Flipped (Better With Prosecco Book 1)

by Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  “When I was made Syndico, you say Mayor, eight years ago, one of my promises was to rebuild this hotel. The town was excited. If I could keep that promise it would bring jobs and a high-class of tourist. Plus, a beautiful hotel like this in the center of town would make people happy. We Italians like beautiful things.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I can find no one to take the risk. We have no other big hotels here. Most of our tourists are immigranti returning to family homes, or Italians staying nearby who drive in to enjoy the Borgotaro experience.”

  “I’m sorry,. It was a good idea. This would be an amazing place. All it needs is a little love.”

  “And this is why I think you should buy it. I think you should stay with us in Borgotaro and buy this hotel and make it an “amazing place.”

  Dean stared at Atillio, nonplussed. Had he crawled inside his head? All of his daydreams felt exposed. But they were just daydreams. They couldn't be his reality. His daydreams were crazy thinking. He had a life and a career in LA. He couldn’t just dump everything and leave all of that behind. Could he?

  Dean tested his feelings about going back to the set. Anxiety rushed through him. But he would love to do this. Sure he missed his little cottage on the ocean but it would always be there. Dean had more money than he knew what to do with. He donated much of his income and savings but still had a bulging bank account balance that stunned him. Not to mention that his royalties would continue to pour in even if he didn’t make another film for the rest of his life.

  “You’re crazy, Atillio. That is a crazy idea. I have a life and career in Hollywood. People don’t just walk away from all of that.”

  Atillio just shrugged and walked toward Via Nationale. “Just think about it. Glass of wine?”

  “No Grazie, I have to get back. I thought I would try to get Hazel to come out with me. She told me this morning that today is the anniversary of her father’s death and she gets a little sad about it. I don’t want her to be alone.”

  Atillio stopped walking. “What do you mean her father’s death?”

  "Her father died when she was young. She never knew him."

  Atillio raised an eyebrow at Dean and then turned toward Gio’s again. “I think it’s time you talked with Indigo.”

  33

  Hazel

  Hazel was thrilled when Dean showed up at the house only a few hours after he'd left for the day. He smelled delicious and was clutching a bunch of droopy wildflowers in one hand. He thrust them at her when she opened the back door. “Can you come out and play?” he asked, giving her a lopsided, knee-buckling smile.

  How could she resist? His jet black hair was still damp from his shower and the tiny curls at the back were dripping water over the collar of his cream, linen shirt. He was wearing jeans today, and the leather sneakers on his feet were so white it looked as though he'd never worn them. He followed her glance down to his feet.

  “Ah yes,” he said, holding his foot out for perusal, “Stella stole my shoes. Who knew there was such a thing as white shoe polish? Anyway, wanna come out and dirty them up with me?” Hazel could think of nothing she would like more. She nodded and stepped forward to take the flowers from his hand and he grabbed her wrist and leaned forward for a kiss. If she thought his smile was knee-buckling, his kiss could bring her to the floor. His other arm snaked around her waist. “Careful there, baby,” he said as she gave him her weight. “You don’t want to get that pretty dress all dirty.”

  She’d known he would come. Since their picnic on the river they'd spent almost every moment together, either working on the house or wandering the streets of Borgotaro. She'd pulled her favorite silk dress out of the closet, hoping to wow him tonight. It was a halter with a plunging neckline and a maxi skirt with a long slit among the loose folds of fabric. It floated around her, giving occasional tantalizing glimpses of a strong, brown leg. She reached behind her and dropped the wildflowers into a glass of water standing next to the sink.

  “Let’s go!” she said. “Take me out on the town.”

  She'd fallen in love with Borgotaro. She loved the constant murmur of the lyrical language forever humming in the background. It was like having your favorite music on all day. She loved the gangs of teenagers that wandered the streets, hanging all over each other like lovers, popping in and out of the bars to buy iced tea and cigarettes. She loved to slowly wander along the main street every evening after dinner. She could sit at a table nursing a glass of prosecco for hours, people watching, even without understanding what they were saying. Everything was better with prosecco. She rarely saw anyone without a smile on their face, and why wouldn’t they be smiling? The sun was shining, their families were around them, they had a home and good food and that was enough. There didn’t seem to be any ambitious striving, or backstabbing or stepping over people to get to the next level. Why bother with the next level when right here was so nice?

  “Have you heard from Liz?” Dean asked. They were close to the bottom of the hill now, about to cross into town and grab a drink before wandering into one of the local restaurants. She had a hankering for a Napoletano pizza. She couldn’t resist the anchovies.

  “No, I haven’t.” Her brow furrowed. “What do you think is taking so long? I thought she’d be as eager as I am to take care of this jerk.”

  “It might be hard for her,” he said. “She might be worried about her own job.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I suppose I would be too.”

  “I know it’s important to you. You must love your job.”

  “I do love it,” she said, but then felt a flicker of apprehension run through her stomach. “At least, I think I do.”

  “You think you do?” Dean laughed, “Why are you so anxious to save a job you only think you like?”

  They had arrived at Odissea now and Dean moved to a table on the patio. He pulled out a chair for her then moved to the door, motioning for a drink. Loris knew them well by now and would bring them both a glass of prosecco which they would sip while they chatted and watched Borgo go by.

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about that.” She didn’t tell him she’d spent the past two nights thinking about it. “Promise not to laugh?”

  Dean looked at her and chuffed, “As if I could ever laugh at you. Of course I won’t laugh.”

  “I think it’s my Dad,” she said. “Remember how I told you I still write him letters?” He nodded. “Well, it’s as though I use the letters to reassure him I’ll be successful. So he can be proud of me. I’ve realized that everything I do I’m always wondering if it would make him proud of me. He was such a great man; you know? At least Indigo says he was and I remember some. I want to make him proud.”

  Dean gazed at her quietly for a few minutes. When he looked at her she felt understood and, dare she say it, loved? He had a way of assuring her with only a glance that he was there with her, in that minute, one hundred percent, and that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He went to speak and then stopped and looked down at his glass that Loris had placed on the table in front of him.

  “What?” she nudged his calf with her foot under the table. “You think that’s dumb, don’t you?” He looked up and gave her a reassuring smile which was mirrored in his seafoam eyes.

  “I do not think that’s dumb, Hay! I think it's admirable. Listen,” he stretched his arm across the table and grabbed her hand in his, “I know that your dad would be immensely proud of you. Look at what you have accomplished! You’ve taken care of your nutty, but lovable, mother all these years. You’re independent with a successful career. You’re taking this time to renovate a house. You’re amazing Hazel. I just don’t think you need your dad to tell you that - even if he is only telling you in your head.”

  She smiled, blushed and brought her glass to her lips. No one had said anything like this stuff to her before in her entire life. The feeling it gave her was addictive. She felt safe, appreciated, understood. But also very, very confused. What wa
s going on between her and Dean, and what were they going to do about it? She changed the subject. “I saw you getting dragged down the hill by Atillio today. What did he want?”

  “You saw that?” he banged his hand on the table. “Damn, you were standing at the window in your towel, weren’t you… and I missed it!”

  “I’ll have you know I wasn’t in my towel. I was just out of the bath and it was steamy and hot so I dropped my towel. But the window was all steamed up, so I felt comfortable standing there completely naked.” She gave him a cheeky grin and then felt his shin rubbing hers under the table.

  “Atillio was taking me for a walk and trying to persuade me to become an investor in Borgotaro.”

  “An investor? How?”

  “He wants me to buy Hotel Roma”

  A frisson of excitement ran through Hazel. Could she ever admit to him that she had imagined the same thing? The two of them, running the hotel, staying in their sweet little cocoon of Borgotaro. No - she could never tell him. He'd probably laugh.

  Hazel laughed, “Ridiculous! Famous movie star gives up his career to move to a sleepy Italian mountain town and run a hotel! What is he thinking?”

  Dean’s calf stopped rubbing against hers and he downed his prosecco and stood up. “You’re right, pretty lady! Why would a movie star do something so crazy?” He grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go find a pizza!”

  34

  Hazel

  Hazel floated around the house all morning, her feet five inches above the antique tiles. Dean would be here in an hour and she had given everyone an extra-long lunch today so they could sneak off to their river spot. A basket holding sandwiches and their tablecloth/picnic blanket was waiting by the back door. Dreaming of gurgling river waters and dappled shade, she waltzed into the kitchen to grab a coffee and came upon a fluttering Indigo.

  “Mother? Are you okay?”

  She felt a swell of anxiety in her chest. She'd seen her mother like this before. Although she seemed like a "happy-go-lucky, water runs off me like a duck's back" kind of woman, she didn’t handle stress well. Sometimes, something happened that sent her off the edge of reason, spinning her into a mini breakdown. Dark periods like these in Indigo's past were what had sent ten, twelve, and fourteen-year-old Hazel into panic mode. Although she’d spent most of her life mothering Indigo instead of the other way around, even she would be pushed to the limit when she had to handle a depressed Indigo all alone.

  “I have to talk to you, sweetie. Can you sit down? Can I get you some coffee?” Her mother looked nervously toward the back door as she poured a cup of coffee with shaky hands. “Is Dean coming?”

  “He should be here soon. Mother, what’s going on?”

  Indigo put the coffee in front of Hazel, some sloshing over the rim and spilling onto a shopping list for Baldazzi's hardware store. She sat down.

  “I might need money, sweetie.” Her mother’s voice was shaking as much as her hands.

  Hazel took a deep breath and steeled herself. She wasn't sure what was going on here, but it would not be good. “But Mother, you said you got money in Maria Zanre’s will. You said it was plenty. In fact, we're relying on those funds to finish the renovations. What happened to that?”

  “Well…” Indigo stuck her thumb in her mouth and chewed on it. Hazel reached over and gently pulled it from her mouth. Her mother looked like a child caught doing something unforgivable. “Apparently, I was supposed to complete some paperwork, and I forgot. See, there was another name on Maria's bank account. Another relative. It was my job to do the paperwork to remove that name when I got a hard copy of the will and I, um… I didn’t. So this other person they went to the bank and this person, they...,” Indigo’s breath hitched. Hazel knew the sound. She was about to cry. “They…”

  “They withdrew all the money from the account,” Hazel finished for her, letting her forehead drop forward and bang against the kitchen table. “Oh, Mother,” she moaned, not looking up, “was it Stefano? Please don’t tell me it was Stefano.”

  “Was what me?” Stefano walked into the kitchen dressed for work. Dean had bought him a leather tool belt of which he was very proud. He wore it everywhere.

  Indigo stood, rushed to Stefano's side and grabbed his arm. "It wasn’t Stefano!”

  “What wasn’t me?” Stefano asked again.

  “It seems Indigo has lost all of the money for the renovations.” The cool table felt good on Hazel’s head and she decided that she was just going to stay there today. "Who took it, Indigo? Can I talk to them?"

  Indigo moved to crouch next to her and rubbed her back. “Oh, honey, don’t call me Indigo. Mother is bad enough but when you call me Indigo, I know you’re furious with me!”

  Hazel didn’t want her mother to think she was mad at her, because truthfully, she wasn’t. Frustrated, maybe. Sad, yes. But she'd stopped being upset with Indigo about money matters years ago; the day she'd realized money was like sand in her mother’s fingers. She'd known then it would always be her responsibility to look after her mother. So she'd done that. She'd handed over cash whenever Indigo had asked for it, mostly to her own detriment. Now look where she'd ended up; no savings (she’d used the last of it to fly here), no income, and extremely limited prospects. But it wasn’t her mother’s fault. It had been Hazel’s choice to enable Indigo's spendthrift ways.

  She lifted her head from the table just in time to see Stefano give Indigo an intimate, worried glance. Her mother didn't even notice it. He knew something. “What, Stefano?”

  “What, what?” Stefano asked.

  She stood up and took a step toward him. He took a step back.

  “You know something. What do you know? What’s going on?”

  "Non lo so. I know nothing. I'm just thinking."

  "Thinking about what?" He didn’t answer, just stared at his feet. He was struggling not to cry and suddenly Hazel felt like an ogre. She was towering over him like a schoolmaster. Stefano didn't know anything. How could he? She was desperate and taking it out on him. "Sorry, Stefano. Forget it."

  Indigo was back at the table now and sniffling, so Hazel walked over and put a hand on her back. "Don't worry, Mother. We'll figure something out. We have to. I need to sell this house and get us home to Jacksonville."

  "Dean has money," Indigo mumbled. "You could ask him."

  Hazel stopped rubbing and stepped away from her mother. A surge of anger ran through her. A typical Indigo response, just get other people to solve your problems.

  "I will not ask Dean, Mother. Okay? And you, under no circumstances, will mention this to him. Got it? Dean has enough problems of his own without taking ours on. I can take care of myself. And you. I always have. Just give me time to think."

  "Ssshhh," Stefano hissed and there was the sound of steps at the back door.

  “Holy moly did someone die in here? Everyone’s face is so long. I brought brioche!” Dean strolled in and dropped a buttery bag on the table. No one said anything.

  “We might have a problem,” Indigo said, watching Hazel closely for her reaction.

  Hazel looked up and smiled at Dean brightly. “We don’t have a problem. No problem.”

  “What problem?” Dean look around the room confused. “Is the house falling down or something?”

  Indigo stood and faced Dean with an anxious look still on her face and said, "It's just..."

  “Mother,” Hazel interrupted through clenched teeth, “I said, we don’t have a problem.”

  Hazel smiled again at Dean, grabbed the basket by the door, and swept him out of the house. He looked back over his shoulder, confused, but she was moving too fast for him to manage another question.

  They had a problem, a big one. Without funds they might last another week on the house renovations before needing more supplies. Dean could not find out. She could handle it. She knew he had money and would offer it easily, but she wouldn’t have him feeling obligated to help her.

  Hazel would find out who this third person w
as later and try to speak to the lawyer about it, but she knew how the legal system worked. It could take years to get that money back even if it had been illegally withdrawn. She needed more money now. She'd call Liz. Hazel had been trying her best to leave her in peace and wait for her to call first, but she was running out of time. She would call Liz and she'd ask for an advance. Now that Stefano had uncovered the nightmare that was Samuel, she'd be getting her project back any minute. Liz wouldn’t turn her down. She only needed enough to finish the house. Once she got enough cash to finish the house and they sold it, she could pay Liz back and have enough left over for the equity buy-in. She didn’t need to drag Dean into this. She was twisted up enough in his life already without adding a loan to the mix. Plus, money ruined everything.

  35

  Dean

  Dean was confused. Hazel had rushed through their picnic together, gazing into space and ignoring most of his efforts at conversation. It was like he wasn't even there. When they returned to the house to begin work, the day had gotten even weirder. Hazel acted like a robotic taskmaster, ordering everyone about, no smiles, no jokes, not a second of the easy fun they’d all had on previous days. There was a moment, in the afternoon, when Hazel had been applying grout to the base of the tiles above the huge tub in the downstairs bathroom. There was no one else around so he'd snuck into the room and wrapped his arms around her, sinking his lips into the hair at the nape of her neck.

  “Hey!” She elbowed him away. “Now I've screwed up that grout line! Thanks!”

  He turned her gently and put his hand on her strained and anxious face. Something was wrong.

  “What is it, baby? What can I do?”