The Italian Billionaire's New Year Bride
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Phoebe was sitting on the curved staircase. Her feet had actually started to follow him out of the kitchen, then her instincts had kicked in and told her not to. Told her to give him a little space.
Mr. Bianchi was more than a little temperamental. Was this an Italian trait?
She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to breathe in the essence of this beautiful home. Her brain instantly took her to the place she wanted to be. Right now she was recreating her own favorite musical and was tap dancing up and down these stairs in a bouffant yellow dress. She just hadn’t decided who her imaginary leading man was yet. A twinge of guilt set in.
For the first year after Jason’s death he’d been the main feature of every dream she’d had. But for the last year, several movie stars had started to creep in and take over. In a way, it had been a relief to stop waking up with her heart in her throat. That horrible little millisecond of time—the briefest of moments—where she thought everything was just the same, Jason was still here, her mom wasn’t sick yet and then, she remembered.
And that overwhelming colossal black wave swamped back on top of her, every morning, making her relive every moment and making her want to be sick all over her bed. It took months for that to fade. Months to wake up to the reality that was her life.
But every time she felt relief that didn’t happen anymore, guilt pricked at her conscience.
She took a deep breath and pressed her hands on the cool marble stairs, letting her eyes flicker open. She could imagine the beautiful women and men who’d walked these steps. The hopes, dreams and fantasy lifestyles. Things that were all so far out of her reach.
She shook her head and smiled. Jealousy had never been a Phoebe trait. She loved that this place had history. She loved that it had been captured in time. She would probably never get a chance like this again. She just had to know what to keep to help capture the story, and know what to replace to make this home still seem appealing to a modern-day buyer.
The color palette here was unreal. She’d found an avocado bathroom. That would definitely have to be dealt with. But so much else just needed tweaks. She pulled out her phone and flicked through her contacts as she breathed in deeply. There was a bit of an odor. A tang that frequently featured in houses that hadn’t really been lived in for a number of years.
Smell was so much. But she could deal with that. Carpets, drapes and upholstery could all be replaced. But she wasn’t sure she would change the style. So much of it was perfect.
She pressed a familiar number of her phone. It answered on the second ring.
“Hello, baby girl.”
“Hi, Momma. I’ve got news.”
“Are you at the sales? What did you buy?”
Phoebe laughed. “No, Momma. I’m in a whole different place.” She looked around as her heart gave a little jump. “I just want you to know that in a few weeks, the medical bills won’t be a problem.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. Her mother’s voice was panicked. “Baby girl, what have you done?”
It didn’t matter she was twenty-seven. It didn’t matter that she had her own place and her own life. She would always be her mother’s baby.
She laughed. “I haven’t done anything, Momma. I just got the job of my dreams. And it pays more than I could ever have hoped for.”
Her mother’s tone hadn’t changed from panic. “Phoebe, what kind of job is this?”
Phoebe shook her head. “It’s exactly the kind of job I do every day. But this house...” she pressed one hand to her chest and breathed in, as if saying it made everything real “...it’s in the Hamptons.”
“What?” Her mother’s voice came out as a squeak.
“Yes,” Phoebe said quickly. “I got a call this morning.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “A quarter of a million dollars if I can work over the next four weeks and redress this house.”
“How much?” This time it wasn’t a squeak. This time it was more like a shriek.
But Phoebe didn’t get a chance to answer. “Who is this person with a house in the Hamptons? Are they a criminal? Who have you got mixed up with? How did they find out about you?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Calm down, Mom. They know Rudy. That’s how they know about me. They liked the work I did on his apartment. That’s how I got this job. I came out to see the house this morning and...” she tried to steady her thoughts “...it’s a dream come true. It’s like walking into a fifties TV show. The whole place, it’s just...epic.” She laughed at using such a juvenile word, but nothing else seemed to come close.
Her mother cut straight to the chase. “Are you safe? Have you met these folks? Are they good people?”
“They’re an Italian family.”
Her mother’s voice lowered to a hushed tone. “Are they part of the mob?”
Phoebe choked. “What? No? Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve had this house for a while. It’s just time to sell it.” But something prickled. Matteo hadn’t been exactly straight with her. The timing did seem a little off. Exactly how old was he? “And yes. I’m safe. Matteo is a bit buttoned up. He’s a businessman. One of those high-flyer types. But he seems sincere. And I think I’m going to love doing this job. This could be it. This could be the one. It will pay off the bills and maybe put me on the map.”
There was a few seconds’ silence. “Then go nail it. I love you, baby girl.”
Phoebe smiled as she pushed her phone back in her pocket and stood up again. The front door was wide open to the world, letting in an icy blast. Matteo must have gone outside.
She’d left her jacket somewhere she couldn’t entirely remember, so she crossed her hands over her body as she walked outside.
Matteo had that strange, dark expression on his face again. The one where he didn’t really answer any questions. But Phoebe was determined. She might have the credit card, but she wanted to do the best job in the world. Her career could depend on it. Her bank balance certainly did. And for that, she needed a bit more information.