The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride. Scarlet Wilson
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lived in for a number of years.
Smell was so much. But she could deal with that. Carpets, drapes and upholstery could all be replaced. But she wasn’t sure she would change the style. So much of it was perfect.
She pressed a familiar number of her phone. It answered on the second ring.
“Hello, baby girl.”
“Hi, Momma. I’ve got news.”
“Are you at the sales? What did you buy?”
Phoebe laughed. “No, Momma. I’m in a whole different place.” She looked around as her heart gave a little jump. “I just want you to know that in a few weeks, the medical bills won’t be a problem.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. Her mother’s voice was panicked. “Baby girl, what have you done?”
It didn’t matter she was twenty-seven. It didn’t matter that she had her own place and her own life. She would always be her mother’s baby.
She laughed. “I haven’t done anything, Momma. I just got the job of my dreams. And it pays more than I could ever have hoped for.”
Her mother’s tone hadn’t changed from panic. “Phoebe, what kind of job is this?”
Phoebe shook her head. “It’s exactly the kind of job I do every day. But this house...” she pressed one hand to her chest and breathed in, as if saying it made everything real “...it’s in the Hamptons.”
“What?” Her mother’s voice came out as a squeak.
“Yes,” Phoebe said quickly. “I got a call this morning.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “A quarter of a million dollars if I can work over the next four weeks and redress this house.”
“How much?” This time it wasn’t a squeak. This time it was more like a shriek.
But Phoebe didn’t get a chance to answer. “Who is this person with a house in the Hamptons? Are they a criminal? Who have you got mixed up with? How did they find out about you?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Calm down, Mom. They know Rudy. That’s how they know about me. They liked the work I did on his apartment. That’s how I got this job. I came out to see the house this morning and...” she tried to steady her thoughts “...it’s a dream come true. It’s like walking into a fifties TV show. The whole place, it’s just...epic.” She laughed at using such a juvenile word, but nothing else seemed to come close.
Her mother cut straight to the chase. “Are you safe? Have you met these folks? Are they good people?”
“They’re an Italian family.”
Her mother’s voice lowered to a hushed tone. “Are they part of the mob?”
Phoebe choked. “What? No? Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve had this house for a while. It’s just time to sell it.” But something prickled. Matteo hadn’t been exactly straight with her. The timing did seem a little off. Exactly how old was he? “And yes. I’m safe. Matteo is a bit buttoned up. He’s a businessman. One of those high-flyer types. But he seems sincere. And I think I’m going to love doing this job. This could be it. This could be the one. It will pay off the bills and maybe put me on the map.”
There was a few seconds’ silence. “Then go nail it. I love you, baby girl.”
Phoebe smiled as she pushed her phone back in her pocket and stood up again. The front door was wide open to the world, letting in an icy blast. Matteo must have gone outside.
She’d left her jacket somewhere she couldn’t entirely remember, so she crossed her hands over her body as she walked outside.
Matteo had that strange, dark expression on his face again. The one where he didn’t really answer any questions. But Phoebe was determined. She might have the credit card, but she wanted to do the best job in the world. Her career could depend on it. Her bank balance certainly did. And for that, she needed a bit more information.
“Matteo?” He spun around, frowning. It seemed to be his default expression.
She walked up to him, close enough to let his body block out the swirling wind coming from Mecox Bay. “You haven’t been entirely straight with me.”
The furrow on his brow deepened. “What do you mean?”
She gave a gentle smile. “Unless, of course, you’re a modern-day Peter Pan.”
Now he just looked confused. “What?”
She inched a little closer. Probably more than she meant to. Her hair was getting caught by the wind, blowing her springy curls in front of her eyes. “The timing doesn’t fit,” she said quietly. “I’m trying to work out why you lived in a nineteen-fifties-style house.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied him a little harder. “Don’t get me wrong—I love it. But you don’t look in your sixties. Maybe you’ve discovered some secret cream the rest of the world just needs to find?”
She could almost see the penny drop. She expected him to smile. But he didn’t. Instead she could almost feel the wave of sadness. His voice was quiet. “We bought the house in the late eighties when I was a child. It belonged to some ageing starlet who had moved into it in the nineteen-fifties and not redecorated since. My parents had plans to redecorate the whole house. But...things changed. We only stayed here a few weeks. My father’s business meant we had to go to Rome, then London for a while. When we came back to New York, we had a few other properties that were ready to move into as a family.”
He said the words as if something were squirming in his chest, and his bright green eyes only met her gaze for the most fleeting of seconds.
It wasn’t a lie. But it didn’t feel like the truth. Trust your instincts, the voice in her head said. She wasn’t getting the fight-or-flight feeling. There was more to this. But whatever it was—it wasn’t enough to walk away from her dream job. A chance to pay the medical bills and possibly make her mark on the Hamptons.
“You’ve moved around a lot. The family business—what kind of business are you in?”
The fleeting mob reference from her mother was momentarily playing on her mind.
“I’m Italian.” He raised his eyebrows. “We’re in the wine business.”
“You own vineyards?”
Matteo gave a tight smile “We own seventeen vineyards in Italy. Sixteen in Spain, fourteen in California, and several in Portugal.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of wine.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I don’t need to worry about stocking the cellar, then.”
He gave a brief shake of his head. “Let me deal with that.”
She nodded. “Are you in a hurry to leave? I’d like to stay. I’d like to spend as much time as I can here, to get a feel for the place. I need to go over every room in detail, and I need to call contacts to check availability, and see what I can achieve over the next four weeks.”
She wanted him to know she was serious. She wanted him to know that this was important to her.
He glanced toward the limousine then shook his head. “Keep the car, it’s fine. I can arrange another form of transport.” His gaze actually met hers. This time there was something else. Something that made her heart swell a little. Respect?
She turned to go back to the house but his voice carried on the wind toward her.
“Ms. Gates? I trust you. I know you’ll do a good job.”
Her footsteps froze, but by the time she turned back around he already had the phone pressed against his ear again.
Had she imagined it?
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