Tempted By The Bridesmaid. Annie O'Neil
Motors is doing so well it could probably run itself.”
“No surprise there. But I’m still amazed he took time off. It must’ve been one heck of a health scare.”
Fran nodded. She knew Bea’s wariness was legitimate. The number of times Fran had thought this would be the time her father finally made good on his promise to spend some quality father-daughter time...
“It was actually quite sweet. I got to learn a lot more about him as we journeyed through time via the cars.” She smiled at the memory of a Model T that had elicited a story about one of his cousins driving up a mountainside backward because the engine had only been strong enough in reverse. “Even though we all know cars aren’t my passion, I learned more about him in that one weekend than I have...ever, really.”
He’d thought he was going to die—late at night, alone in his office. And it had made him change direction, hadn’t it? Forced him to realize a factory couldn’t give hugs or bake your favorite cookies or help you out when you were elderly and in need of some genuine TLC or a trip down memory lane.
“We’ve even been having phone calls and video-link chats since I left. Every day.”
Bea nodded. Impressed now. “Well, if those two hounds of yours are anything to go by, it’ll be a successful business in no time. Who knows? I might need one of those itty-bitty handbag assistance dogs to keep me chirpy!”
“Ooh! That’s their specialty. Want a display?” Without waiting for an answer, she signaled directions at her specially trained pooches, “Come on, pups! Bedtime for Bea!”
Fran was rewarded with a full peal of Beatrice’s giggles when the dogs went up on their hind legs on either side of the bed and pulled at the soft duvet until it was right up to her chin.
Snuggled up under her covers, Bea turned her kind eyes toward Fran. “Grazie, Francesca. You’re the best. Mamma has promised caffe latte and your favorite brioche con cioccolata if we head over to the palazzo tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be up early, so don’t worry about me. I’ll just grab something from this enormous fruit bowl before I shoot off.” She feigned trying to lift the huge bowl and failing. “Better save my back. I’ve got to be there at nine. Fit and well!”
“At Clinica Mont di Mare?”
“Aha! I knew I’d get something from you beyond the sat-nav coordinates!”
Bea gave her a sidelong glance, then shook her head. “All I’m going to say is keep an open mind.”
“Sounds a bit scary.”
Bea gave her hand a squeeze. “Of all the people in the world, I know you’re the best one for this particular job.”
“Thanks, friend.”
Fran fought the tickle of tears in her throat. Bea was her absolute best friend and she trusted her implicitly. The fact Bea was still speaking to her after today’s debacle made her heart squeeze tight.
“Un bacione.” She dropped a kiss on her friend’s forehead and gave her hand a final squeeze before heading to her own bedroom and climbing into the antique wrought iron–framed bed.
“Freda, come! Covers!” Might as well get as much practice in as possible.
The fluffy Bernese mountain dog padded over, did as she had been bid, then received a big ol’ cuddle. Fran adored Freda, with her big brown eyes. The three-year-old dog was ever patient, ever kind. In contrast to the other full-of-beans dog she’d brought along.
“Edison! Come, boy!”
The chocolate Lab lolloped up to the side of the bed to receive his own cuddle, before flopping down in a contented pile of brown fur alongside Freda.
The best of friends. Just like her and Bea. It would be so hard to say goodbye.
Never mind. Tomorrow was a new beginning.
Exactly what she needed after a certain someone’s face had been burned into her memory forever.
“You and I will never be friends.”
Luca’s hardened features pinged into her mind’s eye. No matter the set of his jaw, she’d seen kindness in his eyes. Disbelief at what was happening. And resignation. A trinity of emotions that had pulled at her heartstrings and then yanked hard, cinching them in a tight noose. No matter how foul he’d been, she knew she would always feel compassion for him. Always wonder if he’d found someone worthy of his love.
“HOW MUCH?” LUCA’S jaw clenched tight. He was barely able to conceal his disbelief. Another five million to get a swathe of family suites prepared?
He looked at the sober-faced contractor. He was the best, and his family had worked with the Montovano family for years. In other words, five million was a steal.
Five million he didn’t have, thanks to his father’s late nights at the poker table. Very nice poker tables, in the French Riviera’s most exclusive casinos. Casinos where losing was always an option.
Luca’s eyes flicked up to the pure blue sky above him. Now that his father was pushing piles of chips up there, somewhere in the heavenly hereafter, it wasn’t worth holding on to the anger anymore. The bitterness.
His gaze realigned with the village—his inheritance...his millstone. Finding peace was difficult when he had a paraplegic niece to care for and a half-built clinic he was supposed to open in a week’s time.
Basta! He shook off the ill will. Nothing would get in the way of providing for Pia. Bringing her every happiness he could afford. Be it sunshine or some much-needed savings—he would give her whatever he had. After the losses she’d suffered...
“Dottore?” The contractor’s voice jarred him back into the moment.
“Looks like we’re going to have to do it in phases, Piero. Mi perdoni.”
Luca didn’t even bother with a smile—they both knew it wouldn’t be genuine—and shook hands with the disappointed contractor. They walked out to the main gate, where he had parked. Luca remained in the open courtyard as the van slowly worked its way along the kilometer-long bridge that joined the mountaintop village to the fertile seaside valley below.
He took in a deep breath of air—just now hinting at all the wildflowers on the brink of appearing. It was rare for him to take a moment like this—a few seconds of peace before heading back into the building site that needed to be transformed into an elite rehabilitation clinic in one week’s time.
He scanned the broad valley below him. Where the hell was this dog specialist? Time was money. Money he didn’t have to spare. Not that Canny Canines was charging him. Bea had said something about fulfilling pro bono quotas and rescue dogs, but it hadn’t sat entirely right with him. He might have strained the seams of his bag of ducats to the limit, but he wasn’t in the habit of accepting charity. Not yet anyway.
The jarring clang of a scaffolding rail reverberated against the stone walls of the medieval village along with a gust of blue language. Luca’s fists tightened. He willed it to be the sound of intention rather than disaster. There was no time for mistakes—even less for catastrophe.
Sucking in another deep breath, Luca turned around to face the arched stone entryway that led into the renamed “city.” Microcity, more like. Civita di Montovano di Marino. His family’s name bore the legacy of a bustling medieval village perched atop this seaside mountain—once thriving in the trades of the day, but now left to fade away to nothing after two World Wars had shaken nearly every family from its charitable embrace.
Just another one of Italy’s innumerable ghost towns—barely able to sustain the livelihood of one family, let alone the hundred or so who had lived there so many years