by Mia Caldwell
“No, I guess you’re right,” Joan said, smiling gratefully at Raul for all his help.
She sat back and let him talk, though she wasn’t listening.
Her mind was on Antonio, trying to understand what was going on with him. Maybe she could ask Julio tomorrow during the rehearsal dinner.
As the car stopped in front of the Torres home, Raul turned to her. “Thanks again for everything Joan, it means so much to me. I’ll text you the names of those two people I was telling about, that very much want to come to the wedding. Will you be sure they’re added to the list, like you added me?”
Joan blinked. What two people? When had she agreed to that?
She was about to ask him, but his face was lit up like a puppy dog about to get his first treat. He looked too thrilled to disappoint.
“Oh, sure. Text me their names I’ll be sure and add them to my personal invitation list. Good night, Raul.”
He reached over - for a moment Joan feared he was going to try and kiss her - and hugged her. “Thank you so much!”
She stepped out of his car. “You’re a funny duck,” she said to herself as drove away. She’d worried he might try to hit on her, but he’d done nothing of the sort. She felt guilty for pegging him initially as a thirteenth stepper. Maybe it was just the salesman personality. Whatever the case, she was glad she was helping him meet Julio, and that he’d be at the wedding in case Antonio dared to show up.
After letting herself into the house Joan went to the kitchen and had some limonada and one of Aunt Sophia’s pastissets, Catalan powdered cookies, and a staple in the Torres household. Joan would have to get the recipe before she left Spain. She downed the last of her limonada, then licked off the powder sugar from her fingertip. She tidied up the kitchen, then went down the hall and stopped outside the door of the nursery.
She opened the door to the darkened room with care, so as not to disturb the babies. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the three snoring babies wash over her. Her heart filled with love for each of them, and she was reminded again how hard it was going to be to leave them. She wiped a tear, closed the door gently shut, then returned to her room to complete her nightly ablutions.
She put her phone on the charger at the other side of her room, turned out the light and had just gotten her pillow patted down the way she liked it when she heard the tone of a text message coming in.
It would just be the names of Raul’s extra two guests.
She rolled away from the phone and closed her eyes.
She could deal with that in the morning.
Chapter Fourteen
ANTONIO FERRARO WOKE to the sound of banging at his door.
“Una momento,” he said, pulling himself out of bed and wrapping a sheet around his naked body. “I’m coming, who is it?”
Bruno, Julio’s head of security, was at the door holding a breakfast tray.
“You need to get dressed.” He said, coming in. “The royal family’s security has arrived and they will be coming out here soon to talk to you.”
“Huh?”
“Just get dressed.”
“What am I supposed to say when they see my face?”
“You were mugged, no? Just tell them what happened.”
Antonio walked over to the side table where Bruno had set down his tray and helped himself to a bite of toast, then poured himself a cup of coffee and drank a quick sip.
His body ached. He looked around for the pain pills.
“Sir, they could arrive any minute. Please dress and then you can have your breakfast,” Bruno said, placing a rolled-up newspaper on the tray.
Antonio wanted to open the newspaper, but he didn’t want to piss off Bruno so, he went over to his luggage. It must have arrived while he’d slept. He quickly pulled out some easy to put on clothes - sweat pants and a t-shirt.
He managed to dress despite the pain in his body and was just about to open up the newspaper when he heard tires crunching on the gravel outside, then footsteps and men’s voices.
He found the pain pills as he made a fast job of making his bed just before the knock came at his door.
“Yes?” he asked, innocently.
“Sir, security for his royal eminence Ferdinand de la Vega, Viscount of Iberia. May we have a word please?”
“Certainly,” Antonio said, opening the door. “Come in, gentlemen, come in.”
The two men in the doorway had the demeanor of private security - serious expressions, stiff backs and short cropped hair.
“What can I do for your gentlemen?” Antonio asked.
“First of all, can you tell us why you are here?”
“I’m Julio Torres’s godson, he invited me to the wedding.”
They raised eyebrows, at each other, then the taller man said with a smirk on his face, “Aren’t you a little old to be a godson to Julio?”
“Julio’s father was originally my original godfather and when he passed away Julio, in his infinite belief in the power of Catholicism, decided that I couldn’t be orphaned in the godfather department – so he stepped up for the job.”
“So, you don’t know your godfather very well?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, we hung out a lot as kids and later before we went our separate ways.”
“You play professional soccer?” the smaller guard asked.
“Yes. I’m on a leave of absence, but I do expect to be back on the field soon.”
“Leave of absence?”
“It’s complicated,” Antonio said, not wanting to get into it. No one knew about why he’d been temporarily kicked off the field. The press, the media, and the sporting news all thought it had something to do with an injury, or perhaps a morals violation. No one other than the head of the team himself knew it was because he’d been caught doing sports betting – a serious violation.
“Enlighten us,” said the man.
“Look, gentlemen, I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Antonio said as he rose from his seat.
“We can make it our business,” said the larger of guards, threateningly.
The smaller guard held back his colleague.
Antonio was tired of being pushed around.
“You know what, gentlemen? I’d like to take a shower and than take a walk. Please leave.”
“But, sir-”
“I don’t understand why I’m being bothered with your intrusive questions. I’m a guest of this wedding and I’m entitled to my privacy. If you want to check my room for guns or bombs, be my guest, but keep your nosy questions to yourself.”
The first guard nodded to the second, and to Antonio’s discomfort, the man began to search his room. Now he was glad Vince had stolen his money - there was nothing incriminating among his personal possessions.
After a quick search, the taller royal guard seemed satisfied.
The smaller guard wasn’t done yet. He’d picked up the newspaper and was comparing the paper to Antonio.
“According to this you were picked up at the casino looking like this. Who did this to you? Isn’t there some rule about soccer players not gambling?”
“We just can’t do sports betting. Poker and table games in legit casinos are not a problem at all,” Antonio said.
“So, who did this to you?”
“I don’t know. I got mugged shortly after arriving at the casino.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No, I didn’t call the police. It wasn’t that bad, and besides what would they do? Chase after the mugger?”
“That mugger did a pretty thorough job on you. Seems like overkill just to steal your money.”
“Maybe he was a real Madrid fan,” Antonio said sardonically. “I don’t know, I was too busy getting the shit beat out of me to inquire.”
The two guards laughed, and the tension eased.
“Very good, sir, we’re sorry to have put you to any trouble,” said the shorter guard.
He handed over a card. “If you think that t
his mugger poses any further threat to you, or you decide you can tell us who it was, give me a call. If you’re in danger while you’re here, that puts him in danger so don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’ll make sure that our security knows who to watch out for.”
Antonio thought immediately of giving him two names - Dante Bissacco and Carlo Minetti - but he was afraid if he mentioned men who might be connected to the Italian Mob they’d make sure he was tossed out on his ass. After the men left he went back to his breakfast, nibbling on his cold eggs and finally opening the newspaper. He found himself staring at his own battered face.
The headline read ‘Antonio Ferraro, Italian Soccer Star, Attacked at Barcelona Casino’.
He stared at the picture and was shocked at how bad he looked. He knew that it had to have been the cab driver, who’d sold him out to the tabloids, but that wasn’t what concerned him.
As he read on, the article explained that, per the unnamed source, Antonio Ferraro refused to go to a hospital after the vicious attack, but insisted instead on being driven to a home in Vilafranca del Penedes. Antonio’s heart raced as he quickly scanned the rest of the article. To his relief, there was no mention that the house would be the location for the Torres wedding, or the fact that an important member of the Spanish Royal Family would be in attendance.
That was one small comfort.
The reporter had followed up at the Casino, but the casino operators denied any knowledge of Antonio’s presence at their Casino.
Antonio relaxed a bit. At least that was something in his favor. If they weren’t willing to confirm that he’d been inside - probably because they didn’t realize who they’d beaten up - then at least if the owners of the soccer team tried to press him for breaking the terms of his suspension Antonio could deny it.
It was almost worth the ass kicking for that aspect alone, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d been picked up in front of a casino, and there was an article about it in the tabloids. He felt his stomach turn and put his fork down, appetite gone.
Antonio had no doubt that he’d have serious questions to answer by those who’d decided to give him another chance. It hadn’t been a unanimous decision on the part of the team’s owner and managers - several of them had wanted to ban him from the sport forever.
They’d had no proof and needed him for the end of the season, so they’d agreed to tell the press he was off due to an injury.
He groaned.
His head hurt. He was sore and tired. He couldn’t even eat. He was so screwed.
There was a glass of water and a bottle of pain pills next to the bed. He took two, then stripped out of his clothes and climbed under the covers. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
“JOAN? JOAN, WAKE UP! We have to get going.”
“Huh, what?” Joan said as she came awake and rubbed her eyes. The sun was streaming into her room and Abby, her sister’s right-hand assistant, was standing by her bed tapping her foot anxiously.
“Abby? What are you doing here? What time is it?”
“It’s ten o’clock. We have to hurry, or we’re going to miss the last bus.”
“Ten o’clock? What the heck, why did you guys let me sleep in? Lissa must be panicked. Wasn’t she supposed to have lunch with Julio and the Viscount at noon? What about the boys?”
“Lissa, the boys and everyone else left two hours ago. It’s just you and me.”
“What? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” Joan said as she hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“Don’t think people didn’t try. You were dead to the world, girl.”
“I was? I don’t remember anyone trying to wake me up, I’m so sorry.”
Her phone rang. “Can you get that?” Joan asked as she stripped out of her sleepwear then turned on the shower. She felt sticky with sweat. The bus could wait, she needed to at least rinse herself off.
“Okay,” said Abbey. “Joan Edwards’ phone, this is Abby, may I help you?”
Joan lost track of the conversation as she stepped into under the stream of water for the world’s fastest shower.
When she stepped she heard Abby calling from the doorway, “I’ll give you a minute to get dressed.”
“Wait, who was that on the phone?”
“Some guy, Raul something, I couldn’t catch his last name. He wanted to know if you got his text and if the two additional guests were on the list.”
“Oh, right. He sent a text last night. Get the names from it and make sure they’re added to the invitation list.”
“Will do. Oh, and there was something else. Lissa called and said that she took your bridesmaid dress because she was afraid you’d leave it behind on purpose.”
Joan laughed. As with most bridesmaid dresses, despite being designer made it was hideous as far as Joan was concerned. But she was a super model, or she used to be. She could make a trash bag look chic if she wanted to.
“She also said that she forgot the outfit for one of the triplets. She wants me to find it, but I haven’t had any luck.”
“Try the top of the closet near the front door,” Joan said.
“Will do.”
A few minutes later Joan was dressed and ready to go, and Abby had the missing baby tuxedo in hand. Abby handed Joan back her phone, and the two women said goodbye to the cleaning crew which had come to give the Torres home a thorough cleaning while the house was finally empty. They got into the waiting mini bus and headed towards Vilafranca del Penedes.
In the morning, a fleet of mini buses would descend on the city and pick up the many friends, relatives, and other invited guests, shuttling them out to the wedding of the year, but, for now it was just Abby and Joan.
Joan applied a bit of makeup, using a compact as they drove for the first twenty minutes. When the minivan approached the entrance to the interstate Joan remembered the night before, when Raul had pulled his car over and she’d watched Julio Torres in the limo getting onto the same on ramp.
She wondered again about Antonio. Had he gone to the house in Vilafranca del Penedes? Is that where Julio had taken his things?
“Everything all right?” Abby asked, “You seem awfully quiet.”
“Oh, sorry. You know how it is when you oversleep - you end up feeling out of sorts all day.”
“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t overslept since I started working for your sister.”
Joan laughed, turning her focus on Abby. She’d always liked her sister’s right-hand woman and was grateful that she’d agreed to come to Europe to continue to support her sister in her business endeavors.
“How have you been, Abby? What’s new? How’s that Milan Project coming? Oh, and did they ever straighten out the issues with the apartment?”
“Well let me tell you, because, I’m not about to tell Lissa any of these things. She’ll refuse to go on her honeymoon if I tell her, and Julio would have me strung up!”
“My goodness, that’s pretty dramatic. What the heck is going on?”
“Well,” she said, her eyes glowing with the gleam of someone finally getting to share some juicy news, “I can’t tell you anything unless you promise, cross your heart and hope to die, that you won’t breathe a word of this to Lissa.”
“I don’t know...” Joan said uncertainly. “We shouldn’t hide things from her.”
“Come on, Joan, you know better than anyone how she tends to overreact. It’s not that bad, just disconcerting, and Julio made me promise not to tell her.”
“Julio knows? Okay, well, then, in that case, I promise I won’t tell Lissa. What’s going on?”
“Well first they didn’t get that apartment, but I found out who did get it, and you’re not going to believe who.”
“Who?”
“Tom Akers.”
“What? That jerk businessman who tried to steal the contract before? The one who was working with Tina Peters and Willa?”
“The very same. Turns out, he’s opened a consulting firm in Milan. H
e’s trying to get contracts for some of the non-building related projects involved with the Milan Business Center - you know, waste disposal, security, parking, maintenance, cleaning... that kind of thing.”
Something niggled at the back of Joan’s mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on the thought. “So, he’s started a company in Milan? I doubt Julio or Lissa will consent to giving him any of those contracts, and even if they did, so what?”
“So what?” Abby said, incredulously. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“Apparently not,” Joan said wryly.
“The Torres Business Development firm doesn’t get to make those decisions. It’s up to the board of directors for the project, and Julio and Lissa only get one vote. If Tom Akers or anyone else has the best bid for the job they are likely to be voted in, and Julio and Lissa’s preference won’t matter.”
“Oh, I see. So, the trouble is they’d have to work with that scumbag, and you think it will stress Lissa out.”
“Exactly. She’ll be on the lookout for all kinds of potential threats. She wouldn’t put it past him to undercut his own profits just to derail the project and make Julio and Lissa look bad.”
“Yeah, I can see why it’s best that Lissa doesn’t hear about this until she gets back from her honeymoon. I’m with you and Julio. She’d probably not only cancel the honeymoon, she’d probably cancel the wedding.”
When they were getting off the mini bus Joan’s cell phone rang.
“Did you ever add those names to the guest list?” Joan asked.
“No, I’m so sorry, I got busy. Give me your phone and I’ll find the wedding planner and take care of it right now.”
“Okay, but bring my phone back,” Joan said as her mother appeared on the steps, grinning from ear to ear. Annabelle came towards her, holding one of the triplets in her arms.
“Hi, mom,” Joan said. “Who’ve you got there?”
“I think this is Ryland, at least that’s what Lissa told me. I don’t know how you can tell the difference.”
Joan took the baby out of her mother’s arms and stared into the triplet’s eyes. It was Ryland, she knew because he had the dimple on his cheek and his eyes had little flecks of gold in them. He was the prettiest of the three boys. Hunter was easiest to spot, being the chubbiest, and Marco was the most athletic.