Chapter 3 - Matteo Rossi Comes Back
Three days later, Isabella left a small café carrying coffee and a folder of architectural drawings.
She stopped.
Matteo Rossi was leaning against a black sedan across the sidewalk.
Dark suit.
White shirt open at the collar.
No tie.
The sleeves of his jacket shifted enough to reveal dark tattoos extending across his hands and disappearing beneath his cuffs—ink usually hidden beneath the polished image presented in business magazines.
Isabella sighed.
“You found me.”
“I did.”
“That’s slightly disturbing.”
“I asked my grandmother.”
“That makes it less disturbing.”
“Marginally.”
Isabella almost smiled.
“What do you want?”
Matteo approached.
“Five minutes.”
“You own hotels. Surely one of them has five minutes available.”
“I want yours.”
“That sounded dangerously close to arrogance.”
“I’m working on it.”
That earned him a real smile.
Small.
But real.
Matteo noticed.
Isabella started walking.
“You have until the end of the block.”
Matteo joined her.
“You walked away from me.”
“We established that.”
“People don't usually do that.”
“That sounds like their problem.”
“I've been thinking about what you said.”
“Which part?”
“That I don't know who I am when nobody is watching.”
Isabella glanced at him.
“And?”
“You were right.”
She stopped.
Matteo nearly walked past her.
“You came here to tell me I was right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sick?”
“Possibly.”
She laughed.
Matteo smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“You’re the first person I've met in years who wanted absolutely nothing from me.”
“I wanted dinner.”
“You barely ate.”
“The risotto was terrible.”
Matteo stared.
“You insulted my favorite restaurant.”
“You'll survive.”
“I own twenty percent of it.”
“That explains why nobody tells them the risotto is terrible.”
Matteo actually laughed again.
Isabella watched him.
There it was.
The man underneath the name.
Matteo stopped in front of her.
“You knew who I was, but you looked past it.”
“I tried.”
“Why?”
“Because names aren't people.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
Matteo studied her.
Then he asked, “How long were you planning to be the only woman brave enough to walk away from Matteo Rossi?”
Isabella folded her arms.
“Until Matteo Rossi learned to ask for a second date properly.”
He stared at her.
Then understood.
Matteo straightened.
“Isabella Carter, would you have dinner with me again?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“No private room.”
“Fine.”
“No security sitting ten feet away.”
“They weren't ten feet away.”
“Matteo.”
“Twenty.”
She stared.
“Fine. They’ll stay outside.”
“And no talking about how much anything costs.”
“Agreed.”
“No gifts.”
“Agreed.”
“No sending a car.”
Matteo hesitated.
“That's inefficient.”
“Goodbye, Matteo.”
“Agreed.”
She smiled.
“Friday. Seven-thirty.”
“Where?”
“I'll choose.”
Matteo looked suspicious.
“That worries me.”
“It should.”
Friday night, Isabella took Matteo to a tiny family-owned Italian restaurant with twelve tables.
Nobody recognized him.
At least, nobody seemed to.
Matteo looked around.
“No sommelier?”
“No.”
“No valet?”
“No.”
“No reservation system?”
“Matteo.”
“I'm observing.”
The owner approached.
“What can I get you?”
Isabella smiled.
“Whatever your wife recommends.”
The man grinned.
“Smart woman.”
He disappeared.
Matteo stared at Isabella.
“You didn't order.”
“Trust.”
“That's your strategy?”
“Tonight it is.”
Twenty minutes later, Matteo was eating homemade pasta and admitting something he had never told anyone on a date.
“My father started taking me into meetings when I was thirteen.”
Isabella stopped eating.
“Thirteen?”
“He wanted me prepared.”
“For business?”
“For everything.”
“What happened if you made mistakes?”
“You learned not to repeat them.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Matteo looked at his plate.
“No. It wasn't.”
Isabella didn't push.
That mattered.
Eventually Matteo looked up.
“What about you?”
“My father lost his construction company when I was seventeen.”
“Bankruptcy?”
“Bad partner.”
“What happened?”
“We lost our house.”
Matteo's expression changed.
“You rebuilt?”
“We rented.”
“I meant your family.”
Isabella smiled faintly.
“Eventually.”
Matteo nodded.
Now he understood something.
Money didn't impress Isabella because she had already learned how quickly it could disappear.
The waiter brought the check.
Matteo reached for it.
Isabella reached faster.
“I’m paying half.”
“No.”
“That wasn't a question.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Matteo.”
“I invited you.”
“And I chose the restaurant.”
They stared at each other.
The waiter slowly backed away.
Finally Matteo sighed.
“Half.”
Isabella smiled.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Growing.”
Matteo shook his head.
But he was smiling too.
May you like
Neither noticed the man outside taking photographs through the restaurant window.
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