‘No, yet my wife continues to wear heels,’ Leo said dryly.
‘Iloveheels.’ Simone gave a wry laugh. ‘Just not around stairs.’
His guests laughed a little too, the mood lighter. Simone turned to him with a soft smile. What she was trying to convey, he wasn’t sure. The emotions inside of him too tangled to properly interpret the meaning. She knew the story of his mother, so he hadn’t said anything that would have come as a surprise.
Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement. One of his household staff. They discreetly signalled to Simone.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Dinner’s ready. Would you like to join us outside? We thought it was a beautiful night so we could eat on the patio under the vines.’
Simone joined the rest of the guests, leading them through the home. Only Gino held back to walk with Leo, looking on as his wife, daughter and son-in-law, chatted to her.
‘We’re alike, you and I,’ Gino said. ‘Lucky men. Our women are too good for us.’
Simone laughed at something said, warm and gracious.
Leo couldn’t help but agree.
CHAPTER NINE
If empty plateswere anything to go by, then Simone judged that the dinner had been a huge success. It had been a simple enough yet traditional Milanese meal. Osso Bucco, risotto, some salads made from greens grown in the garden. She’d wanted it to feel like something homely, rather than a business meal and it had worked. The patio, where they sat, was lit up with fairy lights. The vibe elegantly casual. Simone was sure that all of this was something Leo wouldn’t have agreed to if asked, but she hadn’t asked and he’d let her organise everything.
Considering the man controlled every facet of his life and his image, it had come as a surprise. She’d expected him to have asked the chef about the menu, or say something about the flurry of activity around the house in preparation, but he hadn’t even offered any advice. It was so unlike their wedding, when he’d planned the whole thing down to the last second. Even when he’d offered her a choice, sheknewit was under sufferance and he’d had a firm view of what he wanted.
This? It made her feel trusted. Valued. Like she had an opinion and a place in his life. It meant something.
‘Your apple pie was magnificent,’ Rita said. She was about Leo’s age, with short black hair and dark, expressive eyes.
‘Thank you. I worried it might be a bit heavy after the meal we just had but…’
‘I know. Dessert. How can you go wrong?’ Rita smiled. ‘It reminds me of my time studying in the US. I must have the recipe.’
‘Of course. Before you go give me your email. I’ll send it to you.’
There’d been some talk of business tonight. How to grow and evolve a brand. Meatier topics such as the challenges of managing a business that relied on a discretionary spend, in a downturn. Leo was less affected, the Tessitores a little more so. Is that why they’d talked of selling their business? What should have been a purely financial transaction seemed so much more. She’d always suspected that it was personal for them. She began to believe it more strongly, but there was something else. Simone wondered if they wanted to sell at all. These were questions everyone seemed to be skirting round. Something almost…personal. She guessed that it would have to be a very personal decision to divest yourself of a company that had been in your family for generations…
‘May I ask…’ She directed her question to Fia, who she’d discovered had been Tessitore’s designer for a number of years. It was how she and Gino had met, a workplace romance. ‘I understand you’re looking to sell Tessitore Fabrics. But why, since you so clearly love the company? It’s been in the family for generations. You’re still the principal designer.’
It was like a stylus scratching across a record, as if she’d said something discordant and the sound simply stopped. If there’d been an elephant in the room, it had just stomped into plain sight. Fia gave a sad smile.
‘My health.’
Gino reached out and placed his hand over his wife’s, just like she’d done for Leo.
‘I’m sorry for raising it,’ Simone said.
Fia sighed. ‘No, no. It’s been a long time coming. It was a flaw that we relied too much on me and my designs. And as for our children, it’s not where their talents and interests lie. Rita is an archivist. My son, a textile chemist. My granddaughter, my son’s eldest, is artistic and we’ve encouraged her to try fabric design. She shows immense promise, but she’s only fifteen and who knows what she’ll want to do when she’s older.’
‘So there’s currently no one you trust but yourself?’
Fia shook her head. ‘No, we have some designers.’
‘But they’re not Fia,’ Gino said.
Leo had sat back, watching. Not really contributing, until this moment. ‘How much time are you looking at, before your health intervenes and divesting becomes a necessity?’
Fia shrugged. ‘It’s my eyes, a rare condition. I require surgery, though not immediately. Whilst I can still design, it’s sometimes harder to do what I used to. Surgery carries risks. If it’s unsuccessful my sight will deteriorate. If the risks eventuate, I’ll be left unable to see. So perhaps it’s time to move on, spend it with grandchildren and family and work less. You believe you’re invincible, until suddenly you find out you’re not. Then you have to think about life and what you need to do.’
It was all so familiar to Simone. How she still felt about grasping what was offered to you and not letting it simply slide by. Life was for living, not merely existing.
