Sarah’s face morphed into a sly grin. ‘A surprise? What?’
‘Yes.Something special.’
‘What the hell for?’ She made to sit up, but the rush of blood from her head sent her hurtling back to the pillow.
‘For this.’ He took her hands into his, indicating to the state of her broken nails, paint-stained cuticles and numerous cuts and grazes.
‘You’re buying me new hands?’
He laughed. ‘Not today. No.’
‘These are kind of carry-on only.’
‘No, Signora D’Adamo. Today, you’re off to have a special day. Just for you. A day of pampering. Top-to-toe.’
Sarah’s expression shifted from confusion to delight. ‘Are you mad?’
‘Mad at myself, yes, for letting you go through all this manual labour, hard work and emotional drain on my account. You’re tired, overworked and you haven’t been your usual bright bubbly self for a week now. I’m worried about you. I blame myself entirely.’
‘Shut up. I’m in, completely, one hundred per cent. I don’t min—’
‘I know you don’t mind, but that doesn’t mean I can’t treat you to some special Sarah time. So, you will kindly begin by enjoying some breakfast. I’ll grab it for you in a sec, and you can enjoy it in bed. Then, you will get yourself ready and pack an overnight bag.’
‘I’m staying somewhere tonight?’
‘Yes. I have arranged for a car to come collect you this morning. It’s going to take you to Florence, to Palazzo D’Adamo. You’re booked in at a hair salon around the corner for an hour-and-a-half appointment – get anything done that you want – then, when you return to the hotel, you’ll be the taken downstairs to the spa for a half-day pampering. The girls will look after you. You have a five-hour session with them, finishing around seven. You’ll stay there tonight, and a car will bring you home tomorrow.’
Sarah, never one to fuss much with her appearance beyond the odd eyebrow tidy and cut and blow wave, was giddy with excitement. ‘I . . . I can’t believe it.’
‘Well, believe it. You deserve it. Go get scrubbed, rubbed and polished.’ He beamed, mirroring the joy splashed across her face. ‘Here,’ he passed her the cup of tea. ‘I’ll be back in a sec with your cake.’
‘Cake? For breakfast?’
‘Yes. I made you a cake. Last night. You were out of it and snoring by nine, so I had plenty of time. A chocolate one. All by myself. Well, me and some guy on YouTube.’
Sarah giggled, shifting in bed as he propped a pillow behind her to support her back. Still somewhat shocked by the turn of events, she watched Matthew exit their room. A smile stretched across her face, the force of which made her cheeks tighten. She looked down into the mug. The smell of the tea, brewed exactly to her preferred strength, made her close her eyes. Hearing Matthew faintly fumbling with plates in the kitchen, she took the first sip. It was perfect. No one had ever successfully made Sarah a cup of tea exactly to her liking before.
‘Ok, chocolate cake, tea . . . What else can I get you?’ He stood beside her, laying the plate in her lap.
He had portioned her a slice of the most decadent looking double-chocolate cake. By traditional standards, he had done exceptionally well. The cake had clearly risen evenly, and sat at least two inches in height. It looked nothing like the flat dense chocolate cakes and slices of Italy. Noting her assessment of the cake, he asked, worried, ‘Did I stuff it up?’
He handed her a teaspoon and she ran it through the slice. The crumbs gave way, and Sarah brought the first mouthful to her lips. The smell wafted up the final inch to her nose and her mouth watered with great expectation. Her eyes met his, and his expression was one of both terror and hope. Taking the first bite, she closed her eyes in delight. Rich and indulgent. A small moan escaped her lips between chews. Cleansing her palate with a sip of her tea, she paused, then said, ‘Matthew D’Adamo . . . is there anything you can’t do?’
Matthew exhaled in relief. ‘It’s ok?’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and accepted the mouthful she offered him on the spoon. ‘Oh . . . yeah . . .’ he started between chews, ‘. . . that’s good.’
‘You are amazing, Matthew. Thank you so much. For this,’ she gestured to the cuppa and cake in her lap, ‘and for this day you’ve put together.’
‘Eat up. They will be here in half an hour.’ He smiled and returned to the kitchen to cut himself a slice.
Sarah looked around their room, at the life they had created together. Both sets of yesterday’s clothes sat in a tangled heap on one of the armchairs. Their shoes lay in a mish-mashed pile by the doorway. Matthew’s watch had somehow ended up on her bedside table, and her Kindle was on his. Their lives had completely entwined.
She set the tea down on the bedside table and snuggled her way a little further under the covers. Licking the tip of a finger, she used it to collect a few stray crumbs from the plate. She looked across to Matthew’s side of the bed and could make out his imprint in the linen and mattress. Sarah had grown so used to sleeping next to Matthew – regularly sleeping beside someone was something she hadn’t done for a long time – that she suddenly wondered how she would feel in a big bed all to herself that night. Even though he was just across the hall in the kitchen, the thought of being separated from Matthew, even for just a day, was enough for her to miss him.
In the hours that followed Sarah’s departure for Florence, Matthew was kept busy by Angelo. They went from room to room, removing all possible fixtures and hinges from the walls and framework in order to prepare the surfaces for their new coats of paint. Sarah had chosen a cool white called‘il peso della neve’– the weight of the snow. The preparation work required a careful eye, steady hands and unbridled focus, all which Matthew seemed to be lacking.
‘Stai attento,Matteo!’ Angelo barked as Matthew missed another screw with his fumbling fingers.
‘Sorry. It slipped. Try again.’
