White Lies (A Twisted Fate Series) (Volume 1)

by Kristin Mayer

  “That must be hard.”

  Tack understood where I came from, which helped. “It is.” I got into bed. “Will you read me something, Tack?”

  I heard shifting on the other side of the phone. “What would you like me to read to you?”

  “Anything.”

  Tonight, the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. Tonight I wanted to distance myself from it all.

  “It was a time of old. A time of new. It was a time for all men to unite.” Tack’s voice chased away all of my demons as I settled into a deep sleep.

  Last night had been intimate as I fell asleep to the sound of Tack reading to me. There had been no nightmares to chase away. I had peace while I slept.

  The tolling of the bells brought my attention back to the Duomo. People milled about below. Tourists were easy to spot with their maps and confused looks. Some looked up at the Duomo with awe. I loved watching people fall in love with Italy.

  From the first time my parents brought me here, I’d been a goner as I fell in love with the city. Early in the mornings while Mom slept, Dad would bring me to one of the artesian squares. We’d set up our canvases and paint the dawn until Mom called us home for breakfast.

  Those were happy times. The best. I wished I had them back.

  The beautiful city’s sounds comforted me as they wafted in through the open balcony door while I set about unpacking. Halfway through my suitcase I remembered to let Tack know I’d arrived.

  Rummaging through my bag, I was unable to find my phone. “Shit. Where is it?”

  Then I remembered stuffing it in the side pocket.

  Me: Made it. I have a beautiful view of the city.

  Tack: I’m glad. I hoped you thought of me on the plane over there.

  Me: Are you flirting with me?

  Tack: Maybe. Is it working?

  Me: Hmmm… send me chocolates and I’ll say yes.

  Tack: Done.

  Me: Thank you for reading to me last night.

  Tack: Anytime, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.

  Tack was kind. I wondered what the woman he’d loved had done to break his heart. It had to have been terrible. My mind became occupied with possibilities while I finished putting my clothes in the armoire. Yawning, I decided to take a nap. My energy was zapped.

  It was a perfect morning. Manicured within an inch of my life after using the spa services, I was fresh from a nap, sitting on the balcony and sketching in my notepad. My damp hair piled on top of my head allowed the fresh air to invigorate me. Being a wingman definitely paid off.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  “Ms. Russo. It’s Tomas. I have a delivery for you.”

  I put my sketchbook aside as I called, “Coming!”

  When I opened the door, the bellhop looked at ease. Things must have gone well today, which was good. “Good evening, Ms. Russo. This came for you.”

  I didn’t expect anything.

  A cream envelope was adhered to a black box with a ribbon. “Thank you, Tomas. Have a wonderful evening.”

  “You, too, Ms. Russo.”

  It had been a while since I received a gift. I figured it was from Carson, who was always doing small things like this for me.

  The door closed. As I took the envelope out from underneath the silk ribbon, I noticed my name was written in an elegant script.

  Slipping my index finger underneath the seal of the envelope, I pulled it apart.

  I opened it and covered my mouth.

  My heart skipped a few beats with the romantic gesture. Tack. I was filled with anxiousness to be near him again. Over the past week, things had changed—or rather I allowed them to change. There had been something more since the moment we first met, but the timing was off. The timing was still a little off considering the uphill battle I faced. But it had become impossible to keep my emotions at bay. I wanted to feel again. Even if this went nowhere, I wanted to enjoy the journey.

  Words from Dad echoed through my mind. “To take a chance on love is worth everything.” By no means were we in love, but sometimes it was important to let your heart guide you, regardless of how fragile it felt. Hopefully, through this journey, my already-broken state wouldn’t become shattered.

  Inside the box sat elegant chocolates wrapped in tissue, like I’d asked for. In fact, they were dark chocolate truffles—my favorite. An excited giggle came out. I took a bite, and the chocolate melted in my mouth. It was succulent. I let out a small moan as the rich chocolate assaulted my taste buds.

  Not able to wait a minute more, I ran to the burner phone and dialed his number.

  Me: I got your gift. Thank you! Truffles are my favorite. Especially Italian truffles.

  Tack: I’m glad you like them. Did you read the note?

  I wasn’t able to wipe the grin off my face as I gave a very Tack-like response.

  Me: Yes.

  I let out a little surprised scream when the phone rang.

  Tentatively, I answered. “Hello?”

  “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

  Those butterflies returned in full force. “Maybe.”

  The deep vibrations from his chuckle brought more excitement. This was crazy how utterly schoolgirlish I felt.

  “Can you give me a little more? It’s been a while since I’ve put myself out there like this. I’m nervous.”

  That sobered me. Again, Tack was transparent in so many ways when it came to his emotions, it felt like I knew him on a deeper level. It both thrilled and daunted me at the same time. “I feel it, too, Tack. But it scares me. You say we’ve met, but I don’t know who you are.”

  “I’m scared, too. You know me, Willow. What we’ve shared over the last few weeks is more than skin deep.”

  I listened to his words. “It is.”

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  “Willow. It’s Carson.”

  I let out a deep breath, not ready for Carson to see me using a burner phone. “Carson is at the door. I need to go.”

  “Be safe. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thank you…” I wanted to say for bringing me back to life, giving me faith in finding something more again, protecting me. But I ended it simply, hoping he understood my meaning. “For everything.”

  “You, too, sweetheart.”

  Disconnecting the call, I said to Carson, “Coming. Give me just a sec.”

  There wasn’t proper time to dissect our conversation and soothe my frayed nerves.

  Opening the door revealed a freshly showered Carson in a gunmetal gray suit. “Aw, you look adorable for your date.”

  Tonight, Carson was seeing Francesca alone at my insistence. They needed it. And now, I was glad I would have time to myself, too.

  He dragged a hand down his face, and I saw the panic in his eyes. “I’m nervous. Can you come take a look at something and tell me what you think before Francesca gets here?”

  “Of course.”

  I grabbed my room key and followed Carson down the hall, enjoying this new side of him. Never before had he acted like this over a girl. I wanted to gibe him about it, but by the looks of him, it might push him over the edge. I mashed my lips together to keep from chuckling at the poor guy.

  He walked faster. It took a slight jog for me to keep up with him. No doubt he was more than nervous. Turning the corner, I saw white rose petals on the floor forming a trail to the end of the corridor.

  I picked up a petal and smelled it. Roses were my favorite. “This is so sweet. Where do they lead?”

  No response. Carson took off again. Looney bird. No. Lovesick looney bird. I quickened my pace as we followed the trail and made a left at the end. The sign on the door read Rooftop Access.

  What does he have planned? Is he proposing? I kept my questions to myself.

  The door opened, and we walked up a small set of stairs. There were more flowers and lighted luminaries along the path.

  It w
as brilliantly beautiful.

  The sweet smell of roses and begonias filled the air. Twinkle lights hung from the pergola as the last rays of the sun cast oranges, reds and purples across the encroaching night sky. It was as if the stars were falling from heaven. I never wanted to leave.

  In the middle of a table sat a covered dish and a bottle of Cristal.

  Up here was most breathtaking view of the Duomo. Before we left, I was going to come up here and draw.

  “Are you proposing?” I had to ask. By all means, I was happy for him—just surprised if he said yes, considering no one had met her yet.

  Carson turned white as a ghost, and I suppressed my laugh. I had my answer. “No. Fuck no. I mean, not now. It’s too soon. I just wanted to do something special for her.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Calm down. She’s going to love it. And if she doesn’t, then she must be crazy.” Carson still looked nervous. “Relax.”

  “Look at this one last thing. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. I figured we’d have dinner over there and then maybe…”

  The doors opened to what was probably some sort of entertaining room but had been turned into a bedroom. For the second time tonight I gasped loudly, getting what the maybe implied. “Carson… wow.”

  I walked to the four-poster canopy bed in the middle of the room. Candles burned, giving it a faint aroma I wasn’t able to place, and added to the ambience with the flowers. The sheer drapes of the canopy were soft as silk as I ran my fingers over the fabric.

  “This is truly amazing. If she doesn’t like it, tell me. I want to sleep up here. It’s like a fairytale.”

  Finally, my best friend released some of the tension in his shoulders. “Good. You don’t think it’s presumptuous?”

  I turned my hands up. “I mean, it says you plan on some festivities happening. But, I assume you guys have already… umm… had a few festivals.” Carson laughed, and I was glad to see him loosening up. Placing my hand on his arm, I advised, “I would have dinner first and see how it progresses. But if it progresses, yeah, this is perfect.”

  “Good. I want her to have a perfect night. She’s had a rough few weeks.”

  My heart melted.

  A slight breeze blew from the windows up along the top of the wall.

  “It is perfect.”

  He checked the time. “Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

  Giving him a kiss on the cheek, I wished him luck before I hurried back to my balcony. On the plane ride over, Carson had showed me a picture of Francesca. She was breathtaking. It was a candid shot of her, which showed off her simplistic beauty and chocolate-brown eyes so full of life. Her kind smile reached all the way to her eyes.

  I felt like a stalker watching the entrance, but I couldn’t help it. A white car pulled up, and she got out. She laughed with the bellmen as she handed him her keys before disappearing into the building.

  Francesca seemed kind and loving. I was beyond happy for Carson. He deserved to find love.

  Not hearing from Carson all night probably meant the festivities had indeed occurred. That was about as in depth as I wanted to think about my friend. Any more than that became a no-go area for me. This evening we were eating at a restaurant on the Ponte Vecchio. There was a café there I loved. Dad and I had eaten there with Carson many times. Visiting would be bittersweet as I knew memories of Dad might become overwhelming, but I wanted to embrace those times and not shun them like I had.

  Baby steps.

  I checked the time. It was midmorning. Soon it would be time to head to the Uffizi around noon to see my father’s painting, La Primavera by Botticelli. The museum had been more than accommodating. The painting would be relocated to a private viewing area.

  As the time moved closer, a lump formed in my throat. Anticipation filled me at the thought of seeing it for the first time since Dad’s death and knowing it was never coming home again. Dad knew I would never go against his wishes and remove the painting.

  This would be tough. Taking a sip of my hot tea, I watched the birds fly around the Duomo, finding solace in the beauty. The caretaker of our villa here had reached out to me this morning after hearing I was in town. He wanted to know if I planned to come home. Home. The word had struck me hard in his message. It was too soon, the memories too raw. Maybe toward the end of summer I’d return and take that step.

  If only I had one more trip here with Dad. If only a lot of things were different.

  My phone chimed with a text from Carson.

  Carson: Are you in your room? Can we swing by?

  We? I set my tea down as I quickly typed out a reply. Maybe, I wasn’t going to have to wait until this evening to meet Francesca.

  Me: We? Sure. I have to leave in about an hour to head to the Uffizi.

  Carson: Francesca is with me. I’m glad you’re going. If you need me to come, I’ll be there.

  Me: I know. But, I need to do this on my own.

  Oh, la la. I was going to meet Francesca.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Geez, they must have been outside my door already. Quickly, I jogged from my balcony to the door. Carson beamed as Francesca stood beside him. There was a glow about her. Love. No doubt about it. Dad always said someone’s soul shined brighter when they found their true match. It was truly a magnificent thing.

  I greeted her in Italian. “You must be Francesca. Wonderful to meet you.”

  She stepped forward. “So nice to meet you, Willow. I’ve heard so much about you. Carson is truly blessed to have a friend like you. I’m sorry about your late husband.”

  Pity clouded her eyes. I knew Carson hadn’t told her everything. It was my story to tell, and the fewer who knew the better at this point. “Thank you.” Gesturing to the room, I said, “Come in. Please.”

  Carson put his hand on Francesca’s waist, and she responded by leaning into him slightly. I loved the involuntary reactions love brought out of a person. “Francesca has to get back to the vineyard, and I have a meeting across town. We can’t stay, but she wanted to meet you.”

  “I’m glad you stopped by. I can’t wait for dinner tonight.”

  Leaning in, we did the European two-cheek-kiss thing as we said good-bye. Francesca responded, “Neither can I.”

  She gazed at Carson as they walked down the hall. She spoke English flawlessly. My friend’s life was about to change forever as he fully gave his heart to someone. I loved being able to be part of this. Bennett and Marie were going to be thrilled when Carson told them.

  Ten minutes after they left, I grabbed my purse and slung it over my head so it draped across my chest. The anxiousness of going to the museum had returned tenfold. I needed some fresh air to soothe my nerves.

  The sun greeted me as I left the hotel. Scooters zoomed by. The streets were alive with people. I loved feeling the cobblestones underneath my feet as I wandered the city in aimless circles. On a whim, I got some gelato, knowing it would help. Like Mom said, ice cream could solve any problem. I always ordered the stracciatella. It was similar to chocolate chip ice cream… but better.

  From time to time, it felt like someone was watching me, but I never noticed anyone out of place. It was probably my imagination.

  As I finished the last spoonful in my cup, I arrived at the Uffizi. I remembered the first time I came to this museum with Dad. He spent hours telling me about the amazing works by Anna Maria Luisa the Medici family had preserved and later donated for the world to enjoy.

  At one time, the Uffizi had been a palace belonging to the Medici family. The first time I saw the Birth of Venus by Botticelli, I’d been mesmerized by the masterpiece. It nearly encompassed an entire wall. The colors. The attention to detail. The symbolism. All of it captured my heart, forever sealing my fate as an artist.

  Dad had been beyond thrilled we were able to share that love. Mom had always said we spoke our own language.

  I took a deep breath as my foot landed on the first concrete step. I st
ared at the building, knowing it was time to see the painting. The wind blew, and I felt a sense of peace. Dad. It was as if his presence wanted me to know everything was going to be okay.

  My lips tightened as I regained control of my emotions. I wasn’t through the door yet, and I felt the tears building.

  A middle-aged man, whom I recognized as the curator, met me in the lobby, and we conversed in Italian. “Signorina Russo, it’s so wonderful to have you here. We have everything set up. Do you need anything?”

  “I’m good, Signor Penzo. Thank you for being so accommodating on such short notice. I wasn’t sure if I’d be ready to see the painting so soon after Dad’s death.”

  He shook his head. “Your father was one of a kind. He loved this city. We are honored he chose to loan his artwork to the Uffizi indefinitely. It is truly a masterpiece meant for the world to see.” That was what Dad had said in his will. He wanted to the world to benefit from the beauty of the painting. I understood, but it was hard letting something so close to my heart remain halfway around the world. Signor Penzo gestured to the right. “This way, Signorina.”

  The wood floors creaked beneath our feet as we left the main tourist area and headed to a secluded part of the gallery. As I passed the last entrance way, I looked to the left. Goosebumps covered my skin, and I paused.

  “Signorina Russo, right this way. We have the Botticelli in a secluded area.” I gave him a slight nod and followed. We came to a door, and the man stopped. “You won’t be disturbed. Philipe will be standing at the door if you need anything. Take as long as you like.”

  “Thank you.” I gave the man in the officer’s uniform a smile and received a nod in return.

  Signor Penzo left, and I stared at the doorknob. This was it. I can do this. With a fortifying breath, I opened the door.

  At the end of the room, the painting hung in all its magnificence with the correct amount of light shining on it to display it perfectly.