by Gina LaManna
“How’d you hear all this? I just talked to her tonight. Were you listening?”
Anthony tilted his head, and I followed the movement until my eyes landed on a huge billboard to the left of the Castello. The headline read, WORLDWIDE DEBUT OF THE MORGAN COLLECTION. It listed a date two days in the future, along with images of sparkling jewels, rhinestones, and The Miranda.
I sat straight upward, my eyes bugging out of my head. “That’s The Miranda? The diamonds are huge!”
“Well, she wouldn’t have flown you around the world to protect some cubic zirconia earrings, would she?”
“I suppose not,” I mumbled. “But wow. That’s…that’s a lot of sparkle. And probably a lot of money.”
“Speaking of sparkle, I found this earlier today. While you were out with Lizabeth, I went for a walk around the block. I saw this, and thought of you.”
“Were you scouting out our neighborhood?” I asked, giving him a teasing elbow to the ribs.
“That, too,” Anthony admitted. “But I found this, and I thought it matched perfectly.”
“Matched what perfectly?” I fell silent as Anthony pulled out a tiny bag from his pocket.
I shoved the baby into his arms. He caught Arnold and laid him gently on the fountain ledge. Then he waited as I tugged the strings open.
“Oh, Anthony. This is beautiful.” I held up the gift, a simple, beautiful necklace. “It’s perfect.”
The chain was thin, the daintiest of silvers. Hanging in the center was a stone hued with the same pinkish tone as my engagement ring. My mother’s engagement ring. The ring that promised a future together with Anthony.
“I’m so glad you like it.” Anthony’s voice took on a low rumble, his eyes glittering as they roved over my bare collarbone, and then eventually down to my finger. “I like seeing you wear that ring, knowing you’re mine.”
I twisted it in a circle, my face heating. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, or why you asked me, of all people, to marry you.”
“I can think of a few reasons,” Anthony said, his face melting into a smile. “Unfortunately, Arnold keeps interrupting…”
The baby, swaddled in a towel we’d found under the bathroom sink, remained asleep. We watched him with a weird fondness for a long moment.
“Come here.” Anthony broke the silence, crooking me closer to him.
“We’re in public!” I protested weakly with my words, but I was already on his lap, so there was no use fighting it.
His hands hooked behind my back, his lips teasing mine with promises of more than kisses. “Lucky thing Italy is very supportive of PDA—it is the country of love.”
My arms hooked around his neck as he pulled me in, deepening the kiss. I eventually stopped worrying about arrest, and began wondering why we hadn’t brought a blanket. Then Anthony’s hands slipped under my shirt, and I forgot all about the blanket, his fingers warm against my skin, until…
A splash punctuated the night air.
Anthony cursed with surprising gusto.
“What was that?” I asked, my brain still hazy from the kiss.
In response, Anthony leaped to his feet. For the second time that evening, I flew off his lap. The glub, glub of bubbles rising to the surface of the water pulled Anthony toward the fountain while I struggled to stay on my feet.
He leaned over the stone wall, his face creased in concern. “Arnold! Come back!”
By the time I righted myself, Anthony had Arnold in a pincer-like grip. He extended the mechanical baby away from his body. Water dripped from the plastic head. Arnold’s hair smeared.
I reached for the baby as he started to cry. I bounced him on my hip, tickled his cheek, made goofy faces, but nothing worked. I checked his diaper, but it was free of blue goop. “Maybe he’s hungry?”
Anthony dug in the backpack and once again retrieved the strange gel food the girls had packed in the diaper bag. He squeezed it hurriedly into the doll’s mouth. Arnold didn’t want that, either. Finally, after I changed his diaper, we set him in the backpack.
“To the Vespa?” Anthony suggested. “Worked before.”
“To the Vespa.”
Chapter 5
After driving Arnold around for two hours, cursing Marissa and Clarissa all over the city, we finally got Arnold to sleep. When we finally trooped—exhausted and slightly damp from fountain water—into our apartment, Anthony and I followed suit. Both of us were too exhausted for more than a whisper goodnight. We attempted a brief kiss as our heads hit the pillow, but I might have already been sleeping by the time our lips met.
The next morning, I woke to the babble of Italian. Or maybe it was the hand pressing on my shoulder, pulling me into reality. I fought back, sinking into nightmarish visions of blue gel inking everywhere.
“Lacey…” Anthony whispered.
“I’m tired.” I pulled the covers over my head. “Ergh.”
“The Violet Society is back,” Anthony said. “You’ll want to see this.”
“Who’s Violet?” Turning over, I smashed my face into the pillow. “Not interested.”
“Seriously, it’s time to get up. I already fed Arnold once. It’s your turn next.”
“Arnold?” My brain wasn’t functioning yet, and for all I cared, Violet and Arnold could take care of themselves. “I’m sleeping.”
“There’s been another theft.” Anthony nodded toward the small television mounted in the corner of the room. “The victim is a new designer, Marquita Hart.”
Neither Violet, nor Arnold, nor Marquita could pull me from a delicious slumber, but the scent of coffee filtering through the air drew me into a sitting position. “Is that for me?”
Anthony passed me one of two espresso cups he balanced in his hands. A miraculous feat, seeing how he’d also fashioned a baby carrier out of a kitchen apron decorated in daffodils. Arnold looked pretty comfy strapped to Anthony’s chest, the fabric wound in all sorts of complicated loops. I laughed, then hid behind my cup so Anthony wouldn’t ask what was funny.
“Espresso,” Anthony said. “Drink it. Focus, Lace.”
“Where’s the rest of it?” I held up the tiny cup, examining the bottom. Maybe it extended like a telescope. “This is a thimble. I’m looking for a cup of coffee. I don’t understand this.”
My mind was still hazy from sleep, and the sight of Anthony playing Mr. Mom didn’t help much. He looked too relaxed in that apron, the baby grinning up at him. If my ovaries could speak, they’d probably be cheering right now.
“Just drink it,” Anthony said. “You only need one of these, and you’ll be climbing the walls. It’s got more caffeine than ten sugar bombs.”
“I can handle this little thing.” I tipped the warm shot of liquid down my throat, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Anthony watched, his face impassive as I wrinkled my nose. “Needs marshmallows.”
I let my hand hook into Anthony’s black t-shirt, a worn thing that was soft as mink. Anthony’s hair was all tousled, and even though my ovaries might not be able to talk, they seemed to be buzzing this morning.
“Lacey, the baby,” Anthony hissed quietly, gazing down at Arnold sleeping peacefully against his chest. “Be careful. I worked really hard to get him to sleep.”
“He’s not real!” A little stung by Anthony’s blatant rejection of my flirting, I scooted back on the bed. “I just think you look…I don’t know, you look so sweet with your apron, taking care of Arnold. And I love you.”
Anthony’s eyes softened. “Come here.”
I climbed out of bed, ducking around Arnold’s head to brush my lips against Anthony’s. He melted into me, his hand sliding around my back and turning the tender kiss into something more.
Until the plastic thing began to wail again.
“Seriously, Arnold?” I glared at him. “This kid is really frustrating sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.” Anthony’s words came out in a growl, which quickly turned into a yelp of surprise when blue gel spurted from Arnold
’s mouth. “What is wrong with him? If it’s not one end, it’s the other!”
“I am really sorry, but I have got to run…” I leaned toward the TV, listening, trying to decipher a clue as to what the reporter was saying in Italian. I caught the words Marquita and Violet, which was enough to remind me that I was here on a work trip. “I’m really sorry, but I have got to get to the scene of that crime before it’s too late.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone with Arnold!” Anthony’s eyes went wild. “I need to take care of some business today.”
I frowned. “What sort of business?”
Anthony bounced the baby a few times. “I need to fly down to Bari. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it just happened this morning. I got a phone call from an old…” he trailed off, and I was left to wonder whether it was an old friend, enemy, or something in between. “I have to address an issue.”
“You can’t tell me what it is?”
“You have to get to work, and my flight leaves in an hour. It’s just for the day, I’ll fly right back this evening; it’s a quick flight, hardly over an hour. Think Minneapolis to Chicago.”
“You’ll be back tonight? Do you need me to come with you?”
“We’re here for your business. I’m sure you want to be available to Lizabeth today.”
“I was hoping we could work on this project together. Like we talked about.” I took Arnold, if only to give my hands something to do. I bounced up and down, focusing my gaze on the baby because that was easier than looking into Anthony’s eyes. “You don’t have to, of course. I just like having you around. It helps.”
“Lace…” Anthony’s fingers tangled in my hair. “I will be here before the show. If you want me to, I’ll cancel the trip. Say the word.”
“I suppose the show’s not until tomorrow night,” I said. “You should go. Nothing important is happening today, anyway. I’m going to poke around and do some research on The Violet Society. Stop by the crime scene, teach a top model some kung fu. You know, the basics.”
“Kung fu?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”
I scrunched up my nose. “Probably not.”
“I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t urgent,” he said. “I’ll be back before the show, and I’ll explain when I get back.”
“You will?” The hopefulness oozed into my words no matter how much I tried to hide it.
“Yes, I will. Everything you ever wanted to know about me, I promise. I just have to do this one thing for myself first. Do you understand?”
“I do,” I said softly, speaking to his chest. “Although I still think you booked this ticket only to get away from Arnold for the day.”
Anthony laughed, a relieved laugh that eased the tension. When we stepped apart, both of us wore smiles.
“Maybe a little,” he said, winking as he slipped out of the apron, exposing some boxer briefs underneath. “Bet you never thought you’d see me in an apron.”
“I’d say stranger things have happened, but I can’t think of any.” I winked back, grabbing the discarded towel hanging over the door and thwacking it hard against his backside.
He didn’t move, but his eyes darkened, dangerous and playful as he tackled me onto the bed. He set Arnold gently on the pillow before pinning me down. “Careful, Miss Luzzi.”
I laughed, wriggling underneath him. “I’m going to miss you today.”
“I’ll miss you too,” he said. “Which is why I should do this…and this…”
With each this, he spread a kiss over my collarbones. The third time around, however, Arnold had something to say about it. Screeching like a banshee, he interrupted us for the third time.
I had some choice words to say to the robot as I leapt off the bed, slipped on some clothes, and faced Anthony. I gestured between us with my pointer finger. “I guess this will have to wait until we can get a babysitter.”
Anthony rolled over, his eyes closed as he lay on the bed. He clasped a hand in exasperation over his forehead. “Kids.”
“Kids.” I grabbed my purse. “Have a good day, okay? I’m going to give Arnold to Clay while Meg and I examine the crime scene.”
“I’ll miss you.” He rolled over, winked once more, and then waved. “Bye, Arnold.”
A few minutes later, dressed in an easy sundress—because dresses are more comfortable than pants, and I needed to look presentable—I shuffled my strappy sandals next door, hiked up my sweater, and pounded on Door A.
But first, something caught my eye. Taped to the outside of Door B was a tiny envelope with my name on it. I glanced toward Meg’s door, but there was no sign of any activity yet. Slipping my finger under the lip of the envelope, I popped out a small card—the kind delivered with flower bouquets.
On the card was a single line:
Lacey—Welcome to the game.
Before I could decipher the message, rumbling noises came from inside Apartment A, like two rhinos having a pillow fight. Approximately thirty seconds later, Meg and Clay both pulled the door open at the same time.
“Got here first!” Meg said, out of breath and just as Clay called, “I won!”
I frowned, prayed they were talking about a race to the door and nothing else, and then grabbed Meg’s wrist. “Come on. There’s been another theft, and we need to check it out.”
“Cool.” Meg grabbed a cookie from a mysterious pocket in her newest vest—this one black and covered with skulls—and waved goodbye to Clay. “Hasta la vista, muchacho.”
“You know that’s not Italian, right?” I asked.
“I’m a jack of all languages,” Meg said.
“What is that?” Clay peered at the bundle in my arms. “Did you bring me a new toy?”
“You bet I did!” I said. I handed over Arnold. Since the girls hadn’t packed him any clothes except for diapers, I’d dressed him in a sheet of aluminum foil. He looked far more complex than a fake baby. Almost like one of my cousin’s infamous inventions. “I need your help, Clay. Please shut this off—completely. But don’t kill it.”
“Whaa—?” Before Clay could process the doll’s face smiling up at him, I slammed the door and raced Meg down seven flights of stairs. I beat her, but only by thirty minutes.
When she joined me a few cookies later, she held out a crumb for me. “I meant to save you one, but you were too quick. You can lick my fingers if you want.”
“No thanks.” I opened the front door to the building. “What about your diet?”
Meg grinned broadly, trailing a few feet behind me. “I think I set a record. I finished my diet in two hours and twenty-one minutes.”
“How does that happen?”
“I’m supposed to eat fifteen hundred calories today.” Meg snapped her fingers. “I was done before breakfast. Speaking of, I could use some coffee to wash down those cookies. Heavy on the milk.”
“You and me both,” I said. “Coffee first, then we fight crime.”
“So what was that thing you gave Clay?” Meg raised her eyebrow. “Looked like a weird baby.”
“Yep. His name is Arnold.”
“Cool.”
Chapter 6
Apparently Italy had not yet been introduced to the sugar bomb. Since I couldn’t find my twenty-four ounce concoctions anywhere, I settled on pouring three shots of espresso and a carton of milk into my travel mug. Anthony had probably been exaggerating about the caffeine content of these little nuggets, but if not, my blood was basically sugar and caffeine anyway.
Meg went with a chocolate muffin. Full from our new purchases, we set off toward the city center. We stopped to ask directions over ten times, finally getting lucky on attempt number eleven to find an English speaker.
“This has got to be it.” I stopped walking at the edge of a cluster of people. “How are we supposed to get inside?”
The crowd outside of Marquita Hart’s shop was already out of control. A line of cones and an array of tough-looking Italian men in dark blue uniforms held us back from
the perimeter, the shop in question roped off to all except the professionals.
Marquita’s storefront was located amidst designers who had been around for ages—household names, expensive brands. Even the perfume seeping from the stores smelled exquisite.
“Let’s do what she’s doing.” Meg pointed to a tallish, leggy brunette marching forward, a clipboard balanced against her shoulder. “She looks important.”
As the woman approached the front line of bystanders, she let fly a stream of Italian that sounded beautiful and aggressive all at once. A sheet of brunette hair washed down her back, straight and shiny, her legs clad in skinny jeans. Stilettos gave her already impressive height a few extra inches.
She wore a stretchy black tank with a cropped pink jacket over it, looking polished and professional. Apparently the cops agreed. The Carabinieri, a form of police dressed in snazzy uniforms, let her waltz through without a second glance.
“Two problems,” I whispered. “Number one, I don’t look like that. Number two, I don’t speak Italian.”
“The only problem I can smell is your lack of self-confidence,” Meg whispered. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Go get ’em, tiger.”
Thankfully, I could leave my tigress locked inside for now because at that moment, Lizabeth arrived. I waved at her, the coiled gray shock of hair a familiar bobber in a sea full of strangers.
“They’re with me.” Lizabeth flicked her fingers at the guards, nodded in our direction. “Come on girls, lovely to see you this morning. I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, thank you.” I scurried to keep up. “The apartment is perfect.”
“Wonderful! I was thrilled to find you girls already here.” Lizabeth glanced toward Marquita’s storefront. It was situated on Via Montenapoleone, the most famous shopping strip in all of Milan. “What unfortunate news. I know Marquita; she consulted with me early on, and she is a lovely woman. What a shame.”
“So you and Marquita are friends?” I asked, holding the glass door open, the eyes of a hundred Carabinieri officers honing in on the back of my skull.