“I’m sorry he bothered us.” She sighed. “It was a nice idea, to block out the world. Unfortunately, the world tends to camp out on my doorstep.”
With it came the intrusion of Eva...and a reminder of all the reasons she’d latched onto the suggestion of a place to hide. If she knew the answers to the questions, interviews might not be so hard.
Her phone beeped, as if to underscore the point. Like an idiot, she checked it to see an apology text from Vincenzo. Well, that was something, at least.
Matt took the phone from her fingers and tossed it on the credenza to his left without checking his aim.
“Hey, the world may come to you, but you don’t have to answer to it.” He swept her hand into his, holding it tight. “No rules at Palazzo D’Inverno. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“Thanks.” It was therapeutic to have someone validate her choices.
He pulled her to the couch and settled them both into it comfortably. The sun was low enough in the sky to cast a glow over the whitewashed building opposite the palazzo.
His fingers tangled in her hair, and she experienced the deepest sense of harmony she’d experienced in a long while. Maybe the deepest ever.
“You drove an Escalade?” she asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject. “Really?”
It seemed too domestic for a guy who liked to throw rules out the window.
Matt chuckled. “Yeah. But I sold it, along with everything else. Seemed easier, since I had no idea where I was going or when I was coming back. Sometimes it feels like that part of my life was a dream, and I have a hard time remembering who that guy was.”
So he hadn’t really fit into that suburban existence. Venice was more his speed, and he’d obviously taken to the laid-back lifestyle. She wondered if she would have given him a second glance if they’d met at a party in the States.
“Did you end up in Venice because it reminds you of your wife? You said you bought this palazzo for her.”
The fingers in her hair stilled. “Amber. Yeah, I did buy it for her. But she died not too long after we got married. She never got the chance to visit.”
“That’s a shame.”
His wife had never seen this beautiful place Matt had given her. But Evangeline couldn’t quite squelch the thrill of knowing she was the only woman who had slept in Matt’s bed, who had lain with him on this couch and eaten at his table.
“The lack of ghosts is the most attractive thing about Palazzo D’Inverno. You know what that means in English? Winter Palace. Seemed appropriate to come here. My soul felt pretty frozen.”
Her heart ached for him. He wandered in search of a cure for his grief. Maybe he’d found one—her.
Silly. Probably a recipe for disaster to imagine herself a healer. But the notion was still there, pinging around inside her.
“The Italian who built this palazzo called it that because he came here during the winter from someplace colder. So did you.”
“True.” The expression on his face caught her right in her aching heart. “But it’s only warmer because you’re in it. I wouldn’t have come to Venice if Amber had stayed here. I sold the house in Dallas we’d bought together. I can’t be around things with memories. I get too attached.”
Of course he did. Anyone with Matt’s depth would be shattered by the loss of someone he’d obviously loved. He and his wife had shared a house and a life and a level of commitment she couldn’t comprehend.
He was staring out the window blindly when she glanced at him. “Is it hard to talk about her?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate, and the hard set of his mouth said he wasn’t going to.
For a guy who had easily told stories at lunch about his college days, closing off must mean it was a very taboo subject. She had an extra store of mercy for that kind of pain, especially for someone who’d been so very nice about Franco’s invasion.
Maybe she’d stayed in the worst sort of foolish gamble—betting that Matt wouldn’t hurt her because he empathized with her pain.
Through the glass, she watched a bird pecking at the marble balcony. “When I was in an interview and the reporter asked a question I didn’t want to answer, I’d use a code word. My manager would smoothly and quickly rescue me. We’ll have one, too. Whenever one of us touches on a sensitive subject, the code word is sacred. It means ‘get me out of this. No more questions.’”
That melted the stone from his expression. “What kind of code word?”
“You pick. Make it silly. That way, we can lighten the mood at the same time.”
“Armadillo,” he suggested immediately. “They walk funny.”
The way he said it, all serious about the assignment, made her giggle. “See? It works. So do you want to call armadillo about Amber?”
His mouth twitched. “Maybe. And maybe I’m starting to get through it. I can say her name out loud without flinching. Progress.”
Because of her? Maybe she hadn’t given herself enough credit in the healing department.
Then he tipped up her chin and pierced her with those pale blue eyes. “I’ll be your manager. In the interview.”
Her lungs seized. “What are you talking about? I’m not doing the interview.”
He didn’t get it at all. Had she lost her gamble already?
“But if you wanted to, I’d stay right there with you. Say the word and I’ll rescue you.” He smiled and it was so gentle, she almost smiled back. “Nothing wrong with both of us making progress.”
So, he’d obviously drawn a few of his own conclusions about her reasons for saying no.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to do the interview.”
“Okay.”
And like that, he dropped the subject in favor of launching into a discussion about what she might like for dinner. She responded, but most of her attention was back on Matt’s offer to be with her during the interview.
If he’d pushed, her heels would have dug in. But he never forced her to explain herself—backing her into an emotional corner was the fastest way to irritate her. It was almost like he knew.
“Matt?” He didn’t even comment about how she’d interrupted him. “You’d do that for me? Rescue me if I say armadillo?”
“Sure.” His brows wrinkled in confusion as he squeezed her hand. “I said I would. Does that mean you’re going to do the interview?”
Patiently, he waited her out, his silence nothing more than encouragement to go on if she chose. Or not, if she chose, which was usually the path she took. “I don’t know. I’ve had a strict no-interviews policy since the surgery.”
“Do you get stage fright in front of all those cameras or something? Just picture them in their underwear.”
The mental image of cameras wearing a pink, lacy bra-and-panty set made her giggle. “That’s not the problem. I just don’t like the questions.”
“Well, no offense, but that guy doesn’t strike me as a hard-hitting news journalist. If he asks you about anything more strenuous than where you shop, I’ll fall over in a dead shock.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “If I was going to jump back in the water, I’d get my feet wet with a small-time Italian talk show first.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She’d think of nothing but. Because his point was valid.
He gave her plenty of