Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  Purse across her body, her bags by her side, she waited. Moments later a knock on the door signaled her ride had arrived. She flung it open.

  “Jackson?”

  He leaned against the doorframe, a questioning smile on his face. “I know you were expecting Domenic. Sorry to disappoint.”

  She reached for the wall, lightheaded. Jackson jerked forward, his hands finding her waist. “You okay?”

  She did not dare meet his eyes. He smelled good—looked even better, though tired around his eyes. Why was he here? He was supposed to have gone!

  “Meg?”

  “I thought you left?”

  “I did.”

  “But you’re here.” Obvious was all she had at the moment.

  “I was on my way to the airport when I realized I had left my phone plugged in at Domenic and Elena’s.”

  She pressed her lips together and gave him a nod. “So you went back for your phone. That makes sense.”

  His eyes swept over her face. She glanced away.

  His voice turned husky. “See, the thing is, I reached for it in the car, hoping there would be some word about you.”

  “Well, you can let Pepper know that I’ve been found.” She raised her chin and flashed a look at him square in the eyes. “And there’s been absolutely nothing untoward going on regarding your father’s attorney. As you apparently know, I haven’t even seen him and Elena yet.”

  He quirked his chin to the side, eyeing her. “Pepper has nothing to do with my being here. Doesn’t even know I’ve gone.”

  “But you came here, knowing I would seek out the Marinos.”

  “Actually, no. I’m not diabolical enough, I guess.” He gave her a “come on, I’m teasing” smile. “Meg, I had no idea you had left town. I showed up at your house to apologize, and found your mother there, waiting for her ride to the bus station.”

  Lights went on. “My mother told you.”

  “Don’t blame her. She figured I already knew.” He paused. “May I come in?”

  She took one hobbled step back. His hands stayed at her waist, the two moving together, like a dance. He kicked the door shut and pulled her into him, speaking into her hair. “I couldn’t stand not knowing what had happened to you.”

  A rush quickened her. She wanted to believe him, but did she dare? Her head swirled from jet lag and heat and the beauty of Italy that she already experienced. She had been so angry with him for days—years, actually—could she let all that go in one moment?

  “Look at me.”

  She lifted her chin.

  “There is so much more to say. How about I get you out of this steam bath and let me convince you on the way over to the Marino’s air-conditioned apartment to let me have the time to explain myself.”

  Her hand rested on his chest. “I’ll get my things.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance.” One of his hands slid down along her back and the other swooped beneath her knees. He lifted her in his arms and she inhaled him as he did, her hand resting on the back of his neck.

  “I hardly think this is necessary, Jackson.”

  “I’m not about to let you take another step on that bad foot. Give me your key to this heap.”

  She dangled the lone key in front of his face.

  He smirked. “Tuck it into my back pocket.” He paused. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Uh, doubtful I can reach, in this position.”

  He moved into the hall, leaving the door ajar. “Probably better that way. Car’s waiting, so I’ll come back for your suitcase.”

  For reasons she did not bother to dissect, she allowed Jackson to carry her from her apartment to the street where a car waited. He spared a look at her more than once beneath his lashes. Had he half-expected her to bolt? Frankly, she expected it of herself.

  The driver opened the door to the back seat of the car and Jackson gently released her to stand on the uneven street. He traced her cheek with his finger and tucked a flyway strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Wait for me?”

  She nodded her agreement. As she slid in behind the passenger seat, she felt in some ways that she already had been.

  Chapter 13

  “If you could go anywhere today, where would it be?”

  Meg looked out to the busy Florence day. “This place … there are so many beautiful sights I’ve yet to experience, but my foot.” She shook her head. “What was I thinking not bringing my boot?”

  Jackson reached over and rubbed the back of her hand. He had surprised her by sliding in next to her in the back seat after retrieving her luggage. “Geno,” he said to the driver, “take us to Piazzale Michelangelo.”

  Geno laughed. “Ah, you are a romantic. Si, I will take you.”

  Meg cut in. “But what about Domenic and Elena?”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. “They will be fine. I’m not quite ready to share you.”

  Warmth breezed through her. Her mind filled with myriad protests, but she didn’t care to utter a single one. Instead, she reminded herself to breathe and hoped she would not be waking up anytime soon.

  Soon they arrived at the base of a winding road. She caught Geno smiling at her in the rearview mirror. “You will soon see the masterpiece that is Florence.” He sounded as excited to show it to them as she was to see it.

  Jackson leaned closer to her, pointing at the sky outside of the car window. “My father used to talk about this place.”

  She glanced at him, his face inches from hers. “He did? I don’t remember hearing him mention it.”

  “I had forgotten about it until now. Said that when he was young he would hike up here to think, that it was magical to him.”

  They made their way around another bend, taking in glimpses of Florence’s topography beyond a line of trees. Once they reached the top, their driver stopped and turned.

  “We will stop here so you can enjoy the view without so many tourists,” he said. “You should carry her outside to take a selfie.”

  “Great idea.” Jackson hopped out and came around to Meg’s side of the car. He opened the door. She stopped him with one hand when he attempted to scoop her up.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  He stood and offered her his hand instead, which she took to steady herself. She attempted to let his hand go, but he kept hold of hers and tucked it under his arm. “Walk with me,” he said.

  Together, they walked to the short wall along the edge of the road where they could take in the vista. Meg gasped. The Palazzo Vecchio, the Arno, the bell tower … the Duomo. So much to take in from one spot. “It’s better than a postcard.”

  “C’mon,” he said, turning her around. “We’d better take that selfie or else our driver will become impatient with us.”

  She laughed. “Wouldn’t want that.”

  Phone in the air. Click. He looked at the screen, then showed it to her. The photo of the two of them together, smiling, with an ancient city as their backdrop sobered her. They were entering new territory, and what would become of it? Would they end up like those couples from The Bachelor who fell apart after the spell of faraway places had returned to the everyday?

  She chased away the thought as quickly as it had come. No sense in building castles where only moments stood. Instead, she told herself, enjoy the experience. A driver—and a friend—in Italy. She should want for nothing more.

  After their whirlwind tour of Piazzale Michelango, their driver took them to Domenic and Elena’s apartment. Via Roma! No wonder the name had sounded so familiar when she had heard it. Inside, Elena squeezed her with the strength of a hundred grandmas.

  “So, so happy you are here! But look at you—you are too tiny. You must be starving.”

  Domenic chuckled. “Don’t fight it, cara mia.”

  Before long, Meg sat cozied up beneath the large window that looked out onto the street below, a few straggly plants in view. If she were to lean slightly, she could see a peek of the Duomo.


  Elena served her a tray with coffee she had made with her Moka pot. “No matter what anyone tells you, this is the best way to make coffee.” She glanced at Domenic, who was in conversation with Jackson, and whispered, “He always tells me the French press is better, but no. It is too grainy that way. You will love this. Cream?”

  “Yes. Grazie.”

  “I will leave the pot here. Americans sip coffee all day long, but Italians throw it down like medicine. You take your time. I will bring you some brioche to enjoy while I make your lunch.”

  Lunch, too?

  Jackson said, “I’ve made arrangements to stay at Hotel Pace, so I will drop my things off there and come back for you later this afternoon.”

  “If I may,” Domenic said, “I would like to take you both out to dinner tonight. Elena will be leaving soon for Sienna.”

  “I am so sorry to have to leave you,” Elena cut in. “I promised my sister, Alice, I would help her shop, but I will return in two days. I will leave meals for you. Mark my words!”

  Meg gave Domenic and Jackson a guilty smile, then said to Elena, “Please. Don’t trouble yourself one more minute for me!”

  Elena bounded back into the room, wooden spoon fanning the air. “Enough of that talk. Your visit has made me young again!”

  Meg laughed at this. “Oh … thank you! I wonder if I could trouble you for one more thing, then? May I borrow an adaptor so I can use my flat iron?”

  “Si, of course, of course. I will find you one.”

  Jackson reached out and touched a strand of her hair. “I was going to say that I like your hair like this. You look relaxed … and happy.”

  She touched his hand as it rested on her wild mane, as she had begun to think of it. “Really?”

  He smiled back at her. “Yeah. Leave it.”

  Though her breath caught at the way he looked at her, she managed to breathe. She swung a look at Domenic, who had grown quiet. “We would love to have dinner with you. Already you have been too kind.”

  “Marvelous.” He turned to Jackson. “Go on now and get yourself settled at your friend’s hotel. I will take care of Meg here. She can watch the parade of tourists go by until you return.”

  Jackson’s gaze brushed her. He touched her shoulder before leaving, but nothing more.

  When he had gone, Elena bustled back in, winded and slightly flushed. “I have made you a panini with prosciutto, basil, robiola cheese, and cherry tomatoes.”

  Meg glanced at the feast, a sandwich the size of the state of Ohio. She caught Domenic peering at her, a hilarious expression on his face.

  “I have faith in you.”

  She quirked her cheek. “Okay if I just order a salad tonight?”

  He threw back his head in laughter. “I am sure that can be arranged.”

  * * *

  The air in the trattoria swam with the aroma of truffle oil and oregano, tomatoes and olive oil. Jackson felt the familiar growl of his hungry stomach.

  Domenic refused the wine list and ordered a bottle of the house red for the table. He leaned forward. “Always the best choice,” he said. “Remember this when you are dining out together.”

  Jackson slid Meg a teasing look, but she glanced away and focused on the menu in front of her.

  He darted a look at the menu too, every word of it in Italian. He could struggle through it, of course. But Meg’s proximity to him had already churned up another struggle.

  Meg closed her menu and tapped Domenic on his wrist. “Will you order for me?”

  His smile beamed at her request, so Jackson closed his menu, too.

  “Yes, please. Order for us both. We trust you.”

  “Well, then, that I will do! I will order bistecca, of course, and a number of other dishes we can share.”

  After he had ordered, Domenic turned his attention to Jackson. “Tell us about this hotel you are staying in. How are the accommodations?”

  “Not as grand as yours.”

  “Tell the truth, son.”

  Jackson laughed. “The hotel has a spa that I think we might want to emulate in California. Of course, I will need to get some feedback on their treatments, to make sure they are worth the hype.” He glanced at Meg. “Care to help me out with this?”

  “Sure. I can take a tour and give you my impression.” She had switched into work mode—not exactly the response he had hoped for.

  “Not a tour, although you can if you want to.” He pulled out a slim sheet of card stock and an envelope and handed it to her. “Here is their menu—and a gift card. Take some time for yourself this week to enjoy anything on there that you’d like.”

  She accepted the menu. “Well, if it’s for work—”

  Domenic winked at her. “I think he is trying to give you a gift. A generous man, like his father.”

  Meg froze.

  Jackson glanced at her. He’d been able to sweep her off her feet earlier in the day, but why was giving her a gift so difficult? “You said you had never been to a spa.”

  She glanced at Domenic, then back at him, a tinge of red to her cheeks. “I … could we … maybe we should talk about this after dinner.”

  Domenic cut in. “I am sure if you don’t want to use the gift card my Elena would gladly take a massage—she is tough, though. Hopefully the masseuse could handle her.”

  Meg burst out laughing at this.

  The wine arrived and their waiter poured them each a glass of Sangiovese.

  Domenic lifted his glass to toast. “Cin cin.”

  They clinked their glasses and sipped, then feasted on a platter of greens and sipped some more.

  More than once Domenic told them both how happy he was to see them. “At our age, we do not travel back to the States anymore. I hope this is one of many more trips to come for the both of you.”

  Jackson looked at Meg for some sign that she hoped so too.

  A plate of pasta followed for them to all share. Domenic poured them each more wine, then sat back, resting from the meal, his expression thoughtful. “Jackson, I have not said this to you before, but I am so pleased at the man you have become. Though I have not seen you in a long while, I can say that you remind me very much of your father.”

  The second time he had said so this evening. Jackson could not see it, though. His father had been stubborn beyond belief, had made decisions he had not always understood. An enigma. Still, Jackson bobbed his head in hopes that this conversation would go away.

  Meg said, “How so?”

  “William worked hard with a singular purpose. He used to tell me that he worked hard not to think of himself.”

  Jackson considered this. “Are you saying he was selfish? And that I am too?”

  “That is not what I mean at all. Your father knew how easy it was to become self-centered; he acknowledged that as a fact of human nature. But he aimed to look outward, and over time, I think he became quite good at it.”

  “I agree. He was quite good at thinking of other people first.” Meg’s voice sounded gentle.

  This time he couldn’t hide a frown. “Like Pepper.”

  “I’m sure you know that your father carried much guilt where Pepper was concerned. He had not known of her for many years—not until after your mother passed away. Once he learned of her, he did everything he could to find her, but her own mother had passed away.” He paused. “It was a difficult experience for him.”

  Meg touched his sleeve. “And for you, too?”

  He nodded. “I wanted to help him as much as I could but had my own challenges to deal with.”

  Jackson nodded, remembering the mild heart attack Domenic had experienced, the one that sent him in search of a place to retire.

  “Pepper is lovely, don’t you think?”

  Meg had just taken a sip of wine and began to cough. Jackson patted her back, allowing his hand to linger there. He focused on Domenic. “To be straight with you, we’ve had our challenges with Pepper.”

  Domenic frowned. “I see. I am surprised. Perha
ps she does not care to be part of the business?”

  “It’s the opposite. She has become quite overbearing.”

  Both of Domenic’s brows rose. He glanced at Meg. “You have not said very much.”

  “I am not a fan.”

  Domenic took a large breath. “Well, I see. Your father had great hopes that you and she could work together. Of course, you are ultimately in charge. You understand that, don’t you, Jackson?”

  Meg’s brown eyes grew wide, imploring him. How could he explain to her that he had the legal right to force Pepper from an active role at the company, yet had not done so? He pulled his arm back to his side. How could he explain it to himself?

  Finally, he spoke. “My father chose to make Pepper an integral part of his company upon his death. I have tried to honor that.”

  “But you don’t understand it.”

  “No, I don’t. And there are other things my father did as well that I cannot understand.”

  “For example?”

  “Why he banished me from the company while he was alive, for example.”

  “Banished you? I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

  “Maybe too strong a word.”

  Meg gaped at him. Insulting her memory of his father had gone too far, he guessed.

  Domenic hummed to himself as if in thought. He took up his fork and knife and cut into the steak Florentine on their table, slicing the meat into three equal pieces before dishing it up to each of them.

  Meg shook her head, but Domenic coaxed her with a jut of his chin. She relented, allowing him to add the steak to her plate.

  As he slid a hunk of steak onto Jackson’s plate, a light of recognition went on in his eyes. “Do you mean when he sent you to work for someone else?”

  “He didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”

  “Ah, finally something I know the answer to. It is simple: He wanted you to work for someone else for a while—someone other than him. He believed that dealing with difficult people and situations on a daily basis outside of the family business would help you when you came back to work with him.”