Perhaps that’s the way it had always been. How she’d managed his workload, suppliers, clients. Made his life simpler in every way as his executive assistant and yet he’d never truly recognised it before.
Now, the time had ticked over to eight and the doorbell rang. Simone smiled.
‘I guess it’s showtime,’ she said, looking magnificent. Her hair in a messy updo. Wearing flared black trousers that fitted her to perfection. A white halter neck top in a silky kind of fabric, with a tracery of black and silver flowers. A bow at the back of the neck with ties trailing down her spine that his fingers itched to undo. She was the picture of sophistication, the consummate hostess. He’d underestimated her, when he should have expected nothing less.
Tonight, they had minimal staff in the home. The chef, some servers to help, but he and Simone had agreed this was to feel like a family dinner. Something more intimate, even if vitally important. They greeted the Tessitore family at the door. Patriarch, Gino and his wife, Fia, daughter, Rita, and her husband, Enzo. It seemed warm enough. Kisses for Simone, handshakes for him. Firm but not crushing in an attempt at some futile power play.
‘Please,’ Simone said as she led the delegation through the house. ‘Come through. I thought we could have some drinks and canapes before the final touches are put to the meal.’
They entered the lounge, one of his favourite spaces here. Overlooking the garden outside, still light out being summer. The bell-shaped flowers of his mother’s favourite, a Madonna Lily, nodding in the breeze.
Simone invited everyone to sit, but Rita stood in the doorway, looking at an armchair in the corner. A minimalist design of sleek, honeyed wood burnished with age. Covered with a worn and well-loved fabric he’d never changed, in a bold floral style of red, blue and gold. He’d modelled the whole room around it.
The one piece he had left from his childhood, designed by his mother. They’d had a house full once, but he suspected she’d sold it all when his father had left. Leo should hate it, because it was likely crafted by the man, but all he saw when he looked at the piece was the beauty of its timeless design. Hismother’sdesign.
‘Vintage Tessitore fabric,’ Rita said, with a slight frown. He’d never thought to check, because he’d never recover the piece. He wondered if they thought the moment contrived, when it turned out to be a strange coincidence. Simone moved close, placing her hand on his back. He welcomed the silent support.
‘I was unaware of that. It was my mother’s chair. She designed furniture. That’s the original fabric I recall from my childhood. I never wanted to recover it.’
‘Our daughter maintains our archive,’ Gino said, as he took his place next to Fia. ‘We’ve tried to keep a sample of most fabrics the family have designed, in modern times at least. I didn’t know your mother designed furniture. It looks a little like a Silvestri piece.’
Leo clenched his jaw, breathed through the heat like lava rising through his gut.
Simone rubbed her thumb over his spine, grounding him. ‘My husband holds a great deal close to his chest. Family most of all. Now, would you all like a drink and some hors d’oeuvres?’
He looked down at her and smiled at the perfect save before getting the drinks as Simone offered a tray of delicacies to their guests, and sat.
‘These are delicious,’ Rita said.
‘They’re my favourite. Smoked salmon canapes. My mother always saida woman should know how to mix one good cocktail, make a great hors d’oeuvre and have a signature dessert. The hors d’oeuvres and dessert tonight, are mine.’
It was strange, her mention of family, when he knew so little of her past apart from the estrangement. He’d never asked why. That seemed like a critical failing that he needed to rectify.
‘If the dessert is as good as the canape, I can’t wait. I love sweet things.’
‘So does my husband.’ Simone laughed, casting him a knowing look that was like a punch of heat arrowing to his groin. The woman could invoke incinerating desire with a glance.
‘It’s comforting to see that you’re recovered after your fall,’ Fia said. ‘We were shocked to hear the news.’
‘And thank you for the flowers you sent me. It was so thoughtful. It’s been difficult at times, but I’m mostly recovered. The care I received was excellent.’ She looked up at Leo and smiled. ‘Both from the medical professionals and from my husband.’
Gino took a sip from his drink, fixed Leo with his dark, assessing gaze. ‘It must have been difficult, so soon after you were married.’
Leo knew that this night was a set of crossroads where he faced a choice, to open up to these people who were strangers to him, or remain firmly closed. Over the years many had tried to take from him, bring him down. Saying he was too much, or not enough. A pretender to the role he’d claimed and made his own, as the arbiter of all things stylish, whether they be a person or a piece of furniture. For that reason, he didn’t give readily of himself about anything that would impact the image he’d spent years cultivating. The one that hid the worst side of himself. Being closed was easy.
Yet tonight was about building relationships. Showing his true self when some days, he wasn’t sure who that was any more.
He glanced at Simone. She kept things hidden too and yet in so many ways, she brought out in him what was most authentic. He’d told her more about himself than he’d revealed to anyone. Not everything, that was true. There were some things in his past no one needed to know. However, it was enough to allow himself to feel a little less…constrained.
‘Few know that in my late teens my mother fell after work one night and died from her injuries. Simone’s fall…it brought back some terrible memories, but at least this time I was there. If I hadn’t been, it could have been so much worse.’
Simone reached out her hand, placed it over his and squeezed. It was more comfort than he deserved.
‘It was a silly accident, really. I put on a new pair of heels Leo had gifted me and tripped. But I’m here and everything’s fine.’
Everything might not have been and that still haunted him.
‘I can’t imagine what that must have been like,’ Rita said, looking lovingly at Enzo.
