“Almost. I’ll check through my packs again. But I’m fairly sure, yes.”
“What was in it?”
She strove for a calm tone. “Oh, pretty much everything. My plane ticket. My credit cards, bank card, travellers’ cheques, larger denominations of cash. Yup, basically. Everything.”
“Passport?”
She let out a hard breath. “No, I’ve still got that. And my rail pass. But that’s about it.”
Already, she was making frantic plans. The train’s final destination was Rome—and while she wasn’t sure whether Florence had a Canadian Consul, Rome was bound to have an office…
“I see. And you think he took them?” Again, the question cut into her fevered thoughts.
“I can’t be sure. But yes. That would be my guess.” Calia ground her teeth, suddenly furious at herself. Why had she taken the stupid belt off in the first place? “He must have unzipped my pack and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. Maybe after he threw me onto the seat—I know I blacked out for a few seconds.” Her lips pressed into a humourless smile as she glanced at her companion. His nostrils were flared, his mouth hard. “Just his luck, it was the paydirt.”
Something dark and ruthless stirred in his eyes. “Just his luck, he is not still on this train. I did not know he had pushed you, knocked you out. If I had, he would not have gotten off so lightly.” He stared out the window a few moments, his face a study of shadowed planes and hard angles. “Do you know anything about him? Did he give you a name, perhaps? Anything we could go on?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry. The only chance we’ve got is if he tries using one of my cards to buy something.”
“Then we will have to hope he will be foolish enough to do so.” He shifted his fierce gaze back to her. “In the mean time, do you need to use a phone? To cancel credit cards, for example?” He was already reaching into his briefcase.
She massaged her pounding temples. “That’s okay, thanks. I’ve got my own.”
She had brought her tri-band phone, which worked in Europe as well as North America. She had figured it might come in handy for the business portion of her trip, but otherwise only planned on using it in case of an emergency.
She rummaged through her bag until she found that, as well as the photocopies she had made of the toll-free numbers she’d need if the worst happened and her money belt got stolen. She had never actually expected to use them.
Calia made the calls to cancel her cards, all the while burningly aware of her companion’s presence in the compartment, even though he had taken out a laptop and was apparently engrossed by the contents of its screen. As on the platform, she found herself glancing at him. What could he be thinking about all this? No doubt, he was counting the minutes till he could safely make his exit.
Between waiting on hold and sorting through labyrinths of recorded menus, by the time Calia flipped her phone shut, they had left Florence long behind and were well on the way to Rome. But at least her cards were cancelled—with the assurance that anyone who tried to use them would be apprehended. And, because her plane ticket was a virtual one, it turned out that she would just need her passport and a printout of the ticket information in order to board her plane home.
The rest of the news was less assuring. Though her bank could courier a replacement card, they needed a fixed address in order to do that—and she wouldn’t have that, unless she had enough money for accommodations for the next day or two. And meanwhile, she didn’t even have sufficient funds for the transportation to a hostel, never mind enough to cover the cost of a bed, once there.
“It is all settled, then?”
Calia glanced up—only to be impaled by his mesmerizing silver-grey stare. She shook herself and forced a smile. “Oh yes. Everything’s in order.” After all, she had imposed on this man quite enough already.
“So what will you do?”
She scrambled for a plausible answer. “I’ll see if they can send my replacement card to a post office in Rome, then I’ll find a place to stay.” Even if it ends up being the train station, for the next couple of days. She hadn’t yet figured out what she would do about food.
“You know Rome?”
“Well, I’ve never been—but how hard can it be?” She spoke with forced bravado.
“But you know how to get to the post office? And to this place where you will be staying?”
Calia tried not to let the doubt show on her face. “I’ll figure it out.”
He watched her with growing impatience. “And how much money do you have left? To get you there, for example.”
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. At her silence, he raised his brows sardonically.
She forced a smile. “I’ll work something out.”
“You do not have any money left, do you?”
Her smile faded. “Well, perhaps not as such, but—“
“Per l’amore di cielo!” he exploded. “I have had enough of this. Who let you out on your own?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As well you should.”
Calia rolled her eyes, her anger rising. “Well then, let me also apologise for putting you out. Feel free to be on your way. I told you I could handle myself, and I can. I’ll figure something out, so don’t let what little kernel of conscience you might have bother you.”
Calia felt the train slowing. She darted a glance out the window. They were pulling into a station on the outskirts of Rome.
Instead of responding, her bad-tempered rescuer shut down his laptop and returned it to his briefcase. As the train pulled out of the station, he frowned at her.
“Ours is the next stop,” he said.
“’Ours’? I don’t think so.”
He made an impatient sound. “You do not have anywhere to go. You do not have any money. What am I supposed to do? Walk away?”
“Yes.”
When his expression didn’t soften, Calia decided to swallow her pride. “Look, how about if you gave me your address and loaned me the money? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get everything sorted out. It may not be till I get back to Canada, but—“
“Given that you are apparently a walking disaster zone who should never have been permitted out of your country without an armed escort—“
“Hey, now that’s just plain rude!”
He continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “—my tiny kernel of conscience would not be assuaged by the thought of letting you loose in Rome. With your precedent, you’d end up shanghaied by some underground slave trading ring.”
“There are underground slave traders in Rome?” Calia asked, curious, despite her annoyance.
“Not that I know of. But I have every confidence that you would run afoul of any that happened to exist.”
“Oh for God’s sake!”
“So, you will come with me. We will sort out the question of how you will get some money restored to you. Then, I will ensure that you are on a plane back to your own country. At that point, I will be able to walk away with a clear conscience.”
The train was slowing again.
“You can’t possibly expect me to go along with that.” Calia drew in a slow breath and reined in her impatience. “Thank you for your help. I appreciate it. But I have to say that you are one of the rudest men I have ever encountered. If we meet again, it’ll be too soon, as far as I’m concerned.” She held out her hand. “So, goodbye and have a nice life.”
He ignored her hand. Instead, he stood. Before she could protest, he had hefted her backpack over one shoulder, as if its considerable weight were of no consequence.
“This is our stop,” he said, and walked out of the compartment.
CHAPTER TWO
“Hey, you can’t do that!” Calia scrambled after him, zipping up her daypack as she went. “That’s my stuff!”
He had already disembarked and was half way down the platform by the time she caught up with him. He spared her only the briefest of glances as she
struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride. “I am parked in the lot outside.”
“That’s great,” she said breathlessly. “Now if you’ll give me my pack—“
“I will give you your pack when we get to my home.”
“How do I know you’re not an underground slave trader?”
“You will just have to take your chances.”
Calia glanced at him dubiously. After all, he didn’t look like an underground slave trader—he looked more like a successful businessman, all understated wealth and cool elegance. Nor did she think that real underground slave traders would be quite this insulting. More likely, they’d try to charm unsuspecting souls into going along with them.
And he had helped her get rid of that other fellow, which spoke well for his motives, even if he did seem to have an overdeveloped knight in shining armour complex. It was kind of sweet, actually, for all that he had been infuriatingly rude and high-handed.
She sighed. Of course, the clincher is that I really don’t have much choice. No money. No place to stay. And at this point, she wasn’t inclined to call his bluff about her backpack.
“All right. I’ll come with you.”
He did not slow his pace. “You are too kind.”
They walked in silence.
“So, are you going to tell me your name, at least? So I know whose hospitality I’m being coerced into accepting?”
“Gio Diamanti.”
Calia came to an abrupt stop, her mouth dropping open. She had heard of Giovanni Diamanti—the most brilliant scion of his illustrious family. She had studied his methods in one of her finance classes that had specialized in European markets and economies.
When she had been shortlisted for a position at Vorsichter Hessen GmbH, a research and investment firm in Frankfurt, the thought had even crossed her mind that working in Europe might give her the opportunity to meet some of the Continental luminaries of the financial world—one of the most prominent of whom was carrying her backpack at the moment.
Somehow, she had always pictured him older. Balding. With a potbelly.
He stopped and turned to look at her. No potbelly in sight. Just a disturbingly sexy body and a glare that, despite his abominable personality, gave her goosbumps.
“What is it?”
She shook herself. “Nothing. It’s just that—I’ve heard of you.” She started walking again.
He raised an eyebrow. “How would you have heard of me?” His tone dripped with a blend of surprise and skepticism that pricked at her annoyance.
“Oh, gee, I don’t know,” she said in her most vacuous tone. “Maybe it was in the society pages. Oh wait! I forgot—I can barely read, so it must have been, like, on some TV show or something.”
“I have offended you.”
“You think?”
“I apologise. I was simply surprised that you might have heard my name.”
And for that assumption—along with everything it implied—Calia decided she wasn’t going to bother enlightening him. He didn’t have to know about her economics degree. About her reputation for astute economic analysis—with stellar references to back it up—which had wowed Vorsichter Hessen into granting her the first of several increasingly demanding interviews. The culmination had been her trip to Europe, as one of the two finalists for the position.
She wouldn’t bother telling him any of that. Instead, she’d just play along with the role he had imposed upon her. After all, it wouldn’t be for long. She would get the whole money thing cleared up in the next day or so, and be out of his hair before he was any the wiser.
They walked to his car in silence.
After he had opened the door for her, he stowed her pack in the trunk of his midsize BMW sedan. A few moments later, he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Calia drew in a slow breath, intensely conscious of his proximity in the confined space of the car. When in doubt, be flippant.
She forced a grin. “I’m surprised. No Lamborghini?”
He shrugged. “I like that German cars are less… ostentatious.”
Calia let out a puff of breath, shaking her head. “Wow.”
“What is it?”
“Trust you to call a BMW ‘less ostentatious.’ I suppose I should expect no less from a Diamanti. It’s interesting, though—it demonstrates what different worlds we come from.”
He cast a frowning glance at her, before returning his attention to the road. “How did you say you had heard of me again?”
She gave him a bright grin. “TV, remember?”
“I apologized for that.”
“True.”
They drove in silence for a time. Then, she sighed.
“I should really thank you for taking the trouble like this. Though I like to think I would have worked something out on my own, I have to admit, this’ll make things a lot easier. So, thank you.”
The words didn’t come easily to Calia, who had fought numerous bouts to maintain her prized independence. First it had been her parents who had, with the best of intentions, tried to curb Calia’s self-reliance. Then, most recently, it had been David.
“A thank you? It is good that I am still a young man, else I might die of shock.”
Calia gave an exaggerated gasp, glad to go along with his levity. “Tell me I’m not hearing things—and that really was a joke.”
“Heaven forbid.”
“So you actually do have a sense of humour, buried under there somewhere.”
He inclined his head. “Yes. I believe it usually resides deep underneath the kernel of conscience you mentioned before.”
“Amazing! Another joke—well, kind of, anyway. I’ll be the one keeling over in shock if you keep this up.”
“If it will actually silence you for more than a few minutes, then I will make a point of unearthing the most amusing lines in my repertoire.”
Calia glanced at him, tilting her head. “You have a repertoire?”
“A limited one. Most of them are financial jokes.”
“Wow! Great.” Calia nodded slowly. “Yeah, keep ‘em coming.”
“Ah yes, the ubiquitous sarcasm you North Americans hold so dear.”
“’Ubiquitous sarcasm’?” She chuckled. “Where did you learn to speak English, anyway?”
“I had a tutor.”
“Figures.”
A pause.
He broke the silence. “So, you are in Europe on vacation?”
“Pretty much. I had some stuff to do in Germany first, so I decided to make a holiday of it as well. I’ve been sightseeing, doing the backpacker thing, for just under a week now. A couple of days in Germany, then Paris. I only had a few weeks, so I wanted to make the most of them.”
“A few weeks are hardly enough to see a single country, let alone a continent.”
“You don’t need to tell me—you should have seen me poring over guidebooks and internet articles, trying to narrow down the choices. I finally decided on a few of the highlights and left it at that.”
Another pause.
Calia eyed his austerely handsome profile with interest. “So what’s a Diamanti doing travelling on something so banal as a train anyway? Curiosity about how the other half lives, perhaps?”
He gave her a look of dislike. “It is Sunday. I did not have to be anywhere this afternoon. I like train travel—it gives me time to relax a little, as I could not do if I drove.”
She snorted. “Relax. Right. By booting up your laptop. You’re not going to convince me you were playing Solitaire on there.”
“Nor would I try—not when there is also Minesweeper.”
She gave him a startled look, before letting out a burst of laughter. “So what’s with the suit and tie, then?”
He looked discomfited. “I discovered I did not have any casual clothes at my apartment in Milan.”
They turned onto a winding drive lined with cypress trees, eventually pulling up in front of a whitewashed villa with red-tiled roofs that was right out of a
tourist magazine. As soon as Gio parked, Calia got out of the car and drank in her surroundings, trying not to blink as she took in the beauty of an old orchard to the right of the house, and row upon row of lush, green vineyards stretching off to the left. The villa itself perfectly fit Calia’s notion of the quintessential Italian getaway. Nestled into the ‘U’ of the surrounding house was a rustic entryway, smothered in carefully overgrown climbing roses, leading into an idyllic courtyard garden.
Calia breathed in the heavy, sensual fragrance of the blossoms as she looked around her, a dreamy smile curving her lips. From somewhere inside the courtyard, she could hear the splash of a fountain. “This is absolutely gorgeous,” she murmured on a sigh. “How can you bear to leave this place?”
She turned to find her companion staring at her, the hint of a puzzled smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “It is pleasant enough, I suppose, but I have a living to earn.”
“It’s probably one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”
“And from that I will infer you also have a penchant for hyperbole.”
Calia had to laugh. “’A penchant for hyperbole’? Where do you dig up these phrases?” She shook her head, still grinning. “But, for the record, I never exaggerate.” She slanted him a cocky look. “Everyone says so.”
“Gio!” The shout, followed by a flood of Italian, drew Calia’s attention to a middle-aged couple emerging from an entrance on the left side of the villa. It was the woman who had called out, and she continued to speak as she bore down on Gio, her arms open. The man walked over to the car, opened the trunk, and began removing its contents.
A grinning Gio was trying to extricate himself from the woman’s loud, smacking kisses to each cheek, even as she continued what appeared to be a lengthy tirade of some sort. Gio raised his voice over the woman’s to express some kind of protest at the man, who waved it away and swung Calia’s backpack onto one shoulder.
Calia stood back and enjoyed the spectacle of her hitherto aloof rescuer being subjected to such a hearty, Italian greeting. Impossible to maintain any kind of dignity while being railed at by an ebullient, ruddy-cheeked woman whose energy carried the impact of a force of nature. Calia chuckled as the woman pulled a disdainful expression while gesturing at Gio’s suit.
Her Roman Holiday Page 2