by Alexia Adams
She stared at Cristo. Uh, what was going on here?
“I didn’t abandon Bella. I had an accident and lost my memory. The fact remains, she’s my wife.” This time Matteo crossed his arms, his biceps bulging under his T-shirt. She shoved down the shiver of awareness. This was not helping. She needed to make rational decisions, not be turned on by his body.
“Bella?” Cristo ignored Matteo’s aggressive stance and turned to her. “Do you want Matteo back? Because you have options.”
Okay, those must have been magic mushrooms in the omelet because she was hallucinating. After six years alone, she now had two men to choose from?
“Options?”
Cristoforo strode over and took her hand in his. “I’ve wanted you for years, Bella. I’ve waited for you to be ready to love again. I know Matteo once held your heart, but you’ve changed. He’s obviously changed. You can still file for divorce. Choose a man who will stay with you . . . ”
A deep growl came from Matteo. “I did not leave willingly. I still don’t know what happened. That part of my memory hasn’t returned. But I will find out. And when I do—”
She followed the line of Matteo’s gaze and saw a blue SUV lumbering over the pothole-riddled drive. Had her guests come a day early? She could read the Trip Advisor comment now: Arrived to find hostess practically naked with two men fighting over her. Visit went downhill from there.
But she was expecting a family with two young children. Instead, a tall, blond-haired man got out, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. It couldn’t be . . .
“Kai!” she said. Cristo dropped her hand. “I didn’t think you were coming. Your text said you’d had a change of plans.”
“Hello, Pop-Tart. I changed them back. Couldn’t bear to not see you again.”
Her laugh came out strangled and too high-pitched. She was on the edge of losing it. Men were like buses. You wait and wait and wait, and then three come along at once.
Kai strolled over, ignoring the other two men, and hugged her, swinging her off her feet. “You in a bit of trouble?” he whispered in her ear.
“Not yet. But things are definitely getting interesting.”
He put her back on her feet but kept his arm around her shoulders—protective, big brother style.
“Who’s this?” Matteo looked like he might explode.
“Kai Andersen, my ex-fiancé. Kai, let me introduce you to Matteo, my estranged husband, and Cristoforo, a good friend who now claims to want me.”
“Is this a meeting to see who gets to have you? Because if so, I’m in.”
“What?” she, Matteo, and Cristo all asked at once.
“Sure,” Kai added, gazing down at her, his face full of mischief. “We were engaged once, why not actually get married? How are we doing this? Arm wrestle? Rock, paper, scissors? Or should we just drop our pants, show our dicks, and see who has the biggest?”
She was tempted just to walk away and let them fight it out between them. Then she could decide if the victor was worthy of her. But there was too much at stake to let three testosterone-fueled men duke it out in front of the guesthouse. Matteo looked like he was about to kill.
A shiver raced down her spine. She’d never thought he was capable of violence until this moment.
“A date,” she blurted out. “You each get one date with me to convince me you’re my ideal husband.”
“May I remind everyone that Bella already has a husband,” Matteo said. “Me.”
Cristo and Kai ignored him. “So,” Cristo asked her, “who goes first?”
“Seems only fair we should do this alphabetically . . . by last name. Kai, you can take me out tomorrow night, if you’re still here.”
“I’ll be here,” he replied. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“Then Cristo gets Saturday and Matteo on Sunday. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll decide on Monday—not who I’ll marry, or continue to be married to,” she added quickly, “but who I’ll keep dating to see if it works out.”
Kai nodded happily, Cristo accepted with magnanimity, and Matteo looked like he’d rather have his fingernails pulled off with pliers.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll go get dressed before any more men show up and my whole week gets filled.” She turned on her heel and strode toward the cottage.
Good God, it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet.
Chapter Five
Matteo’s teeth were still clenched three hours later as he drove into town with Bella. What the hell? He had to compete for his wife in a date-off? Her knees bounced up and down and she wrung her hands in her lap. She’d lingered in completing the morning chores, and then she’d argued with him for ten minutes about whose car to take. He’d insisted they travel in luxury.
She deserved luxury. In addition to the sheep and goats, she also had a camel—a camel!—a horse, a donkey, two dogs, at least three cats that he’d seen, four beehives, and a couple of rabbits. And from the activity of the rabbits, there would be more of them before long.
“Why do you have a camel?” he asked. Their relationship was too explosive a topic at the moment. He’d stick with the mundane.
“I kind of inherited him. Some guy asked if I would stable his camel for a few months. He paid me for the first two, and then disappeared.”
“And you kept it?”
“What else was I supposed to do? Besides, Akbar pays his way. I take him to some of the local festivals and charge ten euros a ride.” She shrugged as if camel ownership was commonplace.
“And the rest of the menagerie—I assume most of those came after my father died?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m a soft touch. People have animals they can’t care for anymore and I take them. But they all come in handy. The children who stay at the guesthouse love that I have a petting zoo on the premises.”
“Do many tourists come to stay?” He’d never thought of the farm as a holiday destination. To him, it represented endless work and hard times.
“I’m booked all summer and the first month of the fall. By the end of the year, the guesthouse will have paid for its renovation, and then next year will be all profit.”
He could see the pride in her face. This was the Bella he needed to understand.
He parked the Maserati near the village square so all who’d known him since he was a child could see he’d returned a successful man. Plus, he’d be better able to keep his eye on it as they picked up the things on Bella’s list.
Lacing his fingers through hers, they made their way toward the district agricultural office. As they turned the corner, his high school math teacher, Signor Fossi, was walking toward them. All the color drained from the older man’s face, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. Matteo’s smile faded as horror replaced shock on the teacher’s face. Was there something terrible behind him? He was about to turn around when the teacher crossed the road and hurried his steps to scoot around the corner and out of sight within seconds. Odd. He’d had a good relationship with his teachers. He hadn’t been the most popular kid; there had been too much work to do on the farm for him to indulge in after-school activities. Still, he’d been well liked, hadn’t he? Was his mind playing tricks on him—giving him false memories?
Several other people passed them before they reached the sanctuary of the agricultural office. Some faces he knew, others were a blank, but their reaction to him was all the same. Disgust. By the time he pushed open the door of the building that had almost been a second home to him, his chest was heavy; it hurt to draw a deep breath, and Bella’s hand was so tight in his he wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers were white from lack of blood.
He pretended to read the paper while she reported her monthly production totals. He couldn’t stomach going to the counter with her and facing more adverse reactions. What was with the people in the village?
Dio, he hadn’t expected a parade, but a few hugs and some exclamations of happiness wouldn’t have gone amiss. Many of these peopl
e had known him since he was a baby. Surely they would be pleased to see he’d returned at last.
As they exited the building, Bella took his hand in hers and walked beside him with her head high. “Just ignore them,” she whispered as the butcher’s wife spat on the road in front of him before crossing herself.
Bella ordered some new fence posts and feed for the animals and arranged for a load of gravel to even out the driveway. The people she dealt with stared at him openly, but not one asked him a single question or welcomed him back. Thankfully, her bits of business were done quickly.
“What’s going on, Bella?” he asked as a mother hurried her three children along while watching him out of the corner of her eye.
“I’ll tell you later. I’m starving. Let’s get some lunch at the café.” She pulled him into a glass-fronted shop that had been a florist six years ago. The village hadn’t changed. A few stores were different but the general air of a small, centuries-old market town, well past its age of glory, was the same. People still dressed up, as though shopping were an important affair worthy of their best outfit. In his custom-made suit and handcrafted shoes, he should fit in. Yet he didn’t.
The cobblestone streets and narrow, twisty alleys he’d walked so many times no longer wanted him here.
A woman in her mid-twenties came around the counter, gave Bella a big hug, and then raked him with her gaze. “Who’s this?”
“This is Matteo, my husband.” At least Bella had dropped the “estranged” bit.
“The one who disappeared?”
“The same. I don’t have a whole stack of them hidden around the world. Matteo, this is Angela. She’s an American like me, married a Sicilian. And she makes the best cappuccino on the island.”
“You’re just saying that because I let you use my computer.” Angela retreated behind the counter and returned with a battered laptop.
“Bella doesn’t lie,” Matteo said. Again, the words fell from his mouth without thought. Did he truly believe them? Or was it what he wanted to believe? He did know that for the first time since his return, his wife looked relaxed and happy, carefree. “Can we have two cappuccinos, and I’ll have a large serving of whatever that fabulous smell is.”
“Homemade minestrone soup.”
Bella nodded. “I’ll have a bowl, too.”
“Coming right up.” Angela’s American accent was much more pronounced than Bella’s. In fact, Bella had spoken perfect Italian during her business discussions. She’d barely managed a word of his native language when they’d first married.
How would she take to learning Arabic?
“Excuse me, but I need to do a bit of work,” Bella said as she powered up the laptop. “I come here three times a week and borrow Angela’s computer to check on bookings for the guesthouse and orders for the various other products I sell.”
“No problem. I need to make a couple of calls as well.”
Angela put the coffees on the table in front of them, her gaze rarely leaving his face. At least there wasn’t the disgust and fear he’d seen in the eyes of the other villagers.
Bella’s complete concentration was on the screen, a small smile on her lips. He pulled out his cell phone and called Farrah; he’d been trying to arrange a meeting with an American department store, but so far hadn’t been successful.
She answered the phone on the fourth ring, and he could picture her staring at the screen a moment then squaring her shoulders before flicking the icon to accept. He’d watched her do this numerous times when she was about to take a call she didn’t particularly want to answer. It would be the first time he’d be the one on the other side of the phone.
“Mario, how are you?” The chill in her voice reached across the three hundred kilometers between them and frosted his eyelashes.
“I’m good. And you?” His gaze shot to Bella, but her complete concentration was on the screen in front of her. His plan to ask for a divorce so he could start a relationship with Farrah stuck in his throat.
“Fine.” It could have been the poor cellular service, but there seemed to be a hitch in Farrah’s voice. And it didn’t matter what language they spoke, “fine” from a woman’s mouth never meant that. However, sitting across from his wife didn’t seem an appropriate time to question another woman’s real state of heart.
“Have we heard back from Saks?” he asked.
The pause on the other end was long. “No. I sent them another message yesterday.”
“And the shipment to Lafayette in Paris?” This conversation couldn’t be more painful if each syllable were a razor blade slicing into his skin. Normally, he could barely get a word in edgewise with Farrah. She was enthusiasm personified when it came to their business.
“It eventually made it. About a tenth of the items were damaged, but the rest were okay. I’ve arranged to ship some pieces from storage to complete the contract.”
“Excellent. Anything else I need to know?”
“No. I’ve got it all covered.” Another long pause and an audible indrawn breath. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”
It was his turn to hesitate. “Things here are a bit more complicated than I expected.”
Had she hung up? Her voice was strained when finally she said, “I miss you. The office isn’t the same without you here.”
He shut his eyes, picturing Farrah’s face. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He cancelled the call before either of them said something they’d regret.
When he looked up, Bella was staring at him and not the computer.
“You speak Arabic.”
“Yes, I had a crash course waking up in a country where it was the main language.”
“And who’s the woman?”
Was Bella jealous? Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips a thin line. “Farrah Meddeb. I hope you’ll meet her soon.”
“She’s coming here?”
Angela arrived at that moment with the soup, and Bella moved the computer out of the way. He caught a brief glimpse of a website for Vanni Farms and made a mental note to look at it later.
“I’m hoping you’ll come to Tunisia with me.”
“Are you kidding me? It may have escaped your notice, but I run a farm, with animals that expect to be fed every day. I can’t just leave anytime I want.”
“And I run multimillion dollar businesses throughout North Africa. I can’t do that from a farmhouse kitchen.”
She tilted her head to the side. “What kind of businesses?”
“I have six luxury resorts in North Africa. Two in Tunisia and one each in Egypt, Libya, Algeria, and Morocco. I’m in negotiations to buy additional hotels in India and Myanmar.”
“And what does this Farrah do? Is she your assistant?”
“No. She’s my business partner in another venture, an artisans’ cooperative.”
Bella took a spoonful of soup and didn’t meet his eyes. “Seems like we’re right back to where we were before you barged back into my life. I can’t leave Sicily and you won’t live here. Unless you’re about to suggest some kind of weekend marriage where we alternate visiting each other?”
“I don’t remember everything about our marriage, Bella. But the bits I do lead me to believe that neither of us would be happy with that arrangement.”
Color tinged her cheeks. “No. Probably not.”
A couple entered the café, looked at him, and walked back out. His smile wavered. Those were two of his old schoolmates, Enrico and Paola. They’d often swapped lunches to give each other a bit of variety. Something was definitely wrong in this town. A sickening feeling spread through him, and it was all he could do to finish his soup despite how delicious it was.
Was it because they’d thought him dead and now he’d returned hale and hearty? Folklore and superstition had always been the backbone of life in rural Sicily, but it was hard to imagine that people of his generation were ensnared by such fears. Maybe they thought he’d been to prison and was newly released. Whatever the cause, he was clea
rly persona non grata. Unless it was Bella who prompted such ostracism. But what could she have done?
“I think we’ll get the groceries at the store rather than the market,” Bella said. “I need to get back to the farm, and it will be quicker.”
“Okay.”
She said a fond farewell to Angela, who waved away all his attempts to pay her for the lunch. “Just be good to her,” Angela said, her eyes wary.
When they got to the grocery store Bella raced around like she was on some game show where she had to fill her cart in the least amount of time to win the prize. In the checkout line, she ignored the stares and whispers of the other customers. Had Bella been dealing with this hostility for the past six years? He wanted to shout at everyone to give her a break. She was contributing to the economy and bringing paying tourists to the area. But the way she tightened her hand on his when he opened his mouth gave him second thoughts.
When the village was in the rearview mirror, she sank into the seat as though exhausted and rubbed her bare ring finger on her left hand with her thumb.
“What the hell is wrong with everyone? Have they acted that way toward you all this time?” He forced his hands to relax on the wheel.
“At first, when you disappeared. But it got better after a while and people forgot. Most of the villagers are pretty friendly to me now. At least they were.”
Then it must be him. “I don’t understand. What did people have to forget?”
She stared at him for another moment before rubbing her finger again. “Matteo, do you really not remember what happened the day you left?”
He slowed the car and glanced over. Her face was pale. “No. Nothing. I remember celebrating an anniversary—our second?—and then waking up in the hospital in Tunis.”
“Can you pull over?”
He parked the Maserati at a viewpoint up the road. Before he could ask what the problem was, she got out of the car and stood staring at the view, her arms wrapped around herself. He joined her but kept his distance, although every cell in his body screamed at him to hold her.
