The Florence Affair

by Kristy Tate

  Zane.

  It couldn’t be. Could it? Not again. Was he following her?

  CHAPTER 5

  “I wonder what your husband would say to that,” Zane said.

  Sadie Clements lifted her brown hair off her shoulders in a way that showed off her manufactured cleavage. “Oh, posh, who cares about him? He’s too busy fiddling with biochemical stuff to worry about us.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

  Zane wanted to point out that there was no ‘us,’ at least not in the way Sadie implied.

  Sadie dropped her hair and fanned herself with her ring-laden hand. “It’s getting hot, isn’t it? Maybe we should go back to the hotel? Take a little riposo?”

  Before he could answer, two giggling girls sprinted past. They had long bouncing ponytails, spindly arms and legs, and freckle-dotted cheeks. The one in the lead vaulted over the bench where Sadie had collapsed, but when her sister—twin, probably—followed, her foot caught on the bench, and she pitched forward with a yelp.

  The twin in the lead froze while the other howled, rolled onto her butt, and cradled her ankle.

  Sadie snorted in disgust and edged away, while Zane went to help the wounded girl.

  “Ms. Hill!” the unhurt twin shrieked. “Help. There’s a strange man touching Posey.”

  Zane, who had situated Posey on the bench, now wasn’t sure what to do. And who was Ms. Hill? It couldn’t be Flora, could it? What would she be doing here in Italy with these two girls?

  “Ms. Hill!” the twin cried.

  “Oh, shut it, Rose,” her sister said through her tears. “I’m the one who’s hurt. He was only helping.” Posey gave Zane a teary but flirtatious smile.

  “He’s a stranger,” Rose insisted. “And he touched you.”

  “I meant no harm,” Zane said. “I’m a doctor.”

  “How am I going to get back to the hotel without someone touching me?” Posey’s glance at Zane told him she hadn’t minded his touch. Rose must have deduced the same thing, because she began calling for Ms. Hill again.

  Finally, Ms. Hill emerged. Tall, blond, clad in a sundress that skimmed her thighs. She’d lost weight in the last seven years, her cheeks hollower, her collarbone more prominent.

  “Zane,” she said.

  Zane stumbled beneath her gaze. Her voice shook him. Hatred flared in his chest. His breath grew shallow.

  Posey and Rose flicked their attention between the two of them and Posey stopped sniffling.

  “He’s not a stranger?” Posey asked, sounding much too happy for someone injured.

  Sadie elbowed Zane. “Let’s go,” she said in a bored voice.

  “What are you doing here?” Zane asked Flora.

  “I’m a nanny.”

  “Still?”

  “She’s our math tutor,” Rose said, edging closer to him. “We’re too old to have a nanny.”

  “Yes, I can see you’re practically a grownup,” Zane said to Rose. He frowned at Flora. “I can’t believe anyone would hire you to work with children.”

  “We’re not children!” Rose declared.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Flora demanded.

  “I’m just surprised.” He arched his eyebrows.

  “How do you know Ms. Hill?” Rose asked.

  Posey began to whimper and rock back and forth while clasping her ankle.

  “Long and bitter story,” Zane told her.

  Flora knelt beside Posey and murmured something to her. Posey wiped her tears and stopped sniffling.

  “What did you say to her?” Rose asked.

  “I promised you both gelatos when we get back to the hotel.” Flora held out her hand for Posey. “Come on, brave girl. Now’s the time to show what you’re made of.”

  Zane snorted.

  Flora shot him a dirty look.

  “I think that ironic, coming from you,” he said.

  “Ignore him,” Flora said, tugging Posey to her feet.

  Posey sniffed and tried to stand. With a hint of melodrama, she fell back onto the bench with a loud moan.

  “We can take an Uber when we get out of here,” Rose said.

  “Where are you staying?” Zane asked.

  “Hotel De Luca.”

  Sadie started. “That’s where we’re staying.”

  Zane read the questions in Flora’s eyes, but didn’t feel he needed to answer them. “Not far, then.” He turned and squatted, offering Posey his back. “Come on, climb on. I can get you there.”

  “Mom would not approve,” Rose said.

  “Well, she wouldn’t approve of the naked turtle-riding dude, either,” Posey spat out as she hitched herself off the bench and onto Zane. She stuck out her swelling ankle for everyone to see. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “You’re young. It’ll heal quickly,” Zane predicted, although the same thing could have been said about his heart, but all these years later, looking at Flora Hill still made him ache.

  A FLUSTERED LIZ USHERED them all inside the Jardin family’s suite. “Oh dear. What happened?” Her gaze ran over Posey propped up on Zane’s back before landing on the swollen ankle.

  “Posey tripped,” Rose informed her mom. “Then we met up with an old friend of Ms. Hill’s and he offered to carry Posey here.”

  “We’re not friends,” Flora said through tight lips.

  The grim look on Zane’s face told her he concurred. He went to the sofa and gently deposited Posey on its cushions.

  “There was a lady with him, but she said she doesn’t like kids,” Rose said. “As if we’re babies full of cooties,” she added with a murmur.

  “I’m a doctor,” Zane began.

  “Oh, I know who you are, Dr. Wentworth.” Liz cocked her head. “I know this is way beneath your paygrade, but since you’re here, would you mind checking in on Jerry? I’ve already given him a diagnosis, but he doesn’t want to believe me.”

  Zane shot Flora a curious glance.

  “Her husband,” Flora told him.

  “He’s sick,” Liz said. “He’s insisting it’s food poisoning, but it’s been going on for days and he refuses to see a doctor. And he won’t listen to me and I am a doctor. But maybe, since you’re here, he’d listen to you.”

  “I’d be happy to see him,” Zane said.

  Flora wondered why he was being so nice, but then, he’d always put on a good show. He was a master of pretending to be something he wasn’t. He followed Liz into the master bedroom, leaving Flora alone with the girls.

  “Let me get Posey some ice,” Flora said.

  Rose flopped down beside her sister. “We didn’t even get gelato.”

  Memories of her first night with Zane on the beach struck Flora. Salted caramel, chocolate mousse, cherry cordial, white chocolate cheesecake, and brown sugar pecan. She could almost taste the gelato now, feel the soft ocean breeze, and smell the briny air.

  “Can we order some?” Posey asked.

  “Better than that,” Flora said, opening the freezer, “we have some! Remember when we bought it yesterday?”

  “I don’t know why, but it’s so much more fun in a waffle cone,” Posey said.

  “Yes.” Rose for once agreed with her sister. “A nice warm one.”

  “Those are nice,” Flora agreed, “but they’re out there and we’re in here.” She pulled bowls, spoons, and an ice cream scoop out of the cupboard. “We’ll have to make do with cherry cordial and devil’s food fudge. Poor us.”

  Liz emerged from the bedroom. “I hate to ask this of you, Flora, since you already do so much for us, but would you please come with me to the awards ceremony tonight? I’ve been praying that Jerry would feel better, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”

  Flora held the scoop aloft and opened her mouth to protest, but Liz cut her off. “I would not go, especially since I know the award is going to go to that pretentious Mark Gaines, but I don’t want it to look like sour grapes.”

  “Are they serving grapes?” Rose asked.

  “
You don’t like grapes?” Posey asked. “Since when?”

  “If you don’t like grapes, why did we have to go to that vineyard two days ago?” Rose asked.

  Flora noticed her scoop of gelato was beginning to melt and she dropped it into the closest bowl.

  “Kids. They’re so literal,” Liz muttered.

  Flora smiled and finished filling a bowl, which she carried across the room and presented to Posey. “I actually like that about them.”

  Zane emerged from the bedroom and closed the door.

  “They’re honest,” Flora said through gritted teeth, and she returned to her gelato duties.

  “The expression ‘sour grapes’ comes from an old Aesop tale where a fox isn't able to reach the grapes, so he declares them to be sour,” Liz told the girls before turning back to Flora. “So, will you attend with me?”

  “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.” Flora dished up a bowl for Rose.

  “Oh.” This answer seemed to stun Liz, probably because Liz paid almost no attention to what she wore herself. As long as something protected her from weather and didn’t itch or pinch, she was good to go. “If I gave you three hundred dollars, do you think you could find something?”

  “Shopping?” Rose bounced up. “Can I come? We can go to those thrift shops or sidewalk stalls you talked about.”

  “Mom!” Posey whined.

  “Isn’t that a sketchy part of town?” Zane asked.

  “There isn’t a sketchy part of Florence,” Flora contended. She offered the bowl of gelato to Rose and refused to look at Zane. “Some parts are simply more colorful than others.

  “I disagree,” Zane put in.

  “Rose, you’ll accompany Ms. Hill,” Liz pronounced. “Posey, you can stay here and watch those terrible chick flicks you enjoy so much.”

  “I don’t think that’s a safe area,” Zane told Liz.

  “Well, I’m going,” Flora said. “I’ve been dying for a chance to go to Via La Voga. It’s next to the Sciccoso School of Design.”

  “Mom!” Posey and Rose called out in chorus.

  “I’ll take them,” Zane said in a resigned voice.

  “What?” The word sputtered from Flora, and she dropped her gelato scoop into the sink with a clunk. Had she heard him wrong? “I’m perfectly capable of watching the girls.”

  “Like you were this afternoon?” Zane asked.

  She glared at him.

  “When they took off?” Zane pressed.

  Was he trying to get her fired? Wasn’t it bad enough that he had broken her heart all those years ago?

  “What’s this?” Liz’s concerned gaze flicked between her daughters.

  “Nothing,” Rose and Posey said in unison.

  Liz’s expression softened as she watched the girls. “If you’ll accompany them, Dr. Wentworth, I suppose Rose could go.”

  When Posey sputtered with protests, Liz held up her hand, cutting her off. “I’m sorry, Posey. It’s out of the question.”

  “Here,” Rose said, handing her sister her own bowl of gelato so Posey now had two. “This should make you feel better. I’ll bring you back a waffle cone.”

  THE SCICCOSO SCHOOL of Design was, as Zane had predicted, in a section of town known for its violence and drug trafficking. One lone adult female wandering the mean streets was like sending a poodle into a coyote’s lair. A woman and a girl were like a poodle and a kitten.

  Zane trailed after them, his senses pricking, his antennae up for anyone who could do them harm.

  “The Sciccoso School of Design is ranked as the best fashion institute in all of Italy and is among the top ten in the world,” Flora told Rose. “It’s known for its innovation and it has two campuses—this one in the old section of town, and the one in the heart of the design district.” She stopped in front of a gracious villa with frescoed walls that looked out of place beside its slummy neighbors. “This was the first fashion library in all of Europe,” she said in a reverent tone.

  Rose stopped in front of a vendor’s stall and pointed at a white lace dress. “You’d look fabulous in that,” she said.

  “It looks like a wedding dress,” Flora said.

  “She can’t wear that; it’s too virginal,” Zane said.

  “What does that mean?” Rose asked.

  “Yes, what do you mean by that?” Flora asked.

  Zane snorted.

  Two heavily tattooed and multi-pierced men sauntered by, eyeing Flora. Blood pounded in Zane’s head and he clenched his fists. “I don’t think it’s right for you,” he said.

  Flora harrumphed and guided Rose to the next stall.

  “How about this one?” Rose asked, pointing at a red leather dress that looked a lot like a giant handbag with long handles.

  “No,” Zane said.

  Flora shrugged and moved on while Rose matched her pace to Zane’s. “If you’re so picky, why don’t you choose something?”

  “He doesn’t get to pick my dress,” Flora said.

  “I don’t want to pick your dress,” Zane said.

  “Good, because you’re not going to.”

  Which made Zane determined to pick out her dress. “I wouldn’t buy one here.”

  “What’s wrong with here?” Flora stopped in front of a knee-length creamy lace dress with an under-slip. “It’s an Adriana Gallo.” Her lips twisted when she saw the price.

  “What’s wrong?” Rose asked.

  “If I buy this dress, I won’t be able to afford shoes or accessories,” Flora said.

  Zane plucked the dress off the hanger and held it up to her. “You should try it on before you make any decisions. It might not fit.” His gaze traveled around the vendor’s booth, taking in the curtained walls. There didn’t seem to be a dressing room.

  A man in a tank top and low-slung jeans appeared. “You interested?” he asked in a heavy accent.

  Zane addressed him in Italian. “If I bought this dress, would you consider throwing in a pair of shoes?”

  “That depends on the shoes,” the man answered with a smirk.

  Rose picked up a pair of embossed cream leather stilettos and handed them to Zane.

  Zane lifted his eyebrows while Flora stood watching the exchange with a wrinkle between her brows.

  The man argued with Zane, but Zane pressed his point and the man conceded to Zane’s price.

  “Where can she try these on?” Zane asked.

  The man motioned to a trailer behind the curtain.

  Not happening.

  Flora elbowed him. “What did he say?”

  “There isn’t a dressing room. He wants you to try it on in his trailer.”

  “Oh. Sure, why not?” She headed for the trailer.

  Why not?

  He dropped a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  She looked surprised and lifted his hand off her shoulder. “What can happen? You and Rose will be right outside.” She followed the man to the trailer, but Zane got there first.

  When the man opened the door, Zane climbed the step and went inside the tiny space. There was a bed along one wall and a built-in table and bench along the other. Curtains hung on the windows, making it dark and cool. But even in the shadows, he could tell it was empty.

  “What are you doing?” Flora asked from the doorway.

  Zane answered with a grunt and climbed out. Flora edged around him to enter. He stood with his back pressed against the door and his arms folded while Flora was in the trailer.

  “You like her, don’t you?” Rose leaned against the trailer, matching his stance. “You pretend that you don’t, but you actually do.”

  Zane swallowed. “I did once. That was a very long time ago. But then I learned who she really is.”

  Rose skated him a glance. “I know her pretty well, since she was my teacher last year and all, and she’s been living with us for weeks. She’s pretty great.”

  “She may come across like that,” Zane said, thinking of
her and her mom’s ploy—pretending that there’d been a baby and taking money from his dad. It was pretty despicable. Should he tell the Jardins? No. Maybe she’d learned her lesson. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d made very much of her life. Here she was, still babysitting seven years later.

  But wait. “She teaches at your school?”

  Rose nodded. “Math. Everyone loves her. Even Principal Harold, and he hates everyone.”

  The door behind him shifted. Zane pulled away to let Flora out. To his disappointment, she was back in her sundress.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I’m going to get it.”

  “Good,” he said.

  She was surprised, but Zane was not, when the man put the dress as well as the shoes in a bag.

  “But I can’t—” she began.

  “They come with the dress,” Rose told her.

  “I don’t know if they fit,” Flora argued.

  “Then try them on,” Rose said with a smirk.

  Flora dropped onto the trailer’s step to take off her shoes and try on the cream ones. Zane had to look away when she held up her foot and examined it in the shoe. He hated that he was still so attracted to her.

  “It’s perfect,” Flora said.

  Zane had to remind himself that just because something looked perfect, that didn’t mean it was.

  DESPITE HER GORGEOUS new dress and shoes, Flora felt incredibly out of place as she followed Liz into the banquet hall of the Hotel De Luca. She felt that everyone knew she’d bought her dress second hand off a Via La Voga street vendor. Not that Liz, in her brown sheath that resembled a Trader Joe’s bag, looked better, but the difference was that Liz didn’t care if she wore paper, plastic, or silk.

  Flora’s steps faltered when she realized she’d be sitting at the same table as Zane. Someone should have told her. She might not have chosen to come.

  The Jardins didn’t pay by the hour and because of that, she sometimes felt that she was on call twenty-four hours a day. She enjoyed the girls, and Liz and Jerry were also okay, but she disliked feeling that her life wasn’t her own. Not that she was complaining about being in Florence.