Tempted by the Bridesmaid

by Annie O'Neil

  He glanced across at Fran again. Surely she would shrink away from him at some point. As the facts of the story began to sink in. As the knowledge that he was to blame for everything that had come his way became clear.

  Astonishingly, she seemed more clear-eyed and steady than he had ever seen her. As if his lashing out at her had been an unwelcome shock, but not unexpected.

  “How did you open the clinic without assets?”

  Fran’s question pulled him back to the facts—however unsavory they were to confront.

  “I had saved a fair amount when I working in Rome.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Plastic surgery brings in a lot of money when you’re willing to put in the hours. That, and some of the doctors here are actually operating as private practices, so they came with their own equipment. Thanks to Bea, I learned about and applied for a few grants. Historic building restoration and the like. The rest...” He swallowed down the sour memories of learning just how far into penury his father had sunk. “Let’s just say what’s left of my soul belongs to the devil.”

  “I doubt that’s true, Luca. You’re too good a man to compromise your principles.”

  Surprisingly, Fran’s face was a picture of earnestness rather than horror. As if she held out hope that the clinic could still be saved.

  “Not me—my father. But I’m sure I can shoulder a large portion of the blame for that, as well. To cut a long story short—if I don’t make a profit from the clinic very, very soon it will go to Nartoli Banking. My father leveraged the place.”

  “What will happen?”

  “They’ll repossess it.” The emotion had drained from his voice now. “In a few weeks, most likely. Sell it to an investor, who will most likely raze the village, turn the site into a modern hotel. Exclusive, of course,” he added with an embittered laugh.

  He thought of Mont di Mare—the historic cottages and stone buildings, the gardens and archways—all of it being obliterated to make way for a glitzy glass-and-steel hotel aimed at the world’s rich and careless...

  “Is it essential to have the clinic here?” she asked. “I mean, it’s obviously beautiful, and just the view alone is healing, but...could you not have set up the clinic in Rome?”

  Fran’s voice was soft. Nonjudgmental. She wasn’t accusing him of making the wrong decision, just trying to paint a picture. She wanted to understand.

  “Revitalizing the village had always been my sister and mother’s dream,” he finally admitted.

  “As a clinic?”

  He shook his head. “A holiday destination, summer homes—that sort of thing. They even toyed with the idea of trying to revamp it into a living, working village. One with specialized craftsmen—and women,” he added quickly, when he saw Fran’s lips purse and then spread into a gentle smile at his correction. “Similar ideas to what you had, minus the patients. A place where craftspeople could live and create traditional works of art and wares. Do you know how hard it is to find a genuine blacksmith these days?”

  Fran shook her head, then quirked an eyebrow. “About as hard as finding world peace?”

  He laughed. Couldn’t help it. And was grateful for the release.

  Fran lowered herself onto a broad boulder, her legs swinging over the edge as she looked out into the valley below.

  Hands on his hips, he scanned the outlook, fully aware that this was most likely one of the last days he could call the view his own.

  “This is the first time I’ve heard you speak about your family,” Fran said when he eventually sat down alongside her.

  “Pia is my family. I don’t even deserve her.”

  He looked across in time to see Fran shake off his words, the hurt he’d caused because he wouldn’t—couldn’t—love her, too.

  “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” he cut in harshly. “I’m sorry, Fran. I know you’re all about healing old wounds, making amends with your father and all that, but it’s too late for me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He saw something in her then. A steely determination to see this through with him, no matter how ugly.

  “You want the whole story?”

  She nodded.

  “All right—well, the beginning’s pretty easy. Happy childhood. Wonderful mother. Doting father. They would’ve loved me to take up a bit more of the whole Baron Montovano thing, but they never pressed when they saw medicine was my passion. My sister and mother looked after things here. Had the vision. My father was a proud man. Passionate and very much in love with my mother. A few years ago, when his business ventures started going south along with the rest of the world’s, he went into a panic.”

  “About what?”

  “He became convinced he was going to die before my mother.”

  “Was he sick?” Fran asked.

  “No.” He corrected himself. “Or not that I was aware of. He and I weren’t exactly close by then, and even if I’d asked him, he wouldn’t have come to me for a medical exam.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he told me.” Luca scraped his hand against the sharp edge of the stone he sat upon, not caring if it lacerated his skin. The cut would hurt less than the words his father had shouted in rage that night at the casino.

  “You are the last person I would come to for help. The last person in the world.”

  “My mother and my sister were his world. He would’ve done anything for them.”

  “I bet the same was true for you.”

  “Don’t speak of what you don’t know, chiara. Do you know how he showed his love? His loyalty to his family? By taking to the craps table. The poker table. Baccarat. Anything to try to scrape back the money he had lost in business. But instead of securing a healthy nest egg, he lost. Lost it all.”

  Fran’s fingers flew to cover her mouth, but to her credit she didn’t say a word.

  “Just over two years ago I received a call from a casino in Monaco, asking if I could come and collect him. His pockets were empty and it was either me bailing him out or they’d put him in prison for the night.”

  He looked up to the sky, completely unadulterated by city lights, and soaked it in.

  “I drove from Roma straight to Florence, where my mother and sister were. We decided to all go together. Show our support.”

  He kept his gaze on the sky. There was no chance he could look into Fran’s eyes and get through this part of the story without completely breaking down.

  “So we all climbed into the car and drove through the night to go and pick up my wayward father in Monte Carlo.”

  “You drove?” Fran asked incredulously.

  “The things you do for love,” Luca answered softly. He would have done anything for his father. Walked there if he’d needed to. Oh! How he wished he’d walked.

  “What happened when you reached him?”

  “He was furious at first. Blaming everything on me. For abandoning the family.”

  “By working in medicine?” Fran shook her head, as if trying to make sense of it all. “Didn’t he know about the charity work you did?”

  “No.” Luca scraped his other hand along the rough surface of the granite. “It didn’t suit my image for people to know, so I never really talked about it.”

  He tugged a hand through his hair, grateful for the deepening darkness. With any luck, it was hiding the waves of emotion crossing his face at the memory of his father eventually breaking down. Sobbing with relief and sorrow at the pain he had brought to his own family.

  “Then we all piled back into my car.” He laughed at the memory. They’d been jam-packed in that thing. Like sardines, his mother had kept saying. A motley crew, they’d been. Tearful. Laughing. Up and down the emotional roller coaster until
they had all sagged with fatigue.

  “Pia, you will be unsurprised to hear, was ever the diplomat. She kept everyone talking about what we were going to make for dinner when we got back to Italy. And it was somewhere around a very vibrant discussion about eggplant parmigiana—”

  Luca stopped. This was the hardest part. Pieces of information still only came to him in fragments. His hands on the steering wheel. Entering the tunnel. The articulated truck crossing the median strip—

  Mercifully, Pia’s memory of the accident had never returned. He prayed, for her sake, that it never would.

  “The truck driver must’ve fallen asleep. That route is renowned for it. Up and over the mountains. Lots of tunnels. We were all tired, too. I’d been driving all day. All night. It was why we’d forced ourselves to keep talking, inventing ridiculous recipes to try when we got home.”

  Luca felt his voice grow jagged with emotion. Each word became weighted in his chest, as if the words themselves were physical burdens he’d been carrying all these years.

  “He just careened straight into us. There was nothing I could do!” The words scraped against his throat as though they were being torn from his chest.

  Without even noticing her moving, he suddenly felt Francesca’s arms around him, and after years of holding back the bone-shaking grief of loss—nearly his entire family gone in one sickeningly powerful blow—he wept.

  Luca hardly knew how much time had passed when at long last his breath steadied and the reddened edges of his eyes dried.

  Fran had not said a single word through his outpouring. No trite placations. No overused sayings to try to soothe away a pain that could never be fully healed. Although now his silent grief had become a sorrow shared. It was Fran’s gift to him. He could see it in her eyes, glistening with the tears she had not let herself shed, as he wept in the silvery, ethereal light of the moon.

  “So that’s where this came from?” Fran reached out and gently ran her finger along his scar.

  He nodded, catching her hand beneath his own. He’d never thought of it as disfiguring. More as one of life’s cruel reminders that he had debts to pay—both literal and figurative.

  “If there’s anything I can do—” Fran began, stopping abruptly when he dropped her hand as if it had scalded him.

  Her touch hadn’t. But her words had.

  After all that didn’t she see this was his burden to bear? His cross to carry alone?

  “You’ve done more than enough, Francesca.”

  She blinked, and something he couldn’t quite read had changed in her eyes when she opened them again. “I hope you’re saying that in a good way.”

  “As best I know how. Now...” He pushed himself up, offering her a hand so that she could rise more easily from their mountainside perch. “I’d best be off. See my niece. Buonasera.”

  He left a bemused Francesca at her doorway, not daring to let himself dip down and give her cheek a kiss. He’d said too much. Bared too much of his heart.

  He had three minutes—the length of the walk between her cottage and his own—to pull himself back together. Make a man out of himself again before he saw Pia.

  How would he tell her he was going to lose this place to the bank?

  Again, his eyes returned to the stars, searching for answers.

  God willing, he would never have to say a word.

  * * *

  Fran pulled a blanket over her shoulders and curled up in the window seat. The way her mind was buzzing, sleep was going to be a hard-won commodity. Nearly as impossible as it had been to say good-night to Luca.

  Never before had she been so moved as when she and Luca had held each other and he’d finally given in to the years of grief he’d held pent up inside him.

  If only—

  No.

  She gave herself a sharp shake, willing the tears forming in her eyes to disappear. If Luca could be so strong under such heartrending circumstances, she would strive to be the same. Never before had she held someone in such high regard. Never before had she felt such compassion, such love, for one man.

  Even if he couldn’t return her love he’d shown her the power of sacrifice. Sacrifices she was willing to make even if it cost her her heart.

  Shivering a bit, she pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders, willing her body to recapture the sense of warmth she’d felt when she had held Luca.

  She had half a mind to call Bea, desperate to brainstorm with someone. Come up with something, anything that would help save Mont di Mare from the bank. But Bea had enough on her plate without this to worry about.

  Then the lightning-bolt moment came.

  She did know one person whose entire life had been fueled by the betrayal of another. Who had poured his every energy into exacting revenge by succeeding in his own right.

  Her tummy lurched, then tightened as her nerves collected into one jangling ball in her chest, but she picked up her phone anyway.

  Courage.

  That was what Luca had. In spades.

  Strength.

  She dialed the number. Took a deep breath...

  Forgiveness.

  Luca had so many reasons to let his heart turn black, and through everything all she had seen was compassion and—

  “Si, pronto?”

  Love.

  “Papa, è Francesca. Va bene?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “THAT WAS AN excellent session, Giuliana. Are you pleased with your progress?”

  Luca took a seat beside the girl as she wheeled her chair into the shade of the pergola after Dr. Torino had headed back to the gym.

  “Si.” Her eyes glistened with pride. “All the therapists and doctors here have been amazing. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve gained in strength. Don’t let Fran go back to America.”

  The smile dropped from his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have much control over that.”

  “I’m sure if you asked her...”

  Luca tsk-tsked and shook his head. “We’re not talking about Fran right now—we’re talking about you and your progress.”

  He didn’t want Fran to go. But he was hardly going to beg her to stay on a sinking ship.

  “Dai. Facci vedere i muscoli.”

  Despite his grim mood, Luca smiled as Giuliana pushed back her T-shirt and flexed her slender bicep.

  He gave it an appreciative squeeze. “Va bene, Giuliana. You’ll be winning arm wrestling matches soon.”

  This was the fun part. The satisfying part of being a doctor. Happy patients. Positive results.

  “You’re not finding the full days of rehab too tiring?”

  Giuliana gave the exasperated sigh of a teenager. “No more than I’m supposed to!”

  “Excellent. You’re a star patient.”

  Giuliana giggled, waving away his praise. “That’s not hard when there’s only five of us. Besides—” she fixed Luca with a narrow-eyed gaze “—I have it on good authority you say that to everyone.”

  “Guilty.” Luca shot her an apologetic grin. “You’re all making me—the clinic—look really good.”

  “Ciao, Pia!”

  Luca turned in the direction Giuliana was waving—something she hadn’t been able to do when she’d arrived here—the smile dropping from his lips again when he saw Fran corralling his niece and her dogs into the large courtyard. Giuliana called out a greeting again, and Pia quickly changed course toward them.

  Fran’s eyes caught his but she didn’t cross over. Not that he blamed her.

  “Scusi, Dr. Montovano, Pia is going to show me some things with the dogs.”

  “No problem.” Luca grinned—not that Giuliana was hanging around to see if he wanted her to stay.

  “Dr. Montovano?” His administrative assistant
appeared by his side with a note in her hand.

  “Si, Rosa?”

  “We’ve got a patient who would like to be transferred here. His parents, actually. They say their son has lost hope.”

  “We don’t have room,” he said by rote, giving his head a shake, though his mind was already spinning with ways to make it possible. It wasn’t the money—though that would help. It was the hope part. When a patient had lost hope...

  “They’re asking for intensive. Maybe a month.”

  We may not have a month.

  “Perhaps if he came for a day. A chance to see the other patients so he doesn’t feel so alone,” Rosa persisted.

  “What’s his case history?”

  He shouldn’t ask. Knowing more about the patient would make him want to help.

  A shard of frustration tugged his brows together. His gut was telling him to say yes. The staff had already made it clear they would be fine working with more patients. It was simply a question of finding the room. He and Pia could move out of their house, but after so much disruption he hated to move her again.

  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fran approaching the pergola as the girls and the dogs disappeared, leaving gales of laughter in their wake. Fran’s cottage was wheelchair friendly. Close enough to the clinic’s hub to access all the facilities easily.

  “It’s just the three of them, you say?”

  “Three of who?” Fran asked.

  “A new patient and his parents,” Rosa jumped in.

  “No. Not a new patient. I’m afraid it won’t work,” Luca interjected. “There’s nowhere for him to stay.”

  “How about my cottage?”

  Fran looked between the two of them, as if they were both ridiculous for not thinking of it in the first place.

  “You would give up your cottage?” Rosa’s eyes lit with relief.

  “Of course I would. Anything! I’d leave right now if that helped.”

  “And abandon Pia?” Luca shook his head. “Leave her with the job half-done—not to mention the other patients you’ve taken on—before your contract is up?”