumbled into her room, glancing around as though he expected something to jump out at him.
‘Here, I’ll get you a towel,’ she said, dropping her voice smoothly, purposefully.
His gaze settled on her and she knew she was right. He wasn’t a prima donna. He was on the edge of an anxiety episode.
