by Annie O'Neil
“If you don’t mind me saying something...” Fran began tentatively.
“Why stop now?” He opened his palms. An invitation for her to continue.
Fran blushed, but continued, “Marina didn’t really seem your type. Or deserve you, for that matter.”
Before he thought better of it, he asked, “And what exactly is it that I deserve?”
They both stopped and stared at each other in a moment of mutual recognition. Of course Francesca was a better choice. The natural choice.
A choice he didn’t have the freedom to make.
“Marina just seemed... She seemed to be after something more...fantasy. Like in a fairy tale. With cocktails and fast cars.”
“That sounds about right,” Luca conceded. “You’re not like that, though, are you?”
Fran squirmed under his gaze and he didn’t blame her. He didn’t have the ability to disguise the desire he knew was burning in his eyes. But he couldn’t offer her what she deserved. His heart.
He turned to face the view, breaking a moment that would only have led to more heartache. “It’s probably just as well we’re talking about my relationship failures.”
“Why’s that?” Fran looked away, then dropped down onto the bench, carefully rearranging the pebbles at her feet with her toe.
“I know my behavior over the past few weeks or so has been...confusing, to say the least.”
“Are you saying our being together was a mistake?” Defensiveness laced her words and tightened the folding of her arms across her chest.
“No. No, chiara.” He joined her on the bench and reached out a hand to cup her chin, so that she could see straight into his heart when he spoke. “Being with you was...bittersweet.”
She swallowed. He forced himself to hold his ground, letting his hand shift from her chin to her arms, which he gently unlaced, taking both of her hands in his.
“I liked the idea of having a summer romance with you.”
“Past tense?” she asked, with her usual unflinching desire to hear the truth.
“Yes.” He owed it to her.
“I thought...I thought you enjoyed being with me.”
Little crinkles appeared at the top of her nose as the sparks in her eyes flared in protest. A swell of emotion tightened in his throat. “I did. More than I should have, given the circumstances.”
“Which are...?” Francesca barely got the words out before choking back a small cry of protest.
His fingers twitched and his hands balled into fists. He didn’t want to cause her pain. Far from it.
“You said yourself you have to go home.”
“Not for another few weeks!”
“Francesca, Mont di Mare may not be here in a few weeks.”
A silence rang between them so powerfully Francesca felt her skin practically reverberate with the impact of his words.
“What do you mean?”
“The bank.” He spat the word out as if it were poison, then swept an arm along the length of the village. “The bank will own all of this in a few weeks if I don’t turn things around.”
She shook her head as if he’d just spoken in a foreign tongue. “I don’t understand...”
“You don’t need to.” He bit the words out one by one, as if he were actually shouldering the weight of the mountain as he did so. “My focus needs to be entirely on the clinic, and what little time I have left in my day—as you so rightly pointed out—I need to give to Pia. She’s all I have.”
“You know you could have more,” Fran asserted.
“Only to have you disappear at the end of the summer, along with Mont di Mare?” He didn’t pause to let Fran answer, and his voice softened as he offered her what little consolation he could. “I’ve experienced enough loss to last a lifetime, amore. I don’t think I could bear any more.”
A dog’s bark filtered into the fabric of the night sounds. It reminded him that he’d delivered the death knell to any future between them. The least he could do was soften the blow.
“I meant to say the reason I was asking so much about the dogs is that after our session with Cara a couple of other patients were asking whether or not they might have one, too. If it suits you, you could look into supplying them with assistance canines before the summer is out.”
* * *
Fran didn’t know whether to be elated or furious, given the circumstances. Shell-shocked was about as close as she could come.
Luca was about to lose the entire village and still his thoughts were on his patients?
Her heart bled for him, and then just as quickly tightened in a sharp twist of anguish.
Why couldn’t he afford her the same courtesy?
Take a risk.
Chance his heart on love.
She stared at him, searching his dark eyes for answers.
How could he just stand there like that? All business and attention to detail when everything he’d worked so hard for was slipping away.
Wasn’t he full of rage? Of fight? Why wouldn’t he let her love him? Take the blows of an unfair world alongside him?
She stared at Luca, amazed to see the light burning in his eyes turn icy cold.
Perhaps he was right. He was giving her a chance to cut her losses. Preserve what was left of her heart. Do her job, then get on with her life—just as she’d planned.
She forced on her most businesslike tone. He wanted facts? He could have facts.
“You know it takes more than a couple of weeks to find the right dogs, let alone train them up, right? It requires skill. Precision. Plus, I adopt dogs from local shelters, so sometimes there are additional factors to consider. What if the patient doesn’t take to the dog and I can’t bring it back to the States? I could hardly return it to the shelter afterward, could I? Having given it a glimpse of another life?”
Luca stared at her. Completely unmoved.
Fran continued. “Dogs are loyal, even if people aren’t, and I don’t play emotional bingo. With anyone.”
It was vaguely satisfying to finally see a glint of discord in Luca’s eyes.
Vaguely.
There was no glory in one-upping a man whose world was about to collapse in on him.
She bent and picked up his wineglass from the ground, then took a definitive step toward her doorway before turning to address him again.
“I will speak with your administrator about patients looking to work with an assistance dog and see if there’s someone local who can be brought in. It would be foolish to invest in something I won’t be able to see through to the bitter end. If you’ll excuse me?”
She scooted around Luca and into her cottage before she could catch another glimpse of those beautiful dark eyes of his, silently cursing herself, her life—anything she could think of—as she shut the door behind her.
Leaning against the thick, time-worn oak, she let a deep sigh heave out of her chest.
As painful as it was for her to admit, Luca was right. There was too much at stake for him to worry about foolish things like a summer romance. She was going home. She’d promised her father—just as he had promised her.
The only thing she could do now was follow the advice she’d given to Luca. Spend her time building a life she wouldn’t regret.
A flicker of an idea came to her, but just as quickly as it caught and flared brightly, she blew it out.
She wasn’t ready to ask her father for help. Not yet.
But a talk...
She could do with a talk right now.
She swiped at the number and smiled as the phone began to ring.
Before, she had always turned to Bea, but now, hearing her father’s voice brighten when he picked up the phone, she let gratitude flood into her heart that, step by step, they were forging a
real relationship.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LUCA FROWNED. HE’D caught a glimpse of her. As per usual, no matter how stealthily Fran passed, he always knew when she was near. It was a sixth sense he’d grown all too aware of.
He glanced up at the clock. It was past seven. A lovely evening. Well after rehab hours. The residents were all back in their villas, Pia was tucked up with the dogs, watching a film, and here he was hunkered over a pile of papers, brow furrowed, one hand ramming his hair away from his forehead, the other spread wide against the mahogany sheen of the large desk he commanded. Taut. Ready for action. Poised like a reluctant but honorable admiral, helming a ship when duty called.
“Fran!”
He called out her name before he thought better of it. Unlike Francesca, who, true to her word, had maintained an entirely professional demeanor in the weeks following their talk, Luca had behaved like a bear with a sore head.
A golden halo of hair appeared, then her bright eyes peeped around the edge of his door frame like a curious kitten—tempted, but not quite brave enough to enter the lion’s lair.
Luca gazed at her for a moment, just enjoying the chance to drink her in. Those blue eyes of hers were skidding around his office as if trying to memorize it. Or maybe that was just him hoping. It wouldn’t be long now before she left.
Her loose blond curls rested atop the soft slope of her bare shoulders. The tiny string straps of her sundress reminded him of...too much.
He pushed the pile of papers away, against his better judgment, and rose. “Fancy a walk? I could do with some fresh air.”
She shot him a wary look, then nodded. Reluctantly.
They strolled for a few minutes in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Strands of music, television and laughter ribboned out from the villas along with wafts of home-cooked food.
Fran broke the silence. “That smells good.”
“My mother used to call the scents up here ‘the real Italy.’” Luca laughed softly at the memory.
“In my house that was store-bought macaroni and cheese!” Fran huffed out a laugh that was utterly bereft of joy.
Her response to his throwaway comment was a stark reminder to Luca that he did have blessings to count. Proper childhood memories. Family, laughter, love and joy.
“So what were they? Those scents of the real Italy?” Fran asked.
“Oh, let’s see...” He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories comes to him. “Torn basil leaves. The ripest of tomatoes. Freshly baked focaccia. Dio, the bread alone was enough to bring you to your knees. Signora Levazzo!” The memory came to him vividly. “Signora Levazzo’s focaccia was the envy of all the villagers. She had a secret weapon.”
“Which was...?” Fran asked.
“Her son’s olive oil. He had a set of olive trees he always used. Slightly more peppery than anyone else’s. No one knows how he did it, but—oh!” He pressed his fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Delicioso!”
“Sounds lovely.”
He didn’t miss the hint of wistfulness in her voice. Or the pang in his heart that she hadn’t enjoyed those simple but so-perfect pleasures in her own childhood. From the smattering of comments he’d pieced together, she hadn’t had much of a childhood at all.
“They were unforgettable summers.” Luca looked up to the sky, unsuccessfully fighting the rush of bitterness sweeping in to darken the fond memories. “And to think I told them to sell it all.”
“Who? Your family?” Fran’s brow crinkled.
He nodded. “We spent all our summers here. Well...” He held up his index finger. “Everyone but me once I’d turned eighteen.”
“What happened then?” Fran asked, her eyes following the line of his hand as he indicated that they should follow a path leading to the outer wall of the village.
“The usual things that happen to an eighteen-year-old male. Girls. Motorcycles. University. Medicine.”
Fran laughed, taking a quick, shy glimpse up toward him. “I don’t think most eighteen-year-old males are drawn to medicine.”
“Well...I always like to be different.”
“You definitely are that,” Fran said, almost swallowing the words even as she did. “And it was plastics you went into?”
“Reconstructive surgery,” he corrected, then amended his brusque answer. “I did plastics to feed my taste for the high life. Reconstructive surgery to feed my soul.”
Fran shot him a questioning glance.
“I did a lot of pro bono cases back then. Cleft palates. Children who’d been disfigured in accidents. That sort of thing.”
He felt Fran’s eyes travel to his scar and turned away. He’d never remove his scar. Not after what he’d done.
Abruptly Fran stopped and knelt, plucking at a few tiny flowers. She held them up when he asked if she was making a posy.
“Daisy chain,” she explained, turning her focus to joining the flowers together. “It’s fun. You should try it.”
“I don’t do fun,” Luca shot back.
* * *
“I know.” Fran pressed her heels into the ground and rose to her full height. “That’s why I said it.”
Luca turned away to face the setting sun.
He shouldn’t have to live like this, she thought. All stoic, full of to-do lists and health-and-safety warnings. He was a kind, generous man who—when he dared to let the mask drop—was doing his best to stay afloat and do well by his niece. And failing at both because he insisted upon doing it alone.
She placed the finished daisy chain atop her head, then reached out to grab his hand before he strode off beyond her reach. His heart might not be free to love her, but he didn’t have to do this alone.
“Talk to me.”
A groan of frustration tightened Luca’s throat around his Adam’s apple. If he hadn’t squeezed her fingers as he made the animalistic cry, she would have left immediately. But when his fingers curled around hers and pressed into the back of her palm, she knew it was his way of doing the best he could—the only way he knew how.
“C’mon...” She tried again. “Fair is fair. You got my life story on my first day here.”
When she sent him a playful wink she received a taut grimace in place of the smile she’d hoped to see.
“I was looking after my niece. Ensuring you weren’t some lunatic Bea had sent my way.”
Fran clucked her tongue. “First of all, Bea would never do that. And, second of all, I think you know I’ve encountered enough crazy in my life for you to feel safe in the knowledge I will pass no judgment when I hear your story.”
Was that...? Had he just...? Was that the hint of a smile? No. He gave a shake of his head.
Frustration tightened in her chest. What would it take to get this man to trust her?
“Listen. Of all the people up here in this incredible, wonderful center of healing you’ve created, you seem to be the only one not getting any better.”
She ignored his sharp look and continued.
“I’m probably the only one here who knows exactly what it’s like to butt heads with their own destiny. My dad’s due any day now and I’m already quaking in my boots. Please...” She gave his hand a tight squeeze. “Just lay your cards on the table and see what happens.”
A rancorous laugh unfurled from deep within him. “Oh, chiara. If only you knew how apt your choice of words was...”
“Well, I would know if you told me.” Despite all her efforts to rein in her emotions, she couldn’t help giving the ground a good stamp with her foot.
Luca arced an eyebrow at her. “It’s not a very nice story.”
“Nor is mine. It’s not like I’m made of glass, Luca. I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.”
Luca’s lips remained firmly clamped
shut.
“You’ve already had my body!” she finally cried out in sheer frustration. “What do you want? Blood?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCA WHEELED ON FRAN, his features turning dark, almost savage in their intensity. “I didn’t ask for anything from you, chiara. Not one kiss. Not one cent. Remember that when you’re gone.”
Shock whipped anything Fran might have said in response straight out of her throat. She felt her mouth go dry and, despite the warmth of the summer’s evening, she shivered as the blood drained from her face when he continued.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen it.”
“Seen what?” Fran looked around her, as if the answer might pop out from behind a bush. She was absolutely bewildered.
“I know how you speak of Mont di Mare. How you’ve made this place into some sort of Shangri-la. A place where nothing can go wrong. Where everything is perfect and rose-colored. You don’t get to do that. Not without knowing the facts.”
* * *
Luca drew in a sharp breath, the air near enough slicing his throat as it filled his lungs.
What the hell?
After a summer of holding it all in, he couldn’t contain his rage any longer.
Losing Fran, the clinic—perhaps even Pia if she saw the shell of a man he’d turned into—was more than he could take.
He began pacing on the outcrop where they’d stopped. And talking. Talking as if his life depended upon it.
“Thanks to my father’s time at the poker tables, I am in debt up to my eyeballs. Worse. Drowning.”
It was an admission he’d never made aloud.
He was shocked to see compassion in Fran’s eyes when he’d been so brutal. Even more, they bore no pity.
It was what he had feared most. The pitying looks. He’d had enough of those at the funeral. The funeral in which he had buried his mother, his father, his sister and brother-in-law all in one awful, heart-wrenching day. A day he never wanted to remember, though he knew slamming the door shut on those memories only left them to fester. To rear their ugly heads as they were doing now.
