As he took her arm, she looked at him with suspicion. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m you son, mamma. Michelangelo, remember?’
A moment of tension squeezed his heart before her eyes softened. ‘Ah, yes. Tell your father to get in before dark. He shouldn’t be working in the rain.’
Michelangelo blinked back tears. It was easier to go along with her than have her discover her husband had passed away again and again. ‘I will. Let’s get you back to your room.’
Lila rushed down the stairs. The middle-aged nurse had pulled her graying black hair in a bun. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She looked five years older than when he last saw her. ‘Oh, Grazie a Dio! I went to the bathroom for five minutes and she disappeared.’
‘It’s okay. I’ve got her.’ Michelangelo took his mother’s left arm while Lila took the other. His mother was hard to care for, and he hoped Lila wasn’t thinking about quitting like the last three nurses. Sure, he could put his mother in a home, but he really believed the winery helped her retain some of her memories. To take her out of where she’d spent the majority of her life would speed up the progression of the Alzheimer’s. He just couldn’t do it.
They put his mother to bed, and Michelangelo tucked her in, kissing her forehead.
She grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Where’s Ricco? I haven’t seen that boy in a long time.’
This time, Michelangelo couldn’t play the game. ‘He left remember?’
She nodded. ‘Your father should have never kicked him out.’
‘I know.’ But it was senseless trying to go back and fix the past. That’s why it was hard to be with his mother, because that’s all she talked about. The past was her only reality now.
‘You find him for me. Tell him to come home.’
‘I’ll try, mamma.’ He squeezed her hand, then joined Lila in the hall.
Lila closed the door slowly, leaving it open just a crack. ‘She’s been acting up lately. I think she senses the tension with everything going on.’
‘Of course. You are doing a wonderful job. It’s me who has to step up to the plate.’
Guilt hit him hard in the gut. How could he be romancing Carly at a time like this? When he got back to his tour job, he’d have to tone it down if he was ever going to save this place and his mother.
‘Nonsense.’ Lila gave him a stern look. ‘You’re working hard to keep everything together.’ She patted his arm. ‘You’re doing just fine. I know you’ll figure something out. Things have a way of working themselves out.’
He wished he had her certainty. ‘I’d better. If not, I won’t be able to afford the best care for my mother, and she’s just getting worse.’
‘She comes back to us now and then on the days she’s feeling well enough to take a walk outside. Then, I get a glimpse of the passionate and strong-willed woman who raised you so well.’
On the days she walks outside…even more reason to believe moving her would only accelerate her condition. He had to keep the winery. ‘You’re right about that. She was strong, sometimes too much so.’ He leaned against the wall. He knew Herb was waiting, but he wanted to relay this one particular story to Lila to show her how much fire his mother once had. ‘Once, she told off a customer who’d complained about the quality of the wine—she said they couldn’t tell Chardonnay from Merlot.’
Lila laughed. ‘I bet she did.’
‘Not only that, but she told the staff not to sell them any more wine. Said they didn’t deserve it.’
‘Now that’s what I call a healthy dose of pride.’
Michelangelo could still see his mother for what she had been, and not the ghost of a person she was now. ‘Thank you for taking care of her.’
The older woman nodded, smoothing all of the stray wisps of hair around her face. ‘I do my best. Now you’d better get down to the patio before Herb-money-pockets decides to put those tractors to use.’
‘I will.’ He glanced back through the crack in the door at his mother. Her breathing had slowed and steadied. At least she slept soundly.
Michelangelo waved to Isabel as he walked back through the office. ‘You go home and get some rest. I’ll handle this.’
‘Si, signore.’ She shut down the computer and wiggled her finger in the air. ‘You stick to your ground. Remember, he’s not supposed to be on this property until his end of the deal is signed.’
He waved the paperwork. ‘Thank you for looking into it.’
She smiled, lifting a lunch bag to her shoulder. ‘That’s my job.’
He’d recovered some of his composure after seeing his mother. He hadn’t driven for three hours for nothing. He would end this one way or another.
Michelangelo walked across the patio toward the apple trees. Maybe it was the brightness of the moon, or the feeling that his world was falling apart, but more of the tiles seemed cracked and broken. He made a mental note to call a mason, if he didn’t lose the property.
‘Lovely night.’ Herb spoke in his lazy southern-American accent and tipped his cowboy hat. He had the charming roundness and inviting smile of Santa Claus, which Michelangelo always thought was misleading.
‘It is.’ Michelangelo crossed his arms. ‘Although, I’m not sure why you’re here.’
‘Hey, now, don’t get your plastic sword all up in a twist. The landlord said I could store these here since I’ll be closing on a deal with him by the end of next week—that’s if you can’t come up with the money. So, I’m just coming to inspect my property and make sure it’s all working up to speed.’
Michelangelo tensed. Did he mean testing it out?
‘Come to stop me, eh?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Michelangelo’s tone meant business, and Herb dropped his comical friendliness.
‘Listen, son.’ He put a hand on Michelangelo’s arm. ‘You know I’ve been eyeing this property for some time.’
Michelangelo shrugged his arm off.
Herb picked a blossom from the apple tree and sniffed it. ‘It’s a beautiful piece of Italy, and could make a lot of my oil-tycoon friends in Texas very happy. The winery’s had its days of glory. But let’s face it: the estate is run-down. It’s not making the same money as it used to, and who’s gonna run it? A daft old widow.’
Michelangelo stepped toward him. ‘Don’t talk about my mother like that.’
Herb raised both his hands in apology. ‘I’m just speaking the truth.’
‘I’m going to run it, Mr. Ranger,’ Michelangelo growled. ‘And I’m going to turn this place around.’
Herb nodded as if he’d predicted this. ‘I know your daddy had big plans. But do you really want to spend your youth toiling over a bad investment? All good things must come to an end. Why not end it now and walk away?’
Michelangelo sighed. Was he here to preserve his family’s heritage because that’s what his dad had wanted? Or was he following his own dream? Driving back up here had reminded him of everything he loved about the vineyard. He’d missed the place just like he missed an old friend. Being a farmer like his father had always been his childhood dream. He’d never wanted to leave. Even if he found a job in the city, he’d always pine for the rows of green and the buzzing of the insects.
The winery ran in his blood, and it was an urge he couldn’t ignore.
‘I’m not going to do that, signore.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I’m going to find a way to buy this land. I could call the authorities, but I thought we could handle this man to man.’
Herb kicked a chipped tile. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I’ll offer you this: Give me the time allotted to find the money for this month, and if I don’t come up with it, I won’t give you any problems when the deal closes. But in the meantime, stay off my winery.’
‘Fair enough.’ Herb nodded and his smile sent a chill through Michelangelo’s heart—as though he’d just made a deal with the devil.
Chapter Sixteen
Locked Heart
‘Man, do I have a meat
hangover today.’ Al clutched his stomach as he moved over so Carly could take her seat beside him on the bus. She still hadn’t been able to switch with anyone despite her constant pestering—which said a lot about Al.
He studied her face. ‘So what happened to Mr. Romeo?’
‘You mean Michelangelo?’ It was hard to say his name without wincing.
‘Yeah, our “dreamy” tour guide.’ He said the word dreamy in a high-pitched voice like a teenage girl.
She shrugged as Edda pulled the bus away from the hotel. ‘I’m guessing he had some emergency.’
An older violinist turned around in her seat. ‘I heard from Ms. Maxhammer he’d gone to Milan early to make preparations for our tour of the Galleria tomorrow and our next concert on Tuesday. She said he’d join us there.’
Interesting. If he’d planned to go anyway, why did he run out of the banquet in such a rush? Had something gone wrong with the planning and he was trying to smooth it out before they got there? Or was it something worse? A bigger secret he was hiding from them all.
‘Was there a problem with our reservation?’ Carly tried to keep her suspicion from her tone.
The older woman shrugged. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘See, what you need is a guy like me, someone who stays in the same seat with you on the bus.’ Al grinned.
Carly gave him a nasty look. She couldn’t have him thinking she was interested in Michelangelo, and she also couldn’t have him believing she was available. ‘I thought you were into Alaina, and before that, the girl at the front desk at our first hotel.’
He winked. ‘Today I’m into you.’
‘Oh shove it up your trombone.’
His face paled. ‘Geez, I was only kidding.’
She pulled out her phone and responded to e-mails as they drove to Milan. Women Reeds were doing surprisingly well without her. They had a few concerts with just flutes and clarinets, and the second-in-command was handling all of the press and program printing. Carly’s students all had their own vacations and summer music camps, and no e-mails from Dino. She did have an e-mail from Mario, however, asking her if she’d be available to play future gigs with the Italian chamber orchestra in Rome.
As Carly considered his offer, and how in the hell to get to Rome from Boston, they reached the sprawling city of Milan. Looking much more modern than Rome and Florence, Milan had glassy skyscrapers and other office buildings scattered through the ancient streets. They pulled up to the Galleria and Michelangelo stood waving on the curb.
A mix of distrust, excitement, and wistful longing erupted inside her, and she could barely keep herself sitting still in her seat as the doors opened and he walked up the steps to the intercom.
‘Greetings, my dear orchestra friends. Welcome to Milan, the second-largest city in Italy. This city was founded by the Insubres, a Celtic people, and later conquered by the Romans. Milan is the main industrial, financial, and commercial city of Italy, and is also the home of the Italian stock exchange, the Borsa Italiana.’
He glanced down at his hand as he had done before, and Carly wanted to jump out of her seat and turn his palm over to see what was there. Didn’t anyone else notice, or were they all so taken by his charm they didn’t care?
Michelangelo’s eyes fell on her, and he quickly looked away. ‘The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II is the oldest shopping mall in Italy. It is named after the first king of the Kingdom of Italy and originally designed in 1861 and built by Giuseppe Mengoni between 1865 and 1877.’
Carly glanced over to Reena to see if she had any violent reaction to his dates, but the cellist sat calmly with her hands folded in her lap.
Guess he got those facts correct.
Michelangelo gestured toward the door. ‘Follow me and you’ll have the shopping experience of your lives.’
Because Al had chosen the window seat, he followed Carly down the aisle. There would be no time to confront Michelangelo about his disappearance the previous night. Any allusion to their meeting would certainly draw attention.
As they filed off the bus, Michelangelo locked eyes with hers. As hard as she looked, she couldn’t understand the complexity of his gaze. It was something like guilt mixed with hope. But something else as well, something he was hiding.
As she walked past him, he slipped his hand into hers and left a small piece of paper. ‘Hope you enjoy the tour.’
Carly nodded, unable to react to his note in front of Al. Apprehension bubbling inside her, she stepped off the bus and walked toward the Galleria. As she unfolded the note, she turned her back to the other orchestra members toward the grand arched entrance to the shopping mall. The crowd of people entering and leaving was more than enough to hide her hands and discreetly read the note.
His handwriting was gorgeous, with strong, sure strokes. My apologies for last night, there was a last-minute emergency that had to be taken care of. No worries. All is well.
She turned the note over, but nothing else was written on it. No further explanation or request to meet. Had he changed his mind about her?
Disappointment trickled through her even as she told herself it was all for the best. He was probably some playboy tour guide womanizer more interested in the ladies than the actual history and dates. If she was at all sane, she’d stay away from him.
They entered the Galleria, and Carly stared up at the arched glass ceilings. The midday sun shone through, illuminating the four-story building façades and mosaic-tiled floor. The luxurious storefronts of Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Swarovski lined the walkways. It was nothing she needed or could afford, but pretty to look at nonetheless and a great way to get her mind off Michelangelo and the looming concert, which was her and Alaina’s last chance to prove themselves on that ridiculous aria.
Michelangelo began reciting historical facts about the Galleria, taking them on a full tour before going into the shops. They stopped at the mosaic tile in the center, where it was custom to spin your heel on the bull.
While the orchestra members took turns spinning their heels, Michelangelo snapped pictures. Carly wandered off to window shop, trying her best not to entangle herself further into Michelangelo’s schemes. Even if she was thankful for him teaching her Italian and driving her to her gig, her gratitude had to stop there. Sure, she had a pull toward him that she’d never had with any man before, but her playing and her career was more important.
She walked up to a jewelry store with giant diamonds and rubies shaped like hearts in the front window. The retailer inside wore a finely tailored suit. He glanced up at her as she browsed, with interest in his eyes.
Nope, not going in there.
She walked over to the next shop, which was selling leather purses.
Even if she and Michelangelo had gotten together, it would lead to more heartbreak in the end when she returned home. All this was definitely for the best.
She glanced over to the center of the Galleria. The orchestra had moved on, and Michelangelo stood beside a café, explaining how the founder in 1867 was the pastry chef to the monarch.
She gravitated toward the edge of the group, listening in. Michelangelo had a waitress come out of the café with a tray of white pastries with cherry glaze in the center. As the orchestra each sampled one, he stepped aside. Alaina pushed to the tray like a vulture after roadkill. She’d be occupied for the next five minutes at least.
Carly’s heart sped. Stay where you are, young lady! No, go ask him about the emergency. Really, it would be rude not to. As much as his strange behavior made her question him, she couldn’t help feeling indebted, annoyed, and just a little intrigued. Besides, she had to look out for the orchestra, and if there was something he wasn’t telling them, he could be conning Ms. Maxhammer out of a lot of their tour fund money.
Now was her chance.
She wiggled her way over to the tables outside the café. Michelangelo took a seat at one, checking something on his phone. He glanced up at her, and his face hardened as if she was a matter he wa
sn’t prepared to deal with. He shut off the screen to his phone and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Ms. Davis.’
She took the seat next to him, wondering every second why she was doing it. ‘I trust everything went okay last night?’
‘Yes, yes. Just a small inconvenience.’ His fingers drummed along the table. ‘My apologies again.’
An awkward silence fell between them. Now what, Einstein? Carly had gone over there for answers, and answers were what she’d get.
She steeled her nerves. ‘Why did you tell Reena that the Brotherhood of the Manifesto built St. Peter’s?’
A small smile curved in his lips. ‘She mentioned it, eh?’
Carly contained her own smile. It was funny, even if it wasn’t true. ‘She looked it up, and she’s not too happy about the results.’
He traced a circle with his finger on the table. ‘Well, maybe she didn’t use the right source.’
Fair enough, but she wasn’t going to let him get away without other answers. She grabbed his hand and turned over his palm. The skin on the other side was clean, with nothing written on it.
He raised an eyebrow in a look that said you really want to do this here?
She dropped his hand again before anyone saw. ‘What do you keep looking at in your hand when we’re on our trips?’
Michelangelo shifted in his chair and breathed in slowly. ‘That is not your concern.’
‘What about keeping your appointments?’
He put both arms on the table and rubbed his temples. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about asking you to meet me and then not being there. And I’m sorry I led you on. I really do like you…a lot.’ Intensity flared in his eyes. ‘Too much. But we both know this isn’t the time for romance, whether we want it or not.’
Carly blushed. Her words stuck in her mouth. Romance? He likes me a lot? She couldn’t believe this Casanova was the one pulling away, calling it quits before the fun had even started. Heck, he’d almost had her, and now this? None of it made sense.
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