This place was a masterpiece of elegance with warm earth tones, jewelled accents, and sleek modern styling. The freestanding bath was almost like a swimming pool, with a chandelier above it that had made her feel like royalty as she’d wallowed in the tub. Everything a picture of sheer opulence. Yet she couldn’t imagine this was where he spent all his time, though why she held that unshakable view she couldn’t really say. It just seemed the hotel was somewhere he’d created for others, not himself.
‘I have lots of places to live,’ he said, arms out wide. ‘Take your pick of country. Italy, France, the US.’
‘Are they all yourhomes?’
He cocked his head to the side. A tiny frown creased his brow. ‘I own them. I stay there. Isn’t that enough?’
She shook her head.
‘Not where you sleep. I’m talking about somewhere where you’re happy to be. Every time you walk through the door, it’s a relief. Your safe space, the one that holds your fondest memories. The place that you can be entirely yourself?’
That was what Easton Hall had been to her. A sanctuary. She’d spent so long feeling as though she’d had to hide, with people not listening to her. There, she could be who she was without any question. Today out in Milan had simply reaffirmed what she’d always thought: Easton Hall was her place. Where she fitted, like the final piece slotted into a puzzle.
Matteo’s eyes widened, then he frowned. ‘That’s not what a home means. It’s a place to stay.’
That was why he thought paying her off would convince her to leave Easton Hall. How could she ever convince someone who didn’t understand the true meaning of home how important a real home was to her?
Before she could carry on the conversation his phone buzzed an alert.
‘Ahh. I promised food then clothes. The clothes have arrived.’
The delicious toastie in her stomach seemed to have congealed to a solid rock in an instant. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for more judgement and humiliation.
A gentle knock sounded at the door and Matteo opened it. In walked a woman, once again with impeccable style. Though not sharp in black and bold colours but somehow more accessible in pale grey trousers, a soft cream blouse, and pastel-coloured scarf casually tossed round her throat. She shook Matteo’s hand, her whole demeanour businesslike. Louisa stood and the woman turned, a wide and warm smile on her face. Introduced herself as Sylvana. Directed a couple of men with clothing racks into the suite. Louisa scanned the racks and her shoulders dropped a fraction, relaxing. No black to be seen.
‘I hope you like what I have to show you. Please take a seat and we’ll go through what I’ve found.’
Louisa glanced at Matteo. Was he going to stay? She guessed so, the way he’d sprawled on the lounge like a panther making itself comfortable in the sun. She sat in an armchair as Sylvana took dress after dress from the racks. All breathtakingly beautiful. Some she wouldn’t wear, many she would. The woman reorganised the racks into the clothes Louisa might like and the clothes she didn’t.
All the while Matteo watched, staring at the selections, then looking at her. What was he thinking? Imagining her in the clothes, wondering whether they’d suit her? The man was inscrutable, even though the awareness of his gaze brushed over her like the soft, expensive fabrics Sylvana invited her to touch to ensure she liked the feel of them against her skin.
‘I hear that your house recently caught fire, which is why you have no clothes,’ Sylvana said, with a look of real concern on her face as she began wheeling the clothes rack with Louisa’s selections into the bedroom. ‘I’m sorry. But let’s start the fun by trying these clothes on.’
‘I’m not sure this is my idea of fun,’ Louisa said. ‘I usually wear vintage day dresses that I found in the attic in my old home.’
Sylvana put her hand to her chest. ‘Oh,davvero?I studied fashion history here in Milan. Those pieces would be irreplaceable. Were they lost in the fire?’
Louisa shrugged, rubbing at the tight ache in her chest even contemplating the loss. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. The fire was put out quickly, but no one can go into the house right now.’
‘È terribile!Let’s hope, then. This is at least a beginning. Not vintage masterpieces, but something I think you’ll be comfortable in.’
She tried on the clothes. Not vintage, as Sylvana said, but dresses that still made her feel a little like a princess. With skirts that twirled as she spun round in them, big sleeves, glorious colours of greens, blues and pinks. Brighter, bolder than normal.
‘You should show Signor Bainbridge,’ Sylvana said.
Louisa’s heart seemed to do a little twirl of its own in her chest at that suggestion. ‘Really?’
‘He’s a man who stays, so he must want to see. Go,’ the woman said, with a shooing motion of her hands.
Louisa peeked round the open bedroom door. Matteo still lounged on the couch, phone in hand. Shirtsleeves rolled up showing his strong, tanned forearms. He noticed her in mere seconds, lifted his head. She felt almost silly. What did she know about men’s...wants? Surely he couldn’t care less about the clothes she wore?
‘You are beautiful. That’s a fact and not open for discussion.’
‘Sylvana said you might like to see one of the dresses?’
He put down his phone on the couch next to him, removed his tie. Her gaze fixed on the slice of brown skin at his throat, the hint of hair on his chest.
‘Of course.’
