“We hired Umberto specifically for his unique talents. But yes, I’m grateful he’s all right. Rocco and Justine Cornaro, too.” She draped the gown across the back of a plush chair beside the immense fireplace that dominated their hotel suite. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, Fabrizia noticed that Carlo watched her movements with frank appreciation. “Did Umberto tell you anything else?”
Carlo’s gaze sharpened. “Such as?”
So he didn’t know. “Rocco sent the plane back. It should land here in Rome in the morning.”
“He decided to stay in the United States for a while?”
“I don’t know. When they disembarked, he told the pilot he and Justine would make their own arrangements to fly back to Europe.”
There was a brief pause before Carlo turned away to remove his slacks and socks and place them with the shirt. “He didn’t wish to use my plane any longer than absolutely necessary.” He took a sip of the Aberlour he’d poured himself after they’d arrived back at their suite following the state dinner. “I can’t blame him. I’d have done the same in his place, knowing what he knows about me.”
“It was good of you to offer the plane, Carlo. I’m sure he’s thankful.”
Carlo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But I appreciate you saying so.”
She extended her hand to him. “Take me to bed, then. Show me how appreciative you are of your beautiful wife.”
This time, his smile did reach his eyes, but Fabrizia had little time to notice the mischief there before he corralled her about the waist and tackled her across the suite’s plush bed, coming to rest with her trapped underneath him. He propped himself above her on his forearms and frowned at her in mock warning.
“You, my dear, are trying to distract me from my troubles.”
She ran a fingertip along his chin. The light from the dimmed overhead chandelier made the center stone of her emerald ring shine. It had been a gift from Carlo for their fortieth wedding anniversary, a design he’d created himself. Smiling into his rich brown eyes, she savored the scent she always identified as uniquely Carlo’s, a mix of his cologne, his warm olive-gold skin, and the faintest hint of whisky. “Did it work?”
“It always does.” He swept his large hands up her sides, past her ribcage to cradle her breasts. “No man can resist you. I’m merely happy I’m the one with you tonight.”
“Forever.”
Someday, no matter what it took, she’d ensure his family was complete. If she’d managed to capture Carlo’s heart when he’d been so enamored of Teresa all those years ago, she could accomplish anything.
Even find a way to reconcile Carlo with Teresa’s children.
* * *
Rocco awakened with a perfectly fluffed pillow under his head and a warm, rounded rear end pressed against his hips. Without opening his eyes, he inhaled deeply, savoring the blissful comfort of the bed and the light lemony-vanilla scent of Justine’s favorite shampoo. She must’ve found a bottle at some point yesterday while shopping for interview clothing.
“Good morning.”
“Mmmm…love that husky morning voice.” He dragged a slow kiss across Justine’s shoulder and tightened his hold on her waist. Last night had been the most amazing of his life. He’d loved Justine from the first, but the last few days brought a deeper, more powerful layer to that love, one that made his heart swell. “How’d you know I was awake?”
She shifted her backside against him. “You need to ask?”
Grinning, he pushed to all fours and captured her underneath him. Tendrils of hair lay across her face as she blinked at him. He smoothed them back, then ran his index finger along the arch of her eyebrow and down the curve of her cheek, letting it come to rest against her lush mouth. “It’d be a shame to waste.”
Her eyes widened fractionally, then she snapped at his finger, catching it gently between her teeth at the last moment.
Now he was really awake. “Oh, bad girl.”
She sucked. He watched. He grew harder. The woman would be the death of him, but what a way to go. Then, from the other side of the room, came the low vibration of a cell phone.
“What is that?” she asked around his finger, her brow wrinkling.
“I picked up a new phone while I was out yesterday. Sent Kos the number. He can wait.” Rocco nudged against her. “This is far more pressing an issue.”
She rolled her eyes and released his finger as the phone continued to buzz. “The man isn’t the type to call unless it’s urgent. Get on and get off.”
He winked at the double entendre before reluctantly rolling away. Keeping his eyes on Justine, he crossed the room to locate the phone.
“Rocco?”
“Lina.” He couldn’t hide his surprise at hearing his sister’s familiar voice. “What’s going on?”
“Could ask you the same. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple days, but Kos said you were traveling and switched phones. I didn’t know you had a trip planned.”
Justine gestured that she was going to get dressed for the day. Rocco shook his head no, despite knowing Lina wouldn’t have called unless it was important, but Justine waved for him to continue as she eased out of the bed, turning her back toward him.
He ached to kiss and lick his way along that spine. To run his hands over the lean muscles of her arms and shoulders. To savor the spot at the base of her neck. When he kissed her there, it always made her so hot that she—
“Rocco?”
Lina’s inquiry jerked him back to the present. “Sorry. Distracted.”
“No kidding.”
He cleared his throat and turned away from Justine so he could focus. “I had some work issues pop up and needed to make a quick visit to Johns Hopkins. Is everything okay there?”
Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when he’d seen Lina at their mother’s funeral. She’d been upset, of course, but he hadn’t expected to hear from her so soon, not without reason.
“I had a call from a New York real estate agent when they couldn’t contact you. There’s a possible buyer for Mom’s condo.”
“I haven’t even listed it.” He found a clean pair of underwear and pulled them on, then took a seat at the head of the bed while Justine disappeared into the bathroom.
“I know. It’s a neighbor. She and Mom apparently discussed it the last time Mom was in New York. Know anything about it?”
“The Metzgers,” he told her. “Mom mentioned that after her diagnosis, she’d told Mrs. Metzger she was planning to put the condo on the market if none of us want it. Mrs. Metzger said she’d love to have one of us in there, but if not, she’d be willing to buy it. Probably to expand her own condo into Mom’s space.”
“Has Enzo said whether he wants it or not yet?”
“No. I hadn’t gotten that far.” Hadn’t so much as unsealed the envelope with his mother’s papers, let alone dealt with the condo. It was the last piece of real estate she still owned, having sold the property she and Jack owned in Croatia before moving into the villa.
“I’ll put off the agent for a while, then.”
Justine popped her head out of the bathroom long enough to hold up the pair of jeans she’d taken from the yacht and mouthed her thanks. Rocco nodded to her, then said, “By the way, I hope it’s all right, but I was on the yacht with Justine and she didn’t have a bag, so I told her she could borrow the clothes you left. She wanted me to thank you.”
There was a pause on the line, during which he could’ve smacked himself for speaking without thinking. Then, from Lina, “Since the funeral?”
“Yes.”
Another silence. “She’s there with you in the States?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, I hope she’s not wearing the clothes right now.”
He groaned. “Lina—”
“Oh, come on. The last few months have been awful for you. You bore the brunt of Mom’s illness and care, and now yo
u’re having to deal with her estate. You deserve some happiness. So…you two going to reconcile?”
If Justine experienced the same powerful emotions he did last night—and he could swear she had—then they were already reconciled. Better than reconciled, in fact. But he wasn’t about to share that with his sister. He glanced at the closed bathroom door. “No comment.”
“In that case, you should know that I’m relying on you to provide me with nieces and nephews since it doesn’t look like I’m going to have kids of my own. Tons of them, please. Athletic like their mom. It’d be preferable if they look like their mom, too.”
“Lina? Shut up.”
A laugh bubbled over the line, the first he’d heard from Lina since their mother confessed that her liver was failing. “Has asking me to shut up ever worked for you?”
“I’ve always been the persistent type.”
“True.” In a more serious tone, she said, “Before I let you go, have you looked through Mom’s papers?”
“Not yet. I have them with me, though. Wasn’t sure how long I’d be away.”
“She told me that there’d be a letter for me. She wrote letters for you and Enzo, too.”
His mother hadn’t mentioned that to him, though he wasn’t surprised. “I’ll go through the packet and forward your letters as soon as I can. Today if possible. And I’ll check with Enzo about the condo.”
“Thanks. Call if you need help with anything while you’re away.”
“Will do.”
“And Rocco? Take care of yourself. I worry about you.”
He thanked Lina for her concern and told her he hoped to see her soon, then ended the call. He crossed the room to knock on the bathroom door and tell Justine he was done, but the sound of the shower stopped him before his knuckles connected.
So much for getting on and getting off.
Figuring there was no time like the present, he pulled on a pair of jeans, then dug through his bag to find the envelopes containing his mother’s papers. At the very least, he could address anything urgent, then overnight Lina and Enzo’s letters to them so he wouldn’t have to deal with estate matters while he toured Rome with Justine.
That time belonged to the two of them. No interruptions, no distractions.
He settled at the room’s small table with the rubber-banded stack of envelopes, each neatly labeled in his mother’s hand. Knowing her death was imminent, she’d divided a good deal of her personal property over the last year, insisting that it gave her peace of mind to know it was settled. She’d told Rocco that the envelopes contained papers he’d need to close the last pieces of her estate. A separate envelope bearing a rod of Asclepius logo and a hospital return address contained copies of the death certificate from the physician who’d attended her during her final hours.
Setting aside the death certificate, he undid the rubber band on the bundle and opened the top envelope. It contained a neat stack of papers corralled by a binder clip. On top was a handwritten list of its contents: Croatian probate instructions for foreign residents, Sarcaccian birth certificate, Italian marriage certificate, list of remaining bank accounts, New York condo deed, list of all other remaining assets, list of contacts.
He frowned, surprised she’d gone so far as to include instructions for probate. He flipped past the handwritten list to the top page. As indicated, she’d made a copy of pertinent instructions for filing with the Croatian courts, highlighting a clause which read:
for foreign residents of Croatia, original birth certificates must be properly notarized and presented to the court
The next page was her birth certificate, obtained from the village where she was born in Sarcaccia and notarized. He ran a hand over the raised seal as he read the Italian-language record of a 3.4 kg live female born to Guido and Maria Fedeli.
He turned to the marriage certificate, but paused, sure he’d glimpsed a number incorrectly. He returned to the birth certificate.
“That’s wrong.” The inaccuracy so stunned him he’d said it aloud. His mother’s birthdate was off by exactly ten years.
He went to the marriage certificate, which registered the union of Jack Cornaro and Teresa Fedeli. The dates there were accurate. He grumbled in annoyance. How could his mother, who was as detail-oriented as they came, miss that her birth certificate had a typo?
“What’s wrong?”
Rocco’s head whipped up. Justine stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a short white robe loosely tied at her waist. She used a white towel to rub her hair as she frowned at him. “Those are your mother’s papers, right?”
He held the clipped stack aloft. “Would you believe her birth certificate has an error?”
Justine cringed. “Older or younger? If a town clerk somewhere in Sarcaccia made her older, she’ll find a way to come back and throttle them.”
“Ten years older. There’s a digit wrong.”
Her hands stilled for a moment, then she tossed the towel back into the bathroom. “That can’t be right. Let me see.”
“Told you,” he said as she took a seat on the bed and studied the certificate with an expression of puzzlement. “It’s correct on the marriage certificate. And I saw her passport when I took her to get it renewed year before last, so I know it’s correct there.”
Justine handed back the papers. “How could she have gotten a passport if her birth certificate is wrong? Wouldn’t she have noticed? Wouldn’t someone have noticed?”
“You’d think.” It was as much a mystery to him as it was to Justine. His mother hadn’t needed her birth certificate for the passport renewal, but she would’ve needed it when she obtained the original. Those dates would’ve been checked and double-checked. “Her estate is going to hang up in probate if I can’t get it rectified. It’ll be a real headache.”
Justine spread her hands. “It’s mid-afternoon in Sarcaccia. Why not call the town hall where she was born and see what they say?”
He chuckled at that. “Would you believe they don’t have a town hall? She was born in a town of about two hundred people. Records from the last twenty years or so are kept in Cateri, since it’s the capital, but everything older than that is still held at the local church.”
“Wow. That’s real old country.”
“You bet. She was proud of it.” His mother told him dozens of stories over the years about growing up in her rural farming community, which was located on the far side of the island from Cateri, Sarcaccia’s bustling cultural and political center. “I’ll call and see if I can get in touch with one of the local priests. They’ll be able to fix this. I wouldn’t be surprised to find someone at the church who remembers her.”
“She’s been living abroad a long time.”
He picked up his phone. “Guess we’ll see how much small towns in Sarcaccia have changed, then.”
A few calls later, Rocco was connected to a Father Riccardo, who greeted him warmly and promised to investigate the matter.
Rocco set the phone on top of the table and watched as Justine pulled on the jeans she’d borrowed from Lina. He’d missed watching Justine dress in the mornings. It wasn’t as fun as watching her undress, but seeing her long legs slide into a pair of jeans had its own sex appeal.
“So?” she asked, eyeing him as he openly watched her. “What’d he say?”
“He’s familiar with the Fedeli family. Told me he should be able to locate the information and call back within ten minutes.”
“That’s amazing. Who offers that kind of assistance anymore?”
He raised a brow. “Like you said, real old country.”
She laughed and flung his shirt at him. “Get dressed and you can take me out for an old country breakfast after the priest calls back. I’d love to hit that diner across the street again for eggs and bacon.”
“Then work it off?”
Stretching, she slid her white T-shirt over her head in slow motion, intentionally torturing him. When her face popped through the neckline, she said, “I think that
can be arranged.”
He moved to her side and slipped his hands under the lower edge of her shirt. “We could do a quick warm up now. We have ten minutes to kill.”
“Shouldn’t you look through more of her papers? Maybe there’s an explanation for the birth certificate.”
“Nah. It’s mostly property information and bank records. Lina also said that there are letters for the three of us. But I’d much rather do this.”
“Rocco, stop.”
“Mmmm…too late.” He buried his face in her damp hair. Amazing how a scent could do such wondrous things to him simply because that scent was hers.
“Rocco, stop. Your phone is ringing.”
He heard it just as she said the words. With a groan, he released her. What he heard from the priest didn’t improve his mood. After he hung up, he went to the window and stared out, trying to process the information.
Justine came up behind him and put a gentle hand to his lower back.
“Father Riccardo says it’s accurate. He located their copy, which has the same date as this one. He even called the priest listed as having performed the baptism, just to be certain.” Rocco’s vision blurred, which turned the lights spanning the hotel’s parking lot into a mass of yellow spots. He folded his arms across his chest in a futile effort to maintain his equilibrium. When it didn’t work, he closed his eyes.
This can’t be happening.
“You’re kidding. He’s still alive?”
Rocco swallowed hard as his mind raced at a million miles an hour. No matter how desperately he tried to steer his thoughts down a different road, he ran straight into the same brick wall.
“Rocco?”
He blinked. “He’s in his nineties, long retired, and in typical small village fashion, his last name is Fedeli. He’s one of my grandfather’s cousins. He told Father Riccardo that the date is one-hundred percent accurate. He said it was easy to remember because my mother was born on my grandfather’s thirty-fifth birthday.”
The Royal Bastard Page 15
