Page 4 of A Winter Wedding Adventure (Adventure Weddings #2)

‘ And I have more piercings,’ he added, flicking the crucifix in one ear in her direction. ‘Unless you have some—’ He snapped his mouth shut at her indignant look. Ohi, he needed peace and quiet to calm down before he burst all of his messy intensity all over her. ‘Sorry.’

‘Are all Italian tenors as glossy as you?’

‘If that’s supposed to be a joke, I’m offended.’

‘What, I thought you wouldn’t mind the stereotype of the well-groomed Italian?’

He smoothed his hair as he realised he must look a mess from all the rushing. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not a tenor . I’m a baritone.’

‘Which makes all the difference, I’m sure.’

‘You know nothing about opera, do you?’

For a moment, he was concerned she’d respond defensively to the gentle accusation, but he shouldn’t have worried. Not about Kira Watling, who swaggered and sniped and tossed her blue hair in indignation when something didn’t appeal to her.

‘Your performance was wasted on me,’ she said. ‘But you’re my client and it’s my job to get you safely to the wedding. I don’t have to enjoy your singing for that.’

A little twinge at the emphasis on ‘safely’. He’d quite liked that up until now, she’d charged ahead, simply expecting him to follow. Apparently, she’d worked out how useless he could be, with his sensitivities and anxieties and his sheltered existence.

‘Client?’ he clarified in a light tone, to shake off the momentary gloom. ‘Is that what kidnappers call it these days?’

* * *

Alessandra says to look after Matty… Not sure what that means.

Kira frowned at Ginny’s message as she stood in the lift of the hotel before stowing her phone in her pocket.

Mattia leaned against the mirror at the back, eyes closed, hands deep in the pockets of his tailored trousers.

The smallest hint of stubble shadowed his cheeks – the boy might be able to grow a beard after all.

She didn’t have the faintest idea what to make of him.

She was annoyed, yes. His promo performance had cost them the night here and he’d laughed far too heartily at the suggestion that they could be a couple – before using that florid term with an earnestness she had to assume wasn’t genuine: lovers .

But despite being grumpy and annoyed and inconvenienced, she was also… a little protective. Wobbly – inside – ever since she’d heard him sing.

Look after Matty… She didn’t know why the bride seemed to think he needed looking after, but she felt it and it wasn’t entirely comfortable.

She studied his face while his eyes were closed: the pinch between his brows, soft lips tensed flat, the locks of hair tumbling over his forehead as though someone had styled him like that.

He didn’t give off helpless vibes exactly, although he certainly seemed to cover his eccentricities with an unnecessarily effective dose of charm.

It wasn’t helplessness – it was vulnerability. He’d splashed it all over her when he’d sung from the depths of his soul that evening and made her think of idiotic turns of phrase like ‘singing from the depths of his soul’. Singing was his job. He surely kept his soul out of it, for his own sake.

His eyes snapped open and he caught her watching him.

She forced her gaze to remain where it was for long enough that he wouldn’t get the impression she was embarrassed.

She hadn’t been admiring his sharp jaw or the indentation in one cheek that suggested a dimple – at least she hadn’t only been admiring those.

‘Did you call the bride?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t had a chance yet.’ His voice was gravelly and he had to clear his throat. ‘I’ll do it when I get into the room. I’m not sure she’ll want to hear I’ve been kidnapped so close to her wedding day, since she needs me to sing.’

‘Is that why you’re getting the special treatment?’

He made a gesture that wasn’t quite yes or no. ‘She probably thinks I wouldn’t make it on my own,’ he said with a wince. ‘She’s not wrong. We’ve known each other since we were babies – well, since I was a baby and she was two. Our mothers are close friends.’

‘She still thinks you’re a baby?’

‘Something like that,’ he replied with an effortlessly stylish shrug.

Their rooms were on the top floor – a standard double and a single tucked in the far corner under the roof. Kira would naturally take that one. Just before they reached the door of Mattia’s room, another one flew open, farther down the corridor.

Mattia flinched, as though he’d expected a gunman to appear and start shooting. It was a couple wrapped up in coats and scarfs, who ignored Kira and her companion; nothing unusual about the encounter, but Mattia was on edge.

Coming to a stop outside his hotel room, Kira prompted, ‘This is yours,’ when he stood staring at the door with a twisted frown. ‘I’m at the other end of the corridor, okay?’ Matty . The bride’s nickname for him suited.

He took a deep breath as though he expected dragons on the other side of the door. ‘Okay.’ Fumbling with his keycard, he managed to get it open and stepped over the threshold.

Kira peered at him doubtfully, then turned for her own room.

She could eat and lie down soon in her own blessed company.

A quiet evening with a takeaway and the spy series she was currently watching, and she’d shake off this strange opera-induced mood and gird herself for the wedding dramas to follow.

Even in the limited experience she’d gained over the past four months since the merger, she’d learned that with weddings, there could always be more drama. And that was before she added her own memories: her mortifying mistake that had to remain hidden at all costs.

Halfway down the corridor, she realised they hadn’t made arrangements for the following morning, so she headed back.

Just before she reached his door, he shot out of the room, his hair askew and his eyes wild.

The door closed with a snick. He struggled to take a breath before opening his mouth to blurt out, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t stay here.’