by Carol Grace
“In the taxi?” he suggested.
“Look, Misty,” Anne Marie said, so tired of carrying that damned candy all over Italy, so tired of trying to figure out Marco, what he was, what he did and why he did it, and how she felt about him, that she couldn't face another problem. It was just candy, for heaven's sake. “Just forget the candy. I'll send you a new box when I get home.”
“Forget the candy?” Misty's voice rose so high, Anne Marie was afraid it might crack the champagne glass she held in her hand. “I've been waiting for that candy for a week. I came to the airport to meet you, but I missed you because you'd changed your plans and had already left. I called Evie and she assured me you had the candy. Where is the candy?”
“I'll call the taxi company,” Marco said, taking out his phone.
“You'll have to do more than that,” Misty said, her fierce gaze leveled at Anne Marie. “I must have it.”
Anne Marie knew people who craved chocolate, but this bordered on a serious addiction. She was about to say something when a crowd of guests came up the long stairs behind them and Misty was forced to turn her attention to them.
Momentarily reprieved, Anne Marie waited until Marco finished his phone conversation, then he assured her the taxi driver had been found and would deliver the candy. She hooked her hand in Marco's arm and walked into the huge, high-ceilinged room that was more of an art gallery than a living room. It was filled with well-dressed people and undressed marble statues and paintings that looked old and valuable. Waiters passed through the crowd with trays of drinks and tiny appetizers. Anne Marie took a glass of champagne and a cracker covered with caviar.
“Thank you for handling the lost candy,” she said. “Was it just me, or did that woman seem hysterical about the loss of those chocolates?” she asked.
“I've never understood women and chocolate,” he said. “She liked your necklace,” he noted. “Where did that come from?
“It's Isabella's. She said it was a present from a man she was once involved with. A farewell gift.”
“Really.” He leaned forward, his head bent over the pendant, his warm fingers grazing the space between her breasts to examine the necklace. She felt her pulse quicken and her heart throb.
“I didn't know you were interested in jewelry,” she said, trying to stay composed while her hands shook and chills ran and up down her arms.
“I'm interested in everything you're wearing or not wearing,” he said, with a half smile and a glance down the front of her dress at her embroidered pale green bra. Her nipples puckered, and she knew he knew. Her eyelids fluttered. The matching lace panties made her feel sexy and wicked. His eyes focused on the valley between her breasts. Her skin was so hot it might sizzle. She took a deep breath to try to fill her lungs. Why had she come to this party? It could be her last night with Marco. He'd never said anything about tomorrow or the next day or the next.
If it was the last, if it was true he put work first, then every minute was precious - so why waste time at some glitzy party where she didn't even know the hostess? What a night to be staying in a convent.
Still loosely holding the stone pendant, he looked around the room, his gaze turning cool and appraising. “How did you say Misty got her money?”
“Import-export, I think. I know Evie does some work for her back home. Sends her stuff for her to sell.”
Marco's turned his gaze on her. He let the pendant go. “Like jewelry?”
“I don't know. I never asked. Why?”
“She never even looked at your ring.”
“Of course not. It's cheap, ordinary. I'm only wearing it because I like it.”
“She looked at the necklace, but what she really wanted was the candy,” he said slowly.
“I can understand that,” Anne Marie said, sipping her champagne.
“Can you? Then why did you leave it in the taxi?”
“I forgot it. You're as bad as Misty. It's just candy. It's not that important...is it?”
“Yes,” he said grimly. “It is.”
Marco cursed himself for being so dense. He'd just figured it out, and now it was almost too late. If he could just get the candy from the taxi driver before Misty did. Or Giovanni did. But it was too late. Misty was strolling majestically through the great hall with the familiar white box under her arm. She was laughing and looking up into the face of the tall man in a tuxedo who seemed glued to her side.
Marco considered throwing her to the ground, taking the box from her by force while he pressed her face into the silk carpet with one hand, his knee on her gold spangled back. But he'd make a scene and maybe, just maybe he was wrong.
He didn't want to be wrong. He wanted Misty to be Giovanni's contact because that meant Ana Maria was just what she seemed - an innocent tourist. It made sense. Ana Maria had had the opportunity and the means to hide the diamond and the contact here to give it to. But she hadn't done it. He'd been watching and waiting and still Giovanni didn't have the diamond. Ana Maria didn't have the diamond either. From the triumphant look on Misty's face, she had it, unless she was a chocoholic. No, there had to be something better than candy in that box.
Giovanni had displeased someone, maybe Misty, and now he was out of the loop, but not down and out, if he knew Giovanni. If there was money involved, Giovanni would be too.
Marco reached for another glass of champagne. If Ana Maria wasn't really involved in this heist, there were even more unanswered questions than before. It was so easy when he thought it was a matter of a diamond and two people - Giovanni and Ana Maria. Now it was more complicated. And he had more questions to ask, to be sure in his mind, as well as in his heart. “What would you do if you had a lot of money?” he asked her. “Would you buy a house like this?”
“A house like this?” Ana Maria shook her head. “It would be like living in a museum. The house I like is your grandmother's house. It's got a big kitchen, a garden, and everything.”
“There's no view,” he said flatly. His house had a view of the sea. It had a rotten roof and an overgrown garden, a lemon tree that had long ago ceased producing, but it had a view.
“Oh, well, you can't have everything.”
“But you have a house in California. You're not thinking of living in Italy, are you?”
“Don't worry,” she said, mistaking his surprise for alarm. “I'm not going to move to your backyard. What would I do? No.” She laughed softly. “I couldn't live in Italy.”
“Not even if Giovanni asked you?”
“Why would he do that? He's married.”
“I'm not sure he takes his vows very seriously.”
“How would you know that? You don't know him. That sounds awfully cynical to me.”
“I'm a cynical man. You know that by now. What about a diamond?” he asked, looking down at her hands. He looked at the ring she said she'd bought on the sidewalk, at her plain, unpolished nails.
“A diamond?” she said. He caught a hint of a wistfulness in her voice. “It's a little late for a diamond. I've gotten along all these years without one; I don't think I need one now. No, I don't see a diamond in my future.”
He was relieved because she'd told him what he was desperate to hear. He was sure she hadn't stolen the diamond; and he didn't want to believe she was in love with Giovanni. But she didn't say she didn't want a diamond, only that she didn't need one. He'd have to accept that. Along with the good news that Ana Maria had no reason to want a mansion nor to live in Italy.
Once she went back home, he could forget about her. He'd misjudged her, but no harm was done as long as they found the diamond. It would be even better if she never knew she'd been under suspicion. If he'd known it was going to end like this, he...what? Wouldn't have made love to her? No, he would have taken her to his apartment this afternoon instead of touring the inside of a prison. It would have eased some of the ache in his gut. If she learned the whole story tonight, then he doubted she'd ever want to see him again. Even if she did, even if they walked out
of here together, you can't make love in a convent.
He glanced around the room. There was a tuxedoed man at each entrance. Damn. Not only that, across the room, leaning elegantly and casually against a pillar was Giovanni, dressed impeccably in tux and tie, with a glass of champagne in his hand. At this point, Marco was hardly surprised. He'd been expecting Giovanni for days. Now he was here. He didn't hate him anymore, but he wanted to see him punished.
“That man over there by the pillar, could he be your friend Giovanni?” he said.
Ana Maria nodded. She didn’t look surprised that he’d recognized him or that he was here.
“Don't you want to say hello?” he asked lightly.
“Not now.”
“Good, because I want you to come with me,” he said, holding her arm so tightly the champagne sloshed over her glass onto her dress. “We have to find that candy,” he said, as they walked toward the door Misty had disappeared into. Do you have any idea what's inside it?”
“Of course I know. Raspberry cream, nougat, caramel, mousse...”
“What about a large yellow diamond, about this big.” He made a circle with his thumb and index finger.
“A diamond?” She looked dumbstruck.
“A diamond worth a fortune. A diamond worth stealing, worth risking your life for, worth betraying your lover or your best friend for. It's the Bianchi Diamond. Have you ever heard of it?”
“No. How would a diamond get inside a truffle? Where did you get this ridiculous idea?”
“Let's just get our hands on those chocolates.”
“And if we don't find a diamond inside of one of them?” she asked.
“Then I'm wrong and I have to start back at zero.”
“And if we find it? What does that prove? You don't believe I knew it was in there, do you? You don't think I would have brought in a box of candy knowing there was a diamond in it, do you?” Her eyes widened. “Have you been following me all this time because of a diamond?”
He didn't answer. What could he say?
“You have, haven't you?” She blinked rapidly.
Oh, God, she wasn't going to cry again, was she?
“You even seduced me to distract me, to try to get it.” Her eyes were ice blue, her cheeks were red, and her voice rose with each word as the realization of his duplicity hit her. But she didn't cry.
“No,” he said, but she wasn't listening.
They marched together across the room. This was no time to have this discussion with her. The diamond was under this roof and he had to find it. They came to a closed door. There was a man standing there, wearing a white shirt and black suspenders, his arms outstretched. He gave them a cool smile. Misty was inside, shouting at someone in Italian.
“What is she saying?” Anne Marie demanded.
“She's calling a servant a filthy parasite. She told her her father is about as stupid as a chicken.”
“But why?”
“It's the chocolates. Someone, a servant, took the chocolates, put them on a plate and...”
The door burst open. Misty stormed out followed by three ashen-faced, white-aproned maids.
Anne Marie stepped aside. If she hadn't, Misty would have run over her, bare feet and all.
“The candy,” Misty said, “help me find my candy.”
Anne Marie exchanged a quick glance with Marco, his deception not forgotten or forgiven. But if Misty was this upset about the candy, maybe he was right. But he'd been wrong about her. And she'd been wrong about him. So terribly, painfully wrong. Her anger subsided, leaving an aching sadness in its place.
She followed in Misty's wake, Marco at her side, barreling through the grand gallery, going from guest to guest, from table to table, looking under benches, above statues, in alcoves.
A hush fell over the room. Giovanni had stepped up on a small platform next to a reclining marble nude. In one hand he held a plate of truffles, and in the other he held out a canary yellow diamond that glittered and gleamed in the light from a blazing crystal chandelier above. Every eye in the place was on him and on the rare gem. The musicians put down their instruments. No one moved. No one spoke.
“Misty.” His voice echoed in the huge gallery. “Is this what you're looking for?”
“Giovanni,” she said, suddenly all smiles and good nature. “You found the diamond. Now give it back to me.” She held out her hand.
Anne Marie felt faint. There was a diamond. A diamond worth killing for, dying for, lying for, or betraying your best friend for. Giovanni was looking at it with the lust men usually reserved for women. And Misty? With her hand outstretched, she was as still as one of the statues in her gallery, but her eyes glittered with a lust that matched his.
“It's not yours, it's mine,” Giovanni said. “Mine to keep or mine to give. I'm going to give it to someone I love. Now, tonight. To a woman who deserves it. She has been in my heart from the time I first met her in America over twenty years ago. I've always been in love with her, but I've never told her. Ana Maria.” He came down off the pedestal and walked slowly toward her, smiling at her the way he did in her dreams, and holding the diamond in the palm of his hand.
For years she'd dreamed of Italy, of Giovanni, of hearing him tell her he loved her and now it had happened. She stood watching him walk toward her, frozen in place. She couldn't move, she couldn't speak. The other people in the room faded away - Marco, Misty, the guards, the musicians and the servants. He put the diamond in her hand and she realized how big it was and how beautiful and how much she wanted it - even though she knew she couldn't have it. Even in her state of numb delirium, she knew it wasn't his to give or hers to get. She closed her hand around it.
Then there was chaos. The huge chandelier swung overhead as if a giant had given it a shove. The lights went out. Women screamed. Men shouted. Heavy footsteps pounded the floor. Doors opened and slammed shut. Someone grabbed the chain she was wearing around her neck, and she choked. Someone else shoved her to the floor and her head banged against the inlaid stone. Strong fingers tried to pry her hand open, but she held onto the diamond so tightly, it cut into her skin and she felt blood between her fingers. Shots were fired, flashes of light in the dark. Someone dragged her body somewhere else.
When the lights came on, minutes or even hours later, she was lying on an Oriental carpet, her dress caught up around her hips, her beautiful leather shoes gone. She moaned and sat up slowly. The room was spinning around her. There were people milling around, talking loudly. Some of them wore blue uniforms. There was no more music, no more party. No more Misty and no more Giovanni. She put her head between her knees for a long moment. When she looked up, Marco was kneeling beside her.
“He's gone,” Marco said.
He reached for her hand and gently opened her fist with his rough fingers. The yellow diamond lay there, huge and dazzling and safe in her palm.
“So it's true. This is what it was all about,” she said, pressing one hand to her head, trying to stop the throbbing. “Is this what they ransacked my room for?”
He nodded.
“But who, who did it?”
“Who do you think?”
“Giovanni? That's not possible. He's not a thief. If he was, why didn't he take the diamond instead of giving it to me? You don't believe what he said about being in love with me, do you?”
He shrugged. “I think he had to choose between the getting away and getting the diamond, so he chose to get away.”
“Get away from what, from who?”
“Me.”
She stared into his eyes, trying to understand, but her head ached and his face was blurred around the edges and nothing made any sense.
“Who are you?” she asked. “I'd like the truth for once.”
“I work for the Italian government. My agency works with other countries to track down international thieves.”
“So that is why you've been following me. You really thought I was a thief, and that's why you...” Tears welled up in her thro
at. This time she would not cry. She had been a fool to think he cared about her. Now she knew for sure it was all business. And Giovanni? He had used her too.
“You had a very valuable diamond in your possession.”
“But you didn't know that. How could you? I didn't know it.”
“We've been after Giovanni for years. Whenever a famous diamond goes missing, Giovanni's name comes up. We knew he was waiting for it. We knew he was expecting someone to bring it to him. We thought it was you. I might remind you, it was you. You did bring it.”
“But I didn't mean to, I didn't know...
“I know that now,” he said wearily. “Giovanni knows too. He thought it was in the yearbook. When he saw it wasn't, he followed us to Maggiore.”
“But who put it in the candy?”
“Who do you think did it? Who could have done it?”
“Evie gave it to me to give her cousin. But it couldn't be Evie. She's a friend. She's just like me, an ordinary small-town... No, not Evie.” And not Giovanni either. He might be flaky, he might be a womanizer, but he wasn't a thief. He couldn't be. Besides he was in Italy. Whoever put the diamond in the candy did it before it left the US.
A man in a rumpled suit walked up to them and stood looming above them.
“Giovanni is gone,” the man said.
Marco got up. He reached for Anne Marie's hand and helped her to her feet.
“Silvestro, this is Mrs. Jackson,” he said. He turned to Anne Marie. “Silvestro is my boss. He'd like to ask you a few questions. He'd also like the diamond.”
“You must forgive Marco's lack of manners,” he said with a courtly little bow. “Don't make the lady stand,” Silvestro chided Marco.
Marco brought two chairs, one for his boss and one for her and she gratefully sat down. Her knees were weak, and she felt cold all over. Marco put his suit jacket over her shoulders and stood behind her. His jacket was still warm from his wearing it. She caught the scent of tobacco and leather and his soap. She closed her eyes for a moment. She would not get sentimental. She would keep her dignity, what was left of it. And she would get some answers. They might not be the answers she wanted, but at least they might be truthful. She held out her hand and Silvestro took the diamond. He turned it over in his hand and held it up to the light.