Matteo Read online

  Difficult Decisions II

  Matteo

  L. M. Anthony

  © Copyright 2019 - L. M. Anthony - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  It was a struggle to suppress a yawn as I stepped into the terminal. The flight had been long, and my knees ached after several hours of sitting. The crowd flowed around me, a handful of people pushing past me as they hurried to their destinations. I overheard one man muttering about being late to a connecting flight as he jostled me.

  It felt nice, however, to be back in Italy. I had been away in America for a month, conducting business with my international partners. Now that I was home, I was looking forward to sinking into bed and shutting out the world for a little while. My trip had been successful, but I needed a few moments to myself to desensitize and remind myself that making more money was a good thing.

  Even if, ultimately, it felt useless these days. What good was money without anyone to share it with?

  I gripped my briefcase tighter and wandered through the terminal, the crowd was thinning out now that some of those who were rushing had sped by. The people around me weren’t interesting to me, and I paid them no mind, thinking instead of the suitcase I needed to collect and the driver who was waiting to pick me up.

  Not wanting to catch anyone’s eye and too tired to want to engage in conversation or even a polite greeting, I pretended to peruse the papers I was holding; it contained the minutes of the meeting I had with my partners before I left America. I had intended on glancing through the paperwork on the plane, but I ended up flicking through the movies, instead.

  I caught movement in the corner of my eye, but before I could register it, it was already far too late. Someone ran into me.

  “Oh no!” a female voice cried in English.

  I looked up, startled, blinking my way out of my thoughts. The woman standing in front of me was scowling at me and, for a moment, I didn’t know why. She was beautiful, there was no other word for her; tall and willowy, her long, blonde hair cascaded down past her shoulders. It was her eyes, however, that really caught my attention; they were a brilliant blue, searing straight through and catching my attention.

  With difficulty, not wanting her to notice that I was staring, I dragged my eyes away. It was then that I saw one coffee cup in her hand and a spilled cup on the ground. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, grimacing; damn, that was definitely my fault. Thankfully, she wasn’t glaring anymore, instead eyeing me as she avoided the quickly growing puddle of coffee. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “Yeah,” she said with a faint frown, but she didn’t look as upset as before, perhaps appeased by my apology. She had a thick, American accent.

  “I’ll buy you another one,” I said to her, trying to smile through my tiredness. It was the least I could do. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult at all to be kind to this beautiful woman, despite how hard I had tried to avoid contact with anyone before. I spotted a sour-faced man heading toward us with a bucket and mop. “The cleaners are coming this way now.”

  “It’s fine, you don’t need to…” she protested, but I turned away, not wanting to hear it; it was my fault she spilled the coffee, so it was only right that I get her a new one.

  “I insist,” I said firmly with a shake of my head.

  The barrister was watching us, bemused. I switched to Italian to speak to him.

  “Could you make another coffee for her, please?” I said.

  “Of course,” the man said. He grinned at me. “She is charming, no?”

  I glanced at the woman. She was very charming. I vaguely heard the barrister tell me a price, and I handed him a few bills, holding up a hand when he tried to give me change. While I don’t throw money around, I liked to leave tips to help out small businesses like this one.

  “Thank you,” the barrister said with a huge grin.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman leaning forward curiously. I wondered if she knew any Italian and if she had followed our conversation. Her eyes were on the money I had just given the barrister, surveying the bills curiously, and I took that moment to slip away, deciding not to say anything else; we were strangers, after all, and I had already caused enough damage.

  I did wish that I had gotten her name, though.

  I snorted to myself. Most men went to bars or clubs to pick up women. Me, I spent so much time in airports that it wasn’t surprising that I would end up seeing someone that interested me in one.

  I made my way downstairs to the baggage area. Several people were already gathered around, waiting, as the bags slowly chugged along. I slipped in among the crowd, looking for my non-descript black bag and the red tag I had attached to it. In my pocket, my phone vibrated, and I glanced at it to see that it was from Pietro, my butler, who was picking me up. He was letting me know where he had parked the car.

  Finally, I spotted my bag on its way around, and I hauled it off the conveyor belt with a sigh of relief; I was almost out.

  As I turned, I was startled to see the girl from the coffee shop standing nearby. She wasn’t looking my way. Instead, she was chatting with another young woman with dark hair and sun-kissed skin. She was waiting for the bags on the same carousel, which meant that she had been on the same flight as me.

  For a moment, I wondered if I should go over and say something to her—at least get her name. Then I rolled my eyes at her. She had just come in off a long flight, and the last thing she would want was some foreign man hitting on her at the airport. No, better to just let this go; she was beautiful, but I knew nothing about her, and chasing her would only end in tears since she would likely have to return home eventually.

  I dragged my bag out of the airport. As my phone started connecting back to its home network, it vibrated several times with emails that I knew were definitely from various partners, including those I had just left behind. I was the owner of a billion-dollar international wine company, after all; everyone wanted my opinion or to run an idea by me.

  Some days, I enjoyed the work. It gave me something to focus on and helped the hours pass by quickly. Other days, I wanted to just hand it all over to someone capable and tell them to run it because I wanted nothing more to do with it.

  I enjoyed creating this company. But, sometimes, it was simply a stark reminder of a purpose that was never fulfilled.

  The parking lot was as busy as I had expected it to be, several taxis, buses, and cars inched along the road to find somewhere to pick up those fresh from the plane. I could see Pietro standing beside my silver Bugatti Chiron, the older man in his stiff black suit looking oddly out of place next to the shiny car.


  “Good trip, sir?” Pietro asked politely as I approached.

  “Long,” I said with a grimace. “I’m glad to be back on land.”

  Pietro gave me a small smile. “We’ve missed you around the house; it’s been quiet.”

  I chuckled quickly, recognizing the wry humor; I never made much noise, so they wouldn’t have noticed I was gone. It made me feel warm nonetheless, though; at the very least, my staff had noticed my absence and had missed me.

  I had missed them, too. My staff were more than just the people who worked for me, they were also some of my closest friends. They were the people who messaged me to make sure everything was going well on my trips, and they were the people who were always waiting for me when I returned home. They were the only family I had, especially after the deaths of both my parents a few years ago.

  Pietro put my suitcase and briefcase in the trunk. As I got into the front seat, I saw, again, the blonde American woman. She was approaching the pick-up zone with her friend, each of them dragging large suitcases. I stared at her for a long moment.

  ‘Last chance, Matteo,’ a sly voice in the back of my mind reminded me.

  I imagined it for a moment. I could go up to her, apologize again for making her spill her coffee, and ask her if she would consider allowing me to take her out for coffee to make up for it. On any other day, I might even have done it.

  But today, I was tired, sore and just wanted to go home. I didn’t want her and her friend to look at me strangely because I was trying to get a date while we were all leaving the airport. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would see her again.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t, and that would be equally okay, because she was just a beautiful foreigner that I knew nothing about, so it wasn’t a loss.

  “Problem?” Pietro asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  I glanced once more at the young woman, weighing my options. Then I shut my door and sat back, pulling my seatbelt across.

  “No,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Two

  I was tired when I came off the plane, but something about the foreign woman had me wired. Part of me regretted not going over to talk to her, while the rest of me wanted to just forget about it. I had missed my chance, and there was no sense in going over ‘what ifs’.

  “Are you alright?” Pietro asked me as he pulled into the garage. “You’ve been quiet.”

  “Just thinking,” I assured the man with a small smile.

  Pietro nodded, accepting that answer. I saw him glancing at me, however, as he left the car, moving to collect my luggage from the car.

  I glanced at my phone again. There were still several emails waiting for my attention, and a few more had arrived during the trip back to my home. I was almost tempted to ignore them, but I knew if I was feeling more awake, it was better to deal with them now before I got overwhelmed. It was always best to stay on top of my work. A long time ago, when I had first begun the company, I had made the mistake of putting a few things off for a few days, and I had gotten so snowed under that my father had come to help me until it was back to a manageable level.

  I pushed away the thoughts of my father with a pang. My father had died of cancer several years ago. Desperate to help him, I had thrown everything I had into a company that I had hoped would succeed so I could make the money we needed for the treatment that might have saved him. And it had.

  Just far too late.

  I didn’t like to think about it too much. I didn’t want to become bogged down with regret and end up resenting the company I had worked so hard to build for all these years.

  “The others are waiting for you,” Pietro said as he approached with my bags, breaking into my thoughts.

  I smiled slightly and nodded, following him through the garage and into the house. As we emerged into the entryway, I heard a clatter from the kitchen.

  “We’re back,” Pietro called.

  “They’re back!” a joyful female voice echoed.

  There were running feet, and I smiled as Chiara burst into view. Chiara was twenty years old and studying to be a nurse. She had applied for a job as a cleaner at my house six months ago and, despite my reservations about hiring someone so young, she was dedicated and full of cheer, brightening the household every day.

  She beamed as she saw me.

  “Welcome home, Matteo!” she said.

  “Thank you, Chiara,” I said with a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you again. How is everything here?”

  “Perfect, as always,” Chiara beamed.

  A head popped around the door of the kitchen, a toothy smile spreading over a large face. Gabrielle, my cook, had been with me almost as long as Pietro, and his cooking was to die for. With no other family of his own, he spent most of his days here, asking us to try recipes and making everyone drinks. I knew his dream was to open his own restaurant one day, once he had enough money, and I very much wanted to help him make that a reality.

  “Welcome back, boss,” he laughed. “Hungry?”

  At the mention of food, my stomach rumbled, and I chuckled along with everyone else.

  “Starving,” I admitted.

  “I’ll have dinner ready in an hour,” Gabrielle promised.

  “I’ll take your things upstairs,” Chiara said brightly, darting forward to take my suitcase.

  She was gone before anyone could protest, lugging the black case up the stairs and calling for Andrea and Giulia, the older two of my three-person cleaning staff. Pietro shook his head at her enthusiasm, but he was smiling.

  “She always has so much energy,” he commented.

  “She does,” I agreed.

  It was nice. Chiara brought sunshine with her, and it was refreshing to hear her giggling at something or other throughout the day, or humming along to music as she worked, rather than the stark silence that had filled the house before she’d started working for me.

  “What are your plans now, sir?” Pietro asked.

  “I might do some work,” I said, taking my briefcase from him. “I have some emails waiting for attention. If I’m lucky, I might be able to answer some of them before dinner.”

  “Only home a few minutes and already working,” Pietro said. “Try not to do too much; it was a long flight, after all.”

  “Just for a little while,” I assured him.

  Pietro nodded and said nothing more as I walked up the stairs. He knew, more than anyone else, my need to disappear for a little while following business trips.

  Upstairs, Andrea was dusting, and he smiled when I approached. Andrea was the first of my current cleaning staff to get a job with me, four years ago. He had just recently become engaged to his long-time girlfriend, which meant I often found wedding magazines that he had accidentally left behind.

  “Welcome home,” he said to me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  My study was at the opposite end of the hall to my bedroom, and it was decked out in dark wood Molteni furniture, my favorite type. I sunk into my plush chair behind the desk and sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I savored finally having a moment to myself. Though I had traveled several hours on my own, I had constantly been surrounded by other travelers until this moment.

  I opened my eyes and sat up. The first thing I saw was the photograph on my desk. It had been taken a long time ago, when I was a teenager, and it showed my mother, father and I at the beach, laughing as a gust of wind tried to blow my hat away. I don’t remember who took the photo anymore, but the memory of that day was still very fresh.

  I picked up the photo frame. I missed both of them so much. It had been a shock to lose my father while I desperately worked to buy more time for him, but it had been even more of a shock to lose my mother only weeks after his death. Too tired and distraught over my own failure to realize that she was in terrible distress, I hadn’t known anything was wrong until I got the phone call to tell me that she had killed herself.

  It had been a very dark period of time for me
. In the span of a month I had lost both my parents. The Belle Rouge Company, the very business that I had set up to pay for my father’s treatment, had been ultimately useless, despite the fact that my wines had just started becoming popular, and it felt like there was nothing in my life that mattered anymore. In many ways, I blamed myself for the deaths of both my parents; if only I had been successful more quickly, I would have saved them both.

  Part of me had wanted to give up. I would sell my company and move into obscurity. But… I couldn’t do it. Both my parents had pushed me to succeed, even if only for myself, and they had been so proud of my achievements. We had been a very poor family when I was younger, constantly struggling for money, and they were so happy to see me rise above that and make something of my life. How could I give up something that gave them so much happiness in their final years?

  So, I pushed myself even harder to succeed. More and more until, before I knew it, I had more money than I could ever spend. It all felt bitter and pointless sometimes, but this was the company I had proposed to my parents one night as we all sat in our tiny kitchen, the company they had been in so much support of. There was no way I could ever allow it to be anything but the best.

  I put the photo frame back. Right now, as I sat here and thought about the many emails I had waiting for me, I couldn’t help but remember all my regrets. I tried to shove it all away; I needed to focus, not take a trip down memory lane. I needed to think of something else.

  Unexpectedly, my mind threw up an image of the blonde woman from the airport.

  Oh, the irony, that I would remember her right now. Relationships were the last thing I needed to consider right when I was thinking of regrets. After all, some of my relationships led to other regrets.

  Particularly the relationship with Martina, who was still hounding me.

  Three years ago, I met Martina at a party. She was beautiful and charming, it was easy to like her. I had asked her out to coffee, and she had agreed to meet me. We had dated for a year, and I had thought I was falling in love with her.