29. Esmé
29
ESMé
I stood at the back of the gallery, evaluating the night. The exhibition had gone seamlessly so far. Luc’s paintings went down a storm. Each purchase meant a healthy commission for me and more money in the bank for Rome.
Maurice hovered in the corner, hand on the dimmer switch. Lola and he had compiled a video to compliment Luc’s work, full of sweeping pictures of his vineyard, the country estate he owned, and his little secret beach on the coast.
I sent him a nod, and he grinned. In the few seconds before the lights dimmed, I scanned the room for Matteo. He wasn’t hard to spot—taller than most of my guests, he towered over the customer he chatted with.
I smiled. He’d been perfect tonight. Charming, but low-key. He’d kept his distance, but every time I caught his eye across the room, he sent a little wink.
The room darkened, and the chatter in the gallery stopped. After a few seconds, a beautiful image of Luc’s chateau filled one of the bare walls and stirring orchestral music filled the gallery.
I glanced at my feet, fighting the smile threatening to erupt on my lips. Luc and I had argued about the music. He’d wanted something gentle, like the harp, but Iris had overruled him. I knew he’d hate what I’d decided on, and I could picture his brows furrowing right now.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, closing my eyes to savour the swell of violins, when a scream filled the room. I opened my eyes, staring around the gallery. Was someone being murdered? As I scanned the crowd, a full-throated cry of “Matteo” pierced the air and I looked at the wall, my blood instantly turning to ice.
It was me . I’d been the one to scream, and that was my body, flailing around helplessly on the zip wire being projected onto the makeshift screen.
A prickle ran down my neck. Silence thickened as guests exchanged wary glances. Me? I just stared at the screen, willing myself to wake from this obvious nightmare.
I watched myself spin around on the wire for a few seconds before whoever filmed this Oscar-worthy footage zoomed in on my bottom—my very much exposed bottom. A ripple of hushed murmurs spread through the room, and I forced down the bitterness rising in my throat.
“No,” I whispered, my feet absolutely glued to the floor, like I’d been cemented on the spot. Someone had filmed my accident on the zip line last weekend. They’d captured my utter humiliation. Channelling my inner Maleficent, I sent a silent hex to the cameraperson, only I couldn’t stop the images from coming.
Fighting the trembling in my hands, the video played on. Matteo joined me on the wire, his legs wrapping around my waist, his lips at my ear. Then the rain fell, and my sweatshirt became transparent.
I glanced at Maurice, expecting to see him on the control desk, ready to cut the feed, but he wasn’t there. My breath came thick and fast, and my gut rolled under the bemused stares of the folk around me.
An on-screen squeal cut through the murmur of the guests, and I looked up again. This time, though, Matteo’s hands were clasped around my buttocks as he tried to push me along the wire.
As if God himself had decided to smite me, the video froze, my derriere taking the starring role—loud, proud and magnified on the wall. Matteo’s hands barely covered it.
Gasps sprang up around the gallery, along with a few chuckles and giggles. My face filled with a heat to rival Mount Vesuvius.
“No, no, no!” I whispered, magically springing to life. I tore over to the wall, waving my arms, trying to cover the screen. But the image was so large, it was like an ant trying to block an elephant.
I scoured the gallery, waiting for a miracle or a saviour.Someone to rescue me from the mortification currently surging through my body. Within a heartbeat, Matteo was at my shoulder. “Esmé,” he hissed. “What the hell is going on?”
I blinked at him. If I knew that, I’d be able to stop the onslaught of this horror show. I met his frantic gaze. “Did you do this?”
His mouth gaped open. “What? Why would you think that?”
I shook my head, dislodging the suspicion. “I’m sorry. But please, just make it stop.”
He gave me a grim look, then disappeared. Muffled laughter reached my ears, and my blood pumped hard through my body. Within seconds, the screen went dark, leaving the gallery in silence. Then somebody turned on the lights.
A bank of faces surrounded me. Faces with mixed expressions—horror, amusement, even scowls—but every single eye was glued to me .
I cleared my throat, fixing a smile on my lips. “Please accept my apologies for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen. We must have had a technical issue. But if you’d like to stay for another drink, I'd be happy to answer any questions about Luc’s work.”
Right on cue, he strode towards me, his furious face shattering the tomb-like silence. “Where is he?” he ground out.
“Who?” I’d never been applauded for my acting skills, but right now, keeping my smile in place was the fight of my life.
“That boy you put in charge of my exhibition.”
I startled. Boy? Realisation dawned on me. He meant Matteo. I stared at my best friend. Right now, he was the proud, stormy Luc who materialised from time to time. Since Iris’ arrival in his life, I’d seen way less of this side of him. But these were extenuating circumstances. I’d potentially ruined his career.
“He’s not a boy,” I said steadily, well aware of the crowd of onlookers.
“Well, he acts like one. Clowning around the gallery, throwing puppy dog eyes at you.”
Iris stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “Luc!”
And then, to complete the full set, like a tragic comedy, Matteo appeared at my side. “I stopped it,” he said, running his eyes over my face, like he was checking for damage. “The video was loaded onto the gallery laptop. There was no way it could’ve accidentally overridden the original footage. Someone had to deliberately hit the start button, or …” he looked around the gallery, “someone added it.”
The gathering of bemused onlookers moved now, as if someone had woken them from a spell.
“But who would do that?” Iris asked.
Luc growled beside her. “It doesn’t matter who. Both Esmé and I have been made a laughingstock tonight. And that video?” He shook his head at Matteo. “I don’t care what you do outside the gallery in your own time, but please don’t drag my friend into it.”
He put a hand on my arm, his eyes softer now. “I’m sorry for my outburst, but I care about you. You’ve worked so hard. I hate to see your talents wasted.” Luc leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see if I can limit some of the damage.”
My gut heaved as he and Iris walked away. The guests had thinned out, but those who remained parted around us as I took Matteo’s hand and pulled him to the back of the gallery.
When we reached the bar, he stopped. “Es, why did you think I put the video up on the screen?”
I wound my arms tight around myself. “Because all week you’ve been pushing me to go public about the two of us.”
He shook his head, like I’d completely lost the plot. “And you think I’d choose this as the way to do it? To humiliate you?”
I ran my eyes over his face. He blinked, his long lashes forming a curtain around his eyes. My shoulders loosened. “No. You wouldn’t do that to me.”
He sent me a half-smile, his eyes filling with warmth. “Exactly. I’d never purposely hurt you.”
The tiniest glow filled my chest. “Then who?”
I looked at the few people left in the gallery. I hadn’t even heard most of them leave. Lola and Bruno stood in the beam of an exhibition spotlight, looking decidedly sheepish under the glare of a furious looking Maurice.
“Lola,” I whispered.
I counted to three before I headed towards them.
Her eyes widened as I approached. “What the hell have you done?” I asked, my voice sounding oddly foreign. Like it didn’t belong to me.
Lola grimaced. “It was an accident, I promise.”
I pointed to the wall. “How was that an accident? Do you have any idea how many careers—how many lives—you may have ruined? Where did you even get the video? ”
She pouted and folded her arms. “It came up on Bruno’s FYP.”
I sucked in a breath. “My bottom came up on his FYP?”
He avoided looking at me, staring at the floor.
“Well, he didn’t know it was you … at first.”
I tightened my eyes. “So, once he realised that fact, he showed you? And then you chose to share it with my clients? My friends and potential investors?”
She shook her head, her face paling. “No. I don’t know how it got onto the screen. I promise.”
Bruno shifted on his feet and Maurice stepped forward. “I think that’s a lie, don’t you, Lola? I just checked, and somebody had added that footage to the original montage.” He turned to me. “I should’ve made sure nobody else touched the video. I’m so sorry.”
I shrugged. “But why would you expect any of this to happen?”
He shot me a pained look, and my heart went out to him. He adored Lola—had for years. The thought that she could be capable of such a nasty move must have cut deep.
I turned to face her, lead in my chest. She’d been my first employee, but there was no justification for what she’d done. “Leave,” I said. “And please, never come back. You don’t work for me anymore.”
Her eyes grew, but Maurice took her arm, leading her and Bruno away.
Matteo ran his fingers down the back of my shoulder, reminding me of his presence. At his soft touch, my heart thudded, and blood sang in my ears.
“Did you know about the video?” I asked.
Matteo looked at his feet before returning his eyes to mine. “I knew I’d been tagged in something yesterday, but we were so busy, I hadn’t watched it. ”
I pulled in a breath, my head swimming. “You were tagged in the video?”
He winced. “ Si, many times.”
I processed the information. “And you didn’t think to check what it was?”
He shook his head, as if I was crazy. “I get tagged in videos every day. I’ve been so busy here; I didn’t take the time to watch it. I’m sorry.”
I took a shaky breath. He’d been so wrapped up in what I’d asked him to do—all the little tasks—all the times we’d snuck away and shared private moments. I couldn’t blame him.
I briefly closed my eyes before finding his face again. “I understand that you didn’t watch it, but how many people have ?”
“I don’t know,” he said, threading his arm around me, kissing the top of my head. “But I guarantee nobody here would’ve ever seen it if it wasn’t for Lola and Bruno.”
I nestled into him, savouring his warmth. When I looked up again, Gio’s face swum into view over Matteo’s shoulder. My gut churned. His expression was stern but unreadable. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he pushed his arm into the sleeve of his jacket.
I straightened and Matteo stiffened next to me, turning to see his grandfather.
Gio’s gaze cut between us, sharp and assessing, before settling on Matteo. His jaw clenched. “How could you?” he bit out. He shook his head slowly, as if disgusted by what he saw.
If I’d thought my heart had thumped earlier, the hammering in my chest right now deafened me. “It wasn’t Matteo’s …” I started, intending to say fault , but when Gio’s piercing gaze swung to me, the word shrivelled on my tongue.
After a long, excruciating beat, he exhaled sharply and pulled his lips into a tight, thin smile—one devoid of warmth. “I apologise to you Esmé, for my lapse in judgment,” he said, his voice like ice. “I should’ve known it was too much to expect my grandson to behave like an adult, just this once.”
He turned on his heel.
Matteo stepped forward. “Wait?—”
“No.” Gio lifted a hand like he’d slammed a door. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I think you’ve done quite enough.” He squared his shoulders, tugging his jacket into place, then strode toward the door without a backward glance.
I grabbed Matteo’s arm. “Should I go after him?” Gio was here for me. I was the one who asked for his investment.
Matteo exhaled, his expression hardening. “No. It should be me. I’m the one he’s angry with. I’m the one he’s always been angry with.” His voice lowered, something raw threading through it. “I think it’s time I stood up to my grandfather. I refuse to let anyone make me feel worthless or an embarrassment again.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of my head, breathing me in before stepping away and following his grandfather into the square.
I blinked into the void of his absence, but all too soon, my senses snapped into place. The few people remaining were packing up to leave. Some stared, but most ignored me, filing out in eerie silence. My gut twisted into a tight knot.
Luc and Esmé came to my side. I tried to smile—I really did—but the effort exhausted me. They held hands, and Luc’s gaze swept my face. His jaw softened, his frown easing, but there was still that faint shadow lingering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting an arm around me. “I shouldn’t take anything out on you.”
I shook my head. “People are leaving, Luc. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Iris shrugged, resting her head on Luc’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry. You may recall, in his younger days, Luc had quite a reputation. A scandal at one of his rare exhibitions will only make his next one a hotter ticket.”
I pushed out a dry laugh. At least she wasn’t about to throttle me like Luc had been.
“Yours too,” she said. “You could line something else up for your Rome opening? Maybe some skinny-dipping footage? Parachuting in your underwear?”
“Stop!” I groaned, rubbing my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help you see the funny side.” She paused, running her eyes over the now bare wall. “And who knows? Something positive might come out of tonight. If nothing else, you look great in tiny shorts and technicolour.”
I gave a wry laugh. My best friend’s wife was sickeningly positive, but she always had my back. “Thank you for the compliment, but Luc’s professional reputation won’t benefit from my lack of cellulite.”
He shook his head. “I’m not worried about me. I don’t want your reputation tarnished.”
My heart gave a solid tug. “Matteo did nothing wrong. Nothing that I wasn’t a willing participant in. This evening was a case of unfortunate timing and a dreadful choice of personnel.” I looked directly at Luc. “I wish you knew Matteo like I knew him.”
Iris raised her brows.
“Knew him better,” I corrected, earning a smile from her. “He’s smart and passionate. Fun. His family, the Romanos, are well known through Europe.If we’d thought something like tonight could ever happen …”
My words died on my tongue as Marianne and Alessandro Rossi sauntered towards us. Marianne looked like she’d had one too many glasses of champagne, but it was Alessandro’s thorny face that made my belly churn.
I took a breath, girding my loins for the onslaught that he’d no doubt unleash. He’d all but agreed to invest in Rome. From the look of him now, I’d be lucky to get a Christmas card.
“I’m so sorry about this evening. The video, the …”
“Spectacle?” he asked, his eyebrows threatening to hit the ceiling.
“Yes, that. It wasn’t what it looked like, and I want you to know I’ve taken steps to ensure nothing like this happens again.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But you understand I can’t be seen to make an investment in anyone quite so … exposed.”
Despite the plunge in my gut, I tightened my brows. Was he trying to make a sick joke?
“I’m sure you understand,” he continued. “I saw Gio Romano leave. Like him, I have my reputation to consider.”
I blinked rapidly. It was pointless to suggest that Matteo might get him to come back. “But I’ve had investment papers drawn up for you to look at.”
My voice wobbled, and Luc stepped forward. “Monsieur Rossi, I think you’ll find none of this evening’s events were Esme’s fault. She is an incredible woman. Even after tonight, I have no hesitation putting my next exhibition in her hands.”
Alessandro’s brows rose.
“Perhaps you might reconsider,” Luc said.
Despite the most charming smile I’d ever seen my best friend muster, Alessandro shook his head slowly. Marianne fidgeted at his side, avoiding looking at me. “I’m sorry, but right now, I’m not ready to make a commitment in your Roman Holiday .”
He emphasised the words like he found the idea of my new gallery amusing. “We’ll talk in a few months when the dust around this evening has settled.”
As they walked away, hot tears pricked my eyes. Without the Rossi’s or Gio’s backing, there’d be no Roman Holiday —no new gallery, and no chance to carve my own path .
I sniffed, smoothing my hands over my dress and straightening my back. As the Rossis disappeared through the door, I let out a slow breath, willing the sting of the last thirty minutes to fade.
Luc squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I think we should go, too. I’m sure you have a lot to sort out.”
Iris gave my hand a quick, comforting press. “Unless you’d like us to stay?”
They both had dark circles under their eyes. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay. I have help.” I waved my arm around the gallery to back up my lie. The only other person left in the building was the bartender. He already had his jacket on and was heading to the door.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Iris said. “I hope you can get some rest. We’ll call tomorrow.”
I nodded, forcing a smile, watching as they stepped into the night. Would I rest? That remained to be seen. After this disaster, sleep might come, but peace was another matter entirely.