Pregnant by Morning(24)

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.