“I–I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He shook his head. “You couldn’t have known. Besides, I mourned his departure a long, long time ago.”
What did he mean by that? She wasn’t about to ask. She’d already overstepped her boundaries by prying when she shouldn’t have. One thing was clear though from his answer—there’d been little love lost between father and son.
Rafaele pushed to his feet. He stepped around the loungers and stood beside Jayne. Relieving her of her glass, he set it down on the table beside his. Then he held out his hand. “Listen, cara mia, they’re playing our song. Would you like this dance?”
She straightened, making a mental note to Google those two words the moment she got back to her hotel. That was the second time in a short while he’d used that gorgeous-sounding phrase on her. She clamped the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth before allowing her mouth to curve into a smile—a silly one, she was sure. “We have a s–ssong?”
He didn’t seem to notice, returning her smile with a smoldering one. “We do.”
He pulled her into his embrace. As they swayed to the music, Rafaele’s low voice crooned the words of “That’s Amore” in her ear.
Double mercy. The world was shining. And she had drunk far too much wine. What had she been thinking consuming a glass and a half when the smell of a soaked cork made her tipsy? But was the wine to blame for the bubbling feelings in her stomach, or was that amore?
She rested her head on his shoulder and raised a finger to her lips.
Numb.
Her lips were numb? Could she even speak? Maybe she should talk now while she was still able to.
“I–I ssshould go home.”
Rafaele pulled away. He stared at her, his warm, brown gaze melting her insides more. “Home?”
A giggle escaped her lips. “To my hotel.” Had he thought she wanted to return to England?
“But the night is still young.”
Jayne giggled again, loving his protests, and pressed a finger to his chest. “Yesss, but you have to get up early to return to Florence. And I— I’m still jetlagged.”
“Jetlagged? England is only a hop, skip, and a jump away from Italy.”
“Yesss, well, I’ve barely ssslept the passst two nights. I’m exhausted.” She trailed her finger down his shirt.
Rafaele clasped her hand and drew her close again. But only for a moment. Taking her hand he stepped out from under the pergola. “You’re right, cara mia. I do need sleep, and so do you. Come, I will drive you back to your hotel.”
Leaving Jayne waiting in the passage, Rafaele dashed into the dining room to retrieve her bag and jacket. Had she consumed too much wine, or was exhaustion to blame for her slurred speech, as she’d intimated?
As he stepped out of the room, Jayne whirled around. Her wide smile flashed a row of pretty white teeth and his heart thumped against his ribs. She was so beautiful.
He handed the bag to her before draping the denim jacket around her shoulders. Then he slid his arm around her waist. She didn’t seem to mind the extra support, and he certainly didn’t mind giving it.
Never before had his Lexus driven the road toward Buonconvento this slowly. But he wanted to stretch out his time with Jayne for as long as he possibly could. Even if she’d grown exceptionally quiet.
“Jayne? Are you awake, cara mia?”
No response.
Rafaele brushed away the blond strands that had fallen across her face then placed his finger under her chin and tipped her face up. Fast asleep. Best she gets as much rest as she possibly could now. Saturday night the Rossis would show her how the Italians partied.
Jayne didn’t stir once during the trip back to her hotel.
Rafaele parked his car in the dark, narrow street just outside the entrance to her apartment. Now what? Should he contact reception and ask them to open her room? That would be silly, especially considering he knew where the keycard was and how easy it would be for him to retrieve it.
He reached for Jayne’s bag on the floor by her feet.
Once he’d carried her inside the apartment, Rafaele lay Jayne down on her bed. He removed her sandals and placed them neatly on the floor beneath the pedestal. Then he covered her with the light throw draped across the foot of her bed.
Before leaving, he scribbled a note on the hotel paper he found on the desk in the living room and placed it in the middle of the table beside her bed. Then he leaned over Jayne, her full, pink lips beckoning. He swallowed hard, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and whispered, “Buonanotte amore mio. Dormi bene. Good night, my love. Sleep well.”
Chapter Seven
SIX MONTHS WAS A LONG time to be away. With his personal belongings packed neatly in the cardboard box tucked under one arm and his briefcase clutched in his other hand, Rafaele headed toward the front door of Bianchi & Russo amid backslaps, waves, and cheers.
Someone in the gathered crowd shouted, “Hurry back, Rafaele. We love you.”
Rafaele turned to see who the culprit was, but it could have been any one of the female faces smiling back at him.
Offering a final goodbye, he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, shutting out the noise, and the strangest feeling washed over him that he might never return—despite the guarantee of his name going up on the front wall of the offices when he resumed work. Why would he think he wasn’t coming back? What had changed since he’d first decided on this sabbatical? The answer came in two small words…
Jayne Austin.
Rafaele set his briefcase down and pulled his phone from his suit pocket. Still nothing. If he didn’t hear from her by the time he got back home to Villa Rossi tonight after collecting his brother, sister, and cousin from the airport, he was taking a drive to Jayne’s hotel. Was she not interested in his offer—in him? Could it be she was embarrassed by what had happened on Tuesday night? He actually found it rather cute that she’d fallen asleep. And he really liked the feelings that had stirred as he’d carried her inside her apartment and tucked her into bed. Really, really liked. In fact, he’d found those yearnings extremely hard to dismiss. It had been difficult to concentrate on tying up all the loose ends at the office the past two days with his thoughts constantly drifting to a certain English lady. Probably half the reason he’d had to work fifteen-hour days.
Finally realizing the elevator hadn’t moved, Rafaele pocketed his phone and reached out to press the “G” button on the panel. He should have just walked the four floors down.
Soon his Lexus wove through the streets of Florence, headed for the airport. He’d have to hurry. His sister’s flight from Australia had arrived almost an hour ago. Hopefully he’d timed his arrival perfectly. He hated hanging around for the time it took passengers to get off a flight, go through passport control, and retrieve their luggage. With six hours between Sienna’s arrival and Ric’s—Marco’s flight slam-bang in the middle—the less time spent at Aeroporto di Firenze-Peretola today, the better.
On the way to the arrivals hall, Rafaele stopped in at a florist and selected a large bunch of brightly colored gerberas—yellow, orange, white, pink, and red—wrapped in brown and olive green papers with a ribbon finishing off the bouquet. Perfect. Sienna would love it. These were her favorite flowers.
He passed a chocolate shop and couldn’t resist detouring there too. His sister loved chocolates, and after the almost twenty-eight hours of traveling she’d endured, she deserved a box of Italy’s finest. He chose a square box of assorted, handmade Venchi chocolates, the red ribbon a stark contrast to the dark brown cardboard with its fancy, gold writing.
What would Jayne think of a box of those?
And he should get a box for Alessa too. His little sister would never forgive him if she knew Sienna had gotten chocolates and she hadn’t.
“Tre.” He held up three fingers to the shop assistant and she removed another two boxes from the shelf behind her, placing each in a separate branded gift bag.
Bear
ing chocolates and flowers, he got to arrivals moments before Sienna walked through the doors, large suitcase and a cabin bag in tow.
He waved, his grin wide. “Sienna! Ciao!”
Her head snapped in his direction. “Rafaele!” She rushed toward him. Releasing her luggage, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Rafaele twirled Sienna around before setting her back on her feet. He kissed her cheeks and gazed at her. “Mia sorella, it’s good to see you again.”
“And you too, brother.” She flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
“Here, these are for you.” He handed her the flowers. Then the chocolates. He grinned. “Uh, not these.”
Sienna peeked into the bags Rafaele still held in his hands. “Ooh, and who are those for?” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Alessa.”
“Both? Surely not.”
Rafaele shook his head.
“Then who’s the other one for?” Sienna bounced on her feet, anxious for him to tell.
“You’ll see, tomorrow.” He hoped.
“Tomorrow? You know how much I hate waiting, Rafaele. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Tomorrow, Sienna.” His voice held a firmer tone which elicited a pout from his beautiful sister. She looked so much like their brother, Ric, except for the years between them and the color of their eyes. Ric and Sienna resembled their father. Poor them. He and Alessa were the ones blessed to bear their mother’s genes. Fortunately, the only part of his father he had inherited was his brown eyes, as had Sienna.
Alessa was the spitting image of Mammà. Was that why their father had seemed to find it harder to look at their baby sister the older she grew?—a constant reminder to Papà of what he’d lost, and the very reason why he had lost the woman he’d been obsessed with.
Sienna huffed out a breath. “Oh, all right… Thanks for the flowers—they’re beautiful.”
She shoved her hand into the gift bag and pulled out the box of chocolates. Her tongue wet her lips. “Venchi...my favorite. You’re spoiling me, big brother.”
Rafaele pulled her into a side hug. “You’re worth spoiling. Are you hungry?”
“Starved!”
“Good, because we have three hours to kill before we need to be back here to meet Marco.” Rafaele wrapped his fingers around the extended handle of the large suitcase.
Flowers and chocolate bag dangling from one hand, Sienna grabbed the cabin bag’s handle with the other. “What time does Ric arrive?”
“Five o’clock. He travels light, so he should get through fast. We might be home by seven thirty. Maria is making Tuscan Bolognese. With a portion made without wine set aside for Ric.”
“Yum. My favorite.”
Exactly why he’d made the request of the housekeeper. And the fact she had the hours to prepare this time-consuming dish.
Rafaele turned to Sienna as they walked. “I’m sure you’re not in the mood for cafeteria-style food. What do you say we put your luggage in the car and find a proper restaurant? We have enough time. There are several near the airport. And we can ask them to keep your flowers fresh while we eat.”
“Great idea. After far too many airline and airport meals, a good old Italian pasta would be perfect.”
Lathered in sunblock, floppy straw hat pressed to her head, Jayne donned her sunglasses then leaned back into the sun lounger to soak up some rays. For a few minutes anyway. Her fair skin wouldn’t permit her the luxury for too long. Sunblock and all. Already she’d sported a pink tinge since Tuesday.
A bronzed, bikini-clad woman smiled at her as she strolled past and then dove into the sparkling swimming pool. She’d love to follow, but that water was cold…even for her British toes.
She gazed on with envy as the golden body glided through the water. Sigh, if only she could turn that color. But she went from white, to pink, and back to white. Did Rafaele like his women tanned?
Rafaele. The thought of what could’ve happened on Tuesday night sent an icy shiver down her spine. But Rafaele had proven himself to be the utmost gentleman in a situation where he could have been anything but.
She, on the other hand... What would her mother have thought? Or more important, what did God think about it?
I’m sorry, Lord, for disappointing You.
Jayne glanced at her phone lying on the cushion beside her leg. She still hadn’t mustered the courage to call Rafaele. So she’d passed out in his car and he’d put her to bed. She had been exhausted that afternoon—how could she know if the wine was responsible for putting her into such a deep sleep? It’s not like she’d drunk the entire bottle. She hadn’t even come close to finishing her second glass…and that over the course of the entire evening.
Try as she might to justify herself, the headache she’d sported on Wednesday morning trumpeted the truth—that red, Italian liquid packed a punch. And she had consumed more than her body was capable of handling. Even if it wasn’t that much.
Saturday, she was sticking to water or soft drinks. No vino for her. She did not want a repeat. Although the adorable note Rafaele had left beside her bed, along with the tiglio bloom he’d picked for her, could be worth risking another headache for a replay. She’d reread the cursive words written in an attractive handwriting so many times over the past two days, she had them memorized.
Jayne, cara mia…
She’d quickly found out the meaning of the two foreign words. My darling. He had been calling her his darling that night? But did that mean anything? What if Italians brandished the word around as easily as the English? Everyone in England was your darling. Okay, maybe not everyone, but it was fairly common practice to darling this, and darling that.
I’m sorry our evening ended so soon. What providence that you stumbled back into my life. Let’s not repeat history. Call me. Come stay at Villa Rossi and let’s get to know each other. Amore, Rafaele.
She had immediately saved the number at the bottom of his note to her phone, even had her finger poised to dial Rafaele, but then she’d remembered how she had embarrassed herself. And here she was, three days later and she still hadn’t called him. She wasn’t even certain anymore if she should go to the party, let alone become a house guest at his grandmother’s villa.
He hadn’t contacted her, either, but then he didn’t have her cell number. She’d passed out before she could give it to him. He could’ve phoned the hotel, however. Nothing stopped him from doing that. Maybe he’d had second thoughts about writing that note the next morning.
Oh blast. She didn’t come all the way to Italy—given up everything back home—just to throw in the towel after her first mistake. She was here to see if what had started one magical night two years ago, had a future.
Jayne reached for her phone and selected Rafaele from her contact list.
Sienna twirled her linguine around the fork far longer than she should, something clearly on her mind. She raised her gaze to stare at Rafaele. “So, what have you been up to since Papà died,” she finally said. “I haven’t heard much from you these past few months.”
He had been rather quiet and not with just her. With all his siblings.
“I’m sorry. There’s been a lot to do sorting out Papà’s estate and helping Nonna.”
Sienna set her fork down on her plate, the pasta still curled around the pronged cutlery. “Thank you for being there for her. I wish I wasn’t so far away. Especially now…”
“It’s okay. I understand. You have a new life in Australia now.” Rafaele popped the last forkful of pasta into his mouth. Just as his phone rang. Chewing fast, he wiped his fingers on the linen napkin then swallowed the mouthful. He reached into his jacket pocket to turn his phone to silent. Whomever it was, they could wait. He was busy enjoying lunch with his sister.
His eyes caught the unfamiliar, extra-long +44 number. That was the UK. It wasn’t Joseph or Ric calling. His pulse raced. Could it finally be Jayne?
“I’m sorry, Sienna. I need to take this.” He placed the phone to his ea
r, praying it wasn’t a client. He was retired. For now. “Rafaele Rossi.”
“Rafaele…hi. I mean, ciao.”
Heart pounding, Rafaele eased back into his chair and lowered his voice. “Jayne. I thought you’d never call.”
“Is that her?” Sienna mouthed, pointing at the phone.
Rafaele narrowed his eyes at his sister.
“I–I’m sorry,” Jayne said. “I’ve just been…busy.”
“I see.” Well, she was on holiday. She’d likely been out sightseeing. And she did ask him to give her some time to think about it.
Sienna stretched her hand toward Rafaele, wiggling her fingers. “Give me the phone. Let me say hello,” she whispered.
“No!” he mouthed back, turning in his chair in an attempt to ignore his now pesky sister.
“I’m sorry. I lied. I haven’t been busy,” Jayne confessed. “I’ve been hiding.”
“Hiding? From who?”
“The mafia.” Jayne’s laugh erupted through the phone. “From you, of course.”
“Me? Why?”
“You need to ask? I passed out on you, remember? I feel so bad. That wasn’t like me at all. I promise.”
How he’d missed the sound of her voice.
“Don’t feel bad. You were…” He chuckled. “What did you say?—jetlagged?”
“Right.” She stretched out the word. “Like you believed that excuse for one second.”
“Maybe not, but I did enjoy tucking you into bed.”
Sienna’s jaw dropped, the pasta on her downturned fork threatening to fall. “What?”
Rafaele shook his head at her. Gracious, what must be going through his sister’s mind at the moment? He’ll have to explain.
“So, have you come to a decision about my offer?”
Jayne drew in an audible breath. “I–I have.”
“And…”
“I would love nothing more than to be your guest at Villa Rossi. So long as your grandmother doesn’t mind,” Jayne added hastily.
Those Blue Tuscan Skies Page 18