She sucked in her lower lip as she considered his words.
For a second he thought she’d run. ‘There’s nowhere else for you to go.’
‘You think all Americans are delinquents, don’t you?’ She sneered. ‘You think I came all the way to Italy to get high?’
Michelangelo blinked, taken aback. At one point, before this entire tour had started, maybe he had questioned American integrity. After all, they were the ones buying his land to build luxury condos on. But, after meeting so many wonderful, hard-working people—Carly, Bertha, Trixie’s parents—he’d changed his mind.
‘It’s not you I don’t trust.’ He gestured back into the room. ‘It’s them.’ If Ricco hadn’t fallen in with a bad crowd, maybe he’d still be here today.
‘Fine. I’ll go.’ She threw her arms down and walked into the hallway. Michelangelo followed her out of the club to the street corner, where she crossed her arms and pouted. With her head down, only half of one eye peeked out under her slanted blue hair.
Michelangelo checked his watch. It would take her parents another fifteen minutes to get there, so he had to keep her busy until then. ‘Don’t like the tour?’
She shrugged and tapped her fuzzy Vans on the sidewalk.
He dug into his pocket and offered her a piece of gum.
She looked at it as though it was diseased, then she smirked. ‘I don’t take candy from strangers.’
Yeah, but she’ll take other things. ‘Take it. That way they won’t smell the alcohol on your breath.’
Gauging him with a new level of respect, she took the gum.
He leaned against a street lamp, trying to look chilled but being ready to run after her at a moment’s notice. ‘I know Italy’s not the most exciting place for someone your age.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not that. It’s just…my parents always drag me around with them and take me to the places they want to go; they never let me choose, or do my own thing. It’s like I’m their little puppy dog.’
Puppy dog was not what he was thinking. More like a crazy kitten. ‘You don’t look like a puppy dog.’
‘You’re telling me. I’m practically grown-up—heck I can order alcohol here like all the adults. Yet, they insist on treating me like a baby.’
Edda’s tour bus rounded the corner, and Michelangelo breathed with relief. The whole responsible ‘dad’ thing was a bit premature for him. Mio Dio. He needed a girlfriend first. Then he could start to think of marriage, and of having kids running around on the vineyard.
‘I’m not going to tell your parents about the drugs or the drink.’
Trixie nodded and bit her lip.
‘But I think you’re too smart for that shit. Believe me; it can get you into a whole lot of trouble.’
He didn’t care if she thought he knew from his own personal experience. He wasn’t going to go into detail about his long-lost adopted brother. Teenagers never went for sob stories. ‘I want you to think twice next time.’
She nodded distractedly as the bus pulled up. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
The doors opened and her parents ran out, throwing their arms around her. Trixie covered her face in embarrassment. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’
From the bus driver’s window, Edda gave Michelangelo a thumbs-up.
As he waved back to Edda, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Must be Ms. Maxhammer checking in.
The number was unidentified, from the United States.
Carly! He’d almost forgotten.
Feeling like a teen again, Michelangelo ran to his car and tried to curb the excitement rushing through him. Now he’d find out how good a teacher he was.
Chapter Twelve
Anytime
When Carly saw the red Fiat coming to get her, a strange sense of warmth with an edge of exhilaration came over her. She wanted to jump and giggle, and let her hair down so it fell in silken waves down her back.
Michelangelo pulled up and leaned over, opening her door for her. His hair was tousled messily, with curly waves reaching around his ears. He’d unbuttoned his shirt as well, giving her a peek at his smooth, hard, tanned chest. A hot image of him lying in bed naked shot through her mind.
Bad, Carly. Bad.
She slid into the passenger seat, stashing her oboe and her purse behind her.
He smiled as though he hadn’t seen her in forever. ‘How was the gig?’
‘Awesome.’ She adjusted her skirt over her legs. Don’t want to show him too much. ‘The violinist said I could come back and play with them anytime.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Michelangelo turned into the main road. ‘And the Italian?’
‘Went smoothly, I think.’ She laughed. ‘Let’s hope I didn’t say something stupid and not know it.’
‘I’m sure you were quite the linguist.’
‘All thanks to you.’ Blushing, she realized that could have been misinterpreted. She glanced over at his open shirt. Where was his overcoat? Was his sexy toned-down look some type of ploy to seduce her? If so, it was working way too well.
‘No. You’re a fast learner. Italian seems to come naturally, like you could have lived here in a past life.’
A past life with him? Carly bit her lip. Honestly, her imagination was in hyper-drive tonight. Must have been the after-gig glow.
Change the subject to something safer. ‘What did you do?’
Michelangelo sighed, but it seemed more stressful than anything else. ‘I’ve had quite a night.’
‘Oh, really?’
He turned toward her. ‘Trixie Williams, Bob and Lara’s daughter, went missing.’
Although a pang of worry shot through her, Carly wasn’t surprised. That girl had trouble clinging to her back. ‘She did?’
‘Don’t worry. We found her.’
She breathed with relief. ‘Thank goodness. What a scare.’ Bob and Lara had been with the orchestra for a long time and she couldn’t imagine the worry they’d been through.
‘You’re telling me. Looking for her on the streets reminded me of all the nights I spent looking for Ricco.’
Wow, here he was opening up to her again. Were all Italian men this open? ‘You really loved him, didn’t you?’
‘Of course. As a brother. My whole family adored him. I only wish he knew.’
‘He knew.’ Carly wanted to reach out and touch him, but she commanded her arm not to move. They were getting close to the hotel, and if anyone saw them together, never mind touching, the gossip would fly like wrong notes in a sight-reading session.
The light turned red and Michelangelo turned toward her. ‘Why wasn’t it enough?’
Whoa. That was a loaded question. Could love be enough to keep anyone from following the path they’d set for themselves? ‘I don’t know.’
He pulled over a half block away from the hotel. The drive had seemed like mere seconds and it was just getting interesting.
‘Why don’t you get off here so they don’t see us arriving together?’
Getting out of his car was the last thing she wanted to do, but the first thing she should do. ‘Good idea.’
He checked his watch. ‘I’ll park the car and come in a good twenty minutes after you.’
‘Thanks again for doing this for me.’ She wished he’d lean over and give her another kiss. But she had nothing she needed luck for. Her gig was over, and so was their time together.
‘Sure. No problem. Anytime.’ He glanced over with a meaningful look in his eyes.
Carly took her purse and oboe, and closed the door.
Anytime. That sounded like another invitation.
She walked the half block to the hotel remembering Michelangelo’s kiss. Her cheek still burned where his lips had brushed her skin. Even though she knew their relationship couldn’t go anywhere, she wanted another kiss, and another after that. She hadn’t felt this way about any man. Sure, she’d had some experiments in college, but no one made her want him as much as Michelangelo did.
Mayb
e even more than her music.
Which was why he was so dangerous.
Carly reined in her hormones and walked through the glass doors of the hotel. A bunch of orchestra members hung out in the lobby, whispering excitedly to one another.
Melody spotted her and waved frantically. Carly waved back, albeit with less zeal, and made a beeline toward her friend.
‘Carly, where have you been, girl?’ Melody pulled her aside to a quiet sofa by the elevators.
‘Just taking a walk.’
She scrunched her eyebrows. ‘With your oboe?’
Carly looked away, running her hand over her case. ‘Yeah, I didn’t want to leave it in my room. Lots of hotels have break-ins you know.’
Melody rubbed her chin. ‘Gosh, I hope my flute’s okay.’
She squeezed her hand, feeling guilty for lying to her best friend and for making her nervous at the same time. ‘I’m sure it is. I’m just paranoid, that’s all.’
‘Boy did you miss all the action tonight.’ Melody checked over her shoulder before turning back to Carly. ‘Did you hear Bob and Lara’s daughter went missing?’
Carly stiffened. If she said yes, then Melody might ask from whom. ‘No, really?’ She hoped her voice didn’t fall too flatly.
‘She’s okay. Just snuck off with some guy to a nightclub.’
‘Wow. They must have been so worried.’
‘Yeah, but that’s not even the surprising bit. Do you know who found her?’
This time Carly didn’t have to lie. Michelangelo had mentioned another specifically. ‘Who?’
‘The tour guide. He noticed her emo band shirt and looked up all the bands playing in the area. After finding one, he drove off on his own and convinced Trixie to meet her parents outside with no problems.’
‘Interesting.’ Even though Carly’s chest burst with awe, she made sure to keep a straight face. Why hadn’t Michelangelo told her? Too modest? Did he know she’d find out from someone else? For some strange, illogical reason, it seemed like what Mr. Darcy did in Pride and Prejudice when he found Elizabeth’s sister. Now that was romantic.
But it was also a long shot. Carly wasn’t related to the Williams, and Michelangelo definitely hadn’t proposed to her, and this was Italy, not England. So, what he had done was nothing like Pride and Prejudice at all.
‘He’s the best tour guide we could ever have. Boy, does Ms. Maxhammer know how to pick ’em.’
‘Right.’ Carly stared off into space, trying so hard not to swoon again.
‘Are you okay?’ Melody studied her face. ‘You seem withdrawn.’
‘Just tired, that’s all.’
‘Well, I won’t keep you up much longer. But I was hoping you noticed.’ She raised her left hand, and her ring finger sparkled with a heart-shaped diamond.
Carly’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s not what I think it is, is it?’
‘Mmmhmm.’ Melody beamed like she’d just won the best prize in the world.
‘Wow. This is so big. The news—I mean. Even though the ring is big, too. This is life-changing.’ Carly took her hand, examining the diamond. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ It was final. She really was losing her best friend. She couldn’t deny that Melody and Wolf were perfect for each other, but she wasn’t ready to give her friend up.
Melody placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m keeping to the promise I gave you. We can still go out after concerts and have drinks together, just like old times.’
‘Sure.’ Carly nodded, trying to be happy for her. It would start with one night a month—a girls’ night out—then Melody would cancel, and it would become one night every two months, then every six. It had happened to her other friends. And don’t even think about going out if she had kids.
‘I wanted to let you know first, so I waited by the door until you got back.’ Melody batted her dark lashes.
A pang of melancholy shot through her chest. That was the Melody she knew. ‘Thanks, Mel.’
‘You’ll always be my bff.’
‘And you, mine.’ Now the guilt came in tidal waves, hitting her conscience with every second. Carly wished she could tell her about Michelangelo, but Melody was now engaged to their boss, of all people, the last person who she wanted knowing anything about her personal life. Hadn’t she called Melody out for doing the exact same thing with Wolf when they were first going out? I’m the biggest hypocrite of them all.
Carly brought herself back to the reason why they were friends—before Wolf and Michelangelo, even before the East Hampton Civic Symphony. They’d met in school at the New England Conservatory. The intense, competitive atmosphere had weighed on her shoulders, and Melody was the only one who she could blow off steam with. She was the only student willing to give up a night of practice to go out on the town. ‘Remember that time back in school when you turned twenty-one and we ordered a whole plateful of margaritas to try out all the flavors?’
Melody laughed. ‘I haven’t thought of that in years. Boy, we were so new to the world back then. I had no idea what real life as a musician was like.’
‘Neither did I.’ Carly had always been a hard worker, but never had she thought her jobs would rule her life. Not like they did now. Maybe she needed to blow off a little steam in Italy, before she had a full meltdown. Maybe she needed Melody more than she thought.
She opened her mouth to ask Melody for a girls’ night out in Italy when Wolf came into the room. He picked Melody up and whirled her around. ‘How’s my new fiancée?’
Melody kissed him. ‘Happy to share the news.’
He glanced over. ‘My apologies, Carly. I didn’t see you.’
‘That’s okay.’ Carly stood awkwardly as unease crawled up her legs making her want to get out of there. Can you say third wheel? ‘Congratulations. I’m so happy for the both of you.’
Any thoughts of asking Melody to part with her new fiancé flew out the window. ‘I really should get going, I have some licks I need to practice before bed.’ She tapped her oboe case.
Melody threw her arms around her and squeezed. ‘We’ll spend some girl-time together soon.’
Carly left, wondering if Melody could keep her promise, or if she should hold her to it.
I’ll just have to find another way to blow off steam.
Darkness greeted Carly as she opened the door to her hotel room. Alaina was sprawled over her bed with every pillow in the room surrounding her. Carly pulled a pillow from under the diva’s arm and tossed it back to her own bed, hoping Alaina hadn’t drooled on it.
She had a lot to digest. Melody was engaged, Michelangelo was some kind of tour guide superhero, and her Italian gig had gone so well they wanted her back. How she was going to manage that connection from Boston was beyond her imagination, and her budget. But, she wouldn’t put it past herself to try.
Climbing under the sheets, she tried to calm herself. Rome’s cityscape spread before her in golden lampposts and blinking traffic lights. She was beginning to like Italy and Michelangelo a little too much for her comfort zone. But stopping it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.
The last thing Carly thought of before the city lights blurred was Michelangelo’s kiss.
*****
‘Liars! They’re liars, all of them!’
Carly squinted against the bright morning sun. An Italian newspaper hovered over her face, until someone tore it away, replacing it with a horrified Alaina.
‘Huh?’ Carly propped her head on her arm.
Alaina stared at her accusingly. ‘I looked all over for Michelangelo last night and couldn’t find him, so someone at the reception desk translated the article for me.’
‘He was saving Trixie Williams from doing something she’d regret later on.’
Alaina scrunched her eyebrows in a question.
For a moment, Carly thought she might actually care. ‘Trixie disappeared after our tour of the Basilica. Can you imagine what her poor parents went through?’
>
Alain shook the paper. ‘Can you imagine what I’m going through? This article is the first Italian review of our aria.’
Carly perked up, then remembered how much the aria sucked. Her stomach sickened. ‘Do I really want to know what it said?’
Alaina held up the paper and read from the pen scribbles on the side. ‘Signora Amaldi’s performance was more like a drowning woman’s shriek for help than any ode to love. Her over-the-top vocals and melodrama was only worsened by the oboist’s robotic joke of an accompaniment.’
A wrecking ball smashed into Carly’s confidence. ‘Ouch.’
‘My career is ruined.’ Alaina collapsed on her bed and buried her head in the pillows, sobbing.
Taking the crumpled paper, Carly reread the article to make sure the man at the front desk had translated it correctly. No one would be that nasty, would they?
She struggled with some of the grammar and had to look up a few words on the app on her phone, but Michelangelo had taught her well.
The man at the front desk had translated word for word, if not softening the blow by using ‘drowned woman’ instead of ‘drowned prostitute.’ Looked like Carly had some damage control to do before Alaina started demanding a new oboist.
‘Listen. Your career is not ruined. We have another performance in Florence tomorrow. We’ll practice it again and try different tempos and dynamics. You hire more newspapers to cover the performance, and soon they’ll be singing your praises.’
Half of Alaina’s face peered out from the pillows. Mascara ran down her cheek to stain the satin sheets. Her nose was as red as her hair. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise I’ll do my best. I can’t put words in the critics’ mouths. That’s up to them.’ Hopefully they’d cooperate, or Carly would have to burn every paper in Italy.
‘When can we start?’
‘What’s on the schedule today?’
Alaina checked her pamphlet, sniffling. ‘Some tour of a museum.’
Desire panged in Carly’s chest. She wanted to see Michelangelo again, even if it was just to hear him ramble on about historical facts. But her career was more important. ‘Okay, we’ll call Michelangelo and cancel to stay here and practice.’
An American Girl in Italy Page 9