by Annie O'Neil
“I have no problem doing it for free. You know that. If I could’ve lived in one place for more than five minutes over the past few years, I would’ve set up a charitable trust through Martinelli Motors years ago, but...”
“He was too busy making his mark?”
“As ever. We don’t have ancient family lineage to rely on like you do.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“Sorry...” Fran cringed, then held her arms open wide to the heavens. “Please help me stop sticking my foot in my mouth today!” She dropped her arms and pulled her friend into a hug. “Ever wished you’d just stayed in England?”
Bea’s eyes clouded and again she looked away. This time Fran had definitely said the wrong thing, brought up memories best left undisturbed.
“That was...” Bea began, stopping to take a faltering breath. “That was a very special time and place. Those kinds of moments only come once in a lifetime.”
Fran pulled back from the hug and looked at her friend, lips pressed tight together. She wouldn’t mention Jamie’s name if Beatrice didn’t. The poor girl had been through enough today without rehashing romances of years gone by.
“Right!” Fran put on a jaunty grin. “Time to totally change the topic! Now, as my best friend, won’t you please give me just a teensy, tiny hint about my new boss so I don’t ruin things in the first five minutes?”
“You’re the one who wanted a mystery assignment!”
“I didn’t want them to know who I was—not the other way around!” Fran shot Bea a playful glower.
She’d already been burned by a business partner who had known she was heiress to her father’s electric-car empire. And when it came to her social life, people invariably got the wrong idea. Expected something...someone...more glamorous, witty, attention seeking, party mad.
It was why she’d given up physio altogether. Dogs didn’t give a damn about who she was so long as she was kind and gave them dinner. If only her new boss was a pooch! She giggled at the thought of a dog in a three-piece suit and a monocle.
“What’s so funny?” Bea asked.
“C’mon...just give me a little new-boss hint,” Fran cajoled, pinching her fingers together so barely a sheet of paper could pass between them.
Bea shook her head no. “I’ve told you all you need to know. The girl’s a teenager. She’s been in a wheelchair for a couple of years now. Paraplegic after a bad car accident. Very bad. Her uncle—”
“Ooh! There’s an enigmatic uncle?”
“Something like that,” Bea intoned, wagging her finger. “No hints. They need the dog so she can be more independent.”
“She needs the dog.”
“Right. That’s what I said.”
“You said they need the dog,” Fran wheedled, hoping to get a bit more information, but Bea just made an invisible zip across her lips. No more.
“That’s not tons to go on, you know. I’ve been forced to bring two dogs to make sure I’ve got the right one!”
“Forced?” Bea cackled. “Since when have you had to be forced to travel with more than one dog?”
“C’mon...” Fran put her hands into a prayer position. “Just tell me what her parents are like—”
Beatrice held up her hand. “No parents. They both died in the same accident.”
“Ouch.” Fran winced. She’d lost her mother to divorce and her father to work. Losing them for real must be devastating.
“So does that mean this devilishly handsome uncle plays a big role in her life?”
“No one said he was handsome!” Bea admonished. “And remember—good things come to those who wait!”
Bea took on a mysterious air and, if Fran wasn’t mistaken, there was also an elusive something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. How could a person glow when their whole life had just been ripped out from beneath them? Bea was in a league of her own. There weren’t too many people who would set up a dream job for a friend who was known to dip in and out of her life like a yo-yo.
“Well, even if her uncle is a big, hairy-eared ogre, I can’t wait. Nothing beats matching the right pooch to the right patient.” Fran couldn’t stop herself from clapping a bit more, drawing the attention of her two stalwart companions. “C’mere, pups! Help me tuck in Her Majesty.”
Bea batted at the air between them. “No more royal speak! I don’t want to be reminded.”
“What?” Fran fell into their lifelong patter. “The fact that you’re so royal you’d probably bleed fleurs-de-lys?”
“That’s the French, idiot!”
“What do Italian royals bleed, then? Truffles?”
“Ha!” Bea giggled, reaching out a hand to give Fran’s a big squeeze. “It’s not truffle season. It’s tabloid season. And they’re definitely going to have a field day with this. I can’t even bear to think about it.” She threw her arm across her eyes and sank back into the downy pillow. “What do you think they’ll say? Princess left at the altar, now weeping truffle tears?”
Fran pulled her friend up by her hands and gave her a hug. It was awful seeing her beautiful dark eyes cloud over with sadness. “How about some honey?” she suggested, signaling to the two big dogs to come over to the bedside. “That mountain honey you gave me from the Dolomites was amazing.”
“From the resort?” Bea’s eyes lit up at the thought. “It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. Maybe...”
“Maybe what?” Fran knew the tendrils of a new idea when she saw one.
“Maybe I’ll pull a Frannie!”
“What does that mean?” She put on an expression of mock horror, fully aware that it wasn’t masking her defensive reaction.
She knew exactly what it meant. A lifetime of trying to get her father’s attention and failing had turned her into a wanderer. Staying too long in any one place meant getting attached. And that meant getting hurt.
“Don’t get upset. I envy you. Your ability to just pick up and go. Disappear. Reinvent yourself. Maybe it’s time I went and did something new.”
Fran goldfished for a minute.
“That phase of my life might be over,” she hedged. “Once this summer’s done and dusted I’m going home.”
“Home, home?” Bea sat up straight, eyes wide with shock. “I thought you said you’d never settle down there.”
“Dad’s offered to help me set up a full-time assistance-dogs training center—”
“You’ve never accepted his money before! What’s the catch?”
“You mean what’s going to be different this time?” Fran said, surprised at the note of shyness in her voice.
Bea nodded. She was the one who had always been there on the end of a phone when Fran had called in tears. Again.
“We spent a week together before I came over.”
“A week?” Bea’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s huge for you two. He wasn’t in the office the whole time?”
“Nope! We actually went to a car show together.”
Bea pursed her lips together. Not impressed.
“I know. I know,” Fran protested, before admitting, “He had a little run-in with the pearly gates.”
“Fran! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It turned out to be one of those cases of indigestion disguising itself as a heart attack, but it seems to have been a lightbulb moment for him. Made him reassess how he does things.”
“You mean how he’s neglected his only daughter most of his life?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Francesca Martinelli, don’t you dare tell me your heart wasn’t broken time and time again by your father choosing work over spending time with you.”
Fran met her friend’s gaze—saw the unflinching truth in it, the same solid friendship and loyalty she’d
shown her from the day they’d met at boarding school.
“I know. But this time it really is different.”
“Frannie...” Bea’s brow furrowed. “He took you to a car show. You hate cars!”
“It was an antique car show. Not a single electric car in sight.”
Bea gave a low whistle. “Will wonders never cease?”
“Martinelli Motors is doing so well it could probably run itself.”
“No surprise there. But I’m still amazed he took time off. It must’ve been one heck of a health scare.”
Fran nodded. She knew Bea’s wariness was legitimate. The number of times Fran had thought this would be the time her father finally made good on his promise to spend some quality father-daughter time...
“It was actually quite sweet. I got to learn a lot more about him as we journeyed through time via the cars.” She smiled at the memory of a Model T that had elicited a story about one of his cousins driving up a mountainside backward because the engine had only been strong enough in reverse. “Even though we all know cars aren’t my passion, I learned more about him in that one weekend than I have...ever, really.”
He’d thought he was going to die—late at night, alone in his office. And it had made him change direction, hadn’t it? Forced him to realize a factory couldn’t give hugs or bake your favorite cookies or help you out when you were elderly and in need of some genuine TLC or a trip down memory lane.
“We’ve even been having phone calls and video-link chats since I left. Every day.”
Bea nodded. Impressed now. “Well, if those two hounds of yours are anything to go by, it’ll be a successful business in no time. Who knows? I might need one of those itty-bitty handbag assistance dogs to keep me chirpy!”
“Ooh! That’s their specialty. Want a display?” Without waiting for an answer, she signaled directions at her specially trained pooches, “Come on, pups! Bedtime for Bea!”
Fran was rewarded with a full peal of Beatrice’s giggles when the dogs went up on their hind legs on either side of the bed and pulled at the soft duvet until it was right up to her chin.
Snuggled up under her covers, Bea turned her kind eyes toward Fran. “Grazie, Francesca. You’re the best. Mamma has promised caffe latte and your favorite brioche con cioccolata if we head over to the palazzo tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be up early, so don’t worry about me. I’ll just grab something from this enormous fruit bowl before I shoot off.” She feigned trying to lift the huge bowl and failing. “Better save my back. I’ve got to be there at nine. Fit and well!”
“At Clinica Mont di Mare?”
“Aha! I knew I’d get something from you beyond the sat-nav coordinates!”
Bea gave her a sidelong glance, then shook her head. “All I’m going to say is keep an open mind.”
“Sounds a bit scary.”
Bea gave her hand a squeeze. “Of all the people in the world, I know you’re the best one for this particular job.”
“Thanks, friend.”
Fran fought the tickle of tears in her throat. Bea was her absolute best friend and she trusted her implicitly. The fact Bea was still speaking to her after today’s debacle made her heart squeeze tight.
“Un bacione.” She dropped a kiss on her friend’s forehead and gave her hand a final squeeze before heading to her own bedroom and climbing into the antique wrought iron–framed bed.
“Freda, come! Covers!” Might as well get as much practice in as possible.
The fluffy Bernese mountain dog padded over, did as she had been bid, then received a big ol’ cuddle. Fran adored Freda, with her big brown eyes. The three-year-old dog was ever patient, ever kind. In contrast to the other full-of-beans dog she’d brought along.
“Edison! Come, boy!”
The chocolate Lab lolloped up to the side of the bed to receive his own cuddle, before flopping down in a contented pile of brown fur alongside Freda.
The best of friends. Just like her and Bea. It would be so hard to say goodbye.
Never mind. Tomorrow was a new beginning.
Exactly what she needed after a certain someone’s face had been burned into her memory forever.
“You and I will never be friends.”
Luca’s hardened features pinged into her mind’s eye. No matter the set of his jaw, she’d seen kindness in his eyes. Disbelief at what was happening. And resignation. A trinity of emotions that had pulled at her heartstrings and then yanked hard, cinching them in a tight noose. No matter how foul he’d been, she knew she would always feel compassion for him. Always wonder if he’d found someone worthy of his love.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOW MUCH?” LUCA’S jaw clenched tight. He was barely able to conceal his disbelief. Another five million to get a swathe of family suites prepared?
He looked at the sober-faced contractor. He was the best, and his family had worked with the Montovano family for years. In other words, five million was a steal.
Five million he didn’t have, thanks to his father’s late nights at the poker table. Very nice poker tables, in the French Riviera’s most exclusive casinos. Casinos where losing was always an option.
Luca’s eyes flicked up to the pure blue sky above him. Now that his father was pushing piles of chips up there, somewhere in the heavenly hereafter, it wasn’t worth holding on to the anger anymore. The bitterness.
His gaze realigned with the village—his inheritance...his millstone. Finding peace was difficult when he had a paraplegic niece to care for and a half-built clinic he was supposed to open in a week’s time.
Basta! He shook off the ill will. Nothing would get in the way of providing for Pia. Bringing her every happiness he could afford. Be it sunshine or some much-needed savings—he would give her whatever he had. After the losses she’d suffered...
“Dottore?” The contractor’s voice jarred him back into the moment.
“Looks like we’re going to have to do it in phases, Piero. Mi perdoni.”
Luca didn’t even bother with a smile—they both knew it wouldn’t be genuine—and shook hands with the disappointed contractor. They walked out to the main gate, where he had parked. Luca remained in the open courtyard as the van slowly worked its way along the kilometer-long bridge that joined the mountaintop village to the fertile seaside valley below.
He took in a deep breath of air—just now hinting at all the wildflowers on the brink of appearing. It was rare for him to take a moment like this—a few seconds of peace before heading back into the building site that needed to be transformed into an elite rehabilitation clinic in one week’s time.
He scanned the broad valley below him. Where the hell was this dog specialist? Time was money. Money he didn’t have to spare. Not that Canny Canines was charging him. Bea had said something about fulfilling pro bono quotas and rescue dogs, but it hadn’t sat entirely right with him. He might have strained the seams of his bag of ducats to the limit, but he wasn’t in the habit of accepting charity. Not yet anyway.
The jarring clang of a scaffolding rail reverberated against the stone walls of the medieval village along with a gust of blue language. Luca’s fists tightened. He willed it to be the sound of intention rather than disaster. There was no time for mistakes—even less for catastrophe.
Sucking in another deep breath, Luca turned around to face the arched stone entryway that led into the renamed “city.” Microcity, more like. Civita di Montovano di Marino. His family’s name bore the legacy of a bustling medieval village perched atop this seaside mountain—once thriving in the trades of the day, but now left to fade away to nothing after two World Wars had shaken nearly every family from its charitable embrace.
Just another one of Italy’s innumerable ghost towns—barely able to sustain the livelihood of one family, let alone the hundred or so w
ho had lived there so many years ago.
But in one week’s time all that would change, when the Clinica Mont di Mare opened its doors to its first five patients. All wheelchair bound. All teenagers. Just like his niece. Only, unlike his niece, they all had parents. Families willing to dedicate their time and energy to trying rehabilitation one more time when all the hospitals had said there was no more hope.
A sharp laugh rasped against his throat. After the accident, that was exactly what the doctors at the hospital working with Pia had said. “She’ll just have to resign herself to having little to no strength.”
Screw that.
Montovanos didn’t resign themselves to anything. They fought back. Hard.
His hand crept up to the thin raised line of his scar and took its well-traveled route from chin to throat. A permanent reminder of the promise he’d made to his family to save their legacy.
“Zio! Are they here yet?”
Luca looked up and smiled. Pia might not be his kid, but she had his blood pumping through her veins. Type A positive. Two liters’ worth. Montovano di Marino blood. She was a dead ringer for her mother—his sister—but from the way she was haphazardly bumping and whizzing her way along the cobbled street instead of the wheelchair-ready side path to get to their favorite lookout site, he was pretty sure she’d inherited her bravura from him.
Pride swelled in him as he watched her now—two years after being released from hospital—surpassing each of his expectations with ease.
Breathless, his niece finally arrived beside him. “Move over, Zio Luca. I want to see when she gets here.”
“What makes you so sure the trainer is a she?”
“Must be my teenage superpowers.” Pia smirked. “And also Bea told me it was a she. Girl power!”
Another deep hit of pride struck him in the chest as he watched her execute a crazy three-point turn any Paralympian would have been hard-pressed to rival and then punch up into the morning sunshine, shouting positive affirmations.
“Never let her down. You’re all she has now.”
The words pounded his conscience as if he’d heard them only yesterday. His sister’s last plea before her fight for survival had been lost.
