28. Matteo
28
MATTEO
I scanned the gallery, soaking in the lively atmosphere. Esmé had crafted the perfect setting for Luc’s exhibition—elegantly lit and filled with well-dressed guests, drinks in hand, mingling with effortless sophistication.
I let out a tight breath. Our lives couldn’t be more different. This room of wealthy people bore no resemblance to the places I spent my time. But this was Esmé’s life, and however different from mine, I’d be there for her.
A shock of silver hair caught my eye, and I peeked through the crowd to see my grandfather. He was completely in his element, shaking the hand of an equally rich looking man, his face aglow.
He’d greeted Esmé like family when he’d arrived, and now he basked in the glory of well-wishers and hangers-on. Yes, this was my grandfather’s life, too. And if Gio had his way, it’d also be mine.
I forced down the tightness in my throat and tipped back the rest of my wine. Could I really survive in this group of privileged and polished people?
I searched the room for Esmé but couldn’t find her.Instead, I found Marianne and Alessandro Rossi. They held court on the other side of the gallery, looking smug and thoroughly invested in the glow surrounding Esmé. I smiled. The woman who’d stolen my heart deserved all the praise she got tonight.
Marianne caught my gaze and sent a little wave. I waved back, hoping she didn’t read too much into my gesture. She’d cornered me earlier asking what my plans were for Rome and how heavily I’d be involved in Esmé’s gallery.
I’d given her a vague response, but then she suggested I accompany her on a tour of the mountain monasteries I’d mentioned. Apparently, she wanted to meet the squirrels and have an “immersive” experience that only a knowledgeable guide could give. At the glint in her eye, I dreaded to think what “immersive” might involve.
I scanned the crowd again and finally spotted Esmé weaving towards Luc du Comtois and his wife. Taking a steady breath, I watched as she moved gracefully in a midnight blue satin dress, the rich colour bringing out the warmth of her chestnut hair.
Earlier, upstairs, she’d put on a fashion show just for me, trying on potential outfits. I’d told her I preferred her naked, but she’d laughed and insisted she didn’t have the nerve for full nudity—not with my grandfather attending.
The memory pulled at my heart, remembering the way her eyes crinkled with laughter, then the soft sigh that escaped her lips when I showed her just how much I appreciated her skin.
Here in the gallery, she stole all my attention as she nodded, talking to someone, pointing to one of the portraits. Her face was alive with excitement. She looked beautiful. Even Luc du Comtois was flashing the odd, rare smile this evening. Despite his frosty demeanour, he was a good friend to Esmé, and he obviously adored his wife.
I turned towards the makeshift bar with a smile. My mood soured the moment Lola appeared. I tightened my eyes. A shock of blond hair and a cheap suit caught my attention, too. I scowled. What the hell was Bruno doing here? I’d personally overseen the invitation list, and his name hadn’t been on it.
They giggled over his phone as they walked my way, but the moment they noticed me, Lola froze. Wide-eyed, she yanked Bruno back by his shirt cuff. As our eyes met, he swiftly pocketed his phone, his gaze bouncing around the gallery. A thin sheen of perspiration formed on his upper lip, glittering in the light.
“Bruno,” I said. “Long time no see. I notice you’re still wearing nylon. You really should change to woollen suits. They allow the skin to breathe.”
It took him precisely three seconds to freeze, then retreat, with a stream of muttered words I had no chance of hearing.
I shook my head. “What’s he doing here?”
Lola watched him walk away then shrugged. “What’s it to you?”
The sharpness of her tone sent a creeping sensation down the back of my neck. She wasn’t exactly warm and chummy with me these days, but her voice was like acid dissolving through metal.
“Maybe he wanted another shot with Esmé, unless, of course, that would be a problem with you?” Her eyes gleamed, and not with happiness.
“What do you mean?”
She twisted her mouth like a pretzel. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps that the two of you have been working so closely together. What with all the late nights and storeroom boiler repairs, you must be the best of friends by now.” Her eyes seethed, and she clamped her jaw tight.
A prickle of warmth crept up my spine, and I longed to step outside into the cool of the square. Instead, I cleared my throat and straightened. “Lola, if you have something to say, we’d prefer it wait until after tonight. ”
Her eyes widened, and she scoffed. “We?”
I blinked slowly, willing my face to stay neutral. I’d all but admitted there was something between Esmé and me. Or at the very least, that we talked about the gallery together—her business. As far as Lola knew, I was only a junior member of staff.
“What I mean is, I’m sure Esmé would agree with me.”
Her lips curled, the smile not reaching her eyes. “I’m sure she would. You know, it’s a shame we didn’t get to know each other better. Though I’m probably a little on the young side for you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she got in first.
“Besides, I can’t imagine Esmé will keep you around much longer. You’re not really her type.”
I was about to ask what she meant, but Maurice arrived at her shoulder. “Is the video presentation ready to roll?” he asked.
The two of them had put together a video reel to showcase Luc’s work and touch on some of his inspirations. Esmé had shown it to me last night and told me some amazing stories about growing up on Luc’s family estate.
“It sure is,” Lola said with a triumphant look.
“Okay, then let’s get this show on the road,” Maurice said, placing a hand at the small of Lola’s back as he guided her toward the tech desk. As they walked away, Lola glanced back, chewing her bottom lip.
I narrowed my eyes at her retreating figure. Ever since I’d turned her down on her birthday, she’d been distant and downright rude at times. I hadn’t been arrogant enough to assume it was because of my rejection—but as she disappeared into the crowd, an uneasy feeling crept over me.