“Ms. Gates, would you like to earn a quarter of a million dollars?”

Phoebe must be dreaming. She’s bowled over by gorgeous Italian billionaire Matteo Bianchi’s offer of redecorating a spectacular house in the Hamptons and a mansion in Rome...and Phoebe can’t refuse! It’s just what she needs to take her mind off losing her fiancé.

But when they’re snowed in together on New Year’s Eve, their attraction explodes like the fireworks outside. And as Phoebe works her magic across the two properties, Matteo wonders... Could he finally open his heart and make her his bride?

Matteo stayed behind her, following her from room to room.

“Phoebe... Ms. Gates. Does this mean you’ll take the job?”

She could hardly speak. Room after room, there were so many thoughts clambering in her brain about how gorgeous she could make this place that she could hardly form words. Her dream job. The job that could change her whole career. A chance to pay off her mother’s medical bills. A chance to move forward. A chance to pull herself out of the fog that had hung around her for the last few years.

“Phoebe.” His voice grew sharp and he gave her arm a pull, tugging her around to face him. Her hands rested on his upper arms. She couldn’t help herself. She almost wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek. She let out a laugh.

“Do I want the job? Absolutely. Now I’ve seen it, this place is mine. Matteo, I’m going to do such a good job, you’re never going to want to let me go.”

It was the briefest of seconds. A wash of sadness seemed to sweep his face. A whole host of something she really didn’t understand. But as soon as it had appeared, the shutters came down in his eyes again. Matteo Bianchi had the perfect mask. The perfect face for business.

The edges of his lips curved upward. For the first time since she’d met him, the tension in his shoulders actually looked as if it disappeared a little. “Phoebe, a quarter of a million dollars for four weeks’ work, and I will let you go.”

The Italian Billionaire's

New Year Bride

Scarlet Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SCARLET WILSON writes for both Mills & Boon Cherish and Medical Romance. She lives on the west coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached via her website, www.scarlet-wilson.com.

This book is dedicated to my mum and dad,

Joanne and John Wilson, for their continued

support of all my writing endeavours and all

the help they give me with my boys,

Elliott and Rhys.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

THE SHRILL RING of the phone invaded her dream just as she was about to save the world with Hugh Jackman. Phoebe stuck her hand out from under the snuggly white duvet and blindly felt around the bedside table as her brain tried to orientate her to time and day. She’d just been about to remove Hugh’s shirt...all in the name of saving the world, of course.

After a few fumbles, she finally found the phone and pulled it under the duvet next to her ear. “Phoebe Gates.” She winced. The phone was cold, much like the air outside her duvet. New York had spent the last few days covered in a snowstorm and her boiler was behaving like a temperamental teenager.

“Ms. Gates, how would you like to earn a quarter of a million dollars?”

The voice was smooth. Italian. Rich and deep with a timbre she didn’t recognize. It was like being smothered in melted chocolate.

“Wh...what?” She snuggled further down under the duvet. Maybe she was still sleeping. Maybe this was all just part of the dream.

“I said how would you like to earn a quarter of a million dollars?”

Phoebe frowned and rolled onto her back. “That would be wonderful.”

“Are you free?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you free for the next month?”

Her brain started to shift gear. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re one of those creepy callers, aren’t you? Well, you picked the wrong girl. There’s no way—”

“Ms. Gates,” the voice interrupted her with a hint of impatience but Phoebe had finally started to wake up.

“Well, if you’re not a creepy caller you’re one of those scam artists. Don’t tell me—you just need the details of my checking account and you’ll get the money right to me.”

She pushed herself up in the bed, wincing at the bright white light everywhere. Snow just seemed to reflect snow. “Do you know what day it is?” She turned to her clock, “And what time it is?” She ran her fingers through her thick tangled curls. Thank goodness there was no mirror around. She was definitely the “before” of some kind of wonder conditioner commercial. “It’s Boxing Day. It’s 8:00 a.m. Haven’t you heard of the word Christmas?”

There was a loud impatient sigh at the other end of the phone. “Ms. Gates, are you available in the next few weeks or not?”

She was definitely waking up now. Arrogant. He’d invaded the best dream in the world, ruined her lazy morning and he thought he could be snarky?

“That depends entirely who I’m talking to and what you’re talking about. You haven’t seemed to introduce yourself. In my world, we call those bad manners.”

Silence at the end of the phone. Good. Maybe Hugh Jackman was still waiting for her.

“Apologies, Ms. Gates. You’re right. My grandmother is currently spinning in her grave and slapping the back of my head.”

This time there was almost an edge of humor in his voice.

“Matteo Bianchi. I have a house—two houses in fact—that I need some work done on. I need them dressed and ready to sell in a few weeks.”

Work. This really was work. But she couldn’t help herself. “And you had to phone me at 8:00 a.m. on Boxing Day morning?”

“Christmas Day is over. I don’t like to waste time. Are you available, or not?”

He was getting snarky again. Phoebe shifted position in her bed and looked out at the falling snow. She’d planned on going to the sales. But braving the snow, as well as the chaos of the crowded shops, was slipping further down her list of priorities.

“Where are the houses?” she asked.

“The first is in the Hamptons,” he said quickly. “Southampton, to be exact.”

She felt her heart rate quicken. The Hamptons. Million-dollar houses with million-dollar budgets. The two things she’d always dreamed of. Particularly as her mother’s medical costs mounted.

She tried to stop her voice squeaking. “And the second?” How much had he offered to pay?

“Rome.” Her heart plummeted. Rome. An airplane ride away. Probably more than one airplane. Her skin prickled instantly and it wasn’t the cold.

“Oh.” It was the best response she could do.

“I’d need you to start straight away. I’ll make sure you have a company credit card to pay for any work or items that you need.”

She hadn’t found her voice yet. Her heart was clamouring against her chest wall. Rome. How could she go to Rome?

“Ms. Gates? Are you still there?”

“Yes. The Hamptons is fine. I can look at the house whenever suits. As for the house in Rome—that might be more of an issue.”

“Why do you need to see the house?” It didn’t matter she hadn’t met Mr. Bianchi yet, she could almost picture him frowning.

“I always look over any house before I agree to dress it for sale.” He didn’t mention the Rome comment.

There was another sigh.

Her curiosity was sparked. She’d never heard of Matteo Bianchi and, with an accent like that, if she’d met him before, she could guarantee she’d remember.

“Fine. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“What?” She sat bolt upright in the bed.

“You want to see the house? I’ll pick you up in an hour and you can see the house.”

She was stunned. One minute she was in the middle of a blissful dream—next she was working on Boxing Day.

Something pricked in her brain. “Mr. Bianchi, where did you hear about me?”

“I saw the apartment you dressed near Central Park.” He paused for a second as her brain caught up. “I liked it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “In Madison Court?” She’d loved that job. The apartment belonged to an old sea captain. Other interior designers had suggested ripping the apartment bare, painting all the walls white and tiling all the floors. She’d been the only designer to suggest embracing the whole essence of Captain Monaghan’s life. She’d scaled back some of the clutter and enhanced the whole seafaring lifestyle by focusing on a few key pieces. A ship’s wheel. A handcrafted lighthouse. A small-scale model of one of the ships he’d captained. The apartment had sold for well over the asking price—with a key request to keep the design aspects.

A warm feeling spread through her belly. The fact that Matteo had seen her work and liked it made her smile. Madison Court had been her biggest job yet. She hadn’t told anyone she’d met the old sea captain when he was getting chemotherapy in the same hospital as her mother. It was funny where some of the turning points in your life could be.

She rested back against the pillows.

“Yes” came the rich smooth voice. “Madison Court was...unusual. So, are you available for the next few weeks?”

A quarter of a million dollars. That was what he’d offered her.

She and her mom had some savings. But not enough to cover what the medical insurance didn’t. This could be the answer to their prayers. This could stop the shadows that were currently residing under her mother’s eyes.

The words came out before she could think about it any longer. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Looking forward to it, Ms. Gates.”

She glanced at the clock again. Something still didn’t sit quite right with her. The apartment at Central Park was gorgeous. But in New York there were dozens of interior designers—competition was tough. She’d never been near a house in the Hamptons before. If that was where Matteo Bianchi owned property he must have a whole range of other contacts.

She smiled. “Mr. Bianchi?”

“Yes, Ms. Gates?”

“How many other interior designers did you call this morning before me?”

There was the briefest hesitation. “Seven.”

She let out a laugh. “See you in an hour,” she said as she replaced the phone.

* * *

Matteo glanced at his watch for the fifth time as he tried not to curse under his breath. It seemed that limousines and New York snowstorms didn’t work in partnership together. The car had edged along an inch at a time. Finally, they pulled up outside an apartment. Two seconds later a round figure emerged from the building. She was covered in so many layers he couldn’t even see her face. The driver opened the door and Phoebe Gates practically rolled into the car alongside him.

She pushed back her numerous hoods, fixing him with the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen. She was younger than he’d expected—prettier than he’d expected too, with smooth coffee-colored skin and curls poking out around her face.

She gave him a wide smile as she started unzipping all her jackets. “I think I might have overdone it. I took one look at the snow and put on just about everything I owned.”

“I can see that.” He couldn’t help but smile as she started to emerge from underneath all the layers.

He shook his head as she stripped off a raincoat, a black parka, a zip-up hoody and pushed her mass of curls back from her face. She gave her head a shake. “Wow. It’s hot in here.”

He kept watching as she folded her arms across her chest and hitched one knee a little on the seat so she turned to face him. “So, I was number eight, huh?”

He shrugged. “Apparently I picked the wrong time of year to look for an interior designer.”

He liked the fact she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought. A straight talker. She laughed. “No, I just think you picked the wrong day.”

She stared at the snow-covered streets. “So what’s the big rush anyhow?”

He settled back into the plush leather seats. “The time is just right.”

She wrinkled her nose. It looked as if she might be about to say something when she gave a yell. “Stop the car!”

The driver screeched to a halt, throwing them both forward. “What is it? Did we hit someone?”

She shook her head and shot him a huge grin as she opened the car door. “No. It’s my favorite coffee cart. What can I get you?”

Matteo tried not to say the expletives that were circling around his head. “You what? You stopped us like that for coffee?”

She stared at him for a second with those big brown eyes, narrowing them for a millisecond as if she were surprised at his reaction. She touched the driver on the shoulder. “You’re a macchiato, aren’t you?”

The driver blinked in surprise and nodded. She glanced over at the cart. “And a chocolate donut?” He nodded again. She got out of the car and gave her order to the vendor then ducked her head back in and turned to Matteo. She put one finger next to her mouth. “Hmm.”

“What?” He was getting annoyed now. New York was starting to get busy with shoppers. It would take around ninety minutes to reach the house and he wanted to get moving as soon as possible.

She gave a half-smile. “I’m trying to work out whether you’re a double espresso or an Americano kind of guy.”

She ducked back out and spoke quietly to the vendor, who laughed and filled her order. Two minutes later she was in the car and settled back in her seat, handing him a hot paper cup and something in a bag.

She shrugged as he continued to frown. “I get cranky if I don’t have coffee in the morning.” She shook her head. “And believe me, you won’t like me when I’m cranky.”

A caramel aroma was drifting over toward him and he watched as she pulled out a raspberry-covered donut, taking a large bite. “Best donuts in New York. Nowhere else comes close.”

She nudged him. “Go on. Try yours.”

Phoebe Gates was nothing like he’d expected. The last time he’d dealt with an interior designer she’d been all business suits, stiletto heels and clipboards. Her assistant had hung on her every word, constantly taking notes. She’d been abrupt, professional and aloof.

He stared down at the Americano in his hand. Just the way he liked it. And in the paper bag? A regular sugar donut. He hated icing and sprinkles nearly as much as he hated filled donuts.

He frowned. “How did you know?” he asked.

She swallowed her donut and took a sip of her coffee. “How did I know what?”

He held up his Americano and paper bag. “This. How did you know this?”

He was suspicious. People didn’t generally surprise him. It wasn’t as if she could have done an Internet search to find out what kind of coffee and donut he preferred.

She shrugged again and smiled. “I just know these things.” She grinned and tapped her nose. “Interior design. It’s all based on observation skills.”

Matteo narrowed his gaze. Maybe he’d made a mistake this morning, but by the time he’d reached call number eight he was reaching the desperate stage. In amongst the family feuds of Christmas, the one thing that his overextended Italian family had agreed on was that it was time to get rid of some of the family property. Matteo had agreed to take charge and he intended to get this over with as quickly as possible. He’d thought with the price tag he was offering any interior designer would snap his hand off for the job. Turned out he was wrong. Four of the designers he’d called were on holiday with only an answer-phone message saying calls wouldn’t be returning until the new year. Two had answered but refused due to family commitments. One was currently working in Washington. By the time he’d reached Phoebe he just wanted someone to say yes. But then she’d surprised him.

Matteo was used to doing business. He paid a price and a job got done. End of story. So he’d been a little surprised that Phoebe had insisted on seeing the property instead of just agreeing to the job straight away. This was time he really didn’t have to spare.

And it wasn’t that she seemed unprofessional—that was too harsh. It was just, she seemed so...relaxed.

He’d be paying her a quarter of a million dollars. Was it wrong to expect a little more deference? His insides cringed at the thought. Was he being archaic—or sexist even? In this day and age, neither would be acceptable and both could earn him a slap around the back of the head from his very feisty sister.

She nudged him. “Eat up, or I’ll start to think my instincts are off. Now, we’ve got a bit of time. Give me some history about the house.”

Matteo finally took a sip of the coffee. Surprisingly good for a street vendor. He opened his mouth to speak just as his phone rang. He glanced at the caller. Vittore. His brother. Doubtless this would be another fight.

The interruption clarified things in his mind. He turned to Phoebe. “I’m not going to give you any background information on the house.” He tried not to look amused. “Let’s just see what your instincts tell you.” He settled back against the seat as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Vittore?”

* * *

She’d spent the last hour staring out the window at the passing view, desperately wanting to talk. But Mr. Bianchi appeared to conduct most of his business on his phone. Something she’d find depressing on a good day.

Right now, she could be in the middle of Macy’s searching for the best bargains.

Maybe the purple coat her mother had admired would be half-price. She could have bought that as a “getting better” present. She’d like to get her mom something to put a smile back on her face. It certainly would be better than spending an hour in forced silence.

The city view had changed rapidly to an even more snow-covered landscape. There was a reason the Hamptons was famous. The popular seaside resort was a historical summer colony on the south fork of Long Island. It featured some of the most luxurious and expensive real estate in all of New York and was regularly featured on TV shows and films.

Phoebe had visited here as a child and a teenager. She’d even spent a semester at the university campus out here and seen exactly how the other half could live. It was almost as if the whole atmosphere changed the further away from the city you got.

She loved New York. She loved the hustle and bustle, she loved the people and she definitely loved living in the city that never slept. But she’d also always loved the Hamptons. Sure, she might not have a billion-dollar bank account. But there was something about this place that made her heartbeat quicken as they passed through one village and hamlet after another. The space. The air. The views. And the houses.

The houses here were to die for.

Her stomach gave a little flip-flop as the road stretched ahead of them and they passed one palatial mansion after another. Each one was individual, styled a little differently from its neighbor. Some had been up for more than a hundred years. A few had appeared in the late eighties with a completely modern design that already looked dated.

Mansion spotting was a popular pastime in the Hamptons. A few house builders had obviously decided not to take part in the game and set their homes far back from the road. Phoebe wrinkled her nose. Those people had no sense of fun. What was the point in house spotting if you couldn’t even see it?

The car slowed a little and her eyes widened. She was familiar with the surroundings. Anyone who watched TV would be familiar with the surroundings. One of the streets around here was nicknamed Billionaires’ Row. Some of the most expensive homes in the US were here.

Phoebe leaned back in the seat and tried to catch her breath. Any minute now they would turn another corner in another direction. She shot a sideways glance at Matteo. He’d told her his home was in Southampton. But she hadn’t really thought he’d meant this street. Did people actually live here?

The car moved toward the oceanfront, glided through a set of wrought-iron gates, then snaked its way down a long driveway. Sitting in prime position on the oceanfront was one of the biggest houses Phoebe had ever seen.

She couldn’t breathe. She actually couldn’t breathe. By some miracle Matteo had managed to finish a call and put his phone away.

Please don’t let him expect me to be able to talk right now.

He seemed unfazed. He glanced upward—a look of indifference.

To a house like this? Really?

She tried to swallow as there was a little glint of yellow from the top of the house. A curve, covered in snow. Was that an atrium?

The question started to form on her lips then she glimpsed a flash of something else from Matteo. Distaste. Or dislike. She wasn’t quite sure which. Really? To a place like this?

Play it cool. The words kept repeating over and over in her head. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said she liked to see a property before deciding if she would take on a job. But she also liked a chance to meet the client. Interior designers sometimes worked alone. Getting a feel for a job and a client had given her a “Get out of Jail Free” card on a few occasions. Safety always came first and on the odd occasion something just didn’t feel right. It had been okay when Jason had been around. He’d always had her back. Clients had taken one look at the strapping ex-Navy pilot and any erroneous thoughts had vanished from their minds. At least that was the way it had always seemed.

But three years ago life had changed in the blink of an eye. Or, more accurately, the stall of two plane engines—something that apparently never happened.

Except to her fiancé. And life would never be the same again.

She’d had to get used to working with no backup plan and part of today had been making sure she felt safe to work for Matteo Bianchi. She shot him a sideways glance. For the most part he seemed like a workaholic typical New York billionaire businessman. An exceptionally handsome Italian workaholic businessman.

And that was interesting. Handsome wasn’t something she’d noticed in the last three years. Matteo Bianchi had all the traditional attributes of every Italian movie star she’d ever seen on screen. Thick dark hair, deep green eyes, sallow smooth skin and straight white teeth. The only thing that marred his good looks was that permanent frown on his forehead.

She got the distinct impression that he really didn’t have time for her. In fact, she got the distinct impression that Matteo Bianchi didn’t have time for much of anything.

The car pulled up outside the huge cream-colored mansion and Matteo opened the door straight away. Phoebe fumbled around, trying to select one of her many jackets, finally settling on a red one. She stepped out of the car and looked up at the outside of the house.

The grounds were pristine. She could imagine how manicured the lawns were in summer, even though they were covered in snow right now. The façade was elegant, if a little faded. The double front door was arched and the front of the house lined with mahogany windows covered by internal shutters. Why was a place as beautiful as this all closed up?

If she closed her eyes for a second she could imagine how beautiful this house could be at Christmas. Lights. Trees. Decorations. Instead, it was all closed up like an unwanted present.

Phoebe tilted her head to the side. “Do you only use the house in the summer?”

Matteo shook his head. “We’ve never really used this house.”

“What?” Phoebe spun around and looked at him. “What do you mean, you’ve never used this house?”

Matteo shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s been in the family for a while. But...we’ve never really stayed here.” There was something odd about the way he said that.

Phoebe couldn’t help but shake her head. She couldn’t get past the fact that this beautiful house was sitting empty—and had done for years.

“Who takes care of it?”

Matteo gave the briefest shake of his head. “I have a caretaker. They come in a few times a year to clean up and maintain the place. Over the years, the electrics, heating and plumbing have all been kept up-to-date but...” he paused for a second “...I imagine there will be lots of areas in the house that need updating.”

Phoebe wrinkled her nose for a second as she stared up at the three-story building with its shuttered windows. “It looks around a hundred years old. Please tell me it’s been updated since then.”

Matteo gave a nod. “Of course it has. Just not recently.”

He pulled a large key from his pocket, along with his phone. As they approached the thick double entrance door he lifted his phone to a panel at the door side. There was a short beep before he turned the key. “Alarm,” he said simply before pushing the door open.

Phoebe smiled as she watched him pull the key from the lock. “You put in a digital alarm but didn’t put in digital locks?”

He shrugged. There was something so juvenile about it. Like a naughty teenager. “Who says I didn’t? I might just be trying to fool you.”

It was the first time she’d seen a spark of something. A glimpse of something other than the very busy businessman. A hint of what might lie beneath the surface.

Matteo stood back and she stepped inside the wide entranceway and sucked in a breath.

The air was still all around her. Silent.

But there was something else. Something almost magical.

She held out her hands and spun around. Light flooded in from the open door, allowing her to see the huge curved staircase with intricate iron railing that spiraled up through three floors of the house. Every step she took on the tiled floor echoed upward to the yellowed glass dome at the top of the house. By the time she stopped spinning and brought her gaze back down to the current floor she finally got a feel for the place. The entranceway was huge.

Matteo was looking at her curiously. There was something odd. He looked uncomfortable. She gave a little stagger and laughed as she put out her hand, grasping onto his sleeve to try and stop her head spinning. Now she could see all the rooms off the entranceway. Most of them had glass-paneled doors, hinting at what lay beyond. Her heart gave a little flutter.

She’d dreamed of getting the chance to do a house in the Hamptons. It had always been an ambition that she’d hoped to achieve. She just thought it was still at least a few years away. Her fingers were itching to touch this house. To run through every room. To suck in the atmosphere. Trying to appear cool, calm and collected was rapidly slipping from her grasp. Even though Matteo Bianchi was staring her down with that disapproving glare.

She looked to the side again. The room directly to her right was practically calling out to her. “May I?” She gestured with her head.

Matteo stopped glaring and glanced toward the room. A furrow lined his brow. “Actually, I want you to let me know what your instincts tell you.”

It was the way he said it. The tone. And the way the glare in his eyes had been replaced by a kind of mischievous twinkle. He was testing her. Or teasing her.

She tilted her chin upward. Matteo Bianchi had no idea who he was dealing with. She met his green gaze straight on. “You know you’re being unfair—but that’s fine.” She held up her hands. “I’ve already told you I think the house is around a hundred years old.” She wrinkled her nose. “About twenty thousand square meters? Maybe around eight or nine bedrooms? Probably four or five bathrooms or half baths. I expect two or three formal rooms. I expect a dining room, a large kitchen, laundry, study and a basement and wine cellar.” She put her hand on her chest. “And I’m hoping there are exceptional views over Mecox Bay from the rear of the property. Am I getting close? Can I actually get in to see the main sitting room?”

Matteo gave a nod toward the door. Phoebe didn’t wait another second; she was through that door in a flash.

It was like a moment out of time. She blinked as a memory of a movie she’d watched flooded through her senses. The hero and heroine had flitted back and forth between modern day and fifty years before. Phoebe felt as if she were currently standing by their side.

She couldn’t help but touch. Tiny slivers of bright light tried to edge their way around the shutters. Phoebe didn’t wait, she walked over to the nearest set and gave them a tug.

Nothing happened.

She tried again. This time there was a creak. A squeak. She slid her hand up the side, checking for any extra latches or bolts. Once she was sure there were none, she pulled with all her might.

Two seconds later she was flat on her back on the carpet as the winter’s day light filled the room. She laughed as Matteo moved above her, holding his hand out toward her. “Are you okay?”

She kept laughing and stayed on the floor, shaking her head. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I? Because this dream just seems to get kookier by the minute.”

He frowned, staring at his outstretched hand, as if he were trying to figure out what was wrong with it. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, come on.” She leaned up on her hand, still staying on the carpet as her gaze swept across the room. “You phoned me this morning and offered me a quarter of a million dollars for a few weeks’ work, dressing a home in the Hamptons. Every designer’s dream. Then you bring me here. The house to end all houses.” She was shaking her head again now. “Then, we come in, and it’s a time warp. A perfect time warp.” She held up her hand as her eyes tried not to goggle in amazement at the contents of the room.

“I still don’t know what you mean.”

She pushed herself up onto her bottom. “This place. This furniture.”

Matteo shook his head. “I know. I know. Everything will need replacing it’s all so out of date. Don’t worry. I’ll give you a credit card with no limit. You can buy whatever you need to dress the house.” He waved his hand. “As long as you keep receipts, of course.”

“Are you crazy?” She couldn’t believe what he was saying. She reached out and touched the chair next to her. “This stuff is pristine. Perfect. People would pay an absolute fortune for things like this. And I won’t need to. Because it’s all here. Matteo, don’t you realize how fantastic this place already is?”

He was looking at her as if she were out of her mind.

She grabbed his hand and pulled herself up as she paced quickly around the room. “This—this is why I think I’m still dreaming. See this? This nineteen-fifties chair? I paid over a thousand dollars for one of these last time I dressed a home. You’ve got six.” She touched the L-shaped sofa in the corner. “I might get this reupholstered but the style and shape is just fabulous.”

Her heart skittered across her chest as she took in all the fixtures and fittings. The lamps, the shades, the telephone, the vases. She shook her head again as she murmured, “It’s like interior design heaven. That’s why this must be a dream. Things like this don’t happen to me.”

She spun around and gasped. Matteo had walked right up behind her. He was closer than expected and was watching her with the most curious expression on his face. Her dream from earlier had been filled by Hugh Jackman. If she were still dreaming, wouldn’t Hugh be the man that had brought her to this house instead of Matteo Bianchi?

“Pinch me,” she said firmly.

“What?”

“Pinch me. I have to know this isn’t a dream.”

He was right in front of her. Staring her down with those green eyes. Part of him looked amused, part of him looked annoyed. Or maybe she was just misreading him. The hint of aftershave was distracting her. It was subtle. She’d never smelt it before. Amber, musk and oak moss. People didn’t realize that interior designers knew that scent was everything. Half of all homes sold on scent alone.

“Go on,” she urged. “Just do it.”

He pulled an exasperated face then lifted his hand to her arm.

“Yeowwww!” She jumped backwards, rubbing her wrist. “Okay, then. Turns out I’m definitely awake.” She shot him a suspicious glance. “You’ve got sisters, haven’t you? Or a sister.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“Believe me.” She kept rubbing her smarting wrist. “A girl can tell.”

He stared at her curiously for a second. “And for the record, I have one sister. One is enough.”

She took a deep breath. This was it. This was where she found out if this really was the dream job. “Tell me, is every room as good as this one?”

Matteo raised his eyebrows. “You mean, is every room in the same kind of time warp as this one? Oh, I can guarantee that, Phoebe.” He was looking at her as if he couldn’t quite understand why she thought this was a good thing. But Phoebe was off. Tearing through the next few rooms of the house to check them out. A dining room. A huge kitchen. A laundry room. Another sitting room. A study. Two bathrooms—they might need a little work. And a phenomenal room at the back of the house with windows and glass doors that looked out over Mecox Bay.

Matteo stayed behind her, following her from room to room. “Phoebe... Ms. Gates. Does this mean you’ll take the job?”

She could hardly speak. Room after room, there were so many thoughts clambering in her brain about how gorgeous she could make this place that she could hardly form words. Her dream job. The job that could change her whole career. A chance to pay off her mother’s medical bills. A chance to move forward. A chance to pull herself out of the fog that had hung around her for the last few years.

“Phoebe.” His voice grew sharp and he gave her arm a pull, tugging her around to face him. Her hands rested on his upper arms. She couldn’t help herself. She almost wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek. She let out a laugh.

“Do I want the job? Hell, yes. Now I’ve seen it, this place is mine. Matteo, I’m going to do such a good job, you’re never going to want to let me go.”

It was the briefest of seconds. A wash of sadness seemed to sweep his face. A whole host of something she really didn’t understand. But as soon as it had appeared, the shutters came down in his eyes again. Matteo Bianchi had the perfect mask. The perfect face for business.

The edges of his lips curved upwards. For the first time since she’d met him, the tension in his shoulders actually looked as if it disappeared a little. “Phoebe, quarter of a million dollars for four weeks’ work, and I will let you go.”

Chapter Two

FOR THE FIRST time in years Phoebe actually felt lucky. It was a strange concept. Unfamiliar.

Lucky had been something she’d taken for granted for so long. Then Jason, her fiancé, had been killed in a freak flying accident. They’d only just got engaged and started to make plans for the future. All of those things wiped out in the blink of an eye—or the failure of two engines at once. She still couldn’t even think about it. But Phoebe hadn’t needed therapy. She was strong. Or so she’d thought. She’d been devastated to lose her fiancé, but she’d picked herself up and continued to go through the motions.

Then her mother had got sick. Cancer. Surgery. Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy. And a million scans. Phoebe had been determined to take her to every appointment, every treatment. And she had. Running herself into the ground while she did it. Forgetting to eat. Forgetting to sleep. And eventually having to hit therapy. Because she did need it. She just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

It was just lately that she’d felt as if she was starting to come out the tunnel she’d been hiding in. Her mom was doing better. They only had to settle the medical bills now. But work had picked up. The apartment near Central Park had been a real coup for her. But this? This was the icing on the cake. Better than that. This was the sugar on the sprinkles, on the chocolate, on the icing on the cake.

She wasn’t the slightest bit perturbed by Matteo telling her he’d let her go. She’d been on a high. She still was. He was somewhere behind her as she rushed from room to room, throwing open shutters and taking photo after photo with her phone. Occasionally she stopped to make a few notes. But only for a second. The essence of this house was invading her senses. The myriad of bedrooms. The bathrooms that could do with a little updating. The totally and completely gorgeous central yellow glass dome. And the kitchen. She could do so much with the kitchen that she almost wanted to start this very second.

Matteo’s mood seemed a little odd. Almost sedated if that made sense. She got the distinct impression he didn’t want to be here at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even like the place.

By the time she returned to the main room Matteo was back on his phone. She should probably be paying some kind of deference to him since he was going to be paying her enormous salary, but she was far too excited for all that.

She walked straight over to him. “I still hurt from where you pinched me.”

He was mid conversation and raised one eyebrow at her. After the briefest of pauses he pulled the phone away from his ear. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“So am I. And you spent all the time in the car on the phone.” There was something about this guy. He was obviously far too wealthy for words. He was clearly a workaholic. But there was just something in his eyes. He liked someone to challenge him. He was amused by her. And somehow she already knew she wanted to earn his respect. If that meant demanding his attention, then she could do that.

He glanced at his phone, but didn’t continue with that conversation. The edges of his lips curved again. “You asked me to pinch you. I only did what you asked.” There was a cheeky hint in his tone.

“When do I get to meet your sister? I can already tell that I’ll be bruised from that pinch and I want to compare notes with her.”

He paused and disconnected the call. “The very last person I’m introducing you to is my sister. Brianna is even crazier than you are. You’d be a lethal combination.”

Phoebe folded her arms across her chest. “Brianna. I like the sound of her.” She nodded her head. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll meet her. And I promise to be on my best behavior.” She held up her hands. “Now, the house. I have so many ideas. So many plans. Let’s walk through and I’ll talk you through them. I can draw up something more formal in a few days. I’ll need to check if any of the people I regularly use are free to help out.” She raised her eyebrows. “For some people, this is the holiday season.”

Matteo frowned and shook his head. “No, no. I’ll leave all that to you. I don’t need to see plans. I don’t need to know your thoughts. I can give you contacts for teams to assist.”

Phoebe stood back a little and looked at him incredulously. “You are joking, right?”

He gave her a stern stare. “Why would I be joking?”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Mr. Bianchi, usually clients want consulted on the plans, the overall look for their home. Often they want consulted on any major purchases.” She couldn’t help but frown. “People are generally passionate about how their homes are marketed—what they look like. They usually want to be involved to ensure they get the best price possible.”

Matteo gave an ironic smile. “I take it you’re used to clients who generally care about their homes—and the price they achieve. I care about neither. I just want this place off my hands.” As he finished his phone started ringing again and he strode out of the room, pressing it to his ear, leaving Phoebe wondering whether to laugh or cry. It was clear the conversation was over.

* * *

He’d picked a crazy woman. At one point he’d thought Phoebe Gates would start cartwheeling around the place. She was barely managing to keep her excitement simmering beneath the surface. Her joy at having this job seemed to emanate from every pore in her body.

That actually made a tiny little part of him happy. There was something nice about her enthusiasm and straightforwardness. In his line of business he was used to fake smiles and poker faces; somehow he didn’t think Phoebe Gates would know how to do either one.

But Phoebe obviously had very different ideas from him. She’d thrown open shutters and flooded this dusty old house with light, her face brightening as she’d practically run from room to room. He was surprised that she loved the ancient furniture and fittings. He’d been sure any interior designer would just skip the contents of the house and redecorate the place from top to bottom. Phoebe had obviously decided to take a different tack.

He’d reached the kitchen by now and let out a long sigh. The sooner he got out of here, the better. He only had one association with this house. And it was one he had no intention of revisiting.

He stared around the kitchen for a few seconds as something flashed through his brain. A long-forgotten memory. His mother. Those memories were so fleeting. So scant.

Her dark hair and bright eyes. Dressed in a swirling red dress. She’d been excited. Just the way that Phoebe was. Full of ideas and plans for what she could do to the house. The house they’d just bought that was stuck in a time warp. It had been owned by an elderly actress who had died a few months earlier. His mother could hardly wait to bring it up to modern-day living.

He remembered his father leaning against the double sink and folding his arms, smiling and watching Matteo’s mother the way he’d always watched her—with love and adoration in his eyes.

When Matteo blinked, the memory was gone. He inhaled deeply and leaned back against the sink—just the way his father had. Was the memory even real? He would only have been around five when they stayed here for a few weeks. Brianna was only a few weeks old and Vittore around three.

But everything changed. The house was boarded up and they moved with their father back to Rome, flitting between the capital and an apartment in New York City, then London for a while. The house in the Hamptons was never mentioned. Ignored.

Too many painful memories. It was only now, thirty years later, the family had decided it was time to sell.

Phoebe floated into the kitchen. Literally, floated. Her smile spread from ear to ear, showing off her straight white teeth and enhancing her glowing coffee-colored skin. Her hair bounced as she walked, tight corkscrew curls resting on her shoulders. There was something about her. An aura. She made him want to smile. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like that. For a few seconds she’d even made him forget where he actually was. But the truth was, he just couldn’t shake the sense of this place. The dark memories. The secrets he’d learned to keep. The ones that kept him locked away.

Phoebe moved in front of him. She’d shed more layers. Now he could see the way her green fine-knit jumper and fitted black trousers clung to her curves. Many of the women Matteo came across in New York were skeletally thin. It was a look he’d never appreciated. Italian men much preferred women with curves—and Phoebe wore them well.

Her perfume drifted up around him as she fixed her chocolate-brown eyes on him. She paused for a second, with an amused expression on her face. It was clear she was contemplating how to phrase her words.

“Ms. Gates?” he prompted.

She gave a nod. “How about we settle on Phoebe and Matteo? I think that might make things a bit easier. After all, we will be seeing a lot of each other.”

There was a sparkle in her eyes.

He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a credit card. “I’m not sure that will be necessary. But I’m happy to call you Phoebe if that’s what you prefer.”

She took the credit card without a glance, merely sliding it into the back pocket of her trousers.

“We need to talk about this place, Matteo. We need to discuss my plans.” It was clear that persistence was one of her traits.

He was curt. “No. We don’t.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the front door. In the space of few seconds it almost felt as if the walls were closing in around him.

The cool air almost bit into his skin as he stepped outside and he blinked at the brightness. He hadn’t realized quite how blinkered the house had been.

His phone started ringing. He pulled it from his pocket—Brianna. He might have guessed. They were closer than some families. He spoke to both his brother and sister a few times a day. A few female companions in the past had commented on it—finding it strange. But Matteo had never cared for other people’s opinions on his family. They hadn’t lived his life, they didn’t know that he and his siblings were the glue that held their splintered family together.

“Did you get one?” Brianna was speaking rapidly in Italian. She was probably doing ten things at once.

“I did.”

“And? Are they good?”

Was Phoebe Gates good? He didn’t really know. He’d called her both on a whim and out of desperation. Captain Monaghan had been one of the most interesting men Matteo had ever had the pleasure of meeting. But his apartment had been a cluttered, claustrophobic mess. Rudy Monaghan was clearly a hoarder. He’d sailed the seven seas and collected just about everything he’d ever seen.

Matteo had never met Phoebe, but Rudy had been full of praise for the beautiful, enthusiastic and, most importantly, respectful interior designer that he’d hired. The crew she’d hired to assist her had been given very clear instructions. Carefully pack up everything without a yellow sticker. Walls had been painted, windows shined, pictures moved and rehung. She’d stripped the place bare but kept its heart and essence.

No, she’d kept Rudy Monaghan’s heart and essence.

Matteo had dropped in one evening just before he knew Rudy was due to move out and been struck by the enormity of the changes. Rudy had been sitting in his wooden rocking chair, his genuine ancient ship’s wheel still next to him, bathed in the orange setting sun, watching the view of Central Park. That sight would stay with Matteo forever.

He took a deep breath. Now he remembered the transformation he almost wished he’d called Phoebe first. He couldn’t help but smile. He could just imagine how she’d have been if he’d called her at seven instead of eight. “They’re not good, Brianna,” he said deliberately.

“What?” she shrieked from somewhere in New York.

“They’re great. She’s great.”

There was silence for a few seconds. He waited for the tirade of abuse from his sister for momentarily teasing her but it didn’t come.

“Matteo, who is she?”

There was something about his sister’s tone. Her curiosity. He instantly felt a prickle down his spine. Brianna was nosey. Brianna was beyond nosey. He probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.

He kept his voice brisk. “She’s Phoebe Gates. Remember Rudy’s apartment at Central Park? She did that one. She’ll do a good job for us.”

He could almost hear the cogs and whirrs of Brianna’s brain. “Yeah, I remember the apartment at Central Park. It ended up as part of a bidding war, didn’t it?”

“Well, if that’s what you heard, it must be true.”

“So, we know Ms. Gates can dress an apartment—but can she dress a Hampton house?”

She hadn’t said the words out loud but the implication was clear. An apartment at Central Park was big. A house in the Hamptons was in a whole other league.

“Have a little faith in your brother, Brianna.”

There was a loud sigh at the end of the phone. “I have a lot of faith in my brother. Both my brothers.” There was a pause for a second. Matteo had kept walking. The fresh air was calling to him, along with the spectacularly white snow. The tone of her voice softened. “How are you?”

He didn’t answer. Cold air was filling his lungs, letting his heart race a little quicker and letting him shake off the cobwebs.

It was hard to explain. The only other people to have walked in his shoes were Vittore and Brianna. No one else would ever understand. He wouldn’t expect them to. He wouldn’t want them to. And the truth was, Vittore and Brianna didn’t understand entirely either—because he didn’t want them to. He was oldest. It was his job to guard his younger brother and sister.

“Matteo?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Matteo closed his eyes. “I’m fine, Brianna. Of course, I’m fine. It’s just this place. You know that. I’m going to leave everything in Phoebe’s hands. She doesn’t see this place the way we do. She loves it. She thinks it’s great. She...she has the ability to dress it and make it sell. That’s all that we need.”

He could almost hear the shake in her voice. “Is it?”

It was as if the cold air penetrated every part of him. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t have the conversation that his sister sometimes pushed him toward. He’d learned how to deal with it over the years. It was as if he owned his own set of black shutters. Push him so far and he would just slam them shut. “Goodbye, Brianna,” he said smartly as he finished the call.

* * *

Phoebe was sitting on the curved staircase. Her feet had actually started to follow him out of the kitchen, then her instincts had kicked in and told her not to. Told her to give him a little space.

Mr. Bianchi was more than a little temperamental. Was this an Italian trait?

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to breathe in the essence of this beautiful home. Her brain instantly took her to the place she wanted to be. Right now she was recreating her own favorite musical and was tap dancing up and down these stairs in a bouffant yellow dress. She just hadn’t decided who her imaginary leading man was yet. A twinge of guilt set in.

For the first year after Jason’s death he’d been the main feature of every dream she’d had. But for the last year, several movie stars had started to creep in and take over. In a way, it had been a relief to stop waking up with her heart in her throat. That horrible little millisecond of time—the briefest of moments—where she thought everything was just the same, Jason was still here, her mom wasn’t sick yet and then, she remembered.

And that overwhelming colossal black wave swamped back on top of her, every morning, making her relive every moment and making her want to be sick all over her bed. It took months for that to fade. Months to wake up to the reality that was her life.

But every time she felt relief that didn’t happen anymore, guilt pricked at her conscience.

She took a deep breath and pressed her hands on the cool marble stairs, letting her eyes flicker open. She could imagine the beautiful women and men who’d walked these steps. The hopes, dreams and fantasy lifestyles. Things that were all so far out of her reach.

She shook her head and smiled. Jealousy had never been a Phoebe trait. She loved that this place had history. She loved that it had been captured in time. She would probably never get a chance like this again. She just had to know what to keep to help capture the story, and know what to replace to make this home still seem appealing to a modern-day buyer.

The color palette here was unreal. She’d found an avocado bathroom. That would definitely have to be dealt with. But so much else just needed tweaks. She pulled out her phone and flicked through her contacts as she breathed in deeply. There was a bit of an odor. A tang that frequently featured in houses that hadn’t really been 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?

Chapter Three

THE PHOTOGRAPHS OF how the house looked right now were printed. She’d spent the last two days sketching her new vision for the house. The avocado bathroom was already gone. Some things didn’t need to wait. She’d learned very quickly that Matteo really didn’t want to take her calls.

He’d given her a credit card that she hadn’t used yet. But working with contractors was different. She’d had to agree the price for a few jobs—and at this time of year—and for a house in the Hamptons—some of the prices quoted had been exorbitant. Any good interior designer would run those past her employer and that was all Phoebe was doing. Though Matteo wasn’t really interested in contractor prices. So far, he’d said yes to anything without so much as a blink.

Her biggest expense for the house was going to be fabric. She wanted new drapes for just about every room, and lots of the signature pieces reupholstered. And good quality fabric was not cheap. Which was why she standing in one of the most prestigious, well-stocked warehouses on the outskirts of New York.

But this place didn’t like to waste time. The assistant assigned to her held out her hand. “We’ll just put your credit card on file to ease things along.”

She got it. She did. The assistant didn’t want to spend the next four hours helping Phoebe find everything she wanted, only to have the credit card declined at the end.

Phoebe slipped the black card from her purse and handed it over. She had a long list of fabrics she wanted to find. A color palette already existed in her head, but would she find a match in this warehouse? That was always the danger of getting too carried away with one idea. Sometimes color trends and seasons just didn’t match. So, she’d prepared some sketches with one set of colors, and prepared some more as a backup plan.

The assistant walked back over and held out the credit card as if it had the plague. “I’m sorry. Your credit line doesn’t seem to be approved. Do you have another card you can use?”

Phoebe felt her cheeks flush. She did have another credit card. Unfortunately it was maxed out with her mother’s medical expenses, and the amount of money she’d likely spend in here today could never be covered by the small amount of money in her current account.

She’d had a bad start already this morning, tangling herself up in her sheets when the alarm had gone off, falling out of bed and catching the side of her cheek on the bedside cabinet. She was just hoping it wouldn’t bruise.

“Give me a minute,” she said, trying not to seem embarrassed. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Matteo’s number. Please answer. She didn’t want to have to walk out of here after presenting a dud card. She’d never be able to show her face again, and this place was every interior designer’s dream. She couldn’t afford to have a bad rep in here.

“Matteo Bianchi.” His reply was curt. But he couldn’t hide that wonderful Italian accent that sent tingles down to her toes. Every time she called she forgot about it and spent the first few seconds of their conversation lost in a little fog.

Right now she didn’t have time for a fog. She cut to the chase. “Matteo, the credit card you gave me isn’t working.”

It took a few seconds for a reply. She could almost picture him staring at the name on the phone. How many people did he give credit cards to? “Phoebe?”

“Of course, Phoebe. Who else would it be?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at a warehouse on the outskirts of New York. I need to buy fabrics, leathers—a whole host of things for the house.” She lowered her voice as the assistant glared at her, obviously labeling her as a time waster. “This place is expensive and you’ve given me a limited amount of time.”

“Let me speak to them.”

Phoebe sighed and handed over the phone to the assistant, pacing at the side while Matteo obviously had a curt conversation with her.

“No, Mr. Bianchi. Your personal guarantee is not good enough.”

Phoebe tried not to smile at the thought of Matteo’s response.

“You’ll need to speak to your credit card provider.”

The assistant rolled her eyes and held the phone a little away from her ear. Phoebe walked over to some large rolls of fabric and started to study them closely.

“The only way around things is for you to come down yourself and bring your alternative credit card. No, we can’t just take the number over the phone. We need to see the card, along with your signature.” The woman let out a sigh. “Yes. That’s the only way.”

She replaced the receiver and gave Phoebe a fake smile. “Mr... Bianchi will be with you shortly.”

“Great,” Phoebe muttered as every little hair on her arm stood on end. Just what she needed, an angry Matteo.

This day was getting better and better.

* * *

Matteo tried not to curse at his driver as they took another wrong turn. It seemed the sat-nav had decided not to work properly and this industrial estate had dozens of identical giant warehouses, along with no map at the entrance to the site.

He was annoyed at himself. He was sure he’d activated that card. But in amongst the family discussions at Christmas it was possible he might have forgotten. And he should have kept a copy of Phoebe’s signature on record so it could be verified, but visiting the house in the Hamptons again had scrambled his normally precise brain.

He hadn’t expected to be hit by the wave of emotions. How much could a five-year-old really remember? But being back in that environment had swamped him in a way he hadn’t expected. And having the unconventional Ms. Gates with him had probably been a blessing. She’d distracted him from too much melancholy. Too much emotion. Too many flashbacks he hadn’t counted on.

And now? Now, more than ever he just wanted to finalize the sale of the house. In his head this was the only way to push all these feelings back into the box where they belonged.

“It’s this one,” said the driver as they pulled up.

Matteo gave a nod and stepped outside onto the frost-covered ground. This shouldn’t take long. He had work to do.

The warehouse was massive, cavernous with an echo that seemed to reverberate all around him. But the first thing that struck him was how methodical everything seemed. The fabrics were stored by color, stacked for what seemed like miles. Large trolleys were pushed around by assistants, who guided customers around the warehouse.

He could pick Phoebe out easily. She was wearing a bright pink coat with matching furry hat and leather gloves. She gave him a rueful smile as he approached. “You might have checked the card worked before you gave it to me.”

He tried to hide his annoyance as he pulled his own from his wallet. He glanced around him. “What do you need me to pay for?”

Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Nothing...yet. They wouldn’t let me start shopping until I had a credit line.”

“You mean you haven’t even started shopping?” His voice echoed louder than expected.

Phoebe pulled back a little and gave him a frown. “No. I haven’t started.”

Matteo strode over to the counter and thrust his card in front of one of the assistants. “Here’s my card. Can you take the details, so I can leave?”

The assistant gave him an icy stare. It was clear she didn’t like being treated so dismissively. She gave him a haughty smile. “I can take your details now—but you have to produce your card and match the signature to complete your purchases.” She gestured to the side. “You can always get yourself a coffee while your wife shops.”

Matteo started. She thought Phoebe was his wife? He stared at the boutique-style coffee shop housed inside the warehouse. While the smell of coffee was tempting, the waste of his time was not.

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