by Kristy Tate
“I was going to make you brownies, but I didn’t have all the ingredients, so I tried to make dog-poop cookies—”
“Dog-poop cookies?”
“Haven’t you ever had those?”
“No. And I don’t think I want to.”
“They’re good. Well, at least I like them.”
He kissed her forehead and pulled her close. “I’m just glad you’re safe. Now will you come with me to the hotel?”
She gazed into his face, trying to read him. “I won’t share your bed.”
“I didn’t think you would. There’s a pull-out sofa in the living room. I’ll sleep there.”
When she opened her mouth to argue with him, he placed his finger on her lips and shushed her.
“My stuff—” she began.
“We can get you new stuff.”
“I can’t afford—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
ZANE WAS STILL STAYING at the same hotel she’d stayed at with the Jardins. His suite had a small but elegant living area with a sofa and two armchairs surrounding a large stone fireplace. Windows looked out over Florence’s glittering city lights.
Zane guided her to the bedroom and she sat on the bed. He went to the closet and pulled out a thick white robe with the hotel’s emblem stitched into the front and a plastic bag. “Like I said earlier, we can have your clothes laundered.”
“Good plan,” she said.
He dropped the robe and plastic bag beside her. “I suggest you take a bath.” He wrinkled his nose. “You smell of smoke.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked his retreating back.
“I need to pick up a few things.”
She watched him go and her confusion mounted. She then headed to the bathroom.
A giant claw-footed tub dominated the room. Creamy marble tile lined the floors, walls, and countertops. Gilded mirrors hung above the cabinetry and a chandelier hung from the twelve-foot ceiling. The room smelled faintly of lavender.
Flora’s pale reflection looked back at her. Riotous curls framed her face. What am I doing here?
After she turned on the tub faucet, steam filled the room. Little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body gel, and lotion were lined up on the counter. She poured the body gel into the bath, and immediately foaming bubbles formed. The scent of lavender grew more intense and hypnotic.
Where had he gone at this late hour? Without him, she felt lonely and bereft. She slipped off her clothes and slid into the heavenly bath.
Her mom’s voice tooted something about how not all that glitters is gold, but she shut the voice down and submerged herself in the water.
Pink from the warmth of the bath, Flora pulled herself from the water, used a fat and fluffy white towel to dry herself, and slipped into the hotel’s bathrobe. It was warm and fragrant, and felt like lamb’s fleece against her skin. She padded into the living area, settled into a corner of the sofa, flipped on the TV that was mounted above the fireplace, and found a travel station.
She fell asleep and dreamed of a villa high on a hill overlooking the Tuscan countryside.
THE NEXT MORNING, FLORA woke ravenous. She sat up and her robe slipped open. Surprised, she grabbed it and pulled it closer. She’d spent the night on the sofa. But where had the blanket and pillow come from?
Zane. He must have returned after she’d fallen asleep. She glanced at his closed bedroom door and thought she heard the faint sound of water running.
The door to the suite rattled with a knock.
Flora pushed her fingers through her curls, went to the door, and peeked through the peephole. A server stood in the hall beside a cart laden with a collection of plate-size silver domes. Another man stood behind him with hangers holding plastic-wrapped clothes. Her clothes!
“Ah, great,” Zane said as he emerged from his bedroom, towel-drying his hair. He wore a robe identical to her own. His curly chest hair poked out of the front V. His calves were strong, his toes hairy. She quickly looked away.
“I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast, so I ordered maybe more than I should have.” He held up his hand as if he knew she would object. “I don’t want to hear about starving children in a third-world country and how it’s a sin to waste food, but I don’t plan on wasting a thing. I’m starving!” He waved the men inside and stared hungrily at the food cart while reaching in the robe’s pocket, pulling out his wallet, extracting a few bills, and pushing them into the men’s hands.
She laughed. “Me, too.” She took a seat at the small table beside the window overlooking the gardens. The night before, it’d been too dark to appreciate the grounds, but this morning, a weak early sun smiled over a waking Florence.
“What’s the matter?” Zane must have noticed her change of expression. “You don’t like French toast or cheese omelets?” He sat across from her and pulled the silver lids off the plates of food.
Zane didn’t look up as he stirred fruit and nuts into his bowl of oatmeal. “What time do you normally go to Madame Figueroa’s?”
“Eight, but it’s Saturday. The shop is closed.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“What do you have planned for today?”
“I have someplace I want to show you. We can go as soon as you’re ready.”
They ate their breakfast in silence. Flora wanted to be mad at him for his high-handed ways, but he was also being sweet, so she felt conflicted.
“Where are we going?”
He flushed and looked out the window. “It’s over there, beyond the hills. I hope you’ll like it.”
ZANE WAS AT WAR WITH his aunt and cousin’s voices in his head. It’s too soon, his aunt would say. You’ll scare her off, Lexi would tell him. Be patient. Give her time.
But he was done listening to his aunt and cousin. And furthermore, his patience was spent. He had spent weeks pretending to be her friend, but seeing her in his room, sitting across from her at the breakfast table, made him desperate to make it an everyday reality.
Zane held the door for Flora, and she climbed into the Mercedes. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”
He shook his head and bit his lip, and his nerves hitched. The car started with a roar and moments later they were cruising Florence’s streets. At stoplights—or whenever the chance presented itself—he would glance at her and his heart would start thundering. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
In his medical research, he took chances every day. It was part of the experimentation process. Sometimes the gambles cost years of research and thousands of dollars. Sometimes, even, animals died.
But if today’s gamble didn’t pay off, he didn’t know if he’d ever recover.
Zane guided the Mercedes up the hill that led to the outskirts of town. A few weeks ago, the hills had been green and lush from the winter rains, but now the tall grass had turned to wavery gold. The color of Flora’s hair.
He pulled up to stone pillars and a metal gate. Leaning out, he typed a code onto a keypad.
“Are these friends of yours?” Flora asked.
He nodded. “The owners aren’t at home.”
The cobblestone driveway led through a bramble of bougainvillea. He heard Flora’s breath catch when the old stone house, perched on a hill, came into view.
He slid her a cautious glance, and his heart warmed when he saw her smile and glittering eyes.
“It’s nice, huh?” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “It’s more than nice.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d like it.”
“Where are your friends?”
Zane pulled the car in front of the stone steps leading to the heavy wooden doors and shut off the engine. “Greece. Ajax has cancer and wants to retire to his home country.” He climbed from the car, crossed to her side, and held out his hand. “Come on, I want to show you the view.”
Her hand felt warm and fragile, and occasionally her hip bumped his as they crossed the lawn to a ston
e patio that overlooked the city of Florence. He studied her while she watched the boats glide along the Arno.
He dropped to his knees.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Grabbing both of her hands, he said, “Marry me.”
She stared at him.
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a ring box and held it out to her. “My aunt told me to wait. Lexi warned me not to scare you off. But I’m tired of waiting. Besides, I know you’re brave. Flora, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Please say yes.”
Her eyes were large and luminous.
If she said no, he knew he would always love her.
“There will never be anyone else for me,” he said. “I’m like a wolf. Did you know they mate for life? One partner that they generally choose when they’re quite young. That’s me. And I’ve chosen you.”
“Zane,” she began.
“Maybe the wolf reference wasn’t a good call. Too scary?”
She tugged on his hand, but when he didn’t stand, she dropped to her knees as well so they were on the same level.
“Will you marry me?” he repeated.
She touched his cheek. “Yes.”
He whooped and grabbed her in his arms. Together, they fell onto the grass, kissing. After several minutes, Zane pulled away, took her hand, and drew her to her feet.
“I want to show you this house.” He tugged her toward the front door.
“We didn’t come for just the view?” She followed him to the porch and watched him as he typed a code into a keypad.
“The view is nice—”
“Nice? It’s fabulous.”
He pushed open the door. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I do.”
Taking her elbow, he guided her into the house. “Keep practicing those words, sweetheart.”
Lush tapestry rugs covered the smooth tile floors. Wooden beams crisscrossed the soaring ceilings. A fireplace large enough for a grown man to stand in dominated one wall.
“This house can be ours,” Zane said. “Ajax is desperate to sell.” When Flora didn’t respond, he asked, “Too much? Too scary?”
She turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You don’t have to buy me a house—or anything. I’d love you even if you were poor.”
“But I’m not, so we might as well enjoy it.”
“Are you sure you want to live here? You don’t want to go back to the States?”
“I thought you wanted to attend the Sciccoso School of Design and work with Madame Figueroa.”
“I do, but what about your work?”
He shrugged. “I’m perfectly happy at the university here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. This house doesn’t have to be forever. Although it could be if you want to stay.”
“Why do you love me?” she asked.
He buried his face in her hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else.” Pulling back, he grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m a wolf, remember?”
CHAPTER 10
Not wanting to upstage Lexi, they decided not to announce their engagement until after her wedding. Flora wanted Zane to reconcile with his father.
“We will never be friends,” Zane predicted.
“But you can at least make an effort,” Flora said.
Scowling, he pulled their suitcases from the trunk of the Mercedes before allowing the valet to steer the car to the overnight parking. Flora followed him across the tarmac. She’d never been to an airport where she didn’t have to go through security clearance, and she’d never been on a private jet.
As she climbed the metal stairs, she felt like she was following Zane into a whole new world.
Marco met them at the door and took their bags. “Good morning, Zane, Flora. The captain tells me we should be in Bali in a few hours.”
With its rich wood paneling and plush built-in sofas, the inside of the jet looked more like someone’s living room than transportation. Flora sank onto the leather sofa and rubbed her hand over it. “We don’t have to wear seatbelts?”
“Not unless you want to,” Zane told her. He crossed the cabin to the mini bar. “Would you like something to drink?”
She shook her head. “Will your father be surprised?”
“I guarantee you that anyone who knows me well will not be surprised at all.”
“We’ll only tell your dad this weekend, right? When will we tell the others?”
“Whenever you’d like.”
She processed this. “When do you want to get married?”
“As soon as possible.” He grinned as he returned to her, carrying a water bottle dripping with condensation. “These questions are too easy.”
“What kind of wedding do you want?”
He settled beside her, unscrewed the lid of his drink, and took a swallow. “I want whatever you want.”
Flora had thought he would say that. “You’re not helping.”
“Do you want a large church wedding? A ceremony on a private beach?”
“A church wedding, but small, intimate.” Flora began to tick off names on her fingers. “Only Sicily, your aunt, uncle, Lexi and her husband, your dad, my friend Gillian and her husband.”
“And your mom.”
Flora froze. “Huh. No. Never.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “If I have to invite my dad, you are absolutely inviting your mom.”
To avoid his gaze, she stared out the window at the Tuscany countryside. The hills were losing their lush green and turning brown. “We don’t speak.”
“And that’s sad. You need to forgive her. For your sake.”
Flora met his gaze. “That is not happening.”
“Flora, sweetie—”
Marco stuck his head through the door that separated them from the cockpit. “We’ll be taking off in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” Zane said. “Thanks. And thank Robert and Heber, as well.”
“Do you always have the same pilots?” she asked.
He touched her nose. “No changing the subject. Your mom is invited to our wedding, even if I’m paying for her to be there.”
Flora huffed and settled back against the seats. “All right. Have it your way. But I don’t have to talk to her.”
“You should talk to her before the wedding. That way it’s not weird.”
“Oh, it’ll be weird. If she’s there, weirdness is guaranteed.”
Zane’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “Speaking of weird...”
“What is it?” Flora looked over his shoulder at the text.
“Lexi’s wedding is off.”
“Oh no!” Flora wailed. “What happened?”
“Her fiancé bailed.”
“Poor Lexi!”
“I’m not so sure about that. Obviously, he wasn’t right for her.”
“Are we back to the wolves?”
“Or shingleback skinks.”
“What is a skink?”
“An Australian reptile. They only have one mate—ever. And they’re surprisingly lovey-dovey. Most animals just get down and dirty without a lot of hoopla. But the skink is all about foreplay, and courtship can take months.”
“It’s adorable you know that.”
“I watch a lot of nature shows when you’re not around.”
“What are we going to do now? Should we still go to Bali?”
Zane looked out the window for a moment before calling out for Marco.
Marco immediately appeared.
“Tell Robert and Heber there’s been a change of plans.” Zane bit his lip, thinking. “We want to go to New York and surprise Sicily.”
“But Sicily hates surprises. She always has,” Flora told Zane. “Even as a kid, she always hated Christmas or her birthday.”
“I get that. I feel that way, too.” He elbowed her. “Text her and tell her we’re coming.”
Grateful that Zane understood, Flora pulled out her phone and shot Sic
ily a quick text.
CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU! came the immediate reply.
I HAVE BIG NEWS! LET’S DO DINNER!
Zane watched the exchange over his shoulder.
DON’T LEAVE ME IN THE DARK! YOU KNOW I HATE SURPRISES!
“See.” Flora held the phone up for Zane to read. “I told you.”
Zane took the phone from Flora and typed, GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT.
ARE YOU BRINGING ZANE?
Zane grinned. “She knows.” He typed, YEP.
“Not much of a surprise, then.” Flora took the phone from him.
I’D REALLY LIKE SOME SISTER-TIME. CAN I SEE YOU ALONE?
Flora wrinkled her nose. “That’s not like her.”
“It’s not a big deal, though.”
Marco stuck his head around the door. “Just letting you know we got clearance and we can head out in a few minutes.”
Zane gave Marco a thumbs up before turning back to Flora. “I need to catch up the research team at Columbia anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Even though I’m a guy, I understand the sacredness of sister-time. I’m in awe of it.”
Shortly after they arrived in New York, Flora’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Sicily.
RAN INTO A MISHAP. CAN YOU PICK ME UP AT 123 BRIDGE PLACE? REMEMBER TO COME ALONE.
“For someone who doesn’t like surprises,” Zane said, “she’s being extremely cryptic.”
“And she’s never cryptic. She’s always straightforward.” Worry pricked along Flora’s spine. She tried to ignore it.
Zane kissed her temple. “I’ll meet you tonight at the hotel.”
FLORA STOOD OUTSIDE 123 Bridge Place. Could this be right? A dry cleaner on her left, scaffolding and construction across the street, some sort of antique shop on her right.
“Flora! Run!” Sicily’s voice cut through her confusion, but before she could react, a hand came from behind, covered her mouth, and dragged her against a chest.
Flora kicked and tried to scream, but everything went dark much too fast.
FLORA HADN’T RETURNED by the time Zane got back from meeting with the research team at Columbia. Wanting to appreciate but not really understanding the sacredness of sister-time, he tried not to worry as he prepared for bed. He’d booked a two-bedroom suite in the Marriott right off Times Square, and while he lay in the dark, he heard the rush of cars on the busy street below but nothing from the next room.
