by Jan Moran
She had to call Scarlett right away.
23
IT WAS SUNDAY afternoon and Fianna was hurrying to meet Scarlett at Bow-Tie before everyone else arrived. As usual, the restaurant was closed to patrons on Sunday, but this was the day they gathered and brought friends and family. Fianna put on one of her new pink Flop T-shirts with narrow white pants and left her apartment.
She’d tried to call Niall late last night and again this morning, but he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t returned her messages either. Maybe he’d decided the distance was insurmountable. She had to admit it probably was, but she still longed to hear his voice.
When she arrived at Bow-Tie, Scarlett was already there with a plate of her mother’s empanadas hot from the kitchen.
Fianna greeted Scarlett and sat down across from her. “Those smell delicious.”
“The next course is paella. And wait until you see the desserts.”
Fianna reached into her purse and pulled out a small cloisonné magnifying glass and the photographs the reporter had left behind. “Scarlett, look at these photos. They were taken from the security film.”
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “This is evidence. How did you get these?”
Fianna told her about the reporter. “They must have been leaked to the media.” She handed her the magnifying glass. “Now look. Tell me what you see.”
Scarlett tucked her coppery blond hair behind her ear and inspected the images. “It looks like nighttime. A man in slacks and a nice shirt, a female housekeeper, they’re leaving a room… and he’s holding her arm around her bicep muscle in her upper arm. That’s a little odd.”
“Why would a man hold a woman’s arm like that?
Scarlett put the magnifier down. “To support her, or guide her. Or make sure she doesn’t get away.”
“Go on, keep looking.” Fianna bit into an empanada while Scarlett leaned over the photos.
“This is weird. She has a dark skirt hanging beneath her white housekeeper’s uniform.”
“And what else?” The woman’s head was bent forward, so her face couldn’t be seen, though the man’s face was clearly depicted. There was no doubt it was Doyle. But who was the woman?
“The shoes don’t look quite right. Most housekeepers wear comfortable rubber-soled shoes. Those look like thin leather.”
Fianna clasped her hands. “The police assumed Doyle bribed this housekeeper to let him into the dressing room so he could sabotage the shoes.” She’d already filled Scarlett in on Doyle, the ancient family feud, and his proposal. “But look at those shoes and the little grosgrain bows on the toe cap. I’ve stayed in a lot of nice hotels, but I’ve never seen a housekeeper working in five-hundred dollar Ferragamo Varina flats. I bet if these are blown up, the logo would be visible on the brass plate.”
“Ay-yi-yi,” Scarlett exclaimed. “But why do you care, as long as this proves you had nothing to do with it? Which is fantastic, by the way. The lawsuit will probably be dropped. And Doyle’s family has deep pockets, so the plaintiff would go after the O’Donnells.”
“Because Doyle is my sister’s cousin by marriage. He’s a jerk, but I don’t think he’s capable of planning to harm people. He might even be salvageable someday.” She smirked. “Just not by me.”
“Then who is this woman?”
“I have a theory.” Fianna pointed to tiny time stamps at the bottom of the photos. “If you look at when he went in, and when he came out, he didn’t have time to inflict all the damage on those shoes that I saw.”
“Is there a photo of her entering the room?”
“If there is, I don’t have it. But he looks angry, doesn’t he?”
Scarlett looked closer. “He sure does.”
“What if she called him and told him what she was doing. He might have been furious. He came to get her and took her from the room.”
“Or they might have planned it together.”
Fianna thought about that, though she preferred her explanation. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
Scarlett picked up an empanada and broke it open. “You have to tell the police.”
“I will. I have the detective’s email. And I think I know who the woman is.” She remembered the day Doyle had proposed. The clicking of a woman’s shoes across the floor as she was leaving. Sensible Ferragamo flats with a tweed skirt. Limp, mousy brown hair, like the woman in the photo. “Her name is Brona. She follows Doyle around like a lovesick puppy. What I don’t understand is why she did it.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe she was avenging me for jilting him, with the hope that he’d fall into her arms in gratitude.”
“People have crazy ideas we can’t understand.”
Fianna opened her email on her phone and tapped out a message. “It will be Monday morning there in a few hours.” She hit send.
Scarlett picked up another empanada. “Look, here’s Verena and Dahlia.”
Dahlia sat beside them, and Fianna detected the scent of their new fragrance. “That perfume is so beautiful and sexy. Thank you, Dahlia, for mocking it up and filling the samples so quickly.”
“The pre-orders were fantastic. It was a risky concept, but you sure carried it off with aplomb, Fianna. You’re a star.” Dahlia applauded her friend.
Johnny greeted Scarlett with a kiss. “Mimosas, ladies?” He passed out flutes with champagne and orange juice. “Fianna, we’re celebrating you, today. Have you seen the buzz on social media? You’re hot. The Flop tops are a huge hit.”
Fianna reached for a glass. “What a relief.” Everyone would have an opinion, but this was good news. Now she’d have to step up production. She thought about Davina and wondered if she’d like to help organize new Fitzgerald Flop runway shows. Without the actual flops.
“I wish I could have been there,” Verena said. “But we were filming a new infomercial segment for a new product, and we were working overtime to get it done.” She reached for an empanada and took a bite. “Hmm, mushrooms. Oh, this is delicious.”
Fianna took another one, too. “Can you imagine I threw this concept together in a day? My intern, Tiffany, brought in her fashion design classmates. It was incredible.” Fianna knew Scarlett had been with another client, too.
Dahlia wound her dark hair into a messy bun as she spoke. “Fianna really needed this break after the Dublin disaster. But she made her own luck. The paparazzi were hunting her, looking for a juicy story. And our Fianna sure gave them one.” She secured her hair and then raised her flute. “Here’s to you, Fianna, and to all of us, for always making our own luck.”
Each one of the friends agreed and clinked glasses.
Lance sent steaming bowls of paella from the kitchen. He and Scarlett’s mother, Isabel, retired from the kitchen to join them. Minutes later, Verena’s grandmother Mia arrived. Fianna thought the three elders looked fabulous. Soon they were all talking and laughing and having a wonderful time.
Fianna watched the interplay between Scarlett and Johnny, and Verena and Lance. These couples had been through their share of hardships, but they’d overcome their challenges together. They had been truly lucky to find each other.
She couldn’t get Niall out of her mind. Fianna propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Why wasn’t he returning her calls? They’d had such a deep connection. How could he let her go so easily? She blinked back tears that pooled in her eyes. Or was he unable to overcome the loss of his wife after all?
Brushing the corners of her eyes, Fianna tried to listen to her friends, but the memory of Niall tugged on her mind. The days she’d spent with him in Ireland had been ideal. It wasn’t the wine, or the massage, or the castle—it was Niall. They had fun together, they laughed, and they cared for each other. She hadn’t held back with him.
Love hurts. She sipped her champagne, swallowing against the lump in her throat.
She adored her friends, but she needed a moment alone. She rose from the table and wandered through the restaurant. She stopped by a carved
marble fireplace, a relic from when this cottage had been a private home, long before businesses were built around it, encroaching on its character. It was a courageous holdout, and the owners had reinvented it as a restaurant.
Isn’t that exactly what she had done? She’d reinvented the way she did business. She’d been thinking of creating a less expensive line, but she’d been forced into it. Now she was glad. She needed something to keep her mind off Niall. She shuddered. She’d have to be content just listening to his music on the radio.
She draped an arm across the fireplace and sipped her champagne. She was here with friends she loved, the lawsuit would be dropped, and business was looking up. Wasn’t that enough?
Fianna had always been the little girl who grabbed life with both hands. She hadn’t changed much. She still wanted it all. And most of all, she wanted a man she could share it with. She knew that now. Tears slipped from her eyes. She longed for Niall.
Johnny must have turned on the music, because she heard the low strumming of an acoustic guitar. She closed her eyes and leaned against the mantle, remembering how she’d listened to Niall playing the guitar and the piano. She loved the music in his soul.
More than anything, she simply loved Niall.
The music grew louder and humming soon accompanied the piece.
Will everything remind me of Niall?
Slow, measured footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. She squeezed her eyes tighter, unwilling to share this moment with any of her well-meaning friends.
A rich voice rose with the melody. “Hello Fianna, hello, my lady of the midnight moon…”
How can it be? That voice—his voice—sounded so real, so sensual and rich and gravelly. Full of experience. And that song… She opened her eyes and found herself gazing at Niall, who stood in the doorway, strumming his guitar.
“I wrote that one for you, too.” Swiftly he swung his guitar on its strap around to his back and stepped toward her.
“Niall!” She raced to him. He caught her in his arms and whirled her around, peppering her face with kisses. “I called and called. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never. I was on an airplane.” He cradled her face in his hands and hungrily kissed her.
She responded to him in an instant. Her heartbeat strengthened, her neck flushed, and her skin thrilled to his touch. They drank in each other as though they’d been lost in an arid desert.
He pressed her to his chest, swaying gently, his chest reverberating with a deep throaty hum. It was the song he’d been singing. A song he’d written just for her.
She melted in his taut, muscular arms. This was where she was meant to be. Forever.
Niall threaded his fingers through her hair. “After you left, my home was emptier than it had ever been. I couldn’t imagine being there without you.”
“You came here for me? How long will you stay?”
Niall kissed her forehead. “As long as it takes, Miss Crazy Eyes. I’ve booked a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but I have a feeling I should look for something more permanent. I’m going to start an indie music label.”
“Here?” When he nodded, Fianna flung her arms around him, ecstatic.
“Think you can get away to Ireland from time to time?”
She brushed his lips with hers. “I can design anywhere, and Evangeline is really running the shop.”
His eyes sparkled with passion. “I called Johnny to make sure you’d be here. He told me you had a big, breakthrough hit yesterday with the media and buyers alike.”
“That’s true.” She ran a hand down her shirt. “I figured I’d make it memorable. This is part of my new line, the Flop.”
“You’re joking about that name, right?” Niall looked into her eyes to see if she was teasing him. When she shook her head, he threw his head back and laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Fianna. You’ve got guts—and a whole lot more.”
“So do you, Niall.” Fianna lifted her face to his, and their lips met. This man was her destiny. She just knew it.
Niall nuzzled her neck. His day-old beard was slightly scratchy, but she loved it.
“You’ve turned my world around, Fianna. I feel like I’ve known you forever. I never thought I could love again, but Fianna, my love, you saved me from drowning and brought me back to the world of the living.” He encircled her waist, pressing gently against her lower back.
She smiled. “We saved each other, remember?”
- The End –
Thank you for reading the first part of the Love California collection, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Continue reading Dahlia’s story in the second Love California Collection, which contains Essence, along with Penelope in Style, and Elena in Sparkle.
Download Essence here. Or, if you prefer a box set, download the second Love California Collection Box Set here.
Individual books are also available in print books and audiobooks.
To learn about new releases, please join my VIP Readers Club and receive a bonus read. You might also enjoy reading my sweet Summer Beach series, beginning with Seabreeze Inn here.
Read on for an excerpt from Essence.
Preview: ESSENCE
An old family secret. A handsome Formula 1 race car driver. Can Dahlia handle the dangerous curves ahead when their worlds collide?
When indie perfumer Dahlia Dubois steps in to lead the iconic, international perfume house her grandmother founded, she soon discovers that nothing is as it seems—including the intriguing man she meets in Cannes, France.
Soon, tensions rise in Monaco, where Dahlia juggles a search for her missing mother, a corporate takeover, and a volatile, passionate relationship with Alain, a legendary Formula 1 race car driver—all just days before the glamorous Monaco Grand Prix race. As long-held family secrets emerge and threaten her future, Dahlia must find the courage to face the dangerous truth.
Chapter 1
Cannes, France
“I KNOW IT was sudden, but I wanted to attend the film festival.” Dahlia sat at an outdoor table at a café overlooking yachts in the Vieux Port harbor of Cannes, hoping her grandmother wouldn’t detect her studied nonchalance over the phone—or the undercurrent of nervousness she felt. “Several actresses are wearing Fianna’s gowns,” she added, proud of her friend’s work.
“And I hope they’re wearing our perfume.” Camille’s imperious voice crackled across the Atlantic. “Just as important, while you’re there you should meet our Formula 1 driver. Alain Delamare has a home in Cannes and he’s quite charming. He just won the Grand Prix in Spain. He’s from a fine family originally from Normandy, though they live in California now.” She paused to take a breath. “You should have dinner together, ma chére. I’ve known his family since before you were born. One of his aunts was a friend of your—”
Camille broke off and Dahlia knew she’d started to say your mother, but caught herself. Still, she recognized the conspiratorial pitch of Camille’s voice. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need your matchmaking.”
At that, a man at the table near hers glanced up with interest, and Dahlia found herself staring into his blazing blue eyes, which crinkled at the corners in a bemused expression. She couldn’t help but smile. With the Cannes Film Festival underway, the area was teaming with filmmakers, actors, and press. She wondered who he was.
Camille continued. “I think you do need my help, as evidenced by Kevin.” She sniffed in disdain. “Alain has such lovely manners. We had dinner together in New York and—”
“I don’t want to hear any more about Alain Delamare.” Dahlia glanced away from the man, breaking his captivating gaze.
Another pause. “Kevin is with you, isn’t he?” Camille’s tone was flat. “Tell him it’s business, which technically it is. What’s one evening?”
“That would be awfully rude. Besides, I’m no longer part of your company. I have my own business now.”
Her grandmother was relentless, but Camille’s inexorabl
e drive was how she’d made her fortune and continued to expand it. Today, Parfums Dubois ranked in the lofty upper echelons of luxury perfume beside Guerlain and Chanel. The purchase of the Formula 1 team and the rebranding of it to Team Dubois had catapulted the company to front pages and magazine covers around the globe, increasing sales and the value of the company even more.
“My offer still stands, dear. Both offers, but we can start with Alain.”
Camille had been angling for Dahlia to return to work for the family business, but Dahlia had plans of her own. “And I appreciate it, but the answer is still no. On both counts, Grand-mère.” She was pleasant but firm. Nothing was going to spoil this special trip.
A fragrant café au lait steamed before her, chasing away the fresh morning chill. The early sun warmed her bare shoulders and clear skies formed a canopy over the turquoise water of the Mediterranean Sea. Chirping birds flitted through gracefully arched palm fronds and bracelets of vivid magenta bougainvillea tumbled across ancient stone walls. Lovers strolled hand in hand, pausing to admire sleek harbor boats and artful boutique windows.
Dahlia glanced at the time on her phone. Kevin should have been here more than half an hour ago.
The man at the nearby table had returned to reading his book, but she wondered if he were still eavesdropping. Her interest piqued, she studied him surreptitiously through half-lidded eyes. He was undeniably attractive; he wore a dark blue T-shirt that was stretched across his trim muscular frame, along with white cotton pants and deck shoes. Slight morning stubble matched his short, sun-bleached chestnut hair. Probably belongs to one of the boats, she surmised.
Her grandmother continued talking about the success of the Parfums Dubois Formula 1 team. Camille had been a fan of the sport since she’d been a child in France and her father had raced a Bugatti in an early French Grand Prix. Parfums Dubois had long been a sponsor next to Red Bull and Rolex, Chandon and CNN, but ownership now elevated the brand to a rarified level. Team Dubois was the newest owner in a sport in which few in the world could compete.
