Travis tipped her chin up, drew his thumb along Kate’s lower lip.

“I know you need more time. I won’t push you. But while you’re weighing the pros and cons, don’t forget to include this in your calculations.”

He lowered his head, giving her time to draw back, feeling the jolt when she didn’t. At the first brush of his mouth on hers, hunger too long held in check kicked like an afterburner at full thrust. The heat, the fury burned like a blowtorch.

His palm slid to the nape of her neck. His mouth went from gentle to coaxing. From giving to taking. He circled her waist, drew her into him. They were hip to hip, thigh to thigh, her breasts pressed against his chest, her palms easing over his shoulders.

This was what he needed. What he’d ached for. The feel of her. The taste of her.

* * *

Three Coins in the Fountain: When you wish upon your heart …

“I Do”…Take Two!
Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A career air force officer, MERLINE LOVELACE served at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to try her hand at storytelling. Since then, more than twelve million copies of her books have been published in over thirty countries. Check her website at www.merlinelovelace.com or friend Merline on Facebook for news and information about her latest releases.

To my own handsome hero, who’s explored Italy with me from tip to toe.

What great memories we’ve made, my darling … with so many more to come!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Cm’on, Kate. We have to do it.”

“No, we don’t.”

Katherine Elizabeth Westbrook—Kate to the two friends tugging her through the crowd lined up at one of Rome’s most famous landmarks—dragged her feet. The water spouting from the Trevi Fountain’s gloriously baroque sculptures glistened in the late August sunshine, but Kate had no inclination to participate in the time-honored tradition of tossing a coin in the sparkling pool.

“This is too touristy for words.”

“No, it’s not.” Vivacious, auburn-haired Dawn McGill dismissed Kate’s protest with an airy wave. “We’ve talked about doing this forever.”

“Remember the first time we watched Three Coins in the Fountain?”

That came from Callie Langston, the quiet one of the unbreakable triumvirate forged more than twenty years ago, when eight-year-old Kate and her family moved to the small town of Easthampton, Massachusetts.

Callie’s reminder of that long-ago sleepover won a smile from Kate. “How could I forget?”

They’d been friends for years by then, all three hopeless romantics and avid movie buffs. In that particular all-night extravaganza, they’d devoured pizza and Twinkies and a gallon of triple ripple mocha fudge while bingeing on rented movie classics.

Callie had chosen the 1940 megahit The Philadelphia Story, which had the three teens drooling over a debonair Cary Grant. Dawn had opted for Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart in Sabrina, a sparkling romance that provoked laughter and tears and a burning desire to run off to Paris. Kate had gone with the 1954 version of Three Coins in the Fountain, starring Dorothy McGuire and a dreamy Louis Jourdan as a playboy Italian prince. The story of three single women finding love and adventure in Rome made all three girls vow that one day they, too, would visit the Eternal City and toss a coin in its famed fountain.

Kate had loved the movie. Then. Back when she was young and naive and stupid enough to believe in happy endings.

“The wish won’t come true unless all three of us do it,” the irrepressible Dawn insisted.

“That’s right,” Callie chimed in. “All for one...”

“...and one for all.” Kate dredged up another smile. “Okay, okay! Who’s got a coin I can bum?”

“Here.”

Dawn thrust a euro into her friend’s left hand. It was dull and tarnished and banded by a rim of brass. Soon to be replaced, Kate knew from her work at the World Bank, by a newer, shinier model.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Like her life, she thought, although her new was uncertain and her old hurt almost more than she could bear. Her fist closed around the euro while images cut through her mind like shards of jagged glass. Of Travis roaring up to her college dorm on his decrepit but much-loved Harley. Their engagement the day she’d pinned his air force pilot’s wings on his uniform. The wedding two years later that Kate and her two friends had planned in such excruciating detail. The much-dreamed-of trip to Italy that she and her husband had been forced to put off repeatedly while he rotated in and out of Afghanistan and Iraq and a dozen other locales he couldn’t tell her about.

The irony of it ate at Kate as she remembered the hours she’d spent planning this dream trip. She remembered, too, all the days she’d buried herself in her own work to dull her gnawing worry about her husband. And the long, empty nights she’d tossed and turned and prayed for his safe return from whatever hot spot he’d been sent to this time.

Now here they were. She and Major Travis Westbrook. In Italy! Separated by only a few hours’ train ride. The sad part was that Kate hadn’t even known her soon-to-be ex was operating out of the NATO base near Venice until she’d talked to his mother just before she and Dawn and Callie had left for their Roman Holiday.

Venice might lie only a few hours north of Rome, but the distance between Kate and Travis couldn’t be bridged. Not now, not ever. They’d said too many painful goodbyes and spent too much time apart. They’d also grown into different people. Travis, according to the Facebook post his wife had obviously not been intended to see, more so than her.

“Make a wish,” Dawn urged. “Then toss the coin over your shoulder.”

“You don’t have to make a wish,” Callie corrected in her calm way. “It’s implicit in the act. Throwing a coin in the fountain means you’ll return to Rome someday.”

Kate barely heard her two friends. Fist clenched, eyes squeezed shut, she let her subconscious spew out the anger and hurt that came from deep in her gut.

I wish... I wish... Dammit all to hell! I wish the bitch-whore who bragged on Facebook about having an affair with my husband would develop a world-class case of...whatever!

She flung up her arm and let fly. Not even the water gushing through the fountain’s many spigots could drown out the loud thunk as the euro bounced off the basin’s rim, or the amusement in the deep drawl that sounded from just behind her.

“You never could throw worth a damn, Katydid.”

Her arm froze in the middle of its downward arc. Disbelief jolted through her even as something hot and wild balled in her belly. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her frantic gaze shot to her two friends. Dawn’s ferocious scowl was as telling as the mask of icy disapproval that dropped instantly over Callie’s face. Kate closed her eyes. Sucked in a shuddering breath. Forced herself to turn slowly, deliberately. Her initial reaction to the first sight of her husband in more than four months was purely instinctive. Bunching her fists, she refused to yield to the all-too-familiar worry over the tired lines webbing his hazel eyes. Refused, as well, to let any trace of anger or hurt seep into her voice.

“Hello, Travis. Your mom must have told you that I finally made it to Rome.”

“She did.”

Those changeable green-brown eyes drifted over her face and lingered on her mouth. For an incredulous moment Kate thought he might actually try to kiss her. Flashing a warning, she took a half step back.

Dawn and Callie must have read the same intent. They moved simultaneously, one to either side of Kate. Travis’s glance moved from Dawn’s scowl to Callie’s set mouth.

Was that regret that flickered across his face? Or a trace of the amused wariness he’d always insisted he had to pull on like a Kevlar vest when confronted by the trio he’d dubbed the Invincibles? The look came and went so quickly, Kate couldn’t tell.

“Rome’s a big city.” She managed to maintain an even tone, but the effort made her throat cramp. “How did you find us?”

The amusement surfaced. No question about it now. And with it came the crooked grin that had curled her toes inside her black suede boots the first time he’d aimed it her way.

Memories slapped at her again. The gray, blustery November day, the cold wind biting at her cheeks, the icicles hanging like frozen tears from the eaves. Kate and Callie and Dawn had bundled up and were just heading out to the mall when Dawn’s older brother pulled into the drive. All three girls had gone goggle-eyed when Aaron introduced the roommate he’d brought home for Thanksgiving.

Although Travis’s cheery hello had encompassed the three friends equally, he’d soon cut Kate out of the herd. She’d been a sophomore at Boston College at the time, he a senior at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. All it took was two dates that magical Thanksgiving vacation. Just two. Then she...

“Finding you wasn’t hard.”

Her husband’s reply jerked her back to the here and now.

“You told me often enough that tossing a coin in the Trevi Fountain topped your to-do list for Rome.” He hooked a thumb toward a busy café on the other side of the piazza. “So I staked out a table and waited for you to show.”

She hadn’t told his mom where she was staying. Hadn’t told anyone except her assistant, and David knew better than to divulge her itinerary. Kate wasn’t that high up the banking world, but she’d negotiated several multibillion-dollar deals and had recently been featured as one of five up-and-comers on a prominent financial website. Common sense—and her bank’s director of security—had advised her to maintain a low profile while traveling abroad. Trust Travis to have tracked her down.

“How long have you been waiting?” she asked with reluctant curiosity.

“Since early morning.”

Dawn gave a surprised huff. “You anchored a table in this crowded tourist mecca all day? That must have cost a few euros.”

“Only enough to feed a family of four for a week. But...” His glance swung back to Kate. “It was worth every euro.”

Dammit! How did he do it? A grin, a shared glance, and she was almost ready to forget her angry wish of a few moments ago. Almost.

The bitterness that had spawned it came back, leaving a sour taste in her mouth and a ragged hole in her heart. “You wasted your money, Trav. We said all we needed to when we met with the lawyer.”

“Not hardly.” The smile left his eyes. “I was served with divorce papers the day after I returned from a classified mission. The meeting with the attorney was set for less than a week later.”

“At which point you evoked the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Civil Relief Act to delay the proceedings for another ninety days!”

“Only because you—”

He broke off and blew out a slow breath. With a nod that encompassed the elbow-to-elbow tourists cocooning them in a bubble of noise and laughter, he tried again.

“Cm’on, Kate. Let me at least buy you a glass of vino. All of you,” he added belatedly.

“You bet your booty all of us,” Dawn shot back.

“And only if Kate feels inclined to accept your invitation,” Callie put in coolly but no less adamantly.

The Invincibles ride again.

* * *

Their united front didn’t surprise Travis any more than their fierce protectiveness. He’d known from day one that Kate and her two friends were closer than most sisters. Different personalities, different family backgrounds, but so many shared interests and experiences that they could finish each other’s sentences.

And as different as they were physically, each one spelled trouble for the male of the species. With her auburn hair, vivacious personality and lush curves, Dawn drew men like a magnet. Callie was quieter, more reserved, the kind of attentive listener who made men think they were a whole lot smarter than they really were.

But it was Kate who’d sparked his interest that snowy November day. She’d been bundled into a bulky jacket, her brown eyes barely visible above the scarf muffling the lower half of her face, her curly blond hair streaming from a colorful knit stocking cap.

Her lower half hadn’t been as bulked up as the upper half. Her snug jeans had given Travis plenty of opportunity to admire world-class legs above calf-high black suede boots, trim hips and a nice little butt. Yet he’d sensed instantly the whole was so much more than the sum of those enticing parts. Maybe it was the intelligence in those cinnamon-brown eyes. Or the smile when she nudged the scarf down with her chin. Or the way she countered Aaron’s teasing with a quick quip.

Whatever it was, by the time Travis headed back to UMass, he was halfway in love and all the way in lust. He’d plunged in the rest of the way in the two years that followed, a hectic time crammed with weekend visits to either his campus or hers and shared summer adventures. Then had come USAF officer training school, followed by the thrill of being accepted for flight school. When Kate flew down to pin on his air force pilot’s wings, he’d capped the ceremony with an engagement ring. Between her grad school and his follow-on flight training, it had been another two years before he slid the matching diamond-studded wedding band on her finger.

He’d caught the sparkle of that band when she tossed the coin a few minutes ago. The sight had given him a visceral satisfaction that sliced deep. His rational mind understood a wedding band was merely a symbol. A more primal male instinct viewed it as something more primitive, more possessive. Kate of the laughing brown eyes and lively mind was his mate, his woman, the only one he’d ever wanted to share his life with. And knowing she still wore his ring only intensified Travis’s determination to see she didn’t take it off.

That would take some doing. He couldn’t deny their marriage had hit the skids. He knew his frequent deployments had strained it to the breaking point. Knew, too, that he hadn’t sent a strong enough hands off signal to the young captain who’d mistaken his interest in her career for something a lot more personal. Travis still kicked himself for not handling that situation with more finesse. Especially since she’d reacted to his rejection by putting a fanciful but too-close-to-the-truth post about her involvement with a certain sexy C-130 pilot on Facebook.

He’d had no excuse for letting the captain get so close in the first place. None that Kate had bought, anyway. And it didn’t help that his wife’s intelligence and quick smile came packaged with a stubborn streak that would make a Kentucky mule look like a wuss in comparison. She took her time and weighed all factors before making a major decision. Once she did, however, that was it. Period. Finito. Done.

Not this time, he swore fiercely. Not this time.

Under Massachusetts law, a divorce didn’t become final until three months after issuance of a nisi judgment. That gave Travis exactly two weeks to breach the chasm caused by so many separations and one exercise of monumental stupidity. Determined to win back the wife he still ached for, he issued a challenge he knew she wouldn’t refuse.

“Too scared to share a bottle of wine, sweetheart?”

“What do you think?”

The disdainful lift of her brows told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but Travis held his ground.

“What I think,” he returned, “is that we should get out of this crowd and enjoy the really excellent chianti I have waiting.”

The raised brows came together in a frown. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Kate debated for several moments before turning to her friends.

“Why don’t you two go on to the Piazza Navona? I’ll catch up with you there. Or,” she amended with a glance at the shadows creeping down the columned facade behind the fountain, “back at the hotel.”

“We shouldn’t separate,” Callie protested. “Rome’s a big city, and a woman alone makes a tempting target.”

Travis blinked. Damned if the slender brunette hadn’t just impugned his manhood, his combat skills and his ability to fend off pickpockets and mashers.

“She won’t be alone,” he said drily. “And I think I can promise to keep her out of the line of fire.”

“Riiiight.” The redhead on Kate’s other side bristled. “And we all know what your promises are worth, Westbrook.”

Jaw locked, he heroically refrained from suggesting that a woman who’d left two grooms stranded at the altar probably shouldn’t sling stones. His wife read the signs, though, and hastily intervened.

“It’s okay,” Kate told her self-appointed guard dogs. “Travis and I can remain civil long enough to share a glass of wine. Maybe. Go on. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

The still-aggressive Dawn would have argued the issue, but Callie tugged her arm. The redhead settled for giving Travis a final watch-yourself glare before yielding the field.

“Whew,” he murmured as the two women wove through the crowd. “Good thing neither of them was armed. I’d be gut shot right now.”

“You’re not out of danger yet. I haven’t had to resort to any of the lethal moves you taught me to take down an attacker. There’s always that first instance, however.”

Travis figured this wasn’t the time or place to admit those training sessions had generated some of his most erotic memories. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bedded down in yet another godforsaken dump of an airstrip and treated himself to the mental image of his wife in skintight spandex, sweaty and scowling and determined to wrestle him to the mat.

“I’ll try not to become your first victim,” he said as she started toward the café.

Without thinking, he put a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the milling crowd. As light as it was, the touch stopped Kate in her tracks. He smothered a curse and removed his hand.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

Kate dipped her chin in a curt nod. One she sincerely hoped gave no clue of the wildly contradictory emotions generated by the courteous and once-welcome gesture.

Swallowing hard, she threaded a path through the crowd. His innate courtesy was one of the character traits she’d treasured in her husband. He’d grown up in a grimy Massachusetts mill town still struggling to emerge from its sweatshop past. Yet his fiercely determined mother had managed to blunt the rough edges he’d had to develop to survive in the gang-ridden town. In the process, she’d instilled an almost Victorian set of manners. A full scholarship to UMass followed by his introduction to the hallowed traditions of the air force officer ranks had added more layers of polish.

And there was another irony, Kate mused as her husband held out a chair for her at one of the rickety tables set under a green-and-white-striped awning. The magna cum laude grad and the thoughtful, courteous gentleman seemed to have no problem coexisting with the gladiator honed by street brawls and the brutal training he’d gone through to become a special operations pilot.

The thought spawned another, one that made her chest hurt as she waited for Travis to claim his seat. Loyalty was another character trait she’d always believed went bone-deep in her husband. He was part of an elite cadre chosen to fly the HC-130J, the latest version of the venerable Hercules transport that performed yeoman service in the Vietnam War. Dubbed the Combat King II, this modern-day, technically sophisticated version of the Herc was the only dedicated personnel recovery platform in the air force inventory. That meant it could fly high over extended distances with air-to-air refueling or go in low and slow to drop, land or recover special operations teams.

Most of the Combat King crew members Kate met over the years were too macho to spout platitudes about the brotherhood of arms or the bonds forged by battle. They didn’t have to. The racks of ribbons decorating their service uniforms said it for them. Was it that closeness, the exclusivity of the war fighters’ world, that had prompted Travis to take such a personal interest in Captain Diane Chamberlain? He swore it was. Swore he’d only intended to mentor the bright young communications officer.

Kate had ached to believe him. If she hadn’t been all too aware of the unwritten rule that what happened when deployed, stayed deployed... If his ambitious protégée hadn’t included those graphic details in her Facebook post... If Kate and Trav hadn’t already drifted so far apart...

And that, she’d admitted—to him and to herself, when she’d worked through the initial anger and hurt—was the real crux of the matter. Their careers had taken them down such different paths. His from a brand-new pilot with shiny wings to a commander of battle-hardened air crews. Hers from a starting job as a foreign accounts manager at a Bank of America branch to the Washington, DC, headquarters of the World Bank.

Now here they were. Four years of tumultuous courtship and five years of marriage later. Near strangers sharing a tiny table in the city they’d always planned to explore together. As Travis tipped wine from the waiting bottle into dark green glasses, Kate let her gaze drift from the gloriously baroque Trevi Fountain to the tall earth-toned hotels and residences ringing the piazza’s other three sides.

“I can’t believe we’re really in Rome,” she murmured.

“Took us long enough to get here.”

The rueful acknowledgment drew her gaze from the vibrant scene to her husband. She searched his face, seeing again the weariness etched into the white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. Seeing, too, the scatter of silver in the dark chestnut hair he always kept regulation short.

She couldn’t help herself. Before she even realized what she was doing, she reached across the tiny table and feathered a finger along his temple. “Is this gray I see?”

“It is. Helluva note when heredity and the job conspire to make you an old man at thirty-two.”

Her gaze dropped to the muscled shoulders molded by his blue Oxford shirt. Its open collar showcased the strong column of his neck, the rolled-up sleeves his tanned forearms. Withdrawing her hand, she sat back and accepted the wine he passed her with a reluctant smile.

“You’re not totally decrepit yet, Major Westbrook.”

“You, either, Ms. Westbrook. Does it violate the ground rules of our truce if I say that you look damned good for a senior investment accounts officer?”

“Make that executive investments accounts officer. I was promoted two months ago.”

“Who died?”

The long-standing joke drew a chuckle. It was a more or less accepted axiom in the banking community that a manager only moved up when a superior keeled over at his or her desk.

Thankfully Kate hadn’t had to step over any corpses to reach her present position. Her undergraduate degree in business management from Boston College and a master’s in international finance and economic policy from Columbia had given her an edge in the race to the top. That and the fact that she’d begun her career at Bank of America. With BOA’s diversity of services and global reach, she’d been able to snag positions of increasing responsibility each time Travis transferred to a new base.

“No one that I know of,” she answered.

“Good to hear.” Mugging an expression of profound relief, he lifted his glass. “Here’s to the World Bank’s smartest and best-looking executive investments accounts officer.”

She clinked her glass to his, surprised and secretly grateful for the easy banter. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance in Rome. Although...

She swirled the chianti inside her mouth for a moment, ostensibly to savor the rich, robust flavors of blueberry and clove. Not so ostensibly to deliver a swift mental kick.

She should have at least considered the possibility Travis would track her down. Especially since they’d planned and canceled a trip to Italy so many times that it, too, became a long-standing joke. Then an annoyance. Then one more casualty of their crumbling marriage.

“So how are you liking Washington?”

She let the wine slide down her throat and answered carefully. “So far, so good.”

Long, agonizing hours had gone into her decision to accept the job at the World Bank. Travis had agreed it was a fantastic opportunity, too good to pass up. He’d also acknowledged that they’d put his career ahead of hers up to that point. What neither of them could admit was that her move to DC had signaled the beginning of the end.

Even then they’d tried to make it work. He’d flown in between deployments for short visits. She’d zipped down to Florida for the ceremony awarding him the Silver Star—despite the fact his plane had taken hits from intense antiaircraft fire, Travis and his crew had managed a daring extraction of a navy SEAL team pinned down and about to be overrun. An air force general and a navy admiral had both been present at the ceremony. Each had commented on how proud Kate must be of her husband.

She was! So proud she often choked up when she tried to describe what he did to outsiders. Pride was cold comfort, though, when he grabbed his go kit and took off for another short-notice rotation to Afghanistan or Somalia or some other war-ravaged, disease-stricken area of operations.

Then there were the ops he couldn’t tell her about. Highly classified and often even more dangerous. Like, she guessed a moment later, the present one. She got her first clue when he glossed over her question about how long he’d be in Italy.

“We’re not sure. Could be another month, could be more. What about you? How long are you staying?”

“I fly home on the twentieth.”

He cocked his head. “Two days after our divorce becomes final.”

“Dawn and Callie thought it would be easier to... That is, I wanted to...” She played with her glass, swirling the dark red chianti, and dug deep for a smile. “I couldn’t think of a better distraction than touring Italy with the two of them.”

“How about touring it with me?”

Her hand jerked, almost slopping wine over the edge of the glass. “What?”

“I owe you this trip, Kate. Let me make good on that debt.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Yeah, I am.”

Stunned, she shook her head. “We’re too far down the road, Trav. We can’t backtrack now.”

“True.” He leaned forward into a slanting beam of sunlight, so close and intent she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. “But we can take some time to see if there’s enough left to try a different track.”

“That’s crazy. All we’ll do is open ourselves up to more hurt when we say goodbye.”

“No, Kate, we won’t. Despite Dawn’s snide comment a few minutes ago, I hold to my word.” Reaching across the table, he curled a knuckle under her chin. “When and if we say goodbye, I promise you won’t regret this time together.”

Chapter Two

“Kate!” Dismay chased across Dawn’s expressive face. “Tell me you’re not actually going to traipse off with the man!”

“I said I’d consider it.”

“But...but...”

“I know,” Kate admitted with a grimace. “The whole idea of this trip was to help me remember there’s a big, wide world out there that doesn’t have to include Travis Westbrook.”

“Now you want to narrow it down again?”

“Maybe. For a week. Or not. I don’t know.”

The less-than-coherent reply had Dawn swiveling on the crimson brocade sofa lavishly trimmed with gold rope. It was one of two plush sofas in the sitting room of their suite at the five-star Rome Cavalieri. A member of the Waldorf chain, the hotel sat perched on fifteen acres of private parkland overlooking the Eternal City. With its elegant decor, breath-stealing view of St. Peter’s Basilica in the near distance and shuttle service to the heart of Rome, the Cavalieri provided a home base of unparalleled luxury and convenience. The stunning vista framed by the doors of their suite’s balcony was the last thing on the minds of anyone at the moment, however.

Ignoring the city lights twinkling like fireflies in the purple twilight, Dawn made an urgent appeal. “Talk to her, Callie. Remind her how many times she and Travis tried to bridge the gap. When he was home long enough to do any bridging, that is.”

“She doesn’t need reminding. She knows the count better than we do. And God knows you and I haven’t scored any better in the love-and-marriage game.”

Dawn scrunched her nose at the unwelcome reminder while Callie searched their friend’s face. “Which way are you leaning? Yea or nay?”

Sighing, Kate unclipped her hair and raked a hand through the sun-streaked blond spirals. She kept intending to get the shoulder-length curls cut, maybe have them tamed into a sleek bob. Another manifestation of the new Kate Westbrook, like the tailored suits she’d invested in for her move to the World Bank and the two-bedroom condo she’d rented in DC.

“I keep swinging back and forth,” she admitted. “My head says it would be a monumental mistake. If I think of it in terms of a return on investment, I can’t see how a few days together will alter the long-term viability of our marriage. Not unless we introduce some new variables into the equation.”

“Forget equations and investment returns,” Callie urged. “Don’t think like a banker. Think like a wife who has to decide whether she wants to give her husband one last chance. It’s that simple.”

“No, it isn’t! You and Dawn figure into the equation, too. I can’t desert you at the very start of our vacation.”

“Sure you can. Granted, it won’t be anywhere near as much fun without you. I suspect we’ll manage to keep ourselves entertained, though.”

“But I planned our itinerary in such detail.” Of all the iterations of this trip Kate had devised over the years, this was the most elaborate. “I’ve laid out all the train schedules, subway maps, museum hours, hotel locations.”

“Dawn and I are big girls. We can get ourselves from point A to point B. Can’t we?”

“I guess.”

With that reluctant concession, Dawn shoved off the sofa and skirted a coffee table topped with what seemed like an acre of black marble to plop down beside Kate. Tucking one leg under her, she reached for Kate’s hand and threaded their fingers.

“Much as I hate to admit it, Callie’s right. Rambling around Italy won’t be nearly as much fun without you. But she’ll get us where we need to go, and I’ll do my damnedest to hook us up with a couple of studly Fabios. So don’t factor us into your equation. All you have to do is decide whether you want to give Travis another chance to break your heart.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way...”

“Dawn, for heaven’s sake!”

With an exasperated laugh, Callie joined them on the sofa. Wiggling her bottom, she wedged in on Kate’s other side and grasped her free hand.

They’d huddled together like this so many times as young girls to watch TV or giggle over the silliness of boys. As teens, to whisper secrets and weave dreams. As women, to share their joys and heartaches. More heartache in the past few years, it seemed, than joy.

“It sounds to me as though your head and your heart are pulling you in opposite directions,” Callie said quietly. “So my advice, girlfriend, is to go with your gut.”

* * *

When the three women went down to dinner, Travis was seated at a table in the Cavalieri’s gorgeously landscaped outdoor restaurant. Hurricane lamps flickered, the tables were draped in snowy linen and tall-stemmed crystal goblets gleamed. The floodlit dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming against a star-studded sky a mile or so away took the setting out of the realm of sophisticated and straight into magical.

Kate suspected her husband would have preferred she deliver her answer to his outrageous proposal in private. Callie and Dawn had made no attempt to conceal their animosity at the Trevi Fountain, and Travis had to know they would be even less thrilled over the possibility Kate might abandon them. No special ops pilot would ever turn tail and run in the face of the enemy, however. Whatever her decision, he would take his licks.

Pushing his chair back, he rose as a hostess escorted the three women to the table. He’d topped his jeans and blue Oxford shirt with the gray suede sport coat that Kate knew packed easily and wore well. All he needed was a salon tan and a leather shoulder satchel slung over the back of his chair to fit right in with the casually sophisticated European males in the restaurant.

Kate, too, had dressed for the occasion in the caramel-colored slacks and matching hip-length jacket she’d bought especially for this trip. Made of a slinky, packable knit, the outfit could be dressed up with the black silk camisole she now wore or down with a cotton tank and chunky wooden necklace. The appreciative gleam in her husband’s eyes as he seated her said he approved of her new purchase.

No surprise there, she thought ruefully as he and the hostess seated Callie and Dawn. Travis had pretty much approved of anything and everything Kate pulled on, from cutoffs and baggy T-shirts to tailored business suits to the strapless, backless gown in screaming red she’d bought for one of their formal military functions. He’d approved of that sinful creation even more, she remembered with a jolt low in her belly, when he’d discovered how easy it was to remove.

Oh, God! Burying her suddenly tight fists in her lap, she was asking herself for the twentieth time if she really wanted to put them both through all the hurt again when Travis reclaimed his seat.

“Almost like old times,” he said with a cautious smile.

“Which times?” Dawn oozed honey-coated acid. “Before or after you got up close and cuddly with your little captain?”

Callie winced. Kate’s nails dug deeper into her palms. Travis folded his elbows on the table and took the knife thrust head-on.

“Okay, I know Kate shared that Facebook business with you two. I’m sure she also shared my pathetic defense. I’ll state it once more, for the record. And only once.”

His eyes as hard and flat as agates, he held Dawn’s glare.

“I did spend time with Captain Chamberlain talking goals and career paths. More than I should have, obviously. I did not, however, touch, kiss or otherwise indicate I wanted to have sex with her. Nor did I have any idea she’d posted those pictures of me sweaty and stripped to the waist.”

Fairness compelled Kate to intervene before blood was spilled. “They were taken during a volleyball match between aircrews. Travis sent me the uncropped versions later, after...”

She lifted a hand, let it drop. No need to bring all the ugliness into this starlit night. She’d got past it. Mostly.

“After the crap hit the fan,” he finished when she didn’t. “Now do you think you can sheathe your claws long enough for us to have dinner, Dawn?”

“I can try. But I’m not making any promises.”

Surprisingly, the snarky reply took some of the stiffness out of his shoulders.

“Actually,” he said gruffly, “I asked Kate to let me buy the three of you dinner for a specific purpose. I want to thank you, Dawn. And you, Callie. You stood shoulder to shoulder with her all these months. I’m more grateful than I can say she had you to turn to.”

Dawn blinked, and even Callie was surprised into a semithaw. “It hasn’t been easy for you, either,” she replied. “We know that. And we want you to know we’re good with whatever Kate’s decided to do for the rest of her stay in Italy.”

“Yeah, well, I want to talk about that, too.”

Their server arrived at that point to take their drink orders. The women opted for the Italian classic Bellini, Travis for a scotch rocks. He waited for the server to retreat before laying his cards on the table.

“I know I’m putting a major dent in your plans by asking Kate to spend this time with me. I’d like to make up for it by proposing an alternative to your itinerary, too.”

Kate had to bite back an instinctive protest. All her work, all the timetables and reservations and prepaid museum passes stored in her iPhone, appeared to be going up in a puff of smoke right before her eyes.

“As Kate may have mentioned, I’m on temporary assignment to the NATO base up near Venice. I’m working with a project involving several of our closest allies, one of whom is an Italian Special Ops pilot.”

“So?”

Dawn wasn’t giving an inch. Travis took her belligerence in stride and continued. “So Carlo’s family owns a villa in Tuscany. He says it’s within easy driving distance of Florence and Siena and on the fast train line to Milan and Venice. He also says the villa is currently vacant but fully staffed. It’s yours if you want to make it your home base for the next week or so.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Dawn admitted, surprised out of her hostility by the generous offer, “but the hotel here in Rome was our big splurge. We can’t afford to spring for a fully staffed villa.”

Actually, she could. Since Kate regularly advised her on various mutual funds and investments, she knew precisely how much her friend raked in each year as a graphic designer for a Fortune 500 health-and-fitness firm in Boston. She might come across as bubbly and carefree, but she was damned good at her job and had invested wisely.

Callie was a different story, however. She’d walked away from her job as a children’s ombudsman with the Massachusetts Office of the Child Advocate just weeks before this Roman holiday. After watching how the heartbreak of the cases she had to adjudicate shredded her emotions, both Dawn and Kate had cheered the decision. They’d also offered to pay her share of expenses for the trip, which she’d adamantly refused. Still, they suspected she’d had to dip into her savings, and neither wanted her to dig deeper.

Then Travis made it clear she wouldn’t have to. “Actually, there would be no charge. Carlo commands one of Italy’s crack special ops units. He and I took part in a joint mission some months back, and he now thinks he owes me.”

“For what?” Dawn wanted to know.

“Nothing worth writing home about.”

Although he dodged the question with a careless shrug, a familiar pressure built in Kate’s chest. The American media gave scant coverage to forces from other countries engaged in the war on terror, but she knew troops from dozens of different nations were engaged in the life-and-death struggle. They, like Travis and his crews, put their lives on the line every day.

If this Italian major thought her husband owed him, the joint mission they’d participated in had to have been hairy as hell. Kate’s chest squeezed again as she tried not to imagine the scenario.

Their server arrived at that point with the three Bellinis and a crystal tumbler of scotch. When she’d served the drinks, Travis picked up where he’d left off.

“So what do you think? Want to spend an all-expense-paid week in Tuscany?”

“That depends on what Kate’s decided.”

Three questioning faces turned her way. She looked at them blankly for a moment while she tried to factor this unexpected bonus for her friends into an equation made even more complicated by the stress of knowing Travis and this Italian commando had shared what she guessed had been a life-and-death situation. Torn, she took Callie’s advice and went with her gut.

“I think you should take this guy... What’s his name?”

“Carlo.”

“I think you should take Carlo up on his offer.” Her gaze turned to her husband. “And I’ll take you up on yours.”

* * *

Dinner went reasonably well after that. The tantalizing prospect of a week in a Tuscan villa with a full staff to see to her needs blunted the sharpest edges of Dawn’s antagonism. Kate knew the fiery redhead would snatch up the sword again in a heartbeat, though. So would Callie. Kate would have loved them for that no-questions-asked, just-let-us-at-him support even if the three of them weren’t already bonded by so many years of BFF-hood. She loved Travis, too, for setting them up so comfortably.

The insidious thought sneaked in before she could block it.

Damn! Had he preplanned this whole maneuver—leveraged whatever debt this guy Carlo owed him to preempt Kate’s nagging guilt over abandoning her friends? Was he that focused, that determined to achieve his objective?

Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Major Travis Westbrook never skimmed down a runway and lifted off without extensive preflight planning. Nor would he hesitate to deploy all available countermeasures to deflect or defeat enemy fire. Still, Kate had to admit he’d orchestrated a pretty impressive op plan for separating his primary target from its outer defenses.

Travis texted Carlo between drinks and dinner to let him know Ms. Dawn McGill and Ms. Callie Langston would arrive at his family’s villa the day after tomorrow, assuming it was still available. The Italian Air Force officer texted back confirming availability. The same text provided both directions and the code for the front gate.

Travis shot them to Callie’s and Dawn’s cell phones before the four of them settled in for a truly remarkable meal. Abandoning any inclination to count either carbs or calories, Kate ordered a grilled-peach-and-buffalo-mozzarella salad followed by a main course of lobster ravioli in a sinfully rich cream sauce.

She would have quit at that point if Dawn hadn’t talked her into sharing a spun-sugar-and-limoncello confection that depicted an iconic scene from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling. She felt almost sacrilegious forking into the portrayal of Adam’s hand reaching up to touch God’s. After the first taste, though, she and Dawn attacked the edible art with the same fervor as the Visigoths who’d sacked Rome in 410 AD.

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when their server cleared the table and poured the last of the sweet, sparkling asti spumante Travis had ordered to accompany dessert. Another countermeasure, Kate guessed, to prevent a final round of hostile fire from either Dawn or Callie. If so, it didn’t work.

When Kate indicated she wanted to talk to Travis for a few moments, her friends waged a short but spirited battle to pay for their share of dinner. Defeated, they pushed away from the table. If Travis thought he’d bought a reprieve with the astronomically expensive dinner, he soon learned otherwise. Dawn took only a few steps, turned back and aimed her forefinger like a cocked Beretta.

“Do not forget, Westbrook. Callie and I are only a phone call away. All Kate has to do is hit speed dial, and we’re there.”

“Good to know that hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve known the Invincibles.”

His obvious sincerity angled Dawn’s chin down a notch. Just one. The mulish set to her mouth, however, suggested she wasn’t ready to quit the field until Callie bumped her hip.

“He got the message. Time for us to make an exit.”

“I guess I deserved that,” Travis commented as the two women wove their way through the candlelit tables.

“Actually, they let you off easy. You don’t want to know the various surgical procedures Dawn performed on you in absentia.”

“Most, I would guess, done with a rusty pocketknife.”

“In her more generous moments. Other times she went to work with a hacksaw.”

“Ouch.”

His exaggerated shudder earned him a faint smile. He had to fight the urge to follow it up by reaching across the table and folding her hand in his.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told her instead.

“About?”

“About being grateful to them. They were there for you when you needed them.”

When he couldn’t be.

Facing his wife across the table, Travis acknowledged that he’d abrogated his role as a husband too many times. When the Bank of America promoted Kate in recognition of her adroit handling of foreign investments during the recession that panicked markets around the world, he’d been swatting mosquitoes at a remote airstrip in Kenya. And just months ago, while she’d agonized over whether to accept the offer from the World Bank and move to DC, he’d been freezing his ass off at a classified location he still couldn’t talk about. Time now, he vowed silently, to realign his priorities and reclaim a place in her life.

Assuming she would let him. He’d cracked the door open by getting her to spend this time with him, but the determined expression that now settled over her face suggested he’d have his work cut out to push it open all the way.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked her.

“We need to discuss the ROE.”

“Are we speaking your language or mine?”

ROE in her world stood for return on equity, a formula that assessed a company’s efficiency at generating profits for its stockholders. In his, ROE stood for the rules of engagement outlining the type of force that could be employed in various situations.

“In this instance, they represent the same thing. We need a set of parameters that define what we should and shouldn’t do during this time together.”

Travis didn’t much like the sound of that. “I figured we would play it by ear.”

“Right. Like you did with the villa? Tell me you just pulled that idea out of the air.”

“Okay, I might have scoped out a few possible courses of action...”

“Exactly. And if I remember the principles of war correctly, the purpose of a course of action is to achieve an objective.”

She didn’t add at all costs, but the implication hung heavy on the air. His brows snapping together, Travis shook his head.

“We’re not at war, Kate. At least I hope to hell we’re not.”

“No, we’re not. Now. And I want to keep it that way.”

“All right,” he conceded, not particularly happy with the direction this conversation was taking. “Let’s hear your ROE.”

She raised a hand and ticked them off with a decisiveness that told him she didn’t intend to negotiate. “One, separate bedrooms. Two, we share all expenses. Three, we decide on the itinerary together. Four, no changes unless by mutual consent. Five, no surprises of any size, shape or dimension.”

He took a moment. “Okay.”

“That was too easy,” Kate said, frowning. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want to add to the list?”

“I think you’ve covered the essentials.”

Her frown deepened. “This won’t work if we’re not honest with each other, Trav.”

“I am being honest. I can live with those ROE. As long as you understand I intend to focus most of my energy on number four.”

Focus, hell. He intended to use every weapon at his disposal to make it happen.

“That’s my sole objective, Katydid. Gaining your consent...to changes in bedrooms, expenses, itinerary and—oh, yeah—our pending divorce.”

“Well.” She sat back, her brown eyes wide. “That’s certainly honest enough.”

“Good.” He pushed back his chair, figuring he’d better make tracks before she added to their list of rules. “Why don’t you text me a proposed itinerary? I’ll look at it tonight and we can negotiate if necessary. Just be sure to factor in some driving time. I want you to see Italy the way it should be seen.”

“I, uh... Fine.”

* * *

The blunt declaration left Kate feeling flustered as they crossed the Cavalieri’s elegant lobby to the elevators. Travis didn’t touch her this time, not even a gentlemanly hand on her elbow, and she was furious with herself for missing that small courtesy. So furious she jabbed the elevator button before she could miss more than his touch. Like the feel of his breath tickling her ear. The whisper of her name when he...

The elevator doors pinged open. Kate almost jumped in with a promise to zap him a proposed agenda within an hour.

Dawn and Callie were still up and open to further discussion on plans for the remainder of their time in Italy. Snatching up her notebook filled with maps and detailed descriptions of major tourist attractions, Kate worked up an alternate itinerary for them based out of the Tuscan villa. Then she went to work on one for her and Travis.

Driving time. He’d said to factor in driving time. So...

Lips pursed, Kate studied her heavily annotated map of Italy. Since driving in Rome was a nightmare, Kate decided she and Travis should depart the city in the morning, tour the countryside and save Rome for the end of the trip...assuming they were still together at that point. The uncertainty of that churned in her belly as she emailed the proposed itinerary to Travis’s phone.

He emailed back while she was still studying her map. The flight plan looked good. No negotiations or changes necessary. He’d pick her up at eight thirty.

* * *

Kate fully expected to lie awake the rest of the night riddled by doubts. She slid between the satiny sheets, still mulling over Travis’s stated intention to do whatever he could to change her mind about their future. But almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, the combination of rich food, several glasses of wine and mental exhaustion following hours of wildly conflicting emotions put her out.

The alarm she’d set on her iPhone went off at 7:00 a.m., but the happy marimba barely penetrated. Fumbling for the phone, she hit the snooze button. Twice. So when she finally came fully awake, she glanced at the time, let out a yelp and scrambled to get showered, dressed and packed.

Luckily, she’d packed light for the trip. All three of them had. Just one tote and roll-on each. The absence of heavy luggage made traveling so much easier but restricted choices. Kate had opted for two pairs of jeans, one pair of khaki twill slacks, tanks and Ts in various colors, a lightweight cotton sundress, and her slinky, caramel-colored pants and jacket. Since she would spend the day driving, she decided on jeans and a cap-sleeved black T paired with the chunky wooden necklace.

Callie was up when Kate dashed out of her bedroom, but Dawn hadn’t seen the light of day yet. Noting the tote and roll-on, Callie smiled.

“No second thoughts?”

“God, yes! Second, third and fourth. But... Well...”

“You don’t have to explain. Just keep safe, Kate, and keep us posted on how things go.”

“I will.”

The doubts hit with a vengeance while she waited in the Cavalieri’s lobby. The break with Travis had been agony enough four months ago. She had to be certifiable to court that kind of pain again.

She swiped her palms down the sides of her jeans and tried to settle her nerves by admiring the magnificent triptych that dominated the wall above the reception desk. The Cavalieri’s website boasted that it was home to one of the greatest private collections in the world. The hotel’s art historian even offered private tours of the old masters, rare tapestries and priceless antiques that included, among other things, a crib commissioned by Napoleon for his baby son.

At the moment, Kate was too revved to appreciate the art displayed in niches and on pedestals. Last night she’d thought she’d been so precise, so clearheaded and unemotional by laying out those ground rules. Then Travis had to turn them—and her—upside down with his statement of intent.

And that nickname. Katydid. He’d tagged her with it one hot summer evening when they’d spread a blanket under the stars and listened to the quivering whir of grasshoppers feasting on fresh-cut grass. Only he could call her an insect and make it feel like the soft stroke of a palm against her skin. And only he could blot out every one of those zillion stars with a single kiss.

Oh, God! What was she doing?

She tightened her grip on the roll-on, almost ready to scurry back to her room, when she caught a flash from the corner of one eye. Turning, she spotted her husband at the wheel of the convertible that pulled up at the front entrance. It was low, sporty, hibiscus red, and it gleamed with chrome. It also, she saw when she exited the automatic doors, displayed a distinctive logo on its sloping hood. Like the bellman and parking attendant, she was riveted by the medallion depicting a rampant black stallion silhouetted against a field of yellow.

“Is this a Ferrari?”

“It is,” Travis confirmed as he waved off the parking attendant who hurried forward. Rounding the hood, he took Kate’s case and stashed it in the trunk. “Compliments of Carlo.”

“Free use of a villa and a Ferrari? He owes you that much?”

“He doesn’t owe me anything. He just thinks he does.”

Shadowy images of what must have gone down to rack up such a large debt, real or imagined, made Kate swallow. Hard. Trying to blank her mind to the possible circumstances, she folded herself into the cloud-soft black leather of the passenger seat.

“It’s got a retractable hardtop,” Travis said as he slid behind the wheel. “If the wind is too much, let me know and I’ll put it up.”

She nodded, still trying to force her thoughts away from downed aircraft and skies ablaze with tracers from enemy fire. Her husband didn’t help by sharing a bit of historical trivia.

“Did you know Ferrari derived his logo from the insignia of a World War I Italian ace?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Kate said drily. “The symbol for such a lean, mean muscle machine could only have come from a flier.”

“Damn straight.” Grinning, Travis keyed the ignition and steered past a parade of taxis waiting to pick up departing guests. “Count Francesco Baracca was cavalry before he took to the air, so he painted a prancing black stallion on the sides of his plane. Baracca racked up so many kills he became a national hero, and when Ferrari met the count’s mother some years later, she suggested he paint the same symbol on his racing car for good luck.”

“The ace didn’t object to having his personal symbol co-opted?”

“He probably wouldn’t have, but we’ll never know. He went down in flames just a few months before the end of the war.”

Both the dancing stallion and the sleek vehicle it decorated lost their dazzle in Kate’s eyes. “Some good-luck charm,” she muttered. “I hope your pal Carlo hasn’t stenciled it on his plane.”

“No, the aircraft in his unit sport their own very distinctive nose art. The wing’s name in Italian is the Seventeenth Stormo Incursori, if that gives you any clue.”

When she shook her head, his grin widened.

“It translates literally to ‘a flock of raiders.’ Not so literally to ‘watch your asses, bad guys.’”

“Of course it does. Do they fly the K-2, too?”

K-2 was their shorthand for the Combat King II. The latest model of the HC-130 was still relatively new to the USAF inventory and dedicated to special ops.

“They do,” Travis confirmed. “Just got ’em in this year. Carlo and his crew were still doing a shakedown when we got tagged for that joint op.”

Kate dug in her purse for a fat plastic hair clip, thinking that her husband and his Italian counterpart had forged quite a bond. It might be of recent origin, but it sounded almost as deep and unbreakable as the one between her, Dawn and Callie.

“I’d like to meet this new friend of yours sometime,” she commented as she anchored her hair back with the clip.

“I’d like that, too.” He cut her a quick glance. “Want to amend our itinerary to include the base at Aviano? And maybe Venice?”

“I...uh...”

For pity’s sake! They hadn’t even left the Cavalieri’s landscaped grounds and were already making changes to the agenda. But the lure of Venice proved almost as powerful as the desire to meet this new friend of her husband’s.

“Okay by me.”

“Great.”

When they reached the bottom of the long, curving drive, Travis downshifted and hit the brake. His hand rested casually on the Ferrari’s burled walnut gearshift knob while its engine purred like a well-fed feline.

“This baby can go from zero to sixty in three-point-five seconds,” he confided as they waited for the cross street to clear. “Once we shake free of Rome, we’ll open her up.”

Chapter Three

Despite the Ferrari’s impressive prowess, it took Kate and Travis all day to make what would ordinarily be a three-hour drive from Rome to Florence.

They left the autostrada about two hours north of Rome and made a leisurely side trip through the Chianti region, with several stops to sample wine and olive oil. After a light lunch in the historic center of Siena, they followed a winding country road to the fortified hilltop town of San Gimignano.

Its seven towers dated from the Middle Ages. Square and unyielding, they stood like sentinels against a sky puffy with white clouds. The town center was closed to nonlocal traffic, so they parked in a lot outside the main gate and explored the winding medieval streets on foot. By then it was late afternoon. A creamy gelato carried them until dinner, which they ate in a restaurant built into one of San Gimignano’s ancient walls. The view from the restaurant’s terrace of undulating vineyards and red-tiled farms guarded by tall cypresses was a landscape painter’s dream.

They hit the outskirts of Florence as a sky brilliant with purple and gold and red was darkening into night. With typical efficiency, Kate had called ahead to change the reservations she’d previously made at a small boutique hotel perched on a bank of the Arno River just a short distance from the famous Ponte Vecchio.

She felt pleasantly tired from the long day. Not tired enough, however, to banish the awkwardness and unavoidable hurt of checking into two separate rooms. She was the one who’d insisted, she reminded herself fiercely as they took the elevator to the second floor.

Still, she felt as though a fist had locked around her heart and was squeezing hard when she paused outside the door to her room. Key in one hand and the handle of her roller bag in the other, she covered the hurt with a smile.

“Thanks for today, Trav. I...I had fun.”

“Me, too, Katydid.”

They’d both been so careful. No casual physical contact, no sensitive subjects, no reminders of how many times they’d planned this trip. Now all she could think of was how much she ached to kick off her shoes and curl up beside him on a comfy sofa to review the day’s adventures.

Her memories of Italy, she realized suddenly, would always carry this bittersweet flavor. She had to turn away before the tears prickling her eyes welled up.

“I’m more tired than I realized,” she lied, shoving the key in the lock. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When the door closed behind her, Travis stared at the white-painted wood panel. He was gripping his own key card so fiercely the edges cut into his palm.

He’d known this trip would be hard. Had fully anticipated spending most of the day with his insides balled in a knot. Turned out he’d grossly underestimated the degree of difficulty. It took everything he had to refrain from rapping on that door, folding his wife in his arms and kissing away the sadness that had flickered across her face for the briefest instant.

A low, vicious oath did little to relieve his frustration. Slinging his carryall onto the bed in his room didn’t help, either. Not when all he could think about, all he could see, was Kate’s long, slender body stretched out on the brocaded coverlet, her skin bathed in moonlight and her eyes languorous after a bout of serious sex.

“Dammit all to hell!”

He stalked to the minibar and ripped the cap off a plastic bottle of scotch. Glass in hand, he stood at the window and gazed unseeing at the floodlit dome of Florence’s famous duomo, just visible above the jumble of buildings in the heart of the city.

* * *

When he headed down to the hotel’s breakfast room the next morning, he was feeling the aftereffects of a restless night. Kate was already there, coffee cup in hand and a fistful of brochures fanned on the table in front of her.

Grunting, Travis squinted to block the glare from the picture windows framing the Ponte Vecchio. Despite the early hour, tourists were already streaming onto the medieval stone bridge that spanned the Arno River. The bridge was topped with multistory shops, just as it had been centuries ago, but shopkeepers now hawked gold instead of scalded chickens and haunches of raw meat dangling from iron hooks. Since the bridge no doubt topped Kate’s list of must-see sights, Travis gave fervent thanks they wouldn’t have to battle with the flies and smells of an open-air market like those he’d visited in Africa and Asia.

She looked up at his approach. The faint shadows under her eyes gave him a small, totally selfish dart of satisfaction. Apparently her night hadn’t been any more restful than his.

The rest of her looked good, though. Too good. He pulled out a chair, wondering how the hell he was going to get through another day without dropping a kiss on the soft skin left bare by the honey-colored curls she’d clipped up and off her neck.

“Good morning.”

Her polite greeting only increased his irritation. What was he? Some casual acquaintance? His response came out short and a little gruff.

“Mornin’.”

“Uh-oh.” Cradling her cup in both hands, she eyed him over the rim. “Rough night?”

“I’ve had better.” He debated for a moment and decided there was no point pretending to be noble. “Took a while to get to sleep. The combination of warm scotch and a cold shower finally did the trick.”

“Took me a while, too,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. She looked down at her half-empty cup, then up again. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Trav.”

“What?” He helped himself from the carafe on the table. “You? Me? Sleeping in separate beds? Dumbest idea since pet rocks.”

She set her cup down with a clink. “What I meant was you. Me. Thinking we could patch our marriage together by playing tourist.”

“Okay, hang on a sec.”

He needed a jolt of caffeine for this. Preferably mainlined straight to a major vein. He settled for taking it hot and black and bitter. Fortified, he met her challenge head-on.

“First, I’m not playing at anything. I’m dead serious. I love you. Always have. Always will. Second, I don’t—”

“Wait! Stop! Back up.”

The crease that suddenly grooved her brow annoyed him no end.

“Cm’on, Kate. Despite that Facebook stupidity, you know...you have to know you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”

When the groove dug deeper, the thought Travis had kept buried in the dark recesses of his mind slithered out of its hole like a venomous snake in search of something to feed on.

“Unless...” He reached deep, fought savagely for calm. “Have you found someone else? Someone you want to spend yours with?”

“No! God!”

“You can tell me. I’ll understand.” His jaw worked. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake! Do you think I’d dump Dawn and Callie and take off with you if I had another man waiting in the wings?”

Breathing deep, he lopped off the snake’s head and booted its carcass into the netherworld. “So what’s the bottom line here, Kate? Why did you dump Callie and Dawn?”

“Bottom line?”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He waited, certain the painful honesty he saw in her brown eyes signaled the end. If it did, he swore with a vow that cut sharp and deep, he would back off. Accept the damned divorce. Let her get on with her life.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly. “Always have. Always will. But we’ve both learned the hard way that love isn’t always enough. I guess I wanted... I needed...one last shot at bridging the gap between what is and what could be.”

His chest unfroze. His heart started beating again. His lungs pumped enough air to fuel an instant decision.

“We need to reopen negotiations.”

Instantly wary, she held up both palms. “No way. I’m not ready for—”

“The itinerary,” he cut in. “Are you up for another side trip?”

“Depends. Where do you want to go?”

“Let me make a call. Then I’ll give you the details.”

He tossed his napkin on the table and found a quiet corner in the hall outside the breakfast room. Digging his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, he used his thumb to skim his list of contacts and found the one he wanted. A few seconds later, the call went through the international circuits.

“Ellis.”

“It’s Westbrook.”

Brian Ellis was president and CEO of Ellis Aeronautical Systems, the prime contractor on the highly classified modification to the Combat King’s avionics that Travis and his Italian counterpart were currently testing. Ellis had flown over to Italy for a progress review and the final test flights.

A former aviator himself, Ellis had struck a chord with both Travis and Carlo. Over beers a few nights ago, he’d let drop that his corporation was in the process of subcontracting with Lockheed for a multinational, multimillion-dollar contract for an upgrade to the jet engine’s electronic injection system. He’d also mentioned that he’d scheduled a visit with one of the other major players in the proposed upgrade.

“You still heading down to Modena this afternoon?” he asked Ellis.

“I am. Assuming Mrs. Wells can manage Tommy.”

“Oh. Right.”

Travis had almost forgotten that Ellis had brought his six-year-old son to Europe. The plan, the CEO had explained drily, was to spend some quality time with his son before school started while exposing him to as much history as his young mind could absorb.

Travis admired the busy executive for wanting to spend time with his son. But he’d had to grin when Ellis confided that the little stinker had already escaped his nanny twice during those hours his father couldn’t be with him. The boy knew better than to leave the hotel on his own, his exasperated father related, and he’d wreaked enough havoc within its centuries-old walls to make it questionable whether they’d be allowed back.

“What’s your schedule in Modena?” Travis asked.

“The meet and greet at the headquarters is set for one, followed by a tour of their engine manufacturing facility.”

“I need ten minutes. How about we catch you before the meet and greet?”

“Who’s we?”

He shot a glance through the double doors of the breakfast room. The sunlight pouring through the windows made a golden nimbus of Kate’s hair. With her creamy skin and classic features, she could have posed for one of the Renaissance masters whose paintings filled Florence’s museums.

Before he could answer, Ellis connected the dots. “You dog! You convinced your wife to take you back?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Then by all means, let’s get together in Modena.”

“Great. See you a little before one.”

Pocketing the phone, he strolled back to his curious wife. “If you don’t mind putting Florence on hold for another day, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“The phantom Carlo?”

“No, a guy named Brian Ellis. He and Carlo and I... Well...”

“I know, I know. You can’t talk about it.”

“Ellis is visiting the Maserati factory in Modena this afternoon. It’s just north of Bologna, about a hundred klicks from here, autostrada all the way. We could get there and back in time to watch the sun set over the Arno.”

Kate arched a brow. “First a Ferrari, now a factory full of Maseratis. You’re coming up in the world, Westbrook.”

“Could be,” he muttered under his breath as he reclaimed both his seat and his coffee. “Most definitely could be.”

Kate didn’t catch the low comment. His mention of Bologna had triggered something in her memory cells. The city hadn’t made her must-see list. Not surprising, with everything Rome and Florence and Milan had to offer a first-time visitor, but it might be worth a short visit.

“You order breakfast,” she instructed Travis, “while I check out what else there is to see in Bologna and Modena besides Maseratis.”

A bunch, she discovered after a quick search on her iPhone. The city of Bologna dated back more than three thousand years. With its central location smack-dab in the middle of the Italian boot, it had survived and flourished under subsequent waves of Etruscans, Celts, Romans and medieval lords.

“Bologna’s home to the oldest university in the world,” she informed Travis, “founded in 1088.”

“Beats UMass by about eight hundred years.”

“It’s also famous for its arched walkways,” she read. “They run for more than thirty-eight kilometers, connecting the largest historical city center in Italy. The porticoes are actually included on the UNESCO World Heritage list of significant historical, cultural or geographical landmarks.”

“Who knew?” Travis commented with a grin.

Certainly not Kate. Fascinated, she Googled away while he ordered an omelet for himself, a fresh fruit cup and a toasted bagel for her.

The order stilled her flying fingers. He knew her so well, she thought with a gulp. Her breakfast routine. Her love affair with classical music, which he’d struggled so valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to share. He also sympathized with her ferocious battle to keep the ten pounds she’d gained since their first meeting from inching up to fifteen, twenty. Not that he’d minded the extra padding. That time in Vegas, when he’d peeled off her bra and panties and slicked his tongue over...

Whoa! This wasn’t the time or the place to think about where his tongue had gone. Heart hammering, Kate went back to working the phone’s tiny keyboard.

“Aha!”

“Aha?” Travis echoed, shooting up a brow. “Does that carry the same connotation as ‘gadzooks’?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t read comic books, like some people do.”

“More than some. Google ‘manga’ and see how far back that cultural tradition goes.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

He surrendered gracefully. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Bologna is home to Cassa di Molino, one of Italy’s largest banks. It was organized back in the 1800s by a commission of wealthy patrons to manage the city’s poorhouses. The commission also encouraged better-off citizens to save by offering them a safe place to deposit funds they could draw on in emergencies or old age.”

Her fiscal interests fully engaged, Kate skimmed the article describing the minimum deposit—not less than six scudi—and loans tailored to craftsmen and merchants to stimulate the local economy.

“Back then the bank allocated all profits to helping young entrepreneurs, depositors who fell on hard times and women with no dowries.”

“I’m guessing it’s not as philanthropic these days.”

Ignoring the sardonic comment, she worked her thumbs. “And I think... Yes! Here he is, Antonio Gallo. The bank’s new president.”

She angled the phone to display a photo of a distinguished gentleman with a genial smile and a full head of silver hair.

“I met him at a conference last year. He mentioned then that he was being considered for a senior position. I didn’t remember where until just now, when you mentioned Bologna.”

“Sounds like a useful contact.”

“Very useful.”

“Since we’re heading in that direction anyway, why don’t you call and see if he’s available for a courtesy call?”

She hesitated for only a second or two. She hadn’t factored any business calls into her vacation schedule. Then again, neither had she planned a visit to Bologna. As Travis indicated, however, this was too good an opportunity to let slip.

So much for their carefully reconstructed agenda, she thought, as she Googled the number for the headquarters of Cassa di Molino. After speaking to several underlings, she reached Signore Gallo’s executive assistant, who advised that his boss’s schedule was quite full but a short visit at 11:20 a.m. might be possible if he juggled some other appointments. Could he call Signorina Westbrook back to confirm? And in the interim, perhaps she might email a short bio?

“Certainly.”

She gave him her contact information, then zinged off a copy of the bio she kept stored in her iCloud documents file.

“We’re tentatively set for eleven twenty. Can we make that?”

He checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be a problem if we hit the road within the next half hour.”

“I need to change. Can you get my bagel to go?”

“Sure. Or...”

“What?”

“Rather than drive up and back, we could check out here and go on to Venice after our meetings. Stop over in Florence on the return leg.”

He was right. It didn’t make a lot of sense to drive a hundred kilometers north, come back, then retrace the route a few days later on the way to Venice and Aviano. Conceding defeat, Kate mentally shredded their much-amended and totally useless itinerary.

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.

“You go change and pack. I’ll get our breakfast to go, throw my stuff together and meet you in the lobby.”

Upstairs, she hurriedly sorted through her limited wardrobe. The slinky caramel-colored pantsuit she’d worn for dinner at the Cavalieri was her most viable option. It would do for a business meeting if she dressed it down.

The chunky wooden necklace she’d brought to wear with the cotton tanks and sweaters was a little too down, though. What she needed was a scarf, she decided. One that could perform the double duty of adding a touch of sophistication to her wardrobe and keeping her hair from whipping free of the plastic clip during the drive. Remembering the many street vendors she’d seen set up close to the hotel last evening, she shimmied out of her jeans and into the knit slacks.

Signore Gallo’s assistant called to confirm the appointment as she was pulling on a pearly tank. Flinging an emergency makeup repair kit into her purse, she hurried down to the lobby. Travis was already there, holding his leather carryall and a cardboard tray with two to-go cups and a bag she assumed contained their breakfast. He was wearing the gray suede sport coat and jeans again but had paired them with a very European-looking black crewneck.

“I need a scarf,” she told him a little breathlessly. “I’ll duck out and buy one while they’re bringing the car around.”

Most of the street vendors were still setting up, but she found one vendor who offered quite a selection of scarves. They ran the gamut from a neon yellow square imprinted with a kaleidoscope of the city’s most famous landmarks to a red banner featuring a blinged-up version of Michelangelo’s David. She was tempted, really tempted, but decided against walking into Cassa di Molino sporting a naked, sparkling David.

She settled instead for a silky oblong with an ocher-hued palace set amid a garden bursting with spring blooms and moss-covered fountains. The scarf was long enough to wrap securely around her head and neck yet still leave the ends to flutter like colorful wings when they hit the autostrada.

Kate tried to pump Travis for more information about Brian Ellis during the drive, but aside from sharing the interesting fact that the man had brought his young son to Italy, her husband seemed reticent to go into much detail about the reason for this spur-of-the-moment meeting. Shelving her curiosity, she gave herself over to the enjoyment of the sunlit morning and the rolling vista of small towns and hills covered with vineyards.

* * *

With step-by-step directions from MapQuest, Travis navigated the narrow, twisting streets of Bologna’s historic center and got them to the Cassa di Molino twenty minutes ahead of their appointment. Barely enough time, as it turned out, to find a parking place. Dodging heavy traffic and a web of one-way streets, they completely circled the block before they noticed the Riservato Mrs. Westbrook sign. It was right at the entrance to the magnificent pink-and-white marble palazzo that housed the bank.

A receptionist just inside the cavernous lobby called Signore Gallo’s assistant. He came down a few moments later and introduced himself as Maximo Salvatore. Kate tried, she really tried, not to gawk as he led them up a grand staircase graced by wrought-iron railings as beautifully crafted as the paintings and statues gracing the upper level.

Proud of both his heritage and his institution, Maximo had to show them a library with an elaborately stuccoed ceiling, several salons hung with portraits and damask tapestries, and the two antique safes that had secured the hard-earned scudi of the bank’s first depositors. He was about to usher them into the president’s suite of offices when Kate spotted a discreet sign for restrooms.

“I need to make some emergency repairs,” she told the two men. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“But of course,” Maximo said courteously. “We shall await you here.”

The ladies’ room was small but as beautifully decorated as the rest of the bank. It was also occupied by a woman with both palms planted on the marble sink. Her head was bowed, her shoulders shaking.

“Oh!” Kate started to back out. “Scusi.”

The woman whipped her head around. She was older than Kate by some years, her dark brown hair streaked with gray. Tears spilled from her red-rimmed eyes and left glistening tracks on her cheeks. Kate hesitated, caught between chagrin for invading her privacy and an instinctive urge to offer comfort.

“Can I help you?”

The older woman answered in an obviously embarrassed spate of Italian.

“I’m sorry,” Kate responded. “I don’t... Uh... Non parlo italiano.”

That produced another mortified river of words, accompanied this time by an agitated wiggle of her hands. Kate got the message and said nothing further as the woman swiped a wet paper towel across her cheeks and hurried out.

Kate used the facilities, then made the necessary repairs to her own hair and face. She debated mentioning the brief encounter to Maximo but decided against it. Women, especially those in the rarefied upper levels of international banking, had to stick together. Whatever was troubling the older woman, she obviously hadn’t wanted witnesses to her tears.

Pushing the episode to the back of her mind, Kate summoned a smile and rejoined the men. Maximo ushered her and Travis through an outer office with five gilt-edged desks, three of them empty at the moment. It also boasted an entire wall of portraits of appropriately somber bankers staring down at them from elaborately carved frames.

The inner sanctum was paneled in gleaming golden oak. Tall windows draped in rose-and-gold damask filled the office with light. The silver-haired gentleman who rounded a desk the size of a soccer field was every bit as gracious as Kate remembered from their brief meeting at the conference.

Signore Gallo welcomed her enthusiastically, professed himself delighted to meet her husband and accepted her congratulations on his new position as president of the prestigious bank with a deprecating shrug.

“An honor such as this comes if one survives long enough in this demanding and so exhausting profession, yes? As it will to you, Signora Westbrook.”

“Perhaps. If I survive long enough.”

“Of course you will. You are... How do you say it? A rising star. One had only to read your profile in Wall Street Journal to know you are on your way to the top.”

He caught the look of surprise on her husband’s face and lifted a bushy white brow. “Your wife did not tell you she was identified as one of the young superstars, someone to watch in the field of international investments? No, I can see she did not. You should be most proud of her, Major Westbrook.”

“I am. More proud than she knows.”

“Bene, bene. So. You must tell me. Are you in Italy on business or pleasure?”

Travis left it to Kate to answer. “Some of both, actually. My husband is on temporary duty at Aviano Air Base and I, er, flew over for a visit.”

She wasn’t lying. Not technically. Travis was at Aviano, and she had flown over for a visit. Just not with him.

“And you came to our beautiful city of Bologna!” Signore Gallo exclaimed in delight. “There is much to see here and much to do.”

“Unfortunately, we just have time for a short visit. We’re on our way to Modena, then Venice.”

A discreet signal from his assistant reminded the genial banker that his time, too, was limited.

Expressing profuse regrets that he had to terminate their visit, Gallo got to his feet. When Kate and Travis rose, as well, the banker took both of her hands in his.

“You must come to visit again, signora. I should very much like to discuss the recent changes to the liquidity index promulgated by the US Securities and Exchange Commission with you.”

“I’d like that, too, but...”

“Yes, yes, you are on vacation. I understand, and I don’t wish to impose on your precious time. But may I have Maximo call you in a day or two? Perhaps we can arrange something.”

Buoyed by the visit and feeling smug after Gallo’s effusive compliments, Kate exchanged air-kisses with Cassa di Molino’s president before preceding Travis and Maximo out of the sumptuous inner office.

Two steps into the outer office, her startled gaze locked with that of the well-dressed matron seated behind one of the desks. The woman gulped and telegraphed an unmistakable appeal from eyes still showing a faint trace of red.

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