Evangeline hadn’t spoken to her sister since the botched surgery. How many texts did she have to ignore for Lisa to give up? It wasn’t like they were real family.
Putting it out of her mind, she vowed not to let unpleasant history ruin the fun evening she and Matt had planned.
When Evangeline returned downstairs, Matt was waiting for her, dressed in dark jeans and a sweater. His eyebrows rose.
A floppy hat covered her pinned-up hair, a scarf hid the lower half of her face and giant sunglasses completed the disguise.
“Perfect.” Matt shot her a playful grin. “Except maybe lose the glasses. It is nighttime.”
She slipped them off and returned his smile. “Happy?”
“Always.”
That thrilled her to no end, to be responsible for Matt’s happiness. That was part of the reason she stayed. It was powerful to watch him slowly heal.
The taxi picked them up at Palazzo D’Inverno’s water entrance and motored away from the dock. The driver steered under the Ponte dell’Accademia and up the canal to Vincenzo’s cousin’s house. Twinkling stars competed with the twinkle of Venice, both lit for the night with stunning brilliance.
They arrived a few minutes later. Once inside, Evangeline started to introduce Matt and realized with no small amount of mortification that she didn’t know his last name. It hadn’t seemed important, until now.
With a quick grin that said he’d read Evangeline’s mind, he stuck out his hand to Nicola Mantovani, their hostess. “Matt Wheeler.”
He repeated it to Nicola’s boyfriend, Angelo. Vincenzo shook Matt’s hand and introduced his lady friend for the evening, whose name Evangeline promptly forgot. He never called his dates again anyway.
Nicola lifted an unobtrusive finger toward a uniformed servant, who sprang forward to pass out wineglasses full of deep red Chianti. The tiny, dark-haired Italian raised her glass. “A toast. To new friends.”
Expertly, Nicola finessed everyone to the lushly appointed salon where they took seats and chatted politely.
When Vincenzo launched into an impassioned review of the performance he’d seen at Teatro alla Scala the prior weekend, Evangeline leaned in to whisper in Matt’s ear. “Wheeler. That’s a nice last name.”
Matt grinned. “We haven’t formally introduced ourselves, have we?”
“Evangeline La Fleur.” She stuck her hand out in mock solemnity. “Nice to meet you, Matt Wheeler.”
Vincenzo paused long enough to drain his glass and motioned for a refill.
In the silence, Angelo asked Matt, “What do you do?”
“I’m a partner at a commercial real estate firm in Dallas, Texas.”
No hesitation. No dodging the question. It was clearly how he defined himself or the answer wouldn’t have come so quickly. It put an odd barb in her stomach because she wouldn’t have been so quick with her own answer.
“Oh, do you know J. R. Ewing?” Angelo snickered at his own joke. Evangeline rolled her eyes, but Matt just laughed.
He was such a good guy to spend time with her friends and not call them out for being lame. But here she could relax and just be herself, without the pressure of Eva.
“Real estate.” Nicola wrinkled her nose. “Houses?”
“No, we haven’t delved into residential. We sell office buildings. Downtown high-rises.” When he warmed to the subject, the pang in her stomach poked a little harder. He loved his job. It was all over his expression. “Land for development. That sort of thing.”
We. Not I. An interesting choice of phrasing. Who was the we?
“High-rises. That sounds impressive.” Nicola’s nose unwrinkled and she leaned forward, suddenly a bit more interested in Evangeline’s companion now that she scented money.
“Matt’s very successful,” Evangeline threw in, though she didn’t know much about the ins and outs of the life he’d left behind. Neither last names nor pre-Venice activities had ranked very high on the priority list of their discussions. She’d always assumed it was by design, since Matt’s wife was a taboo piece of that past.
But really, of course he was successful. Look at him.
He squeezed her hand. “Evangeline’s being kind. I’ve been on an extended vacation. Wheeler Family Partners was the top-selling firm in Texas last year, but its current success is due to my brother. Not me.”
“You work for a family business?” Nicola asked, and Matt nodded, explaining how the other partners were his dad and brother and the firm had been in his family for over a hundred years.
No one else seemed to notice the catch in his voice, but it sliced at her.
Family meant nothing to her, was almost a foreign word. But to Matt, it seemed as if it had been the cornerstone of his existence before Venice. He’d communicated far more than the simple logistics of a job—he’d belonged to a unit.