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He glanced up to find a young woman standing beside a pushcart of freshly cut flowers. The blooms were separated by kind and color and tucked into individual buckets of water. The overall effect was lovely, as was the cart’s owner. He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. She had a ripe figure, Sophia Loren eyes and mahogany-colored hair that tumbled halfway down her back.
“Hi, uh, buongiorno.”
She switched to English when she asked, “Do you see something you like, signor?”
The invitation in her smile was unmistakable, as was his appalling lack of interest. Here was the kind of mindless distraction he needed, yet the thought of spending time with her—clothed or otherwise—held virtually no appeal. Now, if she’d had blonde hair and blue eyes…He glanced past her to the cart.
“Um, how about some roses?”
“Roses.” Her disappointment was clear.
“A dozen white.” The perfect peace offering for his sister, he decided.
The woman gathered the blooms and added some greenery to the arrangement. Her movements were deft but her enthusiasm to make a sale had waned considerably. That much was all the more obvious when she thrust the bouquet into his hands and spat out a price.
He was reaching into his pocket for his wallet when a burly older man rushed over shouting something in Italian. The words were directed at the young woman, who cast Angelo a second appraising look before leaving.
“You are Luca’s son, no?”
Despite the label’s uncomfortable fit, Angelo answered, “Yes, um, sì.”
“I am Andrea. I own the village floral shop. My daughter, Bianca, looks after the cart for me. I provide flowers for the tables at Rosa.” He cast another dark look in her direction before continuing. “Luca, he is so good to me and my family. He is good to many of us in Monta Correnti. So, I give you these flowers for half the price.”
Angelo fought the ridiculous urge to argue. Instead he offered a stilted, “Grazie.”
After twenty minutes of brooding and walking, he arrived at his father’s restaurant. The exterior of Rosa was just as his brother described it, a rustic stone façade with arched windows. Directly next to it was the more upscale eatery Sorella. Their aunt, Luca’s older sister Lisa, owned it. The two restaurants shared a wall and a gated courtyard, but otherwise they had little in common.
According to Alex, Sorella’s cuisine was contemporary and international, the sort of stuff that could be found at the trendy restaurants of New York. That sounded more like Angelo’s kind of thing. A peek through the restaurant’s wide windows revealed a stylish interior that leaned toward modern with its chrome and glass fixtures and sleek furnishings.
Definitely more my thing, he thought. The designer he’d hired a couple years back to make over his Manhattan apartment had done the rooms in a similar style.
Both restaurants were open for business. Rosa’s door was propped open. Music drifted from inside, something classical and soothing that probably was written around the same time the building was erected. Angelo stepped through the door and was immediately welcomed by the aroma of freshly baked bread and the same tomato sauce Isabella had made for him the evening before. His stomach growled.
A young woman stood at the hostess station. She smiled politely and offered a greeting.
“Ciao,” he replied. “I’m Angelo Casali.” His name, he figured, would say it all.
Based on the way her face lit up, it did. “Sì,sì. Yes. Welcome. Signor Casali is not here.”
Which was exactly why Angelo was willing to set foot in the place today. He smiled.
“Actually, I was hoping to see Isabella. Her husband told me I might find her here.”
“Isabella. Sì. She is taking a telephone call right now, but I will tell her you are here. Have a seat.” The young woman pointed to a table near the front window that offered a view of the street. “Can I get you a cup of espresso to drink while you wait?”
The thought of more caffeine on an empty stomach held zero appeal. “Just water, please.”
She returned a moment later with a bottle of sparkling water and a glass.
“Isabella said to tell you she will be with you soon. Also, your cousin Scarlett is in her office. Shall I get her for you?”
“No. That’s all right. I don’t want to disturb her.”
He was bound to meet all of the Casali clan before he returned to New York, but he wasn’t in the mood to do it now. The young woman nodded and left him to greet a group of tourists that had just come through the door.
Though it was barely a quarter past noon, Rosa was already filling up with patrons. The place was popular, no doubt about it. He figured the rich aromas that had greeted him when he stepped through the door explained why. He’d come here on a mission. He didn’t want to be hungry. Nor did he want to feel this odd sense of pride. But he did.
Someone arrived with a basket of warm bread. When he glanced up to offer his thanks, he saw that it was Isabella.
“Angelo. Hello. I hope you are well rested.” The words were offered with a polite if restrained smile. His doing, he knew.
“Yes,” he lied, even though nothing about the previous night had been restful.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Luca is away.”
“I know.”
Her smile was sad. “Of course, you do.”
Angelo decided to cut to the chase. “I came because I owe you an apology and I didn’t want to let it wait.”
Isabella’s brows rose, but she said nothing. He took that as a positive sign and reached over to pull out the chair next to his. When she was seated he continued.
“I offended you yesterday, and for that I’m sorry. You were nothing but kind, fixing me a meal and making me feel welcome on my first day in Monta Correnti, and I was rude.”
A smile, this one more genuine than polite, creased her cheeks. “Yes, you were.”
Her teasing reply, as much as her impish expression, made it easy to accept they really were siblings. “Unforgivably so?” he asked.
“Never, especially if those flowers are for me.”
He’d nearly forgotten about the roses. He picked up the bouquet now and handed it to her. “I thought it was a fitting gesture.”
“And very sweet. I cannot remember our other brothers ever giving me such a peace offering. When we were little, Cristiano and Valentino used to tickle me till I forgave them.” As she buried her face in the blooms Angelo almost could hear the echoes of childish laughter. It unsettled him because he regretted not having been a part of it. She smiled at him. “I think I like your act of contrition better.”
“I’m just glad you’re no longer upset with me.”
“How could I be?” She set the roses aside and clasped his hands firmly in her much smaller ones. “We’re family, Angelo.”
He didn’t argue, even though the concept still seemed so foreign. But he needed to make one thing clear. “I don’t know that I can forgive him, Isabella. What Luca did, it’s not the same as a surly mood. Sorry and flowers won’t fix it.”
She sobered slightly as she settled back in her chair. “I only ask that, when you are ready, you will listen to what he has to say.”
Angelo nodded and sipped his water. Still, he had to know. “Why is it so important to you?”
She seemed perplexed by the question. “We are family, Angelo. Familia. What is more important than that?”
He envied Isabella’s passion on the subject. This made twice in a matter of minutes that she’d referenced their shared bloodline. He wanted to be swayed by her argument, to get behind it with as much conviction. Even with half as much. But the truth was, “The only family I’ve had for a very long time is Alex.”
Her gaze held compassion as well as empathy. “I understand from your brother that your mother died when you were teenagers.”
“She drank herself to death,” he said bluntly. “Cindy…” An embarrassing rush of emotions washed away the rest of his words. He shook his head and tried again. “She was never going to win any Mother of the Year awards, you know? But she was all we had.”
“My mamma is gone as well. She died when I was young.” Her gaze softened. “I still miss her.”
Alex had mentioned that Luca’s second wife, Violetta, had been killed in a tragic fall. Fate could be crueler than addiction, even though some might argue that it didn’t matter since the end result was the same. But fate put things outside one’s control. “That’s rough. Sorry.”
“I remember her a little, as does Valentino. He is the youngest. Cristiano, who is two years older than I am, has more memories.” Her expression clouded.
“I get the feeling that even though you weren’t the oldest, you took care of them.” What little he knew of Isabella pointed to a take-charge person. After all, she’d been the one to initiate contact with Angelo and Alex. The peacemaker, the bridge-maker. He’d admire the characteristics more if they weren’t running against his own goals.
“I did.”
“And you helped out here.” He made a circular motion with one hand.
“Yes. Our father was lost in his grief after Mamma died. He needed me.”
Luca and his needs. It took all of Angelo’s willpower not to sneer.
“Why aren’t you bitter?” He hadn’t intended to ask that question, so he shook his head. “Never mind. I came here to apologize to you, not to pick another fight.”
“I will answer anyway. Bitterness serves no useful purpose, Angelo. I would have liked a different childhood, sì. One with fewer cares and responsibilities, but…” Isabella’s shoulders rose.
“Well, you’re obviously happy now.”
“I am. Very.” Blue eyes that were so like his own lit with an emotion that Angelo had yet to experience for himself.
“Alex said you’re married, and to a real prince, no less.”
Her smile grew wider. “Maximilliano Di Rossi.”
“I spoke to him today. He wasn’t very happy with me.”
Her laughter was pleased and wholly female. “He can be very protective.”
“So I gathered.”
“You will meet him and some of the others at the—” Isabella broke off and blushed.
“At the what?”
“Party.”
“Let me guess. I’m to be the guest of honor,” he said dryly.
She wrinkled her nose. “Would you rather not have such a gathering? If that is your wish I can call the others and explain. They can meet with you individually during the course of your stay in Italy.”
Now there was an even less appealing thought. Better to get it over with in one fell swoop than prolong the agony over days. “No. A party is fine. When is it and where?”
“We thought we would give you a chance to settle in first, get to know some people. So it is planned for a week from Friday at eight o’clock. Our plan is to close Rosa early for the occasion. Valentino will be here. Cristiano, unfortunately, can’t be. He’s a firefighter and was injured during a blaze in Rome.”
A strange feeling of concern stirred for this stranger who shared his bloodline. “Is he…okay?”
Isabella’s smile was all-knowing. “He will be.” Then, “You are sure a family party is all right with you?”
“Yes.”
Her expression turned wily when she mentioned, “You could bring someone.”
“Who would I bring?” he asked, though he had the feeling his sister had someone in mind.
She did. “How about Atlanta Jackson? I have heard from no fewer than three sources already this morning that you were spotted sharing cannoli with the pretty actress at the café up the street.”
And Atlanta’s abrupt departure? Had they mentioned that?
“Is everything all right, Angelo?”
“Fine. It’s just that she came here hoping to get away. She doesn’t want to draw any attention to herself.”
“Nor will she,” Isabella assured him. “The villagers are curious about her, but they will leave her be. No one will ask for autographs or pictures. The wealthy and famous come here because they know they can count on our discretion. In turn, they keep our economy going.”
“Good. She’s going through a rough patch professionally and personally. The last thing she needs right now is to find herself being tailed by the media, legitimate or otherwise.”
“I have read some of the things her ex is saying.”
“Lies.” But Angelo didn’t think Zeke’s cruelty or control were the only demons she needed to exorcise.
Isabella tilted her head to one side. “You seem very…concerned about her. Have you and this Atlanta known one another for very long?”
“We don’t really know one another at all,” he said slowly.
His sister smiled before helpfully suggesting, “Perhaps you can remedy that while you are here.”
Atlanta rubbed her throbbing forehead with one hand and pressed the telephone to her ear with the other as Sara Daniels, one of the few true friends she had in Los Angeles, confirmed her worst fears.
“I hate to tell you this, but you’re still making headlines. When I stopped for coffee on my way into work this morning, I saw pictures of you and Angelo Casali together in Rome’s airport on the front page of a couple of tabloids.”
Even as she bit back a groan Atlanta forced herself to ask, “What are they saying about me now?”
“Hon, you don’t want to know.”
“No, I don’t, but tell me anyway.” Forewarned was forearmed.
Sara heaved a sigh. “Okay. The headline on the one in The Scoop is, um, ‘Angel and the Tramp’. The article claims that the two of you have been involved on and off for years.”
“Of course it does. And the other tabloid? What did it come up with for a headline?”
“Keep in mind the writer is probably a Rogues fan, okay?” Sara hedged.
