“Lucca,” she called softly to him. “Wake up. You’re dreaming. Come on.”

Using a gentle rolling motion, she managed to get him on his back. More unintelligible words flew out of his mouth.

His tear-washed face was her undoing. She bent over him and started kissing his eyelids and cheeks. “Lucca?” she whispered. “The war is over. You’re home and safe.” She ran her lips over every rugged line and angle of the face haunting her dreams. Her hands massaged his shoulders, willing him to relax and let go of the powerful flashback.

“Hush, now,” she murmured against his lips, both of theirs salty from his tears. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Just when she thought she wasn’t getting through to him he muttered, “Annabelle?”

“Yes!” she cried, so relieved he’d come back to reality she didn’t care what he thought of her unorthodox methods. Her sorrow for what he’d suffered went too deep for tears. He’d been injured and had lost his best friend. She rocked him in her arms. With a swift strength she could scarcely credit, he pulled her body toward him.

Dear Reader,

Up to the time I was fifteen, going on sixteen, our eight -member family got along with the Buick my father drove.(He looked exactly like Charles Boyer in his younger days.) Then something incredible happened. In 1955 he came home from work one day driving a convertible that was so adorable I thought I was seeing things. He’d bought a Porsche 356 Carrera Cabriolet. It was gleaming white, with red leather seats, and looked like a toy. I’d never heard of a Porsche, but if you could fall in love with a car, I did.

A month later it was time for me to take my driving test, and Daddy taught me how to drive in the Porsche with its stick shift. The day after I got my licence, he let me drive it to my high school. Needless to say I was the most popular girl at the school that day, and never got over my love of foreign sports cars. When you read this novel, Her Italian Soldier, you’ll see I still have a mad passion for them.

I dedicate this book to the most saintly, brilliant, wonderful, generous father in the world.

Enjoy!

Rebecca Winters

About the Author

REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include three beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her Mills & Boon® romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at: www.rebeccawinters-author.com.

Her Italian
Soldier

Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

ANNABELLE Marsh stood at the bathroom sink while she began removing her makeup. She didn’t recognize the blond woman in the mirror staring back at her. There was an unnatural gleam to her shoulder-length hair she could never have achieved on her own. Her eyes really weren’t that violet. Nor were her brows and lashes quite as dark.

Artificially flawless skin highlighted by a subtle bloom brought out her high cheekbones. The makeup artist had defined her mouth to make it look more voluptuous. Her fingernails and toenails possessed their own polished sheen.

She’d had a bevy of fairy godmothers doing what they did best as they’d transformed her. Marcella of Marcella’s Italian haute couture salon in Rome chose all the designer clothes that Annabelle would wear throughout her photo shoots in Italy. She’d added jewels as the final touch for the shoot that had started four days ago at an air force base outside Rome in front of an MB-Viper fighter jet.

It had been a lark so far—loads of fun.

“Three weeks of being the Amalfi Girl,” Guilio told her. “My wife and I will see to your every comfort. Then—since you insist—you can go back to being Ms. Marsh.”

“You mean the forgettable Ms. Marsh.” She’d had long enough to stop grieving over a failed marriage and divorce two years earlier, and had taken back her maiden name. But a lack of self confidence, remained as one of its by-products.

His brown brows lifted. “If you were forgettable, I wouldn’t have picked you for the most important project of my life.”

Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. “I still don’t know what you see in me.”

“My brothers and I, the whole Cavezzali family, have been in the business of designing cars since World War Two. But I was the one who dreamed up the Amalfi sports car. It’s been my life’s work. I saw the lines of it in my sleep years ago and lines, Annabelle, are like the bones of a beautiful woman. What lies beneath determines what will eventually become a masterpiece.”

She flashed him a teasing smile. “You saw my bones?”

“Right away. They spoke to me. They said, ‘Guilio? At last you have found what you’ve been looking for.’” The charm and exuberance of the attractive sixtysomething Italian couldn’t be denied. “I am going to form a marriage that will show a whole new face of the elegant world of the Italian sports car.”

Annabelle would never forget that day two months ago when the dynamic car designer had come to the Amalfi dealership in Los Angeles, California. He and her boss, Mel Jardine, the owner of the complex who sold the most Amalfi cars in the States, had business to talk over. Guilio was launching a spectacular new sports car.

Being Mel’s personal assistant, Annabelle had taken care of all the arrangements to make Guilio comfortable, including catering their meals. He’d insisted she remain for the day-long meetings and he was so attentive, she feared the married man might be interested in her in a nonprofessional way. But he soon dispelled that worry by bringing on another one. He told her in front of Mel he wanted Annabelle to be the model to advertise his new car.

She laughed at the absurd notion, but he kept right on talking while Mel shot her a glance that said she should listen to this Italian genius.

“I’m perfectly serious. For the last year I’ve been searching for the right woman. I had no exact face or figure in mind. I only knew one day she would come along and I would know her.” He stared at her. “And here you are. You have that Amalfi Girl look. You’re unique, just like the car. Mel will tell you I’ve never used a female model before.”

Annabelle knew he spoke the truth. She was familiar with the brochures around the shop. They only featured prosperous Italian men in ads with his cars, like a businessman from Milan, or a socialite from Florence.

“I’m so flattered I don’t know what to say, Mr. Cavezzali.”

“Guilio. Please.”

“Guilio, then. But why bring in a woman now?” She was filled with curiosity. “Out of the whole car industry, your ads are the most appealing just as they are,” she assured him and meant it.

He tapped his fingertips together. “That’s gratifying to hear, but I want this campaign to be sensational. It’s in honor of my brilliant boy.” The hushed quality in his tone told Annabelle how very deeply he loved his son.

“Lucca went to military school at eighteen and has distinguished himself as a fighter pilot with many decorations to his credit.” His eyes moistened. “He’s my pride and joy. I’ve named my latest creation the Amalfi MB-Viper to let him know how much I admire what he has accomplished.”

Ah … Now she understood. He’d named his new sports car after the fighter jet his son flew.

He gazed at her for a long time. “I want your picture to adorn the brochures, the media ads, the video and the calendar I’m having made up to commemorate the launch. Every Amalfi dealership around the world will be sent posters and calendars ahead of shipment to create excitement about a whole new market of future Amalfi sports-car owners. Be assured I’ll have security with you at every shoot for your safety.”

When Annabelle got over being speechless, she said, “I’d be honored to play a part in its launch.”

Someone else, like her ex-husband Ryan, would be speechless, too, when he saw her picture on the calendar. He’d dreamed about owning a flashy sports car when he’d finished his medical residency. One look at the new Amalfi MB-Viper and he would covet it. That is until he saw his boring, predictable ex-wife draped over it, swathed in silk and diamonds.

After their marriage, his affair with another nurse at the hospital where Annabelle had been finishing up her nursing degree had left her feeling like her soul had been murdered.

A chance meeting with Mel, who’d been one of the heart patients on her floor at the time, had resulted in her going to work for him. His job offer had spirited her away from a world of pain she’d wanted to put behind her and hopefully forget.

Now Guilio’s faith in her being attractive enough to grace his ads gave her another shot of confidence her damaged self-esteem had been needing.

“You will stay at my home with my wife, Maria, and me. I’m eager to introduce you to my brothers and my two married stepsons, who work for me. They and their families live nearby.”

“I’d love to meet all of them, but I couldn’t impose on you and your wife that way.”

“Hmm. I can see you’re stubborn like my son. All right. I’ll put you up in Ravello’s finest hotel.”

“No hotel. If I’m going to be in Italy, I want to stay in some quaint, modest bed-and-breakfast where it’s quiet, away from people and I can soak in the atmosphere. Here in Los Angeles we’re constantly hemmed in by each other.”

He turned to Mel. “You won’t mind loaning her to me? This is business.”

Mel smiled. “Not if you send her back soon. I couldn’t get along without her. She’s the reason I haven’t had another heart attack.”

Guilio smacked his own head. “Cielo! We don’t want that.”

All three of them had laughed.

Eight weeks ago she’d agreed to model for him and now, having completed her first four days of work in Rome, she found herself transported to Ravello, home to the Cavezzali family and the Amalfi car, a design as spectacular as the Amalfi coast itself.

Perched high above the water, Ravello was more like a giant garden than a town. Guilio, who had his own villas here, called it the crown jewel of the Sorrentine Peninsula. Princes, movies stars and sheikhs, among others, were drawn to the cluster of colorful cliff side villages and sparkling harbors dotting the world-famous stretch of Italian coastline.

This was her first vacation since her honeymoon to Mexico four years ago. After telling Guilio she wanted to stay in one of those charming little Italian farmhouses like she’d seen in films and on television, the kind that made you dream about the countryside, he’d installed her here.

She’d learned this house sat on the little farm his first wife had left to his son Lucca. It had stood vacant for fifteen years. She was welcome to stay here.

The exterior was orangy-pink with jade shutters. The only door to the house was on the side and led into the kitchen. Pure enchantment. Since leaving the bustle of Rome earlier in the day, nothing could have delighted her more.

While its terrace overlooked the brilliant blue Tyrrhenian Sea, an explosion of white daisies reached for the sky and pushed their way through the bars of the railing. It was as if the house had been planted inside a basket of blossoms. She couldn’t wait to go exploring the area in the morning, before her driver came by for her at eleven.

After taking off her clothes, she stepped in the shower. It felt good to wash her hair and emerge later feeling fresh and clean after traveling most of the day. She threw on her well-worn navy robe and plugged in the adaptor before turning on the blow dryer. When the strands weren’t quite as damp, she pinned them to the top of her head. Tomorrow the hairdresser would decide what he wanted to do with her shoulder-length hair for the photo shoot.

Another glance in the mirror proved that the Amalfi Girl was gone for the night.

Was twenty-six still young enough for her to be called a girl? Did her daily makeover at the hands of experts hide the traces of the betrayed widow? The camera would tell the truth, but Guilio believed in what he was doing. He believed in her. She already cared for him so much, she wanted this campaign to be a huge success and was determined to cooperate every way she could.

When Lucca learned what his father had done in his honor, he’d be touched beyond belief. It was very sweet really. Guilio was about as excited as a father who’d put his child’s most wanted gift under the Christmas tree and couldn’t wait for him to open it.

Unfortunately it was only June. Annabelle wondered how he was going to be able to wait until August when the car was finally out in the showrooms. The timing would coincide with his son’s next leave and the grand unveiling would take place in Milan.

Guilio intended to fly her back over for the special event, which would be covered by Italian television and other media sources. “We’ll do a blitz!” Guilio proclaimed with excitement. “Nothing’s too good for my Lucca.”

Annabelle imagined his bachelor son had the same Cavezzali drive and charm. She admitted to a growing curiosity about him. Guilio had told her the den at his villa was full of pictures showing his son at every stage of his life. The latest ones showed Lucca receiving commendations and ribbons. She was eager to see them along with everything else.

After stretching her arms, she smiled wryly to herself, still unable to believe that she was in the most glorious place on earth, enjoying a free vacation while she modeled, and having the time of her life. In a few weeks she would have to go home, but she refused to think about that right now.

Once she’d brushed her teeth, she turned out the light and padded down the beamed hall to the larger of the two bedrooms made ready for her. The cozy feel of the old house, which was filled with old family pictures and furnishings, enveloped her. So many stories these fieldstone walls would tell if they could speak.

Annabelle climbed under the covers of the double bed. With a sigh she sank back against the pillow and closed her eyes, more tired than she realized. On such a beautiful June night, she wished she could leave the windows open, but Guilio had warned her against it.

“You can’t ever be too careful.”

Annabelle knew he was right.

“Tomorrow after the shoot, I’ll give you a car so you can come and go as you please.”

“Thank you for everything, Guilio. I guess you know you’ve brought me to heaven.”

“Ravello is the closest thing to it. Call me if you need anything. Sleep well, Annabelle. Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

She didn’t know why, but as she nestled into a more comfortable position, she had a feeling that love and laughter had filled this house years ago. Some marriages lasted. Her eyes misted. How nice for those lucky people…

At the base of the tiny farm bordering the serpentine road, Lucca Cavezzali got an urge to go on foot from here and told the driver he’d hired to stop the car. After paying the man, he got out of the backseat with some difficulty and reached for his duffel bag.

There was a full moon overhead. Anyone up at two in the morning would see him and wonder who was trespassing on private property. He took a long look around. In the next instant the perfumed breeze brought back memories from the past. The scent of orange blossoms hung heavily in the air, recalling his childhood, which had been idyllic when his mother had been alive.

After her death, everything changed. Lucca had watched his father turn into a different man, who soon after her death married a widow with two sons. At fourteen years of age Lucca couldn’t forgive him for that and pretty well closed up on him.

Uninterested in going into the family car business like his stepbrothers and cousins, he’d left to join the military at eighteen. His grandfather Lorenzo had served in the Second World War. Lucca had made the old farmer out to be a hero and had romanticized about going off to war himself.

That decision had caused a serious rift between him and Guilio, who raged that Lucca might not be as lucky as his grandfather and not make it back at all. Still, nothing had dissuaded Lucca from leaving. But as he grew into a man and had firsthand knowledge of what war was really like, understanding of a lot of things caught up to him, like his father’s fears for his only son’s safety, and Guilio’s need for love and companionship after losing Lucca’s mother.

Lucca had long since let go of his teenage hang-ups. Over the years he’d mended the breech between them and had come to like his stepmother. She’d been good for his father, who was married to his work building up the Amalfi car industry.

If there was anything left over from the past, it was his guilt for not having been around the last fifteen years for his father. But the hospital psychiatrist had worked through those issues with him as well as his survivor’s guilt. The doctor had told him most career servicemen and women suffered the same problems. Guilt went with the territory.

The only issue that Lucca didn’t want to see turn into a problem had arisen on his last leave. He’d found out his father was considering selling off the two remaining farm properties from his mother’s side of the family that were in sore need of care. Lucca had immediately made an offer for them.

His father looked at him as if he were crazy. If Lucca wanted to build up some investments, it would be a better use of his money to buy a prime piece of business real estate in town. Guilio was a shrewd businessman and considered his opinion to be the final word on the subject.

Rather than get into a full-blown argument as they’d done too often in those early years, Lucca decided to leave it alone for the time being. All he asked was that his father not do anything about the properties until he came home on his next leave in August, when they had more time for a business discussion.

But since their last meeting, he’d undergone a life-changing experience that had altered his timetable.

Four months ago Lucca had been shot down and it had ended his military career. Guilio didn’t know about the crash that had left Lucca permanently injured, or that he’d been in the hospital all this time.

Aware how his father would have suffered for him had he known about the operation on his leg and the long rehabilitation, not to mention his post-traumatic stress disorder, Lucca made certain no news had leaked out from his superiors or doctors. It was a time he preferred to forget.

Tomorrow he would show up at his father’s house after a good night’s sleep. That’s when he had less pain. He wanted to feel rested when he told Guilio about his future plans to be a full-time farmer. It was possible he’d meet with the same negative reaction of years ago, but Lucca had to try.

Before turning eighteen, Lucca had talked to his father and told him that he wanted to be a farmer, but Guilio had thrown up his hands. “For your mother’s family, farming was fine. But no son of mine is going to do that kind of work! You’re a Cavezzali with a superior brain!

“Our family has been designing and manufacturing cars since World War Two. There’s no distinction in being a farmer who’s always subject to the elements and works all hours of the day and night with little to show for it. No, Lucca. You listen to your father!”

After Guilio’s tirade, Lucca kept the dream to himself. Instead of joining the Amalfi car business after graduation, he went into the military. Not to spite his father, but because he had plans to be a farmer one day and that ambition meant he would have to make some real money at a job that appealed to him first. Being a fighter pilot satisfied that need.

Now that he was out of the service, he planned to work with the soil and revive the farm. Since he intended to be successful and make a substantial profit, he needed more parcels of land. Along with this farm and those two properties to which he’d always been sentimentally attached, he could make a good start and go from there.

He’d had a lot of time to think in the hospital and hoped that when he talked to his father, Guilio’s opinions would have softened enough to really listen to Lucca. But he doubted his father would ever approve of what he intended to do. Already Lucca was bracing for the same kind of lecture his father had given him all that time ago.

However, this time Lucca wouldn’t be dissuaded and he wasn’t going away. And if his father chose not to sell the properties, then Lucca was prepared to buy others. After his inactivity these last four months, he ached to get busy using his hands.

Once he’d checked his watch, he started for the house, struggling to reach it with every step. Before the injury that could have taken off his leg, he would have ambled up the steep incline between the orange and lemon trees faster than any goat.

As he made his way over uneven ground, he noted with disgust that everything growing required attention and pruning. The whole place needed an overhaul. Weeds fought to displace the flowers growing in wild profusion around the base of the deserted house, particularly in front of the terrace, where the railing was almost invisible. So much work needed to be done.

If his mother were alive, she would weep to see the neglect. Maybe it was just as well he’d lost her in his early teens. That way she wasn’t here to see him come home a wreck of a man. Thirty-three years old and he wasn’t a pretty sight. Neither was the farm, but he was about to change all that, with or without his father’s blessing.

Working his way around the side to the only door leading into the house, he pulled out a set of keys and let himself in. Usually when he had a furlough, he met his father in Rome or Milan, where Guilio often did business at the major showrooms. But those days were over.

He was back on the farm, his own small piece of heaven, and he planned to work it.

From what Lucca could tell, there didn’t appear to be any dust. He’d been paying a local woman to make sure the place was cleaned on a periodic basis and was pleased to see she’d followed through. He put the duffel bag down on the tiles in the kitchen with relief. It weighed a ton.

No longer encumbered, he limped past the small table and chairs to the hallway, taking in the living room on the other side. He didn’t need lights turned on to find his old bedroom. Everything was still in place, like a time capsule that had just been opened.

He moved over to the window and undid the shutters, letting in the sound of the cicadas. Moonlight poured in, illuminating the double bed minus any bedding. Unlatching the glass, he pushed it all the way open to allow the scented breeze to dance on through. There was no other air like it anywhere on earth. He knew, because he’d been everywhere.

While he stood there filling his lungs with the sweet essence of the fruits and flowers, the pain in his leg grew worse. The plate the surgeon had put in his thigh to support the broken bone caused it to ache when he was tired. He needed another painkiller followed by sleep. A long one.

Diavolo! It meant going back to the kitchen, but he didn’t know if he could make it without help. Walking the distance from the car had exhausted him.

Somewhere in his closet among his favorite treasures he remembered his grandfather’s cane. His mother’s father had lost the lower half of his leg in the war and had eventually been fitted with a prosthesis.

He rummaged around inside until he spotted it, never dreaming the day would come when he would find use for it. Grazie a Dio Lucca hadn’t lost a limb.

Armed with the precious heirloom, he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he’d put the duffel bag. He’d packed the pill bottle in his shaving kit on top. Once he’d swallowed painkillers, he ran the tap water, then lowered his head and drank his fill. It tasted good.

He eventually shut off the tap. One more stop to the bathroom before sinking into oblivion.

By now he was leaning heavily on the cane. The short climb to the house had done its damage. Only a few more feet … Come on. You can do it! But even as he said the words, the cane slid on the tiles from his weight and he went crashing.

A loud thump resounded in the hallway followed by a yelp and a volley of unintelligible cursing in Italian. Annabelle shot up in bed. Someone—a man—was in the house, thrashing about after some kind of fall. It couldn’t be Guilio. He would have phoned if he’d intended to come over for some reason. Maybe it was the caretaker Guilio had forgotten to tell her about.

With her heart in her throat, she slid out of bed. After throwing on her robe, she hurried over to the door. When she opened it, enough moonlight spilled from the doorway of the other bedroom to outline a figure crawling on his hands and knees.

Knowing the intruder was hurt in some way, she felt braver as she found the switch in the hall and turned on the light. His dark head reared back in complete surprise, revealing a striking face riddled with lines of pain. She grabbed for the cane she could see lying a few feet from him and lifted it in the air.

“I don’t know who you are,” she said through clenched teeth. “You probably don’t speak English, but I’m warning you I’ll use this if you make another move.” With a threatening gesture, she took a step toward him.

“You have me at a disadvantage, signorina.”

His deep voice spoke beautiful English with the kind of Italian accent that resonated to her insides. He was probably in his mid-thirties. The dangerous-looking male didn’t have the decency to flinch. Even on the floor twisting in agony, he exuded an air of authority. She doubted he was anyone’s caretaker. This kindled her fear of his lean, hard-muscled body on a level she didn’t wish to examine.

“You’re trespassing on private property, signore.”

He strained to brace his back against the wall. A black T-shirt covered his well-defined chest. With his legs stretched out full length in jeans molding powerful thighs, she could see he would be six-two or six-three if he were standing. He put her in mind of someone, but she couldn’t think who.

“You took the words out of my mouth, signorina. A man has the right to come home to his own house and be alone.”

She drew in a fortifying breath. “I happen to know that no one has lived in this house for years.”

His lids drooped over his eyes. He was exhausted. Perspiration beaded his forehead and upper lip. She saw the signs of his pain and felt unwanted sympathy for his distress, but it only lasted until he said, “Nevertheless it’s mine, so what are you doing here?”

“You’re the intruder,” she snapped. “I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind. First of all, I want to see your ID.”

“I don’t have it on me.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“Of course it is,” she mocked again. “And if I ask for your name, you’ll lie to me, so there’s no point. We’ll let the police get the truth out of you.”

That made him open his eyes enough to gaze up at her through inky black lashes. “How sad your cynicism is already showing.”

Heat made its way into her cheeks. “Already?”

“Well, for one thing you’re not married.” He stared at her ringless fingers. “Disillusionment doesn’t usually happen to a woman until she’s approaching forty. At least that’s been my assessment.”

He’d pressed the wrong button. “It would take a broken-down, forty-year-old cynic of a man to know, wouldn’t it? Your vast knowledge on the subject doesn’t seem to have done you a whole lot of good. No wedding ring on your finger, either. Not even the paler ring of skin to give proof you’d once worn one. What you need is a walker that won’t slip, signore, not a cane.”

The lines around his mouth tightened. She didn’t know if she’d hit her target, or if he was reacting to his pain.

He slanted her an impatient glance. “Why don’t you admit you’re a down-and-out tourist who doesn’t have enough money for a hotel room, so you cased the area and settled on this empty house.”

Smarting from the accusation she said, “What if I were? You’ve done the same thing by waiting until the middle of the night to find a vacant spot to lick your wounds.”

“Like a stray dog, you mean?”

Behind his snarl-like question she heard a bleakness that matched the whitish color around his lips. They’d traded insults long enough. His pain caused her to relent. “I’m a guest here for a time. My name is Annabelle Marsh. What’s yours?”

He rested his head of unruly black hair against the wall. “None of your business” was the off-putting response.

His eyes had closed, giving her enough time to hurry into the bedroom and grab her cell phone off the side table. When she returned seconds later, his lids fluttered open. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded curtly.

“I’m calling Guilio Cavezzali, my employer. He’ll know how to deal with you.”

“No, don’t—” He lunged forward and pulled her down, cradling her between his legs with great strength.

The gesture sent the cane flying down the hall. His hands tore the cell phone from her other hand. It slid even farther away. She felt his warm breath on her nape. “I can’t let you call him at this hour.”

Did he know Guilio? The name seemed to mean something to him. Annabelle had been a fool to feel any pity for him. Now she was at his mercy. She schooled her voice to remain steady. “What is it you want?”

“Invisibility for the rest of the night. One word from you could ruin everything.”

“I guess if you were being hunted by the police you wouldn’t tell me, or maybe you would and don’t care.”

He made a strange sound in his throat. “I’m not on anyone’s suspect list. More to the point, how long have you been staying here?”

She could feel the pounding of his heart against her back. It was too fast. His pain would have spiked from the sudden exertion. “I only arrived in Ravello this evening.” In her own way, she’d wanted invisibility after a full day.

“How soon will you be seeing him again?”

“He’ll be sending a car for me tomorrow at eleven. I’ll probably see him later in the day.”

“What exactly do you do?”

This man who’d broken into the house seemed to know more than she’d given him credit for, but she wasn’t about to reveal information about Guilio. Seeing as this stranger had her locked in his grip, he had the upper hand. What choice was there except to answer with as much truth as she dared and still protect Guilio. His name was synonymous with Amalfi and prominent throughout Italy. “I’m working for him temporarily.”

“Why aren’t you living in a pensione or an apartment?” The man was full of questions.

“I asked him to find me a farmhouse that rented out rooms. That’s when he told me I could stay here. There’s no place more beautiful than the Italian countryside. Living here is like walking right into the picture on a calendar of Italy and never wanting to come back out.”

“That’s very interesting.” He’d said the words, but he didn’t sound as if he believed her.

She breathed in sharply. “Now that that I’ve answered all of your questions, it’s only fair you answer one for me. Who are you?”

“Lucca Cavezzali,” he groaned.

“Oh, no—” she cried. This was Guilio’s only son, the adored child he’d had with his first wife, the eighteen-year-old who’d gone into the military and had trained to be a fighter pilot for the Italian air force—his father’s pride and joy!

If she told him the specific nature of her job, it would ruin the surprise his father had been planning for over a year.

Now that she thought about it, the two men had similar builds, though Guilio was shorter. She saw a vague resemblance in some of their facial features, but Lucca must have inherited his black hair from his mother. Guilio hadn’t mentioned anything about his son being injured.

She tried to get away from him, but he held her firmly against him. “Because of you, signorina, my best laid plans have been shot to hell for tonight, as you Americans like to say.”

“You’re right! We do like to say,” she spluttered back. “Allow me to thank you very much, signore. Your unexpected, unforetold nocturnal invasion has changed my plans, too. If you’ll let me go, I’ll phone for a taxi and be gone from here inside of a half hour.”

To her dismay she would have to explain to Guilio why she’d suddenly decided to go to a hotel after all. She would have to think up a good excuse for leaving, but she’d worry about that later.

“Now who’s licking wounds,” he muttered with uncanny perception.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m afraid it is. But uprooting you tonight won’t be necessary, provided you’re willing to cooperate with me and keep my presence here a secret until tomorrow.”

Cooperate? For the second time that night she was suffering fresh shock after learning his identity. “You ask a lot of your prisoners.” She’d been trying to wiggle free from his viselike grip, but it was no use. He might be injured, but he was incredibly strong and fit.

“I’m a desperate man.”

Annabelle moaned. “So I’ve noticed. Why don’t you want your father to know you’re back?”

“Back from where, signorina?”

His condescending tone told her that no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to like it. “He mentioned that you’re in the military.” She moistened her lips nervously. “Did you arrange for a special leave or something?”

“That’s not your affair, either.”

She supposed it wasn’t. “You’re right, but I can tell you’re in pain. You should be in bed.”

“I was on my way there.” He’d come from the other part of the house, probably the kitchen. His speech had slowed, leading her to believe he’d drugged himself with something strong.

“Your bed isn’t made up. You’ll have to use mine.”

“As long as you don’t leave my sight. For the rest of the night we’ll lie on the same bed to ensure you don’t play the informer before morning.”

Annabelle had no illusions. That was a command, not an invitation. She refused to react. “Fine. If you’ll let me stand, I’ll help you get up, then you can lean on me. My bedroom isn’t far.”

He let her go with one hand, using it to brace himself against the wall while he clung to her arm with the other. She sensed he would have cried out if he’d been alone. Together they moved to her bedroom with him leaning on her. Undoubtedly she would have collapsed from his weight if they’d had to go much farther.

By some miracle they made it to the bed. He fell on his side, taking her with him. She ended up on her back and felt his hand curl around her wrist, making certain she wouldn’t get away. As he settled against the pillows, his sigh of relief echoed off the walls of the room.

When she’d helped him up moments ago, the dark stubble on his jaw had brushed against her cheek by accident, reminding her of his undeniable masculinity. No doubt he’d been traveling a long time without stopping to freshen up. Between fatigue and the medication he’d taken for his pain, she assumed he’d be asleep before long.

She, on the other hand, lay next to him, wide-awake. There’d been no man since she’d divorced Ryan. With Guilio’s son facing her inches away, her senses were in chaos. The situation was so surreal she wondered if she were dreaming.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lucca murmured, thinking he’d read her mind. “I couldn’t take advantage of you if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

His words might have pricked her if she hadn’t already been through a hell she never wanted to repeat. “Then we’re both in luck because I can assure you that a rude, brooding, unshaven male slithering home under cover of darkness is no woman’s idea of joy beyond measure.” His earlier remarks still smarted.

He made a sound that bordered on angry laughter, but none of it mattered. In another few minutes he’d be dead to the world. Once his hand released her, she would find some clean bedding in the hall closet and make up the other bed.

“Your pillow smells of strawberries.”

The observation came as a surprise. In fact everything he said and did had knocked her off balance. “It’s probably still damp, too. I’ll get you another one.”

His hand restrained her from moving. “After the places I’ve been, I like it.” The words came out in a slur.

“You can let go of me. I’m not going to reveal your secret.”

“Why not?” came the unexpected question “It’s the kind of thing a woman can’t wait to do.”

If he could still try to rile her, then he wasn’t as close to sleep as she’d supposed. Probably because of his pain. She fought an unwanted rush of sympathy for him. “That kind of assumption comes from knowing too many females on a superficial basis.”

“You’re an authority on my love life now?” he growled.

“Italian men have a certain reputation, signore. As we American women understand it, the Italian male is a jack of all trades, but master of none. I think it’s one of the personal casualties in your particular line of work.”

To his credit he let her baiting go before he said in a raspy voice, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

For the most important of reasons. She happened to know that Lucca’s next furlough wasn’t scheduled until August when he visited with his father in Milan. The big surprise Guilio was planning for him would take place at the largest Amalfi showroom in Italy. From there the cars were manufactured and exported around the world.

Annabelle remembered the look in Guilio’s eyes as he’d talked about wanting to honor Lucca when they met at the end of the summer. She would never spoil that reunion by revealing ahead of time what she knew he had in store for his son.

Exhausted over the stunning events of the last hour, her eyelids closed. “If I haven’t responded, it’s because anyone who has gone to your lengths to sneak back under the radar in the dead of night must have the kind of baggage he wouldn’t want anyone to know about.”

She felt his body stiffen.

“What do you say we both try to get some sleep, signore? I don’t know about you, but I have a big day tomorrow.”

“You’ve got me intrigued about the nature of the work you do for my father. It must be beyond classified, otherwise he wouldn’t be treating you like a princess. Nor would he have installed you in a house that is sacrosanct to me.” His voice suddenly sounded as if it had come from a deep cavern.

The blood started pounding in her ears. “Sacrosanct?” she whispered.

“You mean he didn’t tell you I was born here? Would it surprise you to know my mother died in this house?”

Oh, no.

To think she’d called him the intruder. “Your father only told me your mother willed this farm to you. I didn’t realize about the house.”

“Let’s just say he has kept an eye on it for me.”

CHAPTER TWO

A DULL throbbing ache woke Lucca. It radiated up his thigh to his groin. His medication had worn off. He needed some more quick before the pain flared out of control, as it had done last night.

Last night…

He rubbed a hand over his prickly jaws, groaning in self-disgust.

Sunlight filled the room, forcing him to squint. He checked his watch. Twenty to eleven. He found himself alone, still dressed in the same clothes minus his shoes, which she’d removed. The bed was in total disarray, evidence he’d had one of his nightmares. The quilt and pillows lay on the floor.

Naturally she was long gone. By now the American would have alerted his father, who had her allegiance. Lucca was sure he could expect a visitor shortly.

A spate of Italian invective poured out of him.

He turned slowly to roll off the mattress and gave a start to see his near-empty bottle of pills on the bedside table. It hadn’t been there last night. She’d even supplied a glass of water. On the other side of the lamp lay the cane. He decided the nurses at the hospital had nothing on her. His father required efficiency. She had that trait down pat.

Lucca had planned on total privacy for one night, but he had to admit that being this close to his pills meant he didn’t need to suffer another accident on the way to the kitchen.

After swallowing three, his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon on the last leg of his flight to Naples. During the long wait for the train to Salerno, sleep had been impossible. The lack of it always increased the pain. By the time he’d hired a car to drive him to Ravello, he’d been ready to collapse.

A quick scan of the room revealed none of her belongings. He heard no noise and imagined the car she’d mentioned had already come for her. Alone at last, he got up from the bed and tested his weight with the cane. Last night’s accident had been an aberration. As long as he didn’t lean on it too heavily, the cane would do fine until he’d recovered.

The trip from the bathroom to the kitchen wasn’t too bad. His duffel bag was still on the floor where he’d left it. It looked untouched.

He opened the fridge and found it stocked. This house had belonged to his mother’s family. She and his father had lived in it until she’d died. In the will, she’d left the house and property to Lucca. At the time he’d joined the military, he and his father weren’t speaking, but he knew Guilio would keep an eye on it.

How strange he’d decided to install his new American employee here. Even though she’d claimed she wanted to stay at a farmhouse, his father wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to open up the house where he’d started out his married life for just any person working for him. This woman had to occupy a unique place in the scheme of things.

That’s why she hadn’t opened up to him last night. She and his father had something private going on. He had to admit she’d recovered fast from her fright last night. His interrogation of her proved she was a quick study.

Naturally Guilio would have sent down one of the maids from the villa to make sure things were ready for her. He reached for a handful of fat grapes from a bowl and popped them in his mouth. Their juice squirted pure sugar.

The microwave was new. His father had set her up with the necessities. A jar of freeze-dried coffee stood next to it. He preferred cappuccino chiaro, but in the military he’d learned to drink it black and made himself a cup.

In his line of vision to the terrace he noticed several branches from one of the lemon trees had grown and formed an overhang. While he leaned against the sink to sip the hot brew, he saw movement beneath them. Beyond the French doors he watched the back of a woman of medium height picking daisies near the half-hidden railing.

Her hair was caught beneath a large, broad-rimmed straw hat. The rest of her was dressed in a sleeveless white top trimmed with a small white eyelet ruffle. Equally immaculate white pants skimmed womanly hips down to the bone-colored sandals on her feet, where he glimpsed frosted pink toenails.

He waited until she turned enough for him to see the classic profile of Signorina Marsh. So she hadn’t gone off early … Last night her bathrobe had covered up her slender curves.

The whiteness of her fresh-looking outfit combined with the profusion of white petals drew his gaze. With that face partially hidden beneath the hat rim and set against a backdrop of blue sky melding into cobalt waters far below, it was like beholding one of those picture-perfect postcards in dazzling Technicolor.

As she came in through the unlocked doors bringing the sunshine with her, her eyes lit on him, but she kept going and put the flowers in a ceramic pitcher on the counter. After filling it with water, she placed it in the center of the rectangular kitchen table, which was inlaid with hand-painted tiles of lemons.

His mother used to bring in fresh flowers in the early morning. He experienced a moment’s resentment to be reminded of happier times that would never come again.

“I’ve always wanted to be able to decorate with flowers from my own garden. These are for me, but enjoy them if you want to. They’re glorious.” Dusting off her hands, she reached for a large straw handbag lying on one of the chairs and walked over to the side door.

With a parting glance from eyes a rare shade of periwinkle she added, “My ride will be arriving any minute. I’m going to walk out to the drive so you can remain invisible.” She started to open the door, then paused.

“Please wipe that morose expression off your face. You’re probably not that bad-looking when you aren’t carrying the world around on your shoulders like Atlas. Surely you realize I didn’t mean the things I said last night.”

“Only half,” he muttered in an acerbic tone after finishing the rest of his coffee.

“Hmm, maybe three quarters. When you make yourself another cup of coffee, there’s sugar in the cupboard. I’d say you needed a little sweetening. Before I leave, tell me the truth. How recently were you released from the hospital?”

His lips twisted unpleasantly. “What hospital would that be?” He opened the fridge and found a plum to bite into.

“The one where you had surgery on your right thigh. You’re favoring your other leg and can’t get into any one comfortable position for long.”

He munched until there was nothing left but the pit, which he removed and tossed in the wastebasket in the corner. “You’re mistaken, signorina.”

“No.” Annabelle remained firm. “The medication you’re taking tells me otherwise.”

On cue his dark brows furrowed with menace. “What makes you such an authority?”

“I’m a nurse with experience taking care of patients recovering from heart and thoracic surgery, gunshot wounds, broken bones.”

Stillness surrounded him before she saw a look of alarm break out on his face. “What’s wrong with my father?”

She blinked, trying to make sense of his hyperspeed leap from the subject at hand to Guilio. Once the light dawned, she cried, “No, no—I’m not working for your father in that capacity. I’m helping do some advertising for him. As far as I know, he’s fine!” she assured him, noting that his first reaction had been one of a son who loved his father. That cleared up one question haunting her.

His eyes looked disbelieving.

“You’re the person I’m worried about, signore. I’ve a feeling you left the hospital before it was wise. Combined with the fall you had last night, you need to nurse that leg as much as possible. Even if the pain has subsided for now, you’re wiped out.”

“Grazie for your concern.”

She decided the ice between them was thawing a few degrees. His sarcasm didn’t come off sounding quite as bitter as before. “Prego.” It was one of few words she knew in Italian for you’re welcome.

“One more thing, signore. I told Guilio I didn’t want any maids or housekeepers around while I’m here, so you should have no worries in that department. After work I’ll be back to pack and go to a hotel. I don’t know the exact time of my arrival, but rest assured I’ll be alone,” she promised with a pleasant expression.

He watched her disappear out the side door. If she could be believed, then he had little to worry about for the rest of the day. But it caused him to wonder that she’d be willing to keep his secret that long.

Why would she do it? For how long? She wanted something in return, evidently enough to be willing to cooperate.

Breaking in on a defenseless woman in the dead of night should have scared her senseless. Instead, she’d turned the tables on him and had made threatening gestures with the cane. He felt a grudging admiration for her resourcefulness. But he couldn’t help but question what she expected to gain by her compliance with Lucca’s wishes. Did she think getting on his good side would earn her a promotion with his father down the road? More perks?

What was his father playing at? To let his alleged employee have her own way and install her in Lucca’s house meant she’d twisted him around her finger. What kind of advertising was she doing for his father?

It was a little late for him to be having a midlife crisis. Surely his second wife—Maria was enough for him. She’d managed to marry him only six months after Lucca’s mother had been buried. For years Lucca had blamed her for changing his father. Until one day when Lucca grew up and realized no force could make Guilio marry the attractive widow who had two sons of her own if he hadn’t wanted to.

Now this American woman—a nurse, no less—had come into Guilio’s life, so different in every way that Lucca was baffled.

He frowned. Nine months ago when he’d flown to Milan on furlough for a brief visit to see his father, Signorina Marsh hadn’t been on the payroll. That meant she was a fairly recent addition to the company, but because she was in his father’s confidence, she had Lucca at a disadvantage.

He didn’t like the idea that she would know more about him than he wanted anyone to know, yet for the time being he had no choice but to live with it. It didn’t escape him that he bore some responsibility for arriving in the dead of night.

After locking the door, he turned to the fridge. While he rummaged for items to fix himself a sandwich, he heard a car turn into the gravel drive. The voices were too faint for him to make out conversation. Before long it drove off.

In a minute he sank down on one of the hand-carved wooden chairs. He extended his long legs, trying to get into a more comfortable position, which was virtually impossible, just like she’d said. As he bit into some locally grown ham and his favorite provolone dolce cheese, he found himself glowering at the daisies she’d put in the old family pitcher and hardly noticed the taste.

He’d wanted complete solitude and sleep for one night. That way he could appear at his father’s door today looking rested enough that Guilio’s first reaction wouldn’t be one of heartache over his son. There’d been enough of that in the early days.

Soon enough his father would learn about the flashbacks, but they usually happened after he fell asleep.

Starting to get that drugged feeling, he headed for the bedroom. Whether Signorina Marsh exposed him or not, he was no longer alone in his own home and wouldn’t be able to totally relax.

He should phone his father right now, but the pain since his fall last night was more than he could bear right now. Once the pills took effect, he would pass out again for a few hours. When he awakened, he had to pray the throbbing would have died down enough that he could make the call.

Annabelle stepped out of the van where they’d done her hair and makeup. “Perfetto, signorina. That’s the look I want. Like a margheritina!”

“What is that?”

“A flower.” Giovanni, the photographer, put one of his hands on top of the other and made spokes.

“Ah. A wheel. You mean like, he loves me, he loves me not?”

He grinned. “Sì, Sì.”

Annabelle didn’t mind being compared to a daisy. Not at all. The beautiful ones she’d picked earlier that morning had called to her. She’d experienced a euphoric moment until she’d gone back in the kitchen and found the dark Italian owner scrutinizing her with all the intensity of his brooding soul. She wished she still didn’t quake when she thought about it.

Meeting him in the flesh in the middle of the night had, to some extent, altered her vision of the picture his father had portrayed of a strong, powerful man. But obviously that was her fault for endowing his hero son with certain admirable virtues. Maybe his good qualities were there, but they were disguised by pain and his participation in a war where no one ever came home the same as before they left.

She admitted to being worried about his insistence on not letting his father know he was back yet. Though it wasn’t any of her business, as Lucca had said, she did care. More than she should. It made her impatient with herself.

“Annabelle?”

Her head jerked up. “Yes?”

The shorter, overweight man Basilio—one of Guilio’s assistants, who’d driven her this morning—provided the interpretation for the pose he had in mind. “We want you to get in the driver’s seat now and lean to the passenger side, putting your right arm here. Remember you’re out beneath a midafternoon sun, driving for the sheer thrill of it. Then you see the water below and you have to pull over to get a better view. React the way you would naturally. Forget the camera.”

Easy for him to say. But this was an adventure she wouldn’t have missed.

Without needing more urging, Annabelle climbed in the black Amalfi convertible. She could almost believe this was Mrs. James Bond’s car. The rich black-leather interior provided the ideal foil for the white outfit she’d put on before leaving the farmhouse. So far she couldn’t fault Marcella’s superb fashion taste.

Annabelle couldn’t decide which sports car she liked better. The other one in Rome parked in front of the fighter jet had been white with light pearl-grey leather. Lucca would look sensational speeding around in either of them, but the thrill probably wouldn’t be the same after the years he’d flown above the clouds at supersonic speeds.

Once she’d gotten into her role, Giovanni put the straw hat back on her head, studying the angle for a minute and doing a rearrangement of her hair before he started taking one picture after another.

The car had been parked next to the wall of the steep highway below Positano. When she looked down, she gasped at the sheer drop to the water, forgetting everything else. Such gorgeous scenery—reputed to be the most fantastic in this part of the world—defied verbal description and became a spiritual experience with nature. This kind of beauty actually hurt.

With the help of the police, hundreds of cars going both ways had to pass single file where the photo shoot was taking place. Though there were a few angry shouts and horn honks, by far more tourists whistled and shouted “squisitas” and “bellissimas”, throwing her kisses as they passed by.

Yet the view was too mesmerizing and she was barely cognizant of anything else going on around her. If the truth be told, her mind was preoccupied with an image of the wounded Italian pilot who’d finally fallen asleep last night, relaxing his hold so she could escape. Talk about a beautiful man…

When Giovanni announced he had all the shots he needed, she hurried back to the van to remove her makeup. She’d brought her own change of clothes in the straw bag and quickly slipped on her jeans and a blouse. Once she was dressed, she left everything else in the van and stepped outside clutching her own purse.

Besides the sports car and the van, there was the third car Basilio had driven when he’d picked her up at the farm. It was an older model blue Amalfi sedan. He gave her the key, telling her it was now hers to use while she was in Italy.

The police directing traffic indicated they needed to get rid of the roadblock as fast as possible. With the agreement that she’d meet the film crew tomorrow at noon in the town of Amalfi for another photo shoot, she got in the car and followed the policeman riding a motorcycle out into the stream of cars. He helped her get her place in line with the other vehicles headed back toward Ravello.

Through the rearview mirror she saw him blow her a kiss. Annabelle smiled. Italian men. Always open in their enjoyment of women. They were hilarious. Except for one Lucca Cavezzali. She frowned, needing to arm herself ahead of time for a dour reception from him once she returned.

She’d seen his bottle of pills. He was almost out of them. They were the strongest painkillers one could take after surgery without going back to the hospital for a morphine cocktail. His fall in the hallway last night had been doubly unfortunate for him. It came from returning home the hard way, but it was his call after all, and his house. The injured man had every right to expect it would be empty.

Before she arrived at the farmhouse, she made two stops on the outskirts of Ravello. One to a pizzeria for a light meal. The other to a gelateria that was a few doors down from a charming-looking bed-and-breakfast. She checked it out and found out there was a vacancy. With easy access to the main road, she couldn’t find anything better and held the room with a credit card for two weeks occupancy.

Now that Lucca was back home, she couldn’t stay at the farmhouse and would check in after she’d gone back to pack. While she ate a delicious lemon ice, she returned her parents’ phone call, letting them know she’d left Rome and was now settled in Ravello.

Considering the time difference between Italy and California, they’d already gone to work some time ago, so she left her message on their answering machine. Being the last of three children, she knew they worried about her and wanted her to be happy. The prerogative of parents.

A familiar ache passed through Annabelle because the experience of having a baby had been denied her. But then she quickly brightened, refusing to dwell on it, and assured her folks she was having a wonderful time. How could she not after the sights she’d seen today.

She left out mention of the owner of the farmhouse, who’d come close to giving her a heart attack last night when he’d decided to come home without telling his father. Guilio worshipped his son, but clearly there was some history between them that caused Lucca to hold back.

Annabelle didn’t pretend to understand the family dynamics known only to the two of them, but she respected them. Nothing could be worse for her than to be caught smack-dab in the middle of father-and-son issues.

Whatever Lucca decided to do or not do, tomorrow she would tell Guilio that the farmhouse was too isolated after all and she’d found a place with eating establishments next door that suited her. She wanted out of this precarious situation. It was up to Lucca to contact his father. He’d had a day to think about it.

A minute later she pulled into the drive at the side of the farmhouse and parked the car.

Twilight was fast fading into darkness. Combined with the soft, fragrant air, it was a magical time of night. But when she opened the door to the kitchen, reality intruded because she was met by a man holding on to the kitchen counter. His facial features were taut with pain. Even his knuckles were white.

Without thinking she said, “You need to go to an emergency room.”

“What I need are more pills,” he corrected in a gravelly voice.

“Why in heaven’s name didn’t you phone your father?”

“My original plan had been to show up at his house this morning, but the fall put me out of commission. I’d prefer to see him when I’m not writhing in pain.”

It would be counterproductive to ask him why he hadn’t phoned someone else then. Unless he didn’t have a phone, but she didn’t believe it. The problem between him and his father was more grave than she’d supposed. “I’ve been given a car to use and will fill your prescription if you’ll tell me where to get it.”

“I have to pick it up in person.”

“Since you’re in no shape to get behind a wheel, I’ll drive you.” She saw the cane on the table and handed it to him. “After you.”

She followed him out, locking the door behind her, then she ran ahead of him and opened the back door of the car. When he’d climbed in with difficulty and more or less lay against the seat, she shut his door and got in the driver’s seat.

“Are you hiding, or is that position more comfortable?”

“Both. Follow the road to Salerno.” His words sounded like they came through gritted teeth. “There’s a farmacia in the Piazza Municipio seven miles from here that will be open.”

When she’d found the main road she said, “What would you have done if I hadn’t come when I did?”

“I was on the verge of calling for a taxi when I heard the car in the drive.” He sat up, obviously not worried about being recognized now that they were on the road. Annabelle heeded his precise instructions to get them to the other town. Traffic was heavy. She knew he was suffering, but he’d chosen to be stubborn by hiding out in his own house unannounced and she refused to feel sorry for him.

What was it Guilio had said about her being stubborn like his son? It had frustrated him when she’d told him she refused to intrude on him and his wife while she was in Ravello.

Eventually she slowed to a stop in front of the store. “We’ve arrived.” There were no drive-thru pharmacies here.

“Don’t move from this spot. With luck I won’t run in to anyone I know.”

Maybe not, she mused, but he’d certainly be noticed. Lucca’s tall male physique would do wonders for anything he wore including the tan chinos and raspberry-colored polo shirt she hadn’t noticed until now. In uniform, he’d really be something.

Knowing he was about to get the relief he craved, she noticed he managed to move quickly with that cane. While she waited for him, her cell phone rang. When she saw Cavezzali on the ID, guilt swamped her. If she didn’t answer, he might get worried.

She clicked on. “Hello? Guilio? How are you?”

“Molto bene, Annabelle. Basilio told me Giovanni is ecstatic about the pictures he took today.”

Thank goodness. “That’s wonderful.”

“I will come to Amalfi tomorrow. I have some new ideas for the shoot.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

“Are you comfortable at the farmhouse? Do you need anything?”

Now was the time to tell him. “The farmhouse is a dream, but I’ve discovered modeling makes me tired and I don’t want to do any cooking. So I’ve made arrangements to stay at the Casa Claudia for the rest of my time here. There are the most fabulous food places all around it.”

“That’s a good little family establishment. I was afraid the farmhouse might be too isolated.”

“You were right after all. I’m sorry you went to that trouble for me. Please don’t send any maids. I’ve cleaned everything including the fridge and will give you back the key later.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Only because of Lucca’s entry into her life. She’d loved being by herself at the farm, where she could do exactly as she pleased, but a certain unexpected event had changed the situation.

“In truth, I love all the little places to eat. Italian cuisine is the best! I could eat my head off here, but I know I’ve got to be careful or I won’t be able to fit in to the clothes Marcella has chosen for me.”

In the midst of Guilio’s laughter, Lucca got back in the car. She decided to put the phone on speaker. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was talking behind his back with his father. Maybe hearing his father’s voice would influence Lucca to contact him.

“I’m not worried, Annabelle. Don’t forget the party I’m giving a week from Saturday. You’ll be meeting our top Italian dealers. I’ve decided to give everyone a preview to whet their appetites before the big launch.” The excitement in his voice was palpable. She was ready to disconnect them if he started to say anything that would give away the surprise.

“I know how much this means to you.” So far the man in the backseat had no idea this was all in tribute to him. “I’ll give you my very best.”

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