6. Esmé
6
ESMé
W ith a clank of the old lock, I opened the gallery door. I usually started at nine a.m. sharp, but something had me dragging my heels this morning.
Maybe because I’d hardly slept?
The night had been a frustrating tangle of thoughts about my new assistant—about his not telling me who he was on the chairlift, and about me not recognizing his cheeky grin in Gio’s photo. Admittedly, his smile looked better now he had all his teeth.
I’d toyed with calling Gio and explaining why I couldn’t take on his grandson. Where would I start? “I kissed him, uninvited, on a chairlift.” The words sounded ridiculous in my head, let alone out loud.
Worse, I hadn’t known who he was when we kissed, but that wouldn’t matter to anyone else. The assumption would be obvious: I’d tried to charm my way into an investment. And just like that, the gossip would spiral. My professional reputation wouldn’t survive the fallout.
Two large glasses of wine, three failed attempts to focus on a movie, and hours of overthinking later, I still couldn’t decide if I’d truly meant to kiss him. It was tempting to blame the weather, the wind, or his infuriatingly kind offer to warm me up. But in the end, I had a choice.
When the lift jolted us together, I could’ve pulled away. I should have pulled away. But I didn’t. His soft lips and steady warmth drew me in, and maybe—just maybe—on some unconscious level, I’d invited it. Perhaps I’d asked, and the universe had delivered Matteo Romano straight to my chairlift.
I swallowed my butterflies and gripped the door handle.
It was time to put my game face on. Be smart, be sensible. I didn’t need the chaos Matteo could bring. Or the uncertainty. I’d built myself a good life. A quiet life with order and regularity. I knew who I was, where I was going, and with Gio’s investment, I knew how I’d get there.
With a sigh, I twisted the handle and pulled.
Each morning, the newspaper delivery boy left a copy of Le Monde on my step. I completed the crossword before work. I considered it meditation—a centring ritual to start the day. But today, there’d be no serenity or silence.
Instead of my newspaper laying on the path, Matteo Romano stood with it tucked under his arm.
He leaned against the wall, his peacoat buttoned tight against the chilly wind. A coffee tray with two cups lay at his feet. In his arms, alongside my newspaper, was my little white cat, Claudette. I swear Matteo’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and something skittered through my belly in response.
“Delivery,” he said.
The softest of smiles crept across his lips and a warmth spread through my chest. I looked out into the square behind him, checking for customers or companions, but he was alone.
“How long have you been here? Did you sleep on a bench?” It was a silly question. He looked far too polished, far too handsome to have slept rough for the night.
“No. I just wanted to make a good impression on my first proper day. Earn some extra credit with the boss. Start as I mean to go on.”
I eyed the coffee at his feet. I’d only had one cup so far this morning. “Well, if hot coffee is the way you mean to continue, then come inside.”
Claudette gave a tiny meow and Matteo leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “And,” he said, “I found this little one on the step. It looks like she needs to warm up.”
A shiver ran through my body. She wasn’t the only one.
“Can we come in?” he asked, hugging my cat tighter to his chest.
“Oh, sorry, yes. But don’t take it personally if Claudette leaves.”
I held the door open. Matteo picked up the coffee tray with his free hand and stepped inside, feline onboard.
“What do you mean leave?”
I pulled the newspaper from under his arm and walked to my desk, heels clicking on the floorboards. “She’s not really my cat.”
He tipped his head to one side. “Have you stolen her? Will the police charge me as an accomplice? I could have my passport confiscated.”
Despite the lack of caffeine in my veins, I chuckled and put the paper down on my desk. “Claudette is a stray. She showed up on my welcome mat during a snowstorm two months ago. She comes and goes—mostly goes—but she’s sweet.” I tickled the top of her head as she lay snuggled in his arms.
“Very much her own woman, then?” he said. “Independent. Must take after her not-really-owner.”
The soft glow in his eyes made my tummy flip, and I turned my head for a moment in case he noticed the warmth in my cheeks.
Matteo gently put Claudette down on my desk, then sat on its tidy top alongside her. Instead of her usual disappearing act under a chair or out the door, she weaved around his body, purring like a sports car.
I pulled my brows together. “How did you do that?”
“What?”
“Hypnotise my cat? She hates people—barely tolerates me. She detests Maurice. Climbed up his leg once, all the way to his … well, you know. We had to send him for a rabies vaccination.”
He chuckled, then shrugged, crossing one of his legs in front of the other like a shield. “What can I say? Maybe I have a way with tough women.”
His lips bowed in the cheeky grin I remembered from the chairlift. The hairs on the back of my neck raised, and I tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear.
He shifted on the desk. “According to my grandmother, babies and animals love me because I have large eyes. It’s a trust thing, apparently.”
I studied him through my own slightly narrowed eyes. He handed me a cup from the coffee tray and a waft of exquisitely roasted beans swept over me.
“I’m not sure that’s actually a thing.” His eyes were beautiful, but I doubted the thoughts behind them were trustworthy one hundred percent of the time.
“Of course it is,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’ve heard of horse whisperers? Snake charmers? Just think of me as a tabby tamer.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows.
“Definitely not a thing. And she’s not even a tabby.” But my disloyal cat chose that second to bump her head against Matteo’s arm with her loudest purr yet. “Judas,” I said, giving her another tickle.
His smile drew a quiet sigh from me. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Seeing you was a shock—when I spoke to your grandfather, I had no idea his grandson was, well, you. You were… unexpected. A surprise.”
The apples of his cheeks lifted. “A good one? ”
My gut fizzed. Damn him. What did he want me to say? That I’d spent all night thinking about him and our awkward reunion? That the worst thing for me right now would be spending hours at a time in his presence? Even in this moment, I struggled to keep my gaze from straying to his lips. In fact, his very presence was sending my pulse and my thoughts to all the wrong places.
I couldn’t help but stare. Stare at his dark, slicked back hair that curled at his collar hinting at disarray. At the tiny dimple on his chin and the faint shadow of stubble colouring his jaw. He still had on his peacoat and looked like a spy from an old movie.
A tightness gripped my chest.Matteo Romano was a walking, smooth-talking red flag, only to be waved at my peril.
And there was no time for waving anything. My focus had to be on Rome, on the new gallery, and on making a name for myself. I could be a good and disinterested mentor.
A chance run-in on a snow lift with a handsome man wasn’t a good reason to railroad my dreams. And that’s all he was. Someone diverting who I’d met by accident.
“So, what would you like me to do?” Matteo’s voice swept over me, nudging me out of my thoughts.
“Pardon?”
“While I’m here. I can’t just stand around all day looking pretty. And I do have some hidden depths and talents.”
I took another sip of coffee before pulling a large file from below my desk. I opened it up on the wooden top, spreading out the papers. Matteo stood and joined me while Claudette played with the edge of a page, batting it with her paw.
“These are the plans for our next exhibition. It’s in two weeks. Luc Du Comtois is our exhibiting artist. It’s his third showing with us, and by far the biggest.”
I flipped over pages of drawings, smoothing the paper of my display diagrams. They were my plan of how I wanted the viewers to experience the exhibition.
Matteo ran a finger over my notes, shifting at my side. “Damn, you’re detailed.”
I rested my palm on the desk, leaning over some of my sketches, re-memorising the hanging order. “I have to be. If there are any errors—any mistakes—I’m to blame.”
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine people would worry about the order paintings hang.”
“You’d be surprised. People have ruined their reputations over less.”
He lifted one corner of his lips. “So, you’re all about your reputation?”
At his smirk, I clamped my jaw. Of course he couldn’t understand. His grandparents described him as an impulsive time waster, uninterested in taking on responsibility.
He had no idea about customers or business, or soothing the spirits of temperamental art lovers. Everyone in this industry had an opinion, and they shared it liberally.
“Of course, I have to focus on my reputation. Without it, I’m nothing,” I said, my voice sounding harsher than I intended. “I employ people. The rent here is enormous. I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. I’ve built this place from nothing—and I’ve built it alone.”
An image of Didier’s face popped into my head, unbidden. Like he’d heard me taking him for granted from somewhere else in the universe and materialised in my brain. I drew my brows together, banishing his pale, stern face. “My reputation matters.”
Matteo moved closer, his smile all but gone. He leaned over my notes again. “Okay, so how can I help?”
He shrugged out of his jacket and placed his hand next to mine on the desk. Our skin didn’t touch, but his proximity made my heart thump. I fought the urge to pull away. Even standing beside him, it felt like every molecule under my skin had woken up, ready to party.
I took a steadying breath, telling Matteo about Luc’s paintings and how I thought they should flow through the gallery space. But then, without warning, his pinkie finger brushed lightly over mine. It was a casual, almost careless touch—but the jolt of electricity that shot through my body was sharp and immediate.
I froze, my fingers bunching from the shock of contact. My heart skipped a beat, and I was suddenly aware of everything—his breath, too close to my ear; the warmth radiating from his body, and the tingle on my skin where he’d touched me.
I stepped back, gripping my wrist like he’d stabbed me with one of the paintbrushes on my desk.
His eyes widened, and he straightened. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help?—”
“I want you to work with Lola on the exhibition.”
He shook his head as if I’d spoken to him in another language. “What? Why?”
Did he really need an explanation? I’d just told him what terrified me. All that could go wrong and then seconds later, he’d practically held my hand. “You can’t touch me like that. If anyone saw us, they’d get the wrong idea.”
His forehead creased and his bottom lip stuck out like a chastised child.
“I was trying to make you feel better.”
I huffed a breath. “And how would I explain that my new investor’s grandson was trying to make me feel better? They’d think I was just sweetening the deal. Buying Gio’s investment by cozying up to his grandson.”
He slowly shook his head. “But he said you’re the one who can teach me what I need to learn. He said no one else can do what you do.”
I stepped back. He suddenly felt very young to me, and my chest tugged at the downturn in his mouth. Couldn’t he see my point? “Matteo. Are you here to work for me?”
“Yes.”
“So, I’m in charge. I give the orders.”
He bit the side of his lip. “Fair enough, but what if I want to work with you, not Lola?” He stepped toward me, closing the space between us. “What if she can’t teach me everything I need to know?”
At the intense look in his eyes and the subtle shift in his posture, something inside me wavered. His nearness and the weight of his gaze pulled at me like a magnet.
My pulse quickened, a soft ache blooming in my chest. I should say no. I should walk away, stay focused, and keep my boundaries intact. But the air between us thickened, and for a split second, I felt my grip on control slipping away.
“Matteo, please …”
Somebody cleared their throat behind us, and we both spun our heads. Lola stood in the doorway, her hair shining in the thin morning light streaming through the window. I hadn’t even noticed the bell over the door chime.
“Who, and what am I teaching?” she asked, her gaze bouncing between us.
“Matteo,” I said, my voice as expressionless as a robot. “Matteo will work under you for the Du Comtois exhibition.”
Lola cocked her head to one side. “Interesting.”
Matteo kept his eyes on me the whole time, even as he picked up his coat. They were wide and solemn. But I wouldn’t grant him a reprieve. Wouldn’t back down.
“Well, we best get started,” Lola said, turning towards her desk at the back of the gallery. “We have a lot to cover. I hope you don’t mind a strong woman. I warn you; I can be brutal.” She screwed her nose up with a grin. She looked like an evil fairy—cute, but deadly.
Without a word, Matteo trailed her through the display plinths, and my gut twisted. He looked so dejected. I turned to Claudette. She’d been sitting on the edge of my desk watching everything.
“What are you looking at? I did the right thing.” She glared at me with her large green eyes, as if perfectly understanding my words. I reached out to tickle her, but when I got close, she jumped off the desk and ran to the door, yowling to be let out.
Wonderful. I’d not only upset the man I couldn’t shake from my thoughts, but now my petulant cat, too.
I undid my claw clip and ran my fingers through my hair. My body’s reaction to Matteo had been crazy. I brought my hand to my lips, as if I could taste the memory of his touch. But with a shake of my head, I forced it back into my pocket.
Things would settle down, and until then, I had to keep on script. On plan. Matteo was young, impetuous, and off limits in every single way.
But at the prickle of my skin, one reality was very clear—he had a way of throwing my carefully constructed world off balance. And I hated how much I liked it.