Murphy's Law

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Faith’s eyebrows rose. The Sardinian telecom wizard was legendary. He had parlayed a small computer dealership into one of the largest telecommunications industries in the world. It made AT&T look like a mom and pop grocery store.

  “The Foundation will be working closely with the University of Siena Math Department. I will be Vice President of the Foundation.”

  “Sounds interesting.” That was an understatement. It sounded like a groundbreaking event. What a privilege to be one of the first to hear of it!

  “Yes, very.” Leonardo poured her some more wine.

  She sipped, getting a little buzz from the alcohol, a bigger buzz from the feeling of being on the inside of something new and big.

  “We’re calling in the best people we can find to carry out study programs within the foundation. And that’s why, my dear Faith—” He filled her glass again.

  How had her glass gotten empty so soon?

  “That’s why Renato and I thought we’d like to offer you a year’s contract, starting now. He was quite taken with your paper.”

  “That’s nice—” she started, then stopped. Everything stopped for an instant. Brain, heart, breath. Her eyes widened. “A year’s—you want…me?”

  “Now you mustn’t worry about your job at Southbury, my dear.” Leonardo patted her hand. “I’ve already spoken with Griffin and he’s willing to suspend your contract for a year, with a guaranteed job after the year is over. He said it was worth it to the department to have someone from Southbury working on such an important project.”

  Faith’s head swam. “Leonardo, I don’t know what to say. I just—”

  “Well, you say yes, of course.” He frowned at her. “We do understand you’ll have to give up your apartment, your job and your friends for a full year, but we can make it worth your while. We were thinking of a stipend of eighty thousand dollars for the year.”

  She choked. Her salary last year had been on the stingy side of thirty thousand dollars and it covered bread, but not butter, and certainly not jam. Eighty thousand dollars would mean walking in tall corn.

  She would have to give up a one-room, basement apartment the landlord called a studio apartment, but which had originally been the laundry room. It was damp and cold in the winter, and damp and hot in the summer. Her friends…the only real friends she had were Lou and Nick, and they came over here often anyway.

  “We would pay for an apartment in the center of Siena and moving costs. Say…ten thousand? Tax free, of course. Americans abroad don’t pay taxes on the first hundred thousand dollars, so the money would be free and clear.”

  “This is so sudden.” She shook her head, wondering if the alcohol had damaged her brain. “It’s hard to—”

  “We’ll pay your trip back, so you can wrap things up in Southbury. Business class, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. She’d never flown anything but cattle class.

  A group of youngsters sitting at the next table over burst into song. The way she was feeling it should have been the theme from Rocky, but a contrada song did just fine. Just fine.

  “Ah, that’s settled then.” Leonardo sat back in his chair with a sigh and pulled a green bottle from a bucket of ice under his chair. “Pinot Brut,” he said reverently, and popped the cork. He gestured to one of the boys, who brought some champagne flutes on the run.

  Richard had been talking to Jean-Pierre on his right, but turned his head at the pop. “So she accepted, eh? Jolly good. It’s going to be an interesting mix of people at the foundation. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of you, Faith. I’m going to be a foundation consultant.”

  He held out his big hand and Leonardo put a flute in it. Richard downed it in one swallow. “Ah, fine stuff. I’m really looking forward to spending a lot of time here.” He winked at Faith and held the glass out again.

  “You knew?” she asked. “You knew Leonardo was going to ask me? Is that what you were talking about?”

  “Sure,” he said, sipping his second glass more slowly. “Leonardo asked me what I thought about the idea, and I said absolutely.” He flicked food from his beard and his wild, intelligent eyes lit up. “I have a colleague at Cambridge who’s working on non-linear economic behavior. He’ll be coming in for week-long seminars. You’ll like him. He said he wanted to work on a project with you.”

  Leonardo poured some spumante for Jean-Pierre and slid it down the table. “Félicitations, chérie,” Jean-Pierre said, lifting his flute.

  Up the hill, Grif saw the spumante and celebratory air and grinned. He clasped his hands and raised them over his shoulders like a prizefighter who’d won the championship. Grif turned to Madeleine sitting next to him and said something.

  Madeleine straightened and shot Faith a vicious look, chilling her. Then Faith shrugged. The hostility was Madeleine’s problem, not hers.

  Leonardo nodded to Grif and shot his thumb in the air. He turned to Faith. “Griffin was certain you’d say yes, my dear. But I haven’t actually heard you say it. So what’s your answer? Will you accept a year’s contract at the New Economy Foundation?”

  A man’s voice called something out and the table around her erupted in laughter and cheers, the noise echoing off the walls.

  It was almost night. Only a faint glow remained in the sky. The street was lit by torches fixed into slots in the ground and candles on the tables. It would have been a romantic, dreamy scene except for the nervous energy erupting all around her. She’d never felt so alive in all her life.

  “Yes,” Faith said. “Oh, yes.”

  Three hours later, the noise had died down. Kids were sleeping in their parents’ arms. The torches set along the walls were guttering.

  Faith had been accepting congratulations all night, shouting to be heard above the boisterous voices of the Eagle contrada. She’d downed six glasses of Pinot Brut to keep her throat moist and her head was swimming. In the nicest possible way. From the job offer, from the friendly vibes of her colleagues—Madeleine barely registered on her radar—from the radiant night.

  Several of the conference participants were standing up, ready to gather their things and make their way to the bus that was waiting to take them back to the Certosa. The conference was officially over, but many had elected to spend the night and stay over to see the Palio the next day. And many had made unofficial but important appointments to talk over breakfast.

  Richard Allen stood up and Faith had to crane her neck to follow his long length. It made her dizzy.

  And that was when she saw him.

  Nick, leaning against the street corner, arms crossed, watching her. She had no idea how long he’d been there.

  Her heart gave a massive thump in her chest, bigger than when she’d been offered the new job and that was when she realized she was in big trouble.

  Someone picked up her hand, kissed her cheek. She felt the scratch of beard, and a flake of food fell onto her shoulder. Richard.

  “Bye dear,” he said gently. “I’m glad you accepted.”

  What? She rose to her feet, looked up at him blankly, nodded. She couldn’t think. There was some incredible magnetic principle at work and she couldn’t function as long as this tractor beam was pulling her to Nick.

  Siena’s streets were cobble-stoned and she’d grown used to watching her step, but she didn’t look down and she didn’t look around, she just watched Nick’s face as she walked toward him. She wouldn’t stumble and fall. She couldn’t. Not while he was there, watching her. He’d catch her if she fell.

  She walked up to him, so close her breasts touched his chest. His face was sober, serious. A long, scarred finger reached up to stroke her cheek and left warmth at his touch.

  Without a word, they set off together, his arm around her waist, and her arm around his.

  Such a magical evening, no words were necessary. The entire city was out on the streets, people still at the tables in their contrada, candles flickering low, the kids clearing tables. At times, from far off, a contra
da would raise its voice in song, and then die down. Nick took them down narrow alleys, far from the celebrations, so quiet their footsteps echoed. It felt odd to hear her footsteps because she felt like she was walking on air.

  Nick walked through a gate in the city walls and they walked out onto a large open space, the city behind them, the Tuscan countryside falling in terraces below them. They got into his car, but before switching the engine on Nick turned to her, face grim, a frown between his black eyebrows.

  “I’m staying with you tonight,” he said, as if it were a threat. As if glorious sex with Nick weren’t the best possible ending to the best day of her life.

  And she could only echo what she’d said before. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Don’t lose heart…They might want to cut it out.

  The morning of the Palio found Dante at his desk at 7:00 a.m. without his cappuccino and cornetto. He’d had no choice but to come into the office in that sorry state at, what for him, was the crack of dawn.

  Where on earth could he stop for breakfast?

  There wasn’t a bar in town where he wouldn’t have been detained for at least an hour, chewing over probabilities and jockey peculiarities or—in his own contrada—exulting in the certain upcoming win. He didn’t want to waste any time today. He wanted to be out and free by eleven to watch the last trial heat at 12:30 p.m.

  Otherwise there was nothing in this world which would have him sitting at his desk at 7:00 a.m.—on an empty stomach!—instead of lying in his bed, preferably with a partner. A pretty one.

  He had walked into the Questura with the bravado of the utterly virtuous only to see Loiacono already there in the big, airy, communal office all the inspectors shared, hunched over some papers.

  Dante stuck his head through the door. “Ciao, Loiacono.”

  The southerner looked up and blinked owlishly as if torn from his thoughts. Then he shot to his feet before Dante could say, “Don’t rise.”

  “I’ll be in my office,” Dante told him. But not before making myself some coffee, he thought, and headed for the interrogation room.

  “Commissario, there’s something I think you should read.” Loiacono picked up the papers from his desk and swiveled like a robot to follow Dante’s progress.

  Probably the thousandth ministerial circular this year, Dante thought with a sigh. They seemed to have the power of Holy Writ for Loiacono.

  “Uh-huh,” he said without enthusiasm. “Just as soon as—”

  “The Southbury Police Department emailed some information on the Americans up at the Certosa,” Loiacono interrupted. “Sir, I was just now looking through it.”

  Dante had been reaching up for the coffee kept next to the 1998 edition of the Civil Code that no one ever read. “Southbury?” He dropped back to his heels, the coffee forgotten. “I didn’t know you could read English, Loiacono.”

  Loiacono stood stiffly. “Seven years at the Naples British Institute. Night classes, sir.”

  Even his voice sounded stiff. Dante squelched a sigh. Now he’d gone and ruffled those sensitive southern feathers. He was going to have to repair the damage. On an empty stomach, to boot.

  “Well, I must’ve missed that in your file, Loiacono. But I’ll mention your superior knowledge of English in my report to the Questore, and that it’s been of invaluable service to the case. The Questore will be delighted that we have, ah—” Was he laying it on too thick? “—that we have such forward-looking officers in our service.” Dante wound down.

  Loiacono hadn’t changed expression.

  “So—what did Southbury PD say? Anything interesting?”

  “Very.” Loiacono looked grim. He always looked grim, but there was a special quality to it this morning. “Very interesting. It looks like Madeleine Kobbel neglected to tell us she was married to Professor Roland Kane.”

  Nick leaned against the door, arms crossed, waiting for Faith to come out of the bathroom. Though he hadn’t slept much, he felt refreshed, ready to face the big day. He and Faith hadn’t fallen asleep until 3:00 a.m., but it looked like sex with Faith made him feel as good as a full night’s sleep. Worked for him.

  He’d watched the dawn from the big windows facing one of the smaller inner courtyards, as the sky turned from pale gray to robin’s egg blue. It would be bright cobalt by the midday trial heat, and would be light blue tinged with red-gold by late afternoon.

  Restless, he jingled the keys to his grandparents’ house, the keys to his grandfather’s Dedra and the heavy euro coins in his pocket. A door to one of the rooms facing the courtyard downstairs slammed shut and he could hear voices drifting up.

  An old man in overalls shambled out with a hose and started watering the plants—roses and some other flowering bushes Nick couldn’t even begin to identify. The sharp smells of heat and dirt and water drifted up—the smells of Italy in summer.

  It was the day of the July Palio. He’d been in Siena on this day or the day of the August Palio all his life and each and every time he’d been happy. Consumed with eagerness if the Snail was running, simply excited at the pageantry when it wasn’t, but always, always happy. Not being happy was so foreign to him it was almost like being in a foreign country.

  It was humbling right now to realize how happy he’d been all his life, how blessed he’d been in his family and profession, how easy things had always been for him, what a smooth progression his life had been up until now.

  Faith hadn’t been so lucky and yet she’d faced her difficulties with a degree of courage and grit and humility that shamed him. He’d been off-balance for days now, withdrawn and…sulking. That was the only word for it. The first real hardship of life and he’d stumbled, almost fallen, and had to be picked up by his family.

  No more. He still had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life, and he might drift for a while, but no more sulking, no more feeling sorry for himself.

  He would take it one day at a time, one task at a time. And task number one, right now, was seeing that Faith got back to the States safely.

  The shower switched on and, delightfully, he heard her singing, some pretty Irish ballad.

  Her voice was soft and tentative but lovely, which didn’t surprise him. He was beginning to realize she did a lot of things well. She might hide her light under a bushel, but it was a strong light. And a stupid bushel.

  A quarter of an hour later, she walked out smiling. There was something different about her this morning. She was wearing a red sundress he’d never seen before and her hair was up, but that wasn’t it. She had high color beyond the light tan the Sienese sun had given her and she vibrated with excitement.

  She walked over to him, lifting up to kiss him and took his arm. “Come on. If you were my guard dog all last night, the least I can do is offer you a nice breakfast. And the Certosa breakfasts are about the best around.”

  Nick curled his hand over hers and smiled back. “That’s because you haven’t had breakfast at Nannini’s yet. I swear they make the best coffee and pastries in the world. Too bad you won’t have a chance to try them out. We’ll see if we can fit it in today. You’re leaving tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”

  “Mm,” she said ambiguously and started descending the stairs, slowly, so he could keep up.

  They crossed the flowering quadrangle and walked through the small archway leading to the main courtyard. They both stopped as if on cue to admire the scene—bright green grass, towering dark green and brown oak, brick walkway. The big ancient oak tree in the center was so huge its canopy covered the sky while they walked under it toward the refectory.

  Even if he didn’t know where the refectory was, he could have found it by smell and sound. The fragrance of freshly brewed espresso and warm cornetti was a counterpoint to the sounds of dishes and male voices raised in laughter.

  Faith raised her head to the sky and breathed in deeply. Her throat arched, soft and smooth, and his hand itched to touch it. He’d held her all night, t
ouched her everywhere. She didn’t want any caresses in public, she’d made that clear, though Nick didn’t give a shit about what some nerds thought. Still, they were her nerds so he restrained himself. But the instant they were alone he was going to kiss that long, white neck. And bite her, lightly, right where her neck met her shoulder.

  She’d started coming last night when he did that. Oh, yeah.

  His dick stirred at the thought and he had to think of something sad—the Hunters playing next year without him—to get it to go back down.

  He’d have happily gone right back upstairs with her, fall back into bed and spend the rest of the morning inside her, touching her, but a couple of geeks had already seen her and smiled hopefully.

  He recognized that smile, the smile of groupies. He sighed and tightened his hold on Faith. Sorry guys, she’s mine.

  Up ahead, heavy terracotta planters on the arched walkway a floor above spilled bright red flowers down several feet like a vibrant, colored curtain. The delicate, lacy blossoms swayed gently in the morning breeze. Nick slowed his pace to enjoy the contrast of the red flowers against the red highlights the bright, early morning sun picked out in Faith’s hair.

  Instead of entering the ground floor walkway through one of the four entrances cut into the low wall, Faith stopped and patted the broad gray stone surface of the wall. “Sit down. I have an idea. It’s so beautiful outside, why don’t we have our coffee here? I’ll ask one of the waiters if they’d be willing to serve us out here on a tray. They might. They’ve all been so nice.”