Kitabı oku: «Miracle for the Girl Next Door / Mother of the Bride: Miracle for the Girl Next Door»

HERE COME THE BRIDES!

Two spirited women…

Two proud men…

Two shared pasts…

Prepare to be swept away

with rekindled love and wedding bells in:

MIRACLE FOR THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

by Rebecca Winters

MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

by Caroline Anderson

She thought she’d left her past behind…

until it led her down the aisle!

Miracle For The Girl Next Door

by

Rebecca Winters
Mother of the Bride

by

Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Miracle For The Girl Next Door

by

Rebecca Winters

Rebecca Winters, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five 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.cleanromances.com

To my one and only darling daughter Dominique Jessop, who recently signed her first book contract with Harlequin. Her study experience abroad in Siena, Italy, has caused her to become a lover of all things Italian, just like her mother. With her input on Limoncello, my Mills & Boon® Romance novel MIRACLE FOR THE GIRL NEXT DOOR has been enriched.

CHAPTER ONE

CLARA ROSSETTI had started to descend the steep, narrow steps between the ancient buildings of the hillside town when she heard a deep male voice behind her say, “Hey, Bella—how many men have told you you’re a remarkably beautiful woman?”

His seductive delivery had been spoken in the local Italian dialect and had a slightly familiar ring. But Clara assumed he had to be talking to some other female making her way down to the Piazza Gaspare below.

Picking up her pace, she moved across the busy square to the bus stop where she would catch her bus. It would be the last one of the day. Timing was everything when she felt this tired. Once back at the farm she would eat a light dinner and go to bed. Tomorrow she’d feel better.

Footsteps were gaining on her. “Clarissima—surely you haven’t forgotten!”

A quiet gasp escaped her throat followed by a burst of joy.

Tino.

After nine years’ absence her best friend from childhood was back? Valentino Casali was the only person in the world who’d ever called her Clarissima—a combination of Clara and bellissima. Clara had often thought it a joke since from adolescence she had been a chubby girl who’d grown into a heavy young woman. That was the curse of all the Rossettis.

She turned around to stare into the flashing dark brown eyes of Europe’s most eligible playboy, but to Clara he represented her exclusive partner in all the craziness of their years growing up. When they’d both turned eighteen and he’d left Monta Correnti, his departure had left a void no one else had ever filled.

Since then he’d become Italy’s poster boy, a wealthy, world-renowned adventurer and playboy whose photos appeared in the tabloids on a regular basis. He was constantly on the cover of Italy’s hottest celebrity gossip magazine.

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said in a husky voice. Clara had seen him through every stage of his youth, from incorrigible rascal to outrageously handsome teen. His intelligence and daring had distinguished him from all the other guys in the region, leaving an indelible mark. To her he’d always been the picture of precious life itself. Her heart groaned in response to that undeniable reality. “How are you, Valentino?”

Her question seemed to bring him up short, as if he were expecting something else from her while he stared into her eyes. “Better now that I’ve caught up with my oldest friend.”

Delight filled her system to hear him acknowledge it. He might belong to the world now, but those early years she could claim for herself.

After he had kissed her on both cheeks, his narrowed gaze traveled over her classic features as if trying to reconcile the changes that had taken place since she’d grown up and become the slender, five-foot-four woman who’d shed the excess weight she had carried when younger.

“Friend, you say?” she teased. “Whatever happened to the postcards and gifts from the four corners of the world you were going to send me? I don’t recall your carrying out any of those periodic visits you once promised to make.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders clothed in an expensive-looking open-necked cream sport shirt and jeans. His index finger trailed across her lips, a gesture that appeared as automatic to him as breathing, but he’d never touched her like that in their lives. A shock wave traveled through her body.

“I meant to do it all. You know that,” he whispered, always the charmer. The man oozed a sensuality that would be lethal for the many women clamoring for his exclusive attention.

She flashed him a wan smile, struggling to recover from her reaction to his touch. “I do know. Your good intentions could pave the road to heaven.” Their history went back too far for there to be misunderstandings. In truth Clara could never be angry with the Valentino she remembered—the one who’d always been kind and caring despite his devil-may-care attitude.

From an early age on, the local ragazzi had made their typical remarks about her and her younger sister Bianca for being fat, but Valentino had never joined the chorus. That was probably because he’d never looked at her in the man/woman way. They might have been joined at the hip, but he’d had far more important things on his mind than Clara Rossetti.

Having been born in this quiet little mountain village between Rome and Naples, he’d put Monta Correnti on the map. His fame had brought the tourists, as well as a few celebrities from various parts of the world who’d chosen to live here, but there was no question that the heartthrob Formula 1 race-car driver who made his home in Monaco was the most famous celebrity of all.

Valentino cocked his attractive head. She noted he needed a shave, yet it only added to his virility. In the last nine years, he’d become a man in every sense of the word and so gorgeous she could hardly breathe.

“Are you aware you bear a superficial resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones? Only younger, of course.”

Clara preferred not to look like anyone else, but since film stars made up part of his world she had to assume he’d just bestowed a serious compliment on her. “No. I had no idea. Have you met her?”

He gave a slight nod. “You’re much more beautiful.” His white smile faded and he stared at her with increasing intensity. “What happened to your long hair?”

The hair she’d foolishly hoped would hide the rest of her?

Surprised he’d noticed, let alone changed the subject so fast, she said, “This April has been warmer than usual. Besides, I was due for a change.” Her silky hair, more black than brown, had become too difficult to deal with recently so she’d had it cut in a jaw-length style that fell straight from a center part.

“I liked it long, not that I don’t like it the way you’re wearing it now, of course.”

“Of course,” she teased, wishing she felt better, stronger. “I notice you’re wearing your hair shorter these days.” His midnight-brown hair was now wavy rather than curly. “Remember when you let it grow out to your shoulders? Signor Cavallo thought you’d be perfect for the role of Prince Valiant in the school play.”

A rumble of laughter came out of him. “Are you talking about the time you denuded me?”

“That was your fault. You’re the one who made me cut your hair off so you wouldn’t have to be in King Arthur. Can I help it if I made a mess of it? Those poultry shears from your father’s restaurant kitchen weren’t supposed to be used on humans. I thought Signor Cavallo was going to strangle you when you walked in class the next day.”

His grin broadened. “With your help, I got out of the part. What would I have done without you always helping me squeeze out of trouble?”

“Aminta almost strangled me when you told her I was the culprit. She had the most terrible crush on you. Even back then you could have your choice of every maiden in the land.”

“Tonight I choose you,” he said in a voice of deep velvet. “For old times’ sake, come to the restaurant with me and we’ll celebrate my return.”

“To sneak some bruschetta when the chef isn’t looking?” She kept up the banter. There was no one more exciting in this world than Valentino. “Those were the days, but we can’t get them back.”

“No, but there’s something we can do. Tonight’s your lucky night. For a change we’ll walk through the front door and I’ll buy you dinner. Everything up front and aboveboard.”

His invitation sounded heavenly, but she was growing weaker by the minute. “That would be a change all right, but, much as I’d love to, I can’t. Thank you anyway. It’s been wonderful to see you, Valentino.”

Over his shoulder she saw the bus pull to a stop. She was thankful it had come to her rescue. Seeing Valentino after all these years had brought back the past and drained her of any reserves she had left. Several people started to board the bus and she moved to get in line behind them.

He put a hand on her arm to detain her. “Wait—where are you going?” She discovered a strange tension coming from him she’d never experienced before. Something was troubling him to produce that slight grimace, but she had to admit the years had been kind to him. Despite the lines of experience in a sun-bronzed face—or perhaps because of them—he was more dashing than ever. No other man came close.

“Home. The family’s waiting for me.”

“But I just got into town. We have years to catch up on. Is this evening an important occasion? I know it’s not your birthday.”

He might have forgotten her for nine years, but his razor-sharp memory had an amazing capacity for trivia. Valentino would keep it up until she capitulated. He never did know when to quit, but this was one time Clara couldn’t stay around while he managed to talk her into it. She was embarrassed to admit he’d always been able to get her to do what he wanted.

“Mamma has planned a special dinner for my grandmother. I promised to be on time to help.”

Again he looked mystified. “Then let me drive you. It will only take me five minutes to go for my Ferrari.”

That was too far away. Clara needed to sit down on that bus or she was going to faint from exhaustion. “Thanks for the offer, but my ride is here now. If you’re going to be in town for a few days, maybe I’ll see you whizzing around and we’ll grab a bite together. What color is your car?”

“Black,” he muttered.

“You once wanted a red one.”

“I did buy one, fire-engine red, but discovered I was somewhat a target for the police.”

“Well, you will insist on driving too fast. As I recall, you had the police chasing us on your scooter on a weekly basis at least! Sorry, but I have to run now. Ciao, Valentino.”

She eased away from him and climbed on board, grateful he’d finally let her go without saying anything else. Knowing him, he’d be gone from Monta Correnti by morning to make his next car rally here in Italy or England, probably accompanied by his latest girlfriend.

Clara had seen a clip of him and the newest young French starlet Giselle Artois on the ten o’clock news last month. The journalist had asked him if it was true about the rumors they were planning to marry and settle down in a small palace along one of the fashionable faubourgs of Paris.

He had made a noncommittal remark with his breathtaking half-smile, but Clara had noticed the French vedette wore a mysterious smile on her face. They looked good together. Maybe this was the woman who’d finally snagged Valentino. Up until now he seemed to try new adventures and change girlfriends with the seasons, but whatever had caused him to run from himself all these years, it was nothing to do with Clara.

Taking a fortifying breath, she worked her way to the back of the bus. Every seat was taken and she finally squeezed in the last row between a stout man and a nun in her habit.

Out of the window on the right she watched Valentino watching her beneath his dark, furrowed brows, his expression devoid of all animation. After the bus pulled away, his brooding image remained. His lean, six-foot body had made millions for the companies that produced posters of him doing a solo trip across the Indian Ocean in a one-man catamaran, or flying around the track in Dubai testing out his latest Formula 1 car.

From childhood he’d been a fascinating adventurer who’d had an obsession with speed and breaking records. Though the Casali family had lived on the shores of Lake Clarissa, fifty kilometers from Monta Correnti, he’d actually spent most of his time in town after school working on his motor scooter.

One of his friends, Luigi, had let him tinker with it in the back of his dad’s garage. To hear Valentino speak, none of the existing models were fast enough. Clara had spent many hours in that garage listening to him talk about his dreams of building one that would outperform all existing models.

After he’d left for Monaco to break into the racing world, he’d taken his innovative motorscooter design with him and it had become the prototype for future scooters. By his twenty-first birthday he’d formed Violetta Rapidita, the Italian scooter company that had catapulted him to international financial success.

Long ago Clara had thought of him as a Renaissance man, pitting himself against the clock, against nature, against anything that would give him a thrill. By listening to him she’d experienced vicarious thrills herself, but there were times when she wondered if his fast living served as camouflage for unexplained demons driving him.

Though she didn’t know what they were, she suspected their roots originated from within the complicated Casali family and that they still continued to haunt him. It was interesting that his elder brother Cristiano didn’t come home to Monta Correnti very often either.

Only their sister Isabella had been the constant, spending most of her time at Rosa’s helping her father run the restaurant. How different was Valentino’s family from the huge, hard-working Rossetti clan who always rallied around each other!

She had countless aunts, uncles, cousins and second cousins who helped run the farm, so many in fact you couldn’t count them all. Though they lived hand to mouth, even her own four married siblings showed no signs of leaving the farm that had been the hub of the Rossettis’ existence for generations.

Clara was no different. As hard as life had been lately, she loved Monta Correnti and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. But fate had been cruel to have allowed her to lay eyes on Valentino today.

Until he’d called out to her, she’d been holding her own, dealing with her challenges on a day-to-day basis, determined not to let them defeat her. But he was like this overpowering force field, a super-bright constellation in the heavens whose magnetic pull drew the world to him.

His appearance had managed to shatter the fragile shell of her existence. She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, tortured by her own inner demons that seemed to have magnified a hundredfold by running into him without warning.

The second the bus rounded the corner and was out of sight, a troubled Valentino moved swiftly toward the hub of the village where his father’s restaurant was located. Right next to it—in fact adjoining it by a back terrace—sat his aunt’s restaurant. The courtyard in front of both opened up into the bustling center square.

Sorella, a restaurant started by Valentino’s grandmother Rosa, was now owned by his aunt Lisa Firenzi who’d turned it into a chic, contemporary place serving an international cuisine. His father, Luca Casali, had fallen out with his sister and had broken away from the family business, starting his own Italian traditional family restaurant he’d named Rosa. Isabella was the day manager.

Valentino had kept in touch with her and their father through e-mails, but in the last nine years he’d only come home fleetingly. The most recent had been just last month on the occasion of his father’s birthday. Much to his sister’s chagrin he’d only stayed the evening.

Just remembering that fateful evening and the fireworks that had ensued caused him to shudder. He always experienced an unpleasant sensation in his gut at the thought that two warring factions of the same family would want to be anywhere near each other. Valentino abhorred confrontation and was continually mystified that two intelligent people like his father and his aunt Lisa, who’d had a jealous rivalry going for years, still maintained businesses side by side.

It was a sick kind of symbiosis. They were like organisms surviving in close approximation, not able to live with or without the other.

As he reached the courtyard he was reminded of the ugly confrontation that had gone on out here during the party. Tempers had flared. Uncaring of who might overhear them, his aunt had lost control. In her rage she’d blurted out a sensitive secret about Luca that had rocked the entire family.

Pain had gutted Valentino. Unable to deal with all the ramifications, not the least of which was his bitter disappointment in his father, he’d left Monta Correnti after having barely arrived not knowing when he’d ever be back. If it weren’t for his father’s declining health and Isabella’s plea for help with him, Valentino wouldn’t have canceled his next two races to be here now.

However, his overriding concern tonight had nothing to do with his father. After leaving the furnished villa he’d just rented at the upper end of the village, he’d been making his way down to the restaurant on foot, never dreaming he would run into Clara Rossetti within hours of arriving back in town.

Their chance meeting had saved him the trouble of looking her up at the farm. The knowledge that he could reconnect with her while he was in Monta Correnti had been the only thing he’d been looking forward to on his return.

Clara had been his saving grace, had always accepted him with his flaws and imperfections. After the party he’d needed desperately to talk to her about what he’d learned, but he’d been in such bad shape at the time he hadn’t been willing to inflict himself on her.

He wasn’t doing much better now, but seeing her again made him realize how much he wanted to talk to her. There was no one as insightful or as easy to be with as Clara. No one understood him the way she did, but at first glance he hadn’t recognized her except for her eyes.

Those incredible irises studded with luminous, diamond-like green dust hadn’t changed though everything else about her had. Gone was the overweight teenager with the pretty face who’d been his abiding friend since they’d first attended school as children. In her place stood a gorgeous woman, albeit a little too thin, no longer hidden beneath a cascading veil of glossy dark hair. Just looking at her amazing coloring and figure stopped him in his tracks.

But more startling was the fact that, beyond the drastic alteration in her physical appearance, she didn’t radiate that joie de vivre he’d thought inherent in her nature.

Instead of crying out ‘Tino’, the name she used to call him, she’d proffered the more formal greeting of his name, treating him as she might a former acquaintance. In reality they’d been partners in crime, doing everything together, getting in and out of trouble on a regular basis.

The old fun-loving Clara, always ready for a new adventure, wouldn’t have gotten on that bus.

Maybe she was telling the truth and did have to get home, but something had been missing. She’d said all the right words, yet the warm, compassionate girl he’d turned to in his youth—the one person who’d always listened to him and had never scoffed at his bold ideas—had put him off.

That had come as a shock.

He’d been arrogant enough to believe in some corner of his mind that, of all the people who’d come and gone in his life, she’d placed their friendship on a higher par—or at least on a unique plane that meant it was something special, even if he hadn’t written letters or sent her pictures. It seemed she didn’t want to spend time with him now.

With the Rossettis’ farm of lemon, orange and olive groves located several miles south of town, the formerly vivacious Clara wouldn’t have turned him down for a ride home. He’d never known a woman who didn’t want to take a jaunt with him in his Ferrari. Valentino supposed his ego was hurt that she wasn’t impressed, let alone that her memories of him had made no lasting mark on her psyche.

Her dark-fringed eyes might have flared with interest when she’d first seen him, but as they had talked it had felt as if she were staring through him, making him feel at a loss. That spark of life he’d always associated with her had been missing, delivering a one-two punch to the gut he hadn’t expected. In truth, he had to reach back to being five years old again to remember that same sensation, leaving him feeling devastated.

He quickened his pace and hurried inside the restaurant where the staff was setting up for dinner. They called out greetings he acknowledged, but he was in too big a hurry to get engaged in conversation. Without hesitation he headed toward the kitchen where his recently engaged sister was probably doing ten tasks at once to keep things running smoothly.

After taking possession of the villa where he planned to live for the next few months, he’d come here with every intention of eating his evening meal, but, after the strange experience with Clara in the piazza, he was now put off the thought of food.

Rosa, named after his grandmother, delivered traditional, home-cooked Italian food in surroundings of frescoed walls and terracotta floors. The rustic restaurant represented his father’s dream of owning his own place. He’d wanted it to be evocative of his mother’s warm, family-oriented spirit.

In that regard, he hadn’t failed. Aside from Clara, who’d made up the best part of the background fabric of his life, Valentino’s few good memories included the experience of walking in here to encounter the distinctive aroma of the tomato sauce, Rosa’s house specialty, wafting past his nostrils.

William Valentine, his English grandfather, had passed his secret sauce recipe to his sweetheart Rosa who had later passed it on to her son Luca, Valentino’s father. Luca had then improved on the recipe, which was the reason for the restaurant’s popularity, even if at this point in time he was heavily in debt.

Valentino had the finances to help him out. At Isabella’s repeated urgings, he’d come back home for a while to do just that, but the latest revelation about his father made it damn near impossible to want to approach him.

Being back home brought all the painful memories of the past flooding to the surface, one of them still unbearable if he allowed himself to think about it too much. To make matters worse, he had to maneuver carefully because of his father’s declining health and fierce pride.

For two cents he’d leave for Monaco tonight and make arrangements to race in the next Grand Prix. But he couldn’t do that and disappoint Isabella again. He’d made her a promise to spend time at the restaurant. Tonight he’d talk to her about some ideas he had to promote the business. With a quick fix he could be out of here a lot sooner!

His sister saw him enter the kitchen. A glance from her expressive blue eyes told him she wanted to talk to him. She took her leave of the chef and signaled with her head that Valentino should follow her out the back door to the nearby stream that ran through the town. In recent years it had been cemented into a channel with bridges where they could lean against the railings and talk in private.

“I was hoping you’d get back in time for dinner,” she began without preamble. “Are you going to take the villa? It’s been empty for ages. Max hoped you might be interested in it.”

Valentino nodded. “I told Max I would rent it on a month-to-month basis. It’s roomy and the view is great. It’s an ideal solution for my temporary situation.”

She looked chagrined. “I thought you said the whole summer.”

He’d thought so too until his own pride had suffered a debilitating blow from Clara, the one person he would never have imagined could inflict hurt of any kind, not even unconsciously. It surprised him how much he cared. He was a fool to let it bother him, yet it was eating at him like a corrosive acid and he didn’t like the feeling.

“You know me. I have an aversion to being pinned down.” Isabella didn’t like hearing those words, but she had played mother to him and Cristiano for so many years, she couldn’t help but try to manage everything, even now.

Once he’d committed to coming home for a while, she’d insisted he stay at the vacant Casali home on Lake Clarissa now used for vacations. It was only a half-hour’s drive from town. When she’d first mentioned it, he’d told her it was too far away to be convenient. In truth, he didn’t know if he could ever step inside that building again. What had happened there so many years ago would haunt him to the grave.

“I’m sorry you didn’t choose to stay in the apartment with Papa. He was hoping you might move in with him.”

Isabella was out of her mind to say something like that. He swore his sister lived in denial. Her constant desire to make everything right between everybody and get along drove him around the bend. He was still furious with her for insisting they get to know their two older half-brothers, Alessandro and Angelo. Until little more than a month ago, no one in the family had known of their existence. Unbelievable!

Yet thanks to his trouble-making aunt, Luca’s guilty secret had been exposed and now Isabella was determined to make them a part of their dysfunctional lives. No, thank you.

“I’m afraid I’ve been on my own too many years, Izzy. Besides, let’s be honest. You’re always looking in on Papa and don’t need a second person being underfoot, even if I am your brother. Please don’t take that the wrong way.”

She kissed his cheek. “I didn’t.”

“I admire you for taking care of him.” That part was the truth. In her own right she was a terrific person. With her long, wavy black hair and olive skin, he considered her the quintessential Italian woman. “Papa couldn’t have made it this long without you.” She’d been the glue holding the family together.

“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I should have said something long before now.” When he saw the work she did without complaint day after day, it made him feel all the more uncomfortable that already today he’d been entertaining thoughts of bolting before morning.

Her eyes searched his. “You’re in a strange mood. You burst into the kitchen like you were being pursued, and now you’re being uncharacteristically reflective. What happened to you after you talked to Max about the villa?”

Like a mother with eyes in the back of her head, his sister saw more than he wanted her to see. He’d run into Clara Rossetti on the way here, but their unexpected encounter hadn’t turned out as he’d anticipated, leaving him strangely unsettled.

“I’ve had an idea on how to expand the business. Unfortunately Papa is such a traditionalist, I don’t know if he’ll hear me out. I’m the last person he wants advice from.”

“How can you say that?” she cried. “You’re an international success in business. You could double your fortune showing others how to make it big.”

“That doesn’t impress a bona fide restaurateur like Papa.”

“Of course it does!”

He shook his head. “Let’s not play games, Izzy. You know why.” They stared at each other. “I’m not his biological son. I’m a reminder that I was Mamma’s love child from another man.”

“Papa raised you as his own with me and Cristiano.”

“Yes, and every time he sees me on television or hears about me on the news, he has to wonder about the stranger who was half responsible for my existence. I gave up caring a long time ago when I realized my birth father didn’t want anything to do with me either.”

Her soulful eyes looked up at him helplessly.

“If he had, he would have made arrangements with Mamma for visitation. Papa had to take me when he took Mamma back. After she died, he was stuck with me. Considering he didn’t want his first two sons, let’s just say the bastard child comes in last on all counts.”

“No, Valentino!” She threw her arms around him. “That’s not true. You simply can’t believe those things.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, Izzy. It’s water under the bridge.” He didn’t want to get into the subject of their father. The shocking revelation that his first marriage had produced two sons living somewhere else on the planet had done too much damage to Valentino. He felt emotionally wiped out. Erased.

Isabella wiped her eyes. “Then tell me about your idea.”

“I don’t know if it will work, but I think it’s worth a try. This establishment has been Papa’s dream. None of us wants to see it go under.” In Luca’s own way he’d been a good father to Valentino. It was payback time.

“We can’t let that happen.”

“Agreed. What would you think if we did some advertising with various tour-group operators from Rome and Naples to bring in more people? I’ll do the groundwork, of course. If it’s a go, I’ll contact other operators in Florence and Milan.”

“That’s pure genius!” she cried excitedly.

He shook his head. “Papa will probably hate it. Secondly I’d like to set up an Internet Web site for us. Anyone seeing our name on a restaurant list can contact us to make advance reservations. Once we’re set up on the best search engines, we ought to see an increase in traffic.”

“Those are both fabulous ideas. Once people discover us, they always come back for repeat business.”

“The trick is to get them here. We just need to spread the word. When do you think would be the best time to approach Papa?”

“Mornings, after he’s up and dressed for breakfast.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. Depending on how he’s feeling, I’ll broach the subject.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Wishing he could say the same, he hugged her instead. Unfortunately being back meant having to face his old ghosts. The fact that Cristiano was in Australia only reminded Valentino how far the Casali family had grown apart emotionally. Which reminded him of something else unpleasant.

“Did I tell you I happened to see Clara Rossetti in the piazza this afternoon?”

“Oh, yes? You two were inseparable growing up. Sometimes I think she was the only person you ever truly cared about after Mamma died. I used to be jealous of her.”

He blinked, not only shocked by her admission, but by the fact that his attachment to Clara had been so obvious, his own sister had been affected by it. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I saw her at church recently. She’s grown up to be a real beauty.”

“I noticed.” Maybe it was the weight loss that had affected her behavior and made her seem less than her herself. The way she’d brushed him off had stung.

“Bianca, too. You remember her sister.”

“Very well.” She was a year younger than Clara and almost as sweet. Too bad he couldn’t say the same about Clara’s twin brother, Silvio. The Casalis and the Rossettis had attended the same schools, but from the beginning Silvio had taken a distinct dislike to Valentino.

By high school he’d become Clara’s self-appointed guardian, doing his best to keep her away from Valentino, always reminding her she was needed back at the farm. Though it had never come to an actual fight, they’d exchanged heated words on occasion when Valentino had stood up for Clara.

“Rumour has it that Clara has been seeing one of the Romaggio brothers from the valley.”

So that was the reason she’d seemed changed. “Which one?”

“I think it’s Leandro, the really good-looking one who has his own vegetable farm now. Apparently Clara is the envy of all the girls around here.”

Izzy had to be kidding—Leandro was the one with more brawn than brains. Valentino had known the Romaggios in school. Clara had an intellect that could run circles around any of the guys. He wasn’t her type at all!

For some reason the news made Valentino restless. “Thanks for backing me up in my ideas. Now I’ve got to go. I left Monaco early this morning and fatigue has caught up with me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I need to go back inside, too. The staff will be wondering where I am.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek before wheeling around to make his own way through the ancient town and up the hillside to the villa.

Valentino hadn’t been completely honest with Isabella. After being up since five that morning to drive to Italy, he would normally be tired and wanting his bed. But the old saying that you couldn’t go home again seemed to be in operation here. Meeting up with a changed Clara had disturbed him and he found himself wide awake.

Once he reached his destination, he let himself in the villa originally built in the 1800s by a member of Prince Maximilliano Di Rossi’s family for a summer getaway. Because of his love for Izzy, Max had made the villa available to Valentino, who had insisted on paying him rent. He didn’t like owing anyone for favors. With no strings attached, he could move about freely in his world.

The villa was much smaller but no different in style from Valentino’s home in Monaco. Both had been built around the same period of time and contained similar furnishings. The only real difference besides size was the view. It looked out on the picturesque countryside rather than the Mediterranean.

At the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the interior, Valentino realized that without warm bodies inhabiting this domicile it was nothing more than an empty tomb. Valentino wasn’t used to the peace and quiet. He didn’t know if he could stand being here for even a month. Already he was climbing the walls.

He had thought about asking his latest companion, Yvette, to come and bring her friends, and knew she would be here in an instant. But he couldn’t do that because then she would read more into his invitation than he meant. Like the other women he’d been with over the years, her hints about settling down weren’t so subtle and the last thing Valentino could imagine doing was giving up his freedom.

His thoughts jumped to his father, who’d been married twice. Though divorced from his first wife, he would probably still be with Valentino’s mother if she were alive. Valentino wasn’t like him. He enjoyed taking risks, but not when it came to women.

Though he knew nothing about his birthfather, he suspected that, since he hadn’t shown a fathering instinct where Valentino had been concerned, he’d probably never married either.

At a totally loose end, Valentino headed to the kitchen for a beer. He phoned Roger, his longtime friend at the track. They talked shop for half an hour, then he checked in with Claude, the manager of his bike company in Monaco. Following that, he took a hot shower and got ready for bed.

To his irritation, his scattered thoughts returned to Clara. Throughout his years growing up in Monta Correnti, she’d been the only female constant besides his sister. He couldn’t help but wonder how close she was to settling down. For the hell of it, maybe he’d take the time to find out tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

WHILE Clara was getting dressed in jeans and a pink cotton top with three-quarter sleeves, Bianca, who was barely pregnant again, walked in the bedroom carrying her six-month-old boy. “Mamma wants to know how you’re feeling this morning.”

“I’m fine,” Clara murmured as she slipped into her sandals. “How’s my little Paolito today?” The little boy was old enough now that when she gave him kisses on his tummy, he laughed out loud. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” She kissed his tender neck.

“He loves his zia more.”

Together they walked down the hall of the small stone farmhouse to the kitchen where the family ate all their meals. It used to bulge at the seams, but these days it was home to Clara, her parents and grandmother on her mother’s side who lived on the main floor. Because of a stroke, the ninety-one-year-old woman was in a wheelchair. Bianca and Silvio lived upstairs with their spouses and children.

The other married siblings and extended family lived in homes on the outskirts of Monta Correnti. Now when they gathered for meals three times a day, there were only twelve at their noisy table.

Her father cast her an anxious glance. “Ah, good. You’re up.”

Clara kissed him on top of his balding head. “I’m up and hungry.” She turned to her mother, who waited on everyone. “I’ll get my own breakfast. Sit down, Mamma. You work too hard.”

“No, no. You must preserve your strength.”

“I have plenty of strength this morning.”

“That’s good to hear. Now you sit and eat!”

“Yes, Mamacita.” She took her place across from Silvio, smiling secretly at his three children aged seven, five and three who giggled to hear their nonna get mad at her.

Silvio’s pregnant wife, Maria, darted her a friendly glance. “You look better this morning.”

“I feel good enough to run the stand today.” She drank the freshly squeezed orange juice waiting for her.

“Absolutely not!” Silvio barked, so overprotective of her these days she felt smothered.

“Do you think you should?” her anxious mother questioned as she put the hot omelet in front of her. Her devoted mother who did the work of a dozen people went out of her way to make certain she was well fed.

“Of course I do. Thank you, Mamma.”

“Are you telling us the truth?”

“If I weren’t, I would stay in bed.” Clara was getting desperate and wanted to scream, but only because everyone was so good to her and worried about her continually. More than anything she hated being a burden, yet within the last three months that was what she’d become to her hard-working family.

“So you really feel up to it?” Her father stared hard at her.

“Sì, Papa,” she answered in a controlled voice. “Some days I wake up feeling worse than others. Right now I feel good and want to do my part around here on the days when I can.”

His eyes grew suspiciously bright before he nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

Grazie, she murmured inwardly, but Silvio set his mug of coffee down too hard, telling everyone his opinion. He was the sibling who stifled her most with his concern. As a result, he was the most difficult member of the family to be around.

The hot liquid splashed on the table. Maria told seven-year-old Pasquale to run and get a cloth for his father. While the mess was getting cleaned up, Bianca’s husband, Tomaso, walked in the back door in his overalls. He’d been out early setting up the fruit stand for Clara before doing his own work.

His gaze shot straight to Clara. “You’ve got a visitor.” By his awestruck countenance, it told her this was no ordinary person.

“Who is it?” She struggled to keep herself calm, already anticipating the answer with far too much excitement.

“Valentino Casali. He’s driving the latest Ferrari 599.”

Amidst the audible gasps, Silvio jumped to his feet, letting go with a few colorful expletives their household hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Basta!” their father admonished him.

“Clara hasn’t had anything to do with him in years, Papa. He’s no good and he’s not welcome on our farm. I don’t want him here!” Silvio muttered angrily.

Aghast at her brother’s venom, Clara felt a sudden feeling of weakness attack her body, but she fought not to show any vulnerability. She’d thought of course Valentino had only come to Monta Correnti for a few days and might even have left Italy as early as this morning.

In all the years growing up, he’d never once come to the farmhouse to see her for any reason. Every time he’d given her a ride home on the scooter on his way to the lake, she’d insisted on getting off once they reached the road leading into the farm.

“I’ll go outside and see what he wants.” Out of necessity she’d brushed him off too abruptly at the bus stop yesterday. Since then she’d been suffering guilt…and also regret for missing out on spending more time with him. There was no one like him! Because she’d teased him about not visiting her once in the last nine years, he’d probably decided to stop and say goodbye on his way out of town.

While everyone was reeling from the shock of their hometown celebrity showing up here, she rose from the table and walked out the back door. After rounding the corner of the house she spied the black super-car parked further down the drive.

Valentino levered himself from the front seat and strolled toward her, wearing bone-colored chinos and a black, open-necked sport shirt. He looked so fantastic she could hardly swallow. His sensuous mouth curved into a half-smile. “Buon giorno, Clarissima! Forgive me for coming by this early?”

Her assumption had been right. He was on the verge of leaving.

His eyes lingered on her soft curves before scrutinizing her from her sandaled feet to the roots of her hair. It didn’t surprise her. Three years ago she and Bianca had finally taken off the weight that had plagued them most of their lives.

The diet plan she’d chosen had been part of an article by a film star featured in a celebrity magazine with a photograph of her and Valentino on the front cover. A section had been dedicated to the woman who had claimed to stay thin on the prescribed regimen and swore by it. Naturally there were no pictures of fat girls inside the pages of that magazine or any others.

For some reason seeing Valentino smiling at the slender beauty who’d kept her weight off had annoyed Clara. Out of anger she had started dieting and Bianca had joined her. Once they began to see results, they became local wonders for a while, but now everyone was used to the way they looked, except for Valentino, of course.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You know we’re a farming family, up with the sun.”

His expression sobered. “I could have called your house, but thought I might have more luck talking to you if I came in person.”

She was so glad he did. No doubt he was remembering how Silvio used to run interference and decided not to take the chance of her brother answering the phone. It was a good thing. Silvio’s jealousy of Valentino had been over the top then. If he should see him now…

“Your car gave Tomaso a big thrill.”

“But not you?” He sounded intense again, as he had yesterday.

“Of course it does!”

“It’s the only transportation I have at the moment,” he murmured in a voice deeper than she remembered. The eighteen-year-old Tino had become an incredibly attractive male. “Come for a drive with me. I need to talk to you.”

With that silken tone, Valentino had a way of getting under her skin, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know about what was going on in her life. To spend any time with him when he was no doubt leaving town again would be like standing too near a white-hot conflagration. No more pain…

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time. When you drove in, you saw Tomaso opening up the stand for business. I’m running it today.”

“Give me five minutes.”

Clara got this suffocating feeling in her chest. “Can’t we talk right here?”

His striking features darkened with lines. “What are you afraid of?”

The blood hammered in her ears. She backed away from him. “Nothing! I just can’t imagine what’s so important you would come all this way. It’s been years.”

“Nine, to be exact. That’s too many between old friends. I’m here to atone for my sins.” His lips smiled, but for a brief moment his dark eyes looked haunted. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse me as easily as you did yesterday when I offered to drive you home—”

“The bus was there. I saw no reason to put you out, but I meant no offense,” she added to appease him.

“None was taken.” He cocked his head. “Since you’re busy now, I’ll come by later in the day when you’re ready to close up the stand.”

Later in the day? “Please don’t—” she cried, working up to a panic. After a full day’s work, she would need to rest and he’d know something was wrong.

His dark brows lifted. “Have you already made plans for this evening? With a boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Yes.” She leaped at the excuse he’d just given her.

Since her weight loss she’d been besieged by different guys from the valley wanting to go out with her. She’d had a lot of dates. One of the guys, Leandro, had been fairly relentless trying to get her to go out with him. When she did, she realized she had no interest in him. But Valentino didn’t know any of her dating history and she wanted to keep it that way.

“What time will he be picking you up?”

“When he gets off work,” she improvised.

“So when will you close the stand?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.

“You don’t know?” he enquired smoothly. “Four o’clock? Five?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?” she blurted before realizing she’d displayed her anger. Since Valentino had never witnessed this side of her nature, he stared at her as if she’d turned into a complete stranger. In a way she had. Right now her heart was thudding so hard she felt ill.

“I was hoping you’d find a few minutes in your busy schedule for me.” To his credit he held onto his temper.

She averted her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have any time today,” she said in a subdued tone.

“I can hear Silvio in your voice,” his voice grated. “Forgive me for coming here and disturbing you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” He turned away and headed for his car.

After he’d mentioned her brother’s name, she couldn’t allow him to think what he was thinking. “How long are you going to be in Monta Correnti?”

He opened the car door. “For as long as it takes.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father’s not well.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”

“I hope not.” He started to get in the car.

“Wait—” she called out before she realized how anxious she sounded.

His dark head reared back. “Yes?”

“I’m going into town in the morning to do some errands. If you want, I’ll meet you at the Pasticceria Bonelli in the Piazza Gaspare where I caught the bus. We could have a cup of coffee or something beforehand.”

“What time?”

“Shall we say ten o’clock?”

“I’ll be there. Grazie, piccola.”

At eight the next morning Valentino dressed in a polo shirt and jeans before leaving the villa to walk to the restaurant. He entered through the back door into the kitchen with the key Isabella had given him. His plan was to eat breakfast with his father so they could talk business.

Valentino didn’t hold out much hope of getting anywhere with him. His father knew the restaurant business inside and out. You couldn’t tell him how to run it. Valentino could only try to make a suggestion, but even then his parent would probably resent it.

At first he didn’t think anyone was about, but as he passed by the storage area that served as a pantry of sorts he glimpsed someone through the door that stood ajar. On closer inspection he realized it was his father up on a small stepladder with a clipboard. Valentino noticed his cane resting against the leg of the ladder.

Not wanting to startle him by calling out, he moved over slowly to where his father stood, but when the older man saw him, he still jumped and almost fell off the ladder. Valentino rushed to steady him. He was thinner than the last time he’d seen him just a month ago, but he still had a full head of brown hair though it was streaked with silver.

“Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

What a great beginning! Valentino had to tamp down his temper. “I was afraid if I announced myself in the doorway, you’d turn suddenly and fall. I can see you’re doing the inventory. Don’t you think—?”

“Not you, too—” his father barked, interrupting him. “Go on—say it! Everyone else does. Your aunt Lisa yelled at me the other day that I’m too old and crippled to run my own restaurant. That’s the only reason you came back to Monta Correnti, isn’t it? Isabella probably sent you in here to stop me!”

Valentino winced. His father didn’t want him here. What else was new? “I haven’t seen Isabella today. Isn’t she at market?”

“Who knows?”

That was a lie, of course. His father knew everything. “Actually I came early so I could help you do whatever needed doing. Inventory is the only thing I’m good at when it comes to running the restaurant.”

Valentino had thought he could broach his ideas for promoting Rosa while they worked together, but that was what he got for thinking. Clearly it was too soon to offer Luca anything, let alone money. His father had way too much pride for that and would throw it all back in his face.

Coming home had been a big mistake. Valentino was the last person his father wanted anything to do with. “Why don’t you take a break and have breakfast with me?”

“I can’t stop now.”

That was clear enough. “Is there anything I can do for you today?”

“No, no. You run along and have a good time.”

With those words Valentino felt about five years old. All that was missing was a pat on the head. “Then I’ll see you later.”

As he reached the doorway his father said, “How long will you be in town?”

The temptation to tell him he was leaving right now and wouldn’t be back got stuck in his throat. “Long enough to help you. Ciao, Papa.”

Though Valentino had been a grown man for quite some time, Luca had the power to make him feel small and unnecessary. He left the restaurant and headed through town to the piazza to wait for Clara. He wanted to be here ahead of her, in case she came early.

During their conversation he’d purposely brought up Silvio’s name, knowing she’d always defended Valentino to her brother in the past. His gambit had worked enough for her to feel guilty and agree to meet him.

After ordering a cup of coffee in the pastry shop, he took it to one of the tables outside and drank it while he watched for her. At twenty to ten, Clara got off the bus.

He took a second to study her womanly figure encased in hip-hugging denim capris. She wore a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a yellow and orange print that buttoned down the front and tied at her waist. The knockout picture she made caused male heads to turn in her direction.

Without doing anything, she elicited wolf whistles and remarks from the drivers in the heavy morning traffic circulating around the piazza, but she appeared oblivious to the attention.

He put the mug down on the table and started toward her. “Looking for someone, signorina?” he asked in a quiet voice. She heard him and turned her head in his direction. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting him yet.

A tiny cry escaped her throat. “Tino—” Her green eyes played over him.

Good. In that unguarded moment she hadn’t forgotten after all. His lips twitched. “Do I dare confess you look good enough to eat this morning?” His comment caused color to seep into her pale cheeks. “Come inside with me. There’s a torta setteveli with our names on it.” She could do with gaining a few more pounds.

“Oh, no, not mine,” she said with the infectious laugh he remembered. It made him want to provoke that response from her as often as possible. “Those days are over.”

Valentino hoped not. She’d always been so happy before, but he decided not to push it. After they walked in, the woman at the counter smiled at them. “What can I get for you?”

“A large slice of that.” He pointed to the torta. “Put it on a plate with two forks, and we’d like two cappuccinos, per favore.”

They always used to drink it together. When she didn’t demur, he assumed she still liked it.

“Bene, signore.”

After pulling some Euros out his wallet to pay the check, he cupped Clara’s elbow and steered her toward a table for two in the corner away from the window. “We’ll hide over here.”

“From the paparazzi, you mean?”

“From Leandro Romaggio actually. Is he the jealous type?”

She looked stunned. “How did you hear about him?”

“Restaurant gossip. You can’t avoid it. Would he mind?”

Once they were seated across from each other she said, “If he knew I were here with you, he’d ask me to get your autograph. You’re so famous you’ve become a household word in Italy.”

For some reason her comment irritated him. “Does my supposed fame impress you?”

“Of course. It makes me a little sad for you, too.”

His brows met. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you were always such a private person. It’s quite ironic what’s happened to you when I know how much you hate to be recognized everywhere you go. I honestly don’t know how you’ve dealt with it for this long.”

Her comment pleased him in ways she couldn’t imagine. “Perhaps now you understand why I wanted to see you again. While the rest of the world makes the wrong assumptions about me, you alone know the real truth.”

She flashed him a wistful, yet beguiling smile. “You used to complain on a regular basis that you always minded your own business, so why didn’t everyone else mind theirs instead of yours!”

A chuckle came out of him. “That doesn’t sound so good. I must have been pretty impossible to be around.”

“Not at all. You were your own person who spoke the truth. I liked that as much as I enjoyed watching the genius at work.”

“Genius—” he scoffed as the woman placed their order on the table.

“Don’t be modest, Tino,” she said after they were alone again. “All those drawings and experiments you did on that scooter made your fortune. A lot of the guys were jealous of you, my brother among them.” She paused. “He was the reason you never stepped on our farm, wasn’t he? Mamma always wondered why you stayed away.”

“I didn’t want him to get upset with you because of me.”

“Papa told him to watch over Bianca and me. I’m afraid he took his job a little too seriously.”

He took a deep breath. “That’s all in the past. I’m sure Silvio does very well for himself these days.”

“I’ll admit he’s a great help to Papa. Out of my three brothers he will be the one to take over the farm one day.”

“Unlike me,” he muttered. “I just came from being with my father. When I offered to do the inventory with him, he told me to run along. I’m a no-account in his eyes.”

“You’ve been away a long time. He’s probably so thrilled to see you, he’s terrified you’ll leave again if he says something you don’t like.”

Her observation surprised him. “You think?”

“I know.”

She said it with such authority he almost believed her. “In his eyes I’m not the dependable type, not like Silvio.”

“You’ve already proven you can be whatever you make up your mind to be.” She studied him thoughtfully. “If you’re here to help your father, just give it a little time and he’ll start to believe it.”

Maybe she spoke the truth, but right now Valentino didn’t want to talk about his father or her brother, who’d given them both grief growing up. He pushed the torta toward her. “The cake of the seven veils. Why don’t you eat the top layer, I’ll start at the bottom and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” He handed her a fork.

With a mysterious smile, she took it from him. “Maybe one bite.”

While she toyed with a couple of mouthfuls, he didn’t waste any time making inroads. After swallowing some of the hot liquid he said, “So that’s the secret behind your weight loss.”

A little chocolate remained at the corner of her pliant mouth, tempting him to taste both. The errant thought took him by surprise. Before he could blink she wiped it away with her napkin.

“The Rossettis have always been a hefty bunch. Three years ago I saw a diet plan in a magazine and decided to try it. Bianca had just gotten married and she went on it with me.”

“Does she have an hourglass figure, too?”

Again he watched the blush fill her cheeks. “She looks good. Now she’s pregnant again.”

“Bianca has a baby?”

“Yes. Little Paolito. He’s so sweet. I wish he were mine.”

The throb in her voice didn’t escape him. “How old is he?”

“Six months.”

So much had gone on while he’d been pursuing his dreams. “So tell me what you got up to after I left Monta Correnti.”

“You mean besides running the fruit stand?”

“Anything you want to divulge.”

She studied him for a minute. “Do you remember Lia?”

“Of course. She was your favorite cousin who had a little white fox terrier named Horatio.”

“Yes. I’m afraid he finally died of old age. Anyway, she met a man from Naples who has his own construction company. They got married five years ago and live there with their two children. Last year she begged me to come and stay with them.

“I accepted her invitation thinking I’d only be gone from the farm two weeks. Instead I got a job in his office and started business classes at college.”

His dark brows lifted in surprise. “Business? What aspect of business were you thinking of going into? You told me you would never leave the farm.” He’d thought he knew all of her dreams.

“The inspiration didn’t come into my mind until after you left for Monaco.”

“Which meant I stunted your growth.”

“Don’t be silly.” Though she broke into gentle laughter of denial, Valentino realized he really didn’t know all there was to know about her at all. That bothered him. In the past he’d taken everything about her for granted. For the first time it hit him what a shallow man he’d been. That bothered him even more.

“You’ve got me intrigued.” Mystified was more like it.

“As you know, I spent my life in our lemon groves. One day I got this idea for doing something with lemons besides selling them.”

“But not lemon furniture polish since it had already been invented, right?”

More laughter rumbled out of Clara. “Actually I came up with my own recipe for limoncello.”

“Limoncello—?” In his opinion her mother was the best cook on the planet, so he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Again it showed him he’d been so consumed by his own thoughts and interests back then, he hadn’t taken the time to explore hers. “Is it good?”

“My business teacher thought it was the best aperitif he’d ever tasted. He urged me to work up a model for its manufacture and distribution to present in class.”

Valentino felt a sudden onset of adrenalin. “I’m jealous he got to sample it first. When am I going to taste it?”

“There’s some left at Lia’s, I think. I’ll phone her and ask her to bring it when she comes for a relative’s party tomorrow. You’re welcome to try it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that offer. So tell me how your project went?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’m behind schedule now and have to go.”

He stifled a protest of exasperation. Just when he was enjoying this conversation more than anything else he’d done in years, Clara was running off again. Her announcement was unacceptable to him. “Where are you going?”