Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

  “I did take the liberty of making this slight change to Amy’s itinerary,” Mallory murmured.

  “It’s dandy.” Mom’s eyes swept the high ceilings.

  “My, oh, my.” Aunt Em looked equally impressed, one hand on the elastic waistband of her navy slacks.

  Amy’s knees felt weak. “I think I need some food.”

  “Me too!” Mom piped up, glancing down at her sturdy white tennis shoes. “Where to?”

  “Why don’t we take a stroll? See what the city has to offer,” Mallory suggested, ushering them toward the door.

  Outside, sunshine reflected off the stone buildings along the Via del Pescioni, bathing the street in a golden glow. Compared to the busyness of the beach in Rapallo, the area felt stately and sedate—bushes trimmed, the flowers properly bedded. Within moments, the four of them turned onto a more congested avenue. Tourists clutched maps and cameras, craning their necks and consulting guidebooks. The pace picked up, and the air filled with honking horns and the rumble of traffic.

  The narrow sidewalk confined them to walking two-by-two, and Amy fell back with Aunt Em. Staying close behind her mother and Mallory, she struggled to catch snippets of the animated conversation. She wanted editing privileges.

  For once, her mother was talking in an undertone, Mallory’s head bent close. Was her mother going to reveal that Amy had always cleaned her plate, that Mom tried to persuade Tommy Taylor, the grocery delivery boy, to take Amy to Senior Prom?

  Exhausted, she finally fell back.

  “Everything okay, chickadee?” Aunt Em patted her hand.

  Amy smiled at her childhood nickname. Aunt Em had never called her Big Dumpling. She’d always been her aunt’s little chickadee, first in the nest and maybe a favorite.

  “Everything’s fine,” Amy assured her aunt, taking her arm. Recreating herself as an adventurous woman might be harder with her mother, aunt, and sister in tow.

  “Like your hair.” Aunt Em took in Amy’s new highlights with appreciation.

  “Got it done before, well, the trip.” “Honeymoon” had nearly slipped out.

  Up ahead, Mallory still hung on Mom’s every word. Had her mother ever had such a devoted audience?

  “My, he is a fine specimen of a man,” Aunt Em whispered.

  “Yes, he is.” Mallory’s broad shoulders filled his yellow polo. His longish hair lifted on a hot city breeze.

  The kiss in Monterosso came back, shivery and sweet.

  “What’s he like?” Aunt Em leaned closer.

  “He’s been…a decent guy.”

  The Bay of Monterosso? Not decent, thank goodness.

  “And you’re, you know…” Her aunt’s face colored.

  “Roommates. That’s it, Aunt Em. Two can travel cheaper than one. But then Mallory surprised me with this room. Outrageous really.” Words fast and crisp, she was babbling and clamped her lips firmly shut. This situation was crazy, but she’d probably never stay in a room this elegant. Caitlin would be wild with envy.

  That thought gave Amy enormous satisfaction.

  Outside one open shop door, long aprons fluttered from a circular rack. The huge yellow sunflower on white cotton with “Firenze” scrawled across the bottom caught Amy’s eye. She had to have it.

  “My daughter’s a terrific cook, you know,” Mom told Mallory when Amy stopped to make the purchase.

  “I didn’t know that.” Mallory’s gaze brushed Amy.

  “Her popovers are to die for.” Louise smiled proudly.

  Amy yanked her wallet from the backpack. “Mom, really. I’m sure Mallory’s not interested.”

  His blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, but I am. Popovers? Light and puffy, with warm butter melting slowly into the crevices.” Mallory’s full lips came together as if he were tasting one.

  “Pockets. They’re pockets of air.” Amy crushed the apron in her hands. “In the popovers, I mean.”

  “Gonna buy that, sweetie?” Louise’s eyes danced between Amy and Mallory.

  “Yes, right.” Quickly Amy handed the apron to the sales clerk and paid.

  After she squashed the bag into her backpack, they continued their stroll through city central. The scent of grilled food hung in the air and vendors beckoned from doorways. At one point, they passed a jewelry shop and of course Louise had to venture in, Aunt Em trailing behind her.

  Staying outside, Amy felt she had to explain. “I didn’t know they were coming. Really.”

  “Well, now, did I say this was a problem?” Looking pleased, he folded his arms over his chest, as if he were the official guard for the group. “Your family might be a rare treat. Yes, indeed.”

  Head bobbing, Mom held an animated conversation with the shopkeeper, who dangled a pair of gold earrings from one hand.

  “Mom and Aunt Em have a jewelry business. They work out of the house and sell their designs at art fairs and local salons, that kind of thing.” That meager income had been so welcome after her father’s death.

  Mallory’s eyebrows peaked. “You’ll have to show me their work.”

  Her mother had turned from the counter, shaking her head as she came back outside. “Tricky designs. I had some questions.”

  “Louise, I think he was flirting with you,” Aunt Em giggled. Amy’s mother flushed with pleasure.

  Over the tops of his sunglasses, Mallory’s gaze met hers as if they shared a wonderful secret. Jason’s kisses hadn't excited her as much as Mallory’s glances.

  The thought stopped her in her tracks.

  “You okay?” Mallory pulled up beside her. Mom and Aunt Em were looking at table linens displayed in a window.

  “No. Yes. Of course.” Picking up the pace, she put one foot in front of the other, but she couldn’t outdistance the realization that she almost married a man who didn’t excite her, not really.

  “I’m hungry.” Ravenous, in fact.

  “Me too. Smells great around here.” Louise sniffed the air, heavy with garlic and basil.

  “Y’all see anything that looks good?” Mallory pointed to a menu posted next to an open door.

  “Trattoria,” Mom read slowly.

  Mallory spoke with the young woman standing at the counter and then turned to motion them in.

  “My, isn’t he efficient,” Mom whispered.

  Arms wide, Mallory shepherded them through the door. Amazing how quickly the man had hit it off with her family. They’d always acted distant with Jason, as if they didn’t quite know what to do with him. Of course, usually he’d been glued to the TV, watching football or baseball.

  The four of them were seated, completing a table for eight. Two middle-aged couples pored over the menu printed on yellow paper. From their conversation, they sounded British.

  Behind a low counter, men in white aprons cooked with noisy efficiency. Kitchen utensils shining in their hands, they chopped vegetables, tasted steaming soups, and slid heavy pans of bread from an open oven that cranked the heat up a notch in the small restaurant.

  Mom unfolded her napkin and turned to Mallory. “So what do you do for a living?”

  Amy reached for her water. Bless her mother for always getting right to the point.

  Her mother’s question seemed to faze Mallory a bit. “Ah, well now, my family has several businesses... including jewelry.”

  “What a coincidence! Us too!” Aunt Emily trilled.

  “You bet.” Louise shook her head. “Emily and me, we make jewelry.” She flicked one of her silver earrings and the dangling humming bird quivered in response. “Sell it at the art fairs. We even took second prize at Italian Fest last summer.”

  “So Amy was telling me. Very impressive.” Mallory took a closer look.

  “When my husband died, well, I had to do something.” Louise gave a matter-of-fact nod, and Amy’s heart squeezed. Her mother had been devastated when Dad died unexpectedly. Amy had been on the verge of moving back home when Aunt Em stepped in. What a relief when Mom took up Aunt Em’s passion for jewelry making. They were darned
good at it too.

  “I’m so sorry.” Mallory’s voice dropped. In that moment, he wasn’t a polished man from Savannah. No, he was a sympathetic family friend, who recognized the pain. She wanted to hug him.

  “Yep, Emily took a course at the art center, and she taught me.” Mom took a deep breath and looked to her sister. “Pays the bills and we have lot of fun, don’t we, Em?”

  Aunt Em nodded. “A grand time.”

  In the background a familiar song was playing. The words might be in Italian, but there was no mistaking “Strangers in the Night.”

  “Who is this singing?” Amy asked the waitress when she brought over their lunch.

  Cocking her head to one side, the young girl listened. “Oh, Mark Masri. Meraviglioso, no? Very popular.”

  “Beautiful,” she said, Aunt Em and Mom nodding.

  But the haunting number sung with such emotion sent a chill through her. Right now, she felt comfortable with Mallory, but weren’t they really strangers?

  The song sounded a warning.

  “So, tell me again,” Mom said after they’d made short work of the soup and started on their pasta. “How did you two meet? This chum thing?”

  Amy slogged into the explanation, dragging her pride right behind her. “Internet. Just looking, you know. And for some reason, I thought Mallory was a woman.”

  Louise turned to Mallory. “Did you think my daughter was a man? With a name like Amy?”

  Mallory’s blue eyes narrowed. “Ma’am, I must admit, I am a healthy American male.”

  “Ah, aren’t you the one.” Mom nodded at Amy. “You were in a jam and he offered to help you out.”

  “Right.” Aunt Em got this dreamy look on her face. “After all, you couldn’t let this beautiful honeymoon go to waste.”

  The word “honeymoon” slapped onto the middle of the table like a cold frittata. The two British couples fell silent.

  “By Jove,” one of the men hooted. “Are you two on your honeymoon?”

  The word echoed through the restaurant. Heads craned. Amy’s cheeks flamed.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Shoulders slumping, she could not look up.

  Aunt Em squeezed her hand under the table.

  Just then the waiter dropped the check in front of Mallory, who promptly snapped it up. He’d been doing a lot of that, but Amy had made him promise that they would figure all of this out at the end.

  The heat and all this honesty were too much. She struggled to her feet. The others followed her out the door in silence.

  Making a quick turn, Mom stood in the bright sunshine, mouth falling open as she took in the scene. “Isn’t that something?”

  The dome of the Duomo rose above the other buildings, its pink and white stone sparkling in the mid-day sun. Before long, the four of them were inside the cool darkness of the ancient cathedral.

  Mallory lagged behind, and after about twenty minutes, it became clear he wanted to move on. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Why don’t I meet you outside? I have some business calls to make.”

  “Not a problem.” Amy watched him walk toward the exit, dreading the questions Louise was sure to ask.

  Of course, Mallory probably had some of his own.

  Chapter 15

  Honeymoon. Good God. That explained a lot.

  After talking to Miriam, Mallory grabbed a table at one of the cafes facing the Duomo.

  This trip had taken some unexpected turns. He liked it. Hard to keep a straight face when Louise Shaw asked him about his work. A mother, she wanted to make sure he was employed.

  Good for her. And good for him too. Not many men had the opportunity to meet a woman’s family.

  Settling back, he enjoyed the sun on his face. Even if he told Amy’s family he was Mallory Thornton of Thornton Enterprises, they might not be impressed. Pretty damn refreshing.

  Waving the waiter away, he kept an eye on the entrance to the cathedral. In the square in front of him, pigeons fluttered and pecked, hopping toward any crumb thrown by visitors. Travelers gathered at the small tables around him to people watch and consult maps. He leafed through a menu with pictures for those who didn't speak Italian. Not hungry, he tucked the menu back in the metal holder. Lunch had been filling in more ways than one. A lot to process.

  After the last couple of days in very tight quarters, he felt he knew Amy Shaw better than he’d known his first wife. Not only was the Chicago teacher attractive, she was also practical. Thoughtful. Voluptuous. Sexy.

  Lord, it was getting hot in this square.

  Mallory edged under the umbrella shading the table. Amy was fun. He liked her and enjoyed being with her. Just that simple. But was any woman ever simple?

  As he sat in the outdoor cafe, he looked around. Over to one side sprawled an open-air market. What woman didn’t like to shop? Satisfied with his plan for the afternoon, he settled in and made some more calls. Before too long, Louise appeared in the doorway of the Duomo, slipping her sunglasses into place, with Amy and Aunt Em trailing behind her.

  On his feet in a second, he gave them a broad wave. The trio fell silent as Mallory approached. He’d bet five euros they’d been talking about him.

  Mallory pointed to the left. “Think I spotted a market nearby. Would you ladies care to…”

  Like a flock of geese, all three turned in unison.

  The canopied booths in the market faced each other in long, ragged lines. Warmed by the sun, the pungent scent of leather rose from the wallets and coiled belts heaped on a table. Colorful scarves fluttered from another booth. The ladies had to touch everything and consult with each other. Amy’s mother seemed the type who could talk to a tree and the tree would answer. Of course, all the vendors wanted to haggle. No problem with these ladies.

  This open air bartering contrasted with the elegant Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills or Michigan Avenue in Chicago, where Rhonda had dragged Mallory in their short time together. Quick to end her job at the bank, his bride had devoted herself to shopping after the wedding. She’d done a lot of plastic damage in a very short time.

  “You really enjoy this, don't you?” Mallory commented as he drew closer to Amy.

  Her green eyes sparkled. The sun brought out her freckles, and the midday heat caused her delicate skin to flush. “Doesn’t everyone love a market?”

  “Actually, I was referring to being with your family.”

  Amy shrugged. “Nothing unusual about it.”

  “Maybe for you.” Rhonda hardly ever called her mother, or her older brother. One time when Rhonda’s brother Jeff had called, she’d asked Mallory to tell him she wasn’t home. Instead, Mallory had handed her the phone. His loving wife had been furious.

  Chad had once told Mallory that if you wanted to see what a woman would look like in thirty years, just look at her mother. Mallory had not seen Rhonda’s mother until the wedding. Myra Fairchuck had been a sad train wreck, wandering from one drink station to the next, calling everyone “hon.”

  Now Mallory regarded Louise with some interest. The lady was vibrant, interested in life, and in good physical shape. Her daughter took after her.

  Amy looked back at her mother and aunt, who were debating which color scarf would suit Emily best. “They may be crazy, but they’re all mine.”

  “You're very lucky.”

  “Well, you have family too.”

  Mallory shook his head. “Just my cousin, aunt, and my uncle.”

  “That’s family.”

  “True,” Mallory said shortly. The concern on Amy's face told him she understood. Felt good when he didn’t have to hold up cue cards.

  On a table up ahead was a display of sexy lingerie. After all, Italy prided itself as the land of La Dolce Vida. Mere wisps of lace, the bras and thongs sure weren’t practical, but then good lingerie was meant to be appreciated, not functional.

  At least, that was his theory.

  Wearing a wistful expression, Amy reached out to touch a lacy black thong.

  The middle
-aged matron tending the table bolted to her feet. “No! No touch! Just to look.” After wagging one finger in warning, the woman straightened the display with exaggerated care, as if the careless American had plundered her merchandise.

  Amy stepped back. The longing in her face tugged at Mallory’s heart in the strangest way.

  Hooking the sheer black thong with one finger, he swung it toward the woman behind the table. “Ah, signora, we’ll take this. In fact, three if you have them.” He held up three fingers.

  Amy gasped. Giving Amy a knowing look, the woman managed a small smile, as if to say that she had greatly misjudged her.

  “Oh, these are not for me!” Amy’s cheeks flamed and he choked back a laugh.

  The shopkeeper got busy, wrapping the thongs in tissue and slipping them into a bright pink plastic bag. She was not about to lose a sale because of a squeamish American.

  “Amy, every woman should have at least one black thong. Of course these are for you…unless of course Aunt Em or your mother…”

  Amy held up one hand. “Oh, my gosh, no.”

  “Well, then. A gift.”

  “But not for me,” she insisted. “Probably for a lady friend?”

  Signing the receipt, Mallory shook his head slowly. “Would I be here if I had a lady friend? Do I seem like that type of man?”

  “Your sister then.”

  “No sister.”

  “But what about Miriam?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about.

  Amy’s expression brought it all back with a jolt.

  “Of course. Miriam. Not quite her thing.” His executive assistant leaned toward gray suits and blouses with high collars. He pushed the bag toward Amy. Pink bags weren’t his thing. “Trust me, a little black thong should be a staple in every woman’s closet.”

  “But not for Miriam?”

  “Sadly, no. Not Miriam…or women who are like Miriam,” he said pointedly.

  “I see.” Amy took the bag from his hands.

  “Maybe you could help me choose something Miriam would like?” His assistant would be tickled if he brought her a gift.

  Obviously, he’d struck a chord. A smile tilted Amy’s lips.