Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  He took in the expression on Meg’s face, pain and surprise housed there. She blinked rapidly and broke eye contact.

  Domenic sighed. “The sad fact is he passed before that could happen. His heart was in the right place, I believe. You know, Jackson, I think your father was very much looking forward to working with you as equals.”

  A lump formed in his throat. He had never thought of his father’s actions in this way. It surprised him when his father had left him in charge of the company—especially when he seemed to think of him as so unworthy. It occurred to him that he had spent the last year trying to show his father how wrong he’d been about him. Could his father have simply wanted him to learn from others so he could enrich the company—and their relationship?

  Meg slid her warm hand over his and squeezed.

  Chapter 14

  “Where are we?”

  “Piazza della Signoria.”

  She glanced around the piazza, which glowed under the moonlight. They had dropped off Domenic at his apartment then asked the driver to bring them here. A small crowd had gathered where a quartet played in the loggia. Jackson put his arm around her, in support.

  “Is your foot feeling okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Because I can always carry you around.” He dipped as if to scoop her up again.

  She pressed a palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

  He laughed, pulling her close. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

  The day had been a dream like none other. Had she really woken up this morning to find Jackson Riley at her door? Didn’t seem possible, but there he was. He was still here now.

  They stopped for a moment, swaying to the breathtaking music drifting through the piazza. A lit castle rose to the sky on their left, a hulking art installation on their right. She relaxed into him, her head nestled beneath his chin, unwilling to question her own change of heart—or where this might lead.

  “Domenic’s insight played a number on me tonight.”

  “Hmm. Yes.” She hadn’t been able to forget some of what Domenic said either.

  He pulled away from her slightly, peering into her eyes. “Why did you break up with me?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but only stared back at him. In the months since his return, this was the first time he brought up the subject.

  “Listen, I know we were kids—or, at least, I was acting like one. A dumb one.” His eyes clouded. “You blindsided me.”

  “I was afraid. We were going too fast—well, I think you know that.” She dropped a sigh, recalling with regret the night that William found them together. “And then out of the blue you announced that you were leaving to take a job in another state. I-I broke up with you to save you the trouble.”

  His eyes searched her face and she shut her eyes. “That’s not exactly true. I did it to protect my own heart.” Her eyes flopped open, watery. “When you made the decision to leave I thought it was to get away from me.”

  He took her cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips. She breathed him in.

  “My father insisted that I leave, but I was too full of bravado to admit that to you. Nor did I realize, until tonight, his reasoning for insisting I go. I was young and brash and kind of a know-it-all back then.” He gave her a sad smile. “But I am as into you now as I was then.” He kissed her again. “More so.”

  Heat rose through her neck, filling her face. “I think I made—no, I know I made a mistake back then. In more ways than one. I’m sorry for breaking up with you so abruptly. If it helps any, I was miserable.”

  He chuckled. “It helps a little.”

  She smiled at him through her sniffles.

  He kissed her again, her hair tangled in his hands, danger in his mind. He willed himself to pull back, forbidding himself to make another mistake where Meg was concerned. Gently, he lifted fingers of her hand to his mouth and kissed them.

  She leaned into him and together they strolled slowly through the piazza, wandering down a narrow street with others out enjoying the balmy Italian night. Some shops had closed, while others had kept their doors wide open, light from their interiors spilling out onto the cobbled street.

  “Perfect.” Jackson had spotted something in a shop window and pulled her inside. He plucked a cane from a tall bucket, its handle carved into a wine bottle lying on its side. “A walking stick for you.”

  She giggled. “Looks more like a cane for a wino.”

  He shrank back, feigning hurt. “The lady does not appreciate the gifts I choose just for her.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Please.”

  A clerk approached and Jackson handed it to her. “We will take it.”

  “Jackson …” Meg shook her head, but the exchange was done. He handed the merchant euros and she quickly made change. “Fine. Let me try this thing out.” She stepped outside and leaned onto the cane, the wine bottle comically smooth and comfortable in her hand. “Well, come on, Sonny. I haven’t got all night.”

  He cocked his chin, laughing, then bent forward and scooped her into his arms, eliciting a yelp from her. “But I do.”

  She squealed, not caring that curiosity seekers turned their chins toward them.

  “That’s not much of a protest,” he accused. His face beamed.

  She took in his smile, the crinkle around his eyes, the intensity of his gaze. With one arm hooked around his neck and the other outstretched, cane in hand, she kissed him on impulse. “I could get used to this.”

  He tipped his chin, gazing at her. “Well then, I’ll have to make sure you have the chance to try.”

  “Yeah?”

  He stole another kiss that lasted longer than a beat. She opened her eyes, applause filling her ears. A woot. A whistle. Four women and a handful of men had stopped to watch their spectacle.

  “We’re a hit!” Jackson’s hearty laugh enveloped her. While she ducked from embarrassment, he set her on the ground carefully, then took a bow.

  * * *

  “I’ve loved seeing Florence, the architecture, the art … you, but this scenery is gorgeous.” Meg swung a glance at him, touching his knee. “Thank you for taking me here.”

  “My pleasure.” Jackson switched gears, the pulse of the engine beating beneath his feet. Sunroof open, it felt good to drive instead of leaving their decisions up to others. He glanced at Meg, her hair like liquid chocolate in the wind.

  “There goes another one,” she said, pointing to a castle among the trees. “I wonder who built it. Did he know he was building a castle? Or did he consider it just a place to live, like any other house? Did families gather there? Did they make food fit for royalty or just mounds of spaghetti? So much to learn!”

  Jackson smiled at her questions. To him, the castles were interesting piles of stone, but she saw something different: life. He had never seen her so animated—and he began to understand that he could never grow tired of her enthusiasm. He rounded another bend, taking in the deep green hues of rolling vineyards. He regretted that he could only stay one more day.

  Jackson pulled the car into a pebbled parking lot in front of a small winery and home on a knoll. Giovanni invited them over to a carved wooden counter where several others had gathered. “Come in, come in,” he said and set out two more wine glasses. “I will pour you our best!” They sipped the wine and savored the conversation, which consisted mostly of the beautiful weather and how blessed they all were to be in Italy’s wine country. They tried a few more red wines, until the final pour: Chianti Classico.

  “There is none like this anywhere else. It is very dry and won’t give you a headache like those other wines!” He tapped his temple and frowned. “You can get Chianti, of course, but for it to say ‘Classico’ on the label, it must be from this region.” He waved his hand through the air, indicating the land around them, then he pointed to the neck of the bottle. “See here? This rooster on the bottle tells you that you have found the ‘real’ Chianti Classico.”

/>   When Giovanni had moved on to pour for a pair at the end of the bar, Jackson slipped an arm around Meg. “You like?”

  She held her gaze on him. “I absolutely like.”

  He pulled her close, kissing her temple, when Giovanni called out, “Lorenzo will be giving tours of the vineyard, should you like to join him.”

  Jackson glanced at her. “Do you feel comfortable enough to walk?”

  She held up that goofy cane he had bought her. He grinned. He had bought it on a whim, a fun joke, but she had reveled in taking it with her everywhere they had visited the past couple of days: the Uffizi Gallery, the Boboli Gardens—even on a late-night gelato run. He should not have been surprised that she’d insisted on cramming it into Domenic’s small Citroën, a car he kept housed in a garage more than two kilometers away from the apartment.

  Glasses in hand, they began to stroll outside when Meg stopped near the gift shop. She stroked her fingers over a stalk of rosemary, then breathed in its scent. “Here,” she said, holding her open palm to his nose. “This smells so good, doesn’t it? We should buy some for Elena—I noticed that her balcony garden could use a refresh.”

  He nodded. How did she do that? He’d noticed the Marino’s garden too, but then dismissed it as quickly as possible. But here she was shopping for herbs in an Italian winery to give away.

  Meg tucked a pot of rosemary under one arm while reaching for a glossy-leafed plant.

  “Here.” He gently extracted the rosemary plant from her. “Let me.” Jackson picked up one of the containers Meg had been eyeing. “This one?”

  She nodded, her smile warm. “Basilico—it’s basil.”

  For the next several minutes, they chose plants they could gift to Elena and Domenic, their arms overflowing. A robust woman brought them a woven basket and offered to hold onto their items until they were ready to leave. She then shooed them out the door toward the vineyard with a forceful sweep of her hand.

  With laughter, they joined the others to follow a guide to the grounds where he explained the process of growing wine grapes. They meandered behind, half listening and half just being.

  “It’s so quiet here,” she whispered. “I will miss this place when I leave Italy.”

  “I’m going to miss you when I leave in a couple of days.”

  Regret crossed her face. “Don’t remind me.”

  “There it is.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes blinking in the sunlight. “What?”

  “You pretty much said that you’ll miss me when I’m gone from here.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  He pursed his lips. “Uh, I believe you did. Don’t lie to the boss.”

  She took another sip of wine, peering at him over the top of the glass, those lashes-for-miles batting at him.

  “You’re killing me, you know,” he growled.

  “Okay, I wish you didn’t have to go. But I understand … I will be right behind you next week.”

  “That’s not right behind me.” He slid an arm around her, taking in the countryside. “It’s far too long, in my book.”

  “It will give you time to sink yourself back into the goings on at the inn and at the other properties, too. They will … need you.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then, “You have more to add, don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to spoil this view with my concerns.”

  “But I need to know them.” He inched a look at her. “Are you worried about us?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “Liddy says Pepper has been on the rampage more than usual. She threatened to fire a valet for having one of his collars flipped up or something. You really should talk to her.”

  She was right. He didn’t care to talk about Pepper while they were enjoying their last day together in Italy. But worry etched her forehead, and though he longed to kiss those lines away with the passion he held for her, he knew it would take more than that.

  He blew out a sigh, regretting how frustrated it sounded. “I will. I promise.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Love you.”

  He stared down at her.

  “What?”

  “I love you, too.” Despite the impact those words had on him, his voice cracked.

  A soberness came over her. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  She smiled, her face fully lit. “I-I love you, too, Mr. Riley.”

  He turned to face her, encircled her hand in his and held it to his chest, kissing her with a ferociousness. “You don’t have to call me mister, you know. At least not in private.”

  She paused, then laughed, the sound of it like music to his soul.

  Chapter 15

  Jackson and Meg had been working all morning weeding and replanting Elena’s balcony garden, the muggy Florence day offering them an occasional breeze. Neither had spoken much, instead relying on brief brushes of their hands and their arms to communicate as they moved in sync digging, potting, clipping.

  Elena joined them out on the narrow space, her hands clasped near her mouth. “My word, you are so precious to me. How beautiful my new garden is! I only hope I will not forget to water.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that, Elena,” Jackson said, a grin splitting his face. “Meg has it all figured out for you.”

  “No! You don’t say?” Elena gave Meg’s shoulder a smack. “Show me.”

  Meg giggled and held up a terra cotta watering spike. “We found these at one of the wineries we visited. It’s a watering carrot.”

  Elena frowned. “But where does the water go?”

  “Well … that’s where your old wine bottles come in.” Meg plucked one from the balcony floor. “I hope you don’t mind, but I dug this out of your trash. All you have to do is fill it with water and set it upside down in the little carrot.” She demonstrated by flipping the bottle, filled with water, into a spike sticking out of the dirt. “Voila!”

  “Well, I’ll be!”

  “Just check the water level when you come out here to snip herbs, okay?”

  Elena nodded and gave Meg another slap. “Oh, I will—I’ll send you photos of the delicious foods I make with those herbs, too. The pictures will make you want to return for a visit.”

  When she’d gone back inside, Jackson nuzzled Meg and whispered, “What will they think of next?”

  She shook her head, laughing. “Help me clean up our mess, you.”

  They had one more day together in Italy. Just one. And he intended to make it their best yet. Unfortunately, the investors he had been courting demanded a call and he could not put them off again for much longer—though he wished he could.

  As they stacked up empty plastic containers, Jackson said, “Come back with me to my hotel. I have a surprise for you.”

  She quirked a brow at him. One of these days he’d find out how she did that …

  “I’m serious. Here’s the thing: I have to take an important call today. It can’t be helped. But I’ve spoken to Luca and his concierge wants to give you a tour of the spa and mani-pedi—on the house.”

  “Wait, did you just say mani-pedi?”

  “I am a man of the world—I know what one is. And considering all that dirt under your fingernails, I’d say my timing is perfect.”

  She laughed. “But you already gave me a gift card.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, the taste of her even sweeter than before. “That’s for a spa day after I leave here. Today is a freebie since I have to attend a meeting instead of spending that time with you.” He reached across the table. “Domenic and Elena told me they had some chores to do today. You in?”

  She smiled. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  Once inside the lobby of the historic hotel, Jackson led her to the concierge desk and introduced Meg to an international student named Izzy who worked part-time.

  “Such a pleasure,” Izzy said. “I will be so pleased to show you our spa.”

  Jackson kissed Meg’s hand
. “Come find me when you’re done and I will take you to lunch.”

  When he’d gone, Izzy smiled. “He’s sweet. You two are lovely together. Now. Please follow me.”

  Unlike the lobby, rich with tapestries and crystal chandeliers, the spa areas were simpler in design, the walls monotone and clay-like. Instead of harsh lighting, pillars of ivory candles in varying heights illuminated warmth throughout the halls and spa rooms. Soft instrumental music filled the space, encouraging quiet conversation. Even without a treatment, meg felt her body relax, her muscles unwind.

  “Have you tried all the treatments here?” she asked Izzy.

  “Oh no. Many, but not all. It would take many weeks to have them all.”

  “I am amazed at all you have to offer—wine and chocolate scrubs, aromatherapy, water therapy … and those are only a few.”

  “You are correct—there are many more than that!”

  They wandered through an open-air garden space surrounded by four interior walls of the hotel. A courtyard created as a “space for visitors to recline” after treatment. Lizzy also showed her through interior quiet rooms where guests could rest after having a deep-tissue massage.

  Meg was impressed. “Are you booked all year?”

  “Yes, yes. People come from all over the world to stay here and try our spa treatments. Our staff attends classes weekly to keep educated. It is truly a remarkable place.”

  Thirty minutes later, Izzy led her to the chicest nail salon she had ever seen. Like the rest of the spa, the walls were monochromatic; however, this section also had pops of white and cherry in the furnishings, and chandeliers with layers of glass baubles dripped from the ceilings. The salon buzzed with women, their faces pink and glowing.

  She was led to a cushy seat to wait for a manicurist. Though she’d had manicures plenty of times, usually to repair her fingernails after an aggressive dishwashing session, she generally kept up her nails herself. Her kryptonite had always been clothes, and if giving herself mani-pedis meant she could spend a little extra on her wardrobe, then she happily made the sacrifice.