He touched the wall of the fountain where she was sitting. ‘About the fountain?’
She shook her head. ‘No. About the nymph. Do you know who sculpted it? Is there any village history that would tell us?’
His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘I know the legend attached to the fountain.’
Her heart started to beat faster. ‘What’s the legend?’ She was watching the fine billowing mist that seemed to glow in the lowering sun. Of course. Every village fountain in Italy would have a legend.
He gave her a wistful kind of smile. ‘They say that if you toss a coin and it lands in the clamshell you get your wish.’
Her stomach clenched. It wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted to hear. But it reached into her and grabbed a tiny part of her soul. Oh, she had a whole host of things she could wish for. But most of them were in the past. And nothing would change that now.
Wishful thinking. That’s all that could happen around this fountain. And a fanciful legend didn’t help her identify the sculptor. ‘Do you know anything else? Anything more realistic?’
He looked as if he’d been stung. He frowned. ‘I have no idea. Is it important?’
She stood up and spun around to face it. ‘It could be. See the folds of the cloak?’
He leaned forward. ‘Yes...’ His voice was hesitant.
She touched his arm. ‘Does it look familiar to you?’
His face broke into a smile, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and he held up his hands. ‘Is yes the right answer?’ It was clear he had no idea.
But something had sparked a fire within her. ‘I think it might. Most Renaissance artists didn’t just paint—they also sculpted. It could be the nymph was sculpted by the same person who painted the fresco. The folds of the cloak are quite characteristic. If I can compare the fresco and the nymph to the works of art that are held in Venice, it could help identify the artist.’
He started to nod his head in recognition. ‘You still think its Alberto Burano?’
She smiled. ‘It could be.’
This was work. Work she could do. Talking about work made her feel confident again. Made her feel safe.
‘So what happens now? How long will it take you to find out?’
She paused. Of course. ‘These things can take weeks—sometimes months. The Italian Heritage Board is cautious. We have to be careful before we make any kind of declaration about the potential artist of any fresco. It can always be challenged by others.’
Logan shook his head. ‘But what happens in the meantime? Can the wedding still go ahead in the chapel? Louisa is absolutely adamant that things must go to plan. I suspect she’s counting on the money from the royal wedding to help her complete the renovations on the palazzo. If we can’t progress...’ His voice tailed off.
There were deep furrows in his brow. He put his hands on his hips and stared out across the village. It was obvious that something else was bothering him.
‘If we can’t progress—what?’
He let out a deep breath and turned to face her. ‘We have a non-completion clause in the contract. It’s standard practice in the renovation business.’
‘What happens if you don’t complete on time?’ Now she understood why he looked so worried.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. Her brain whirred. She knew exactly what would happen. Logan’s company would have to bear the brunt of any costs.
Something twisted inside her. It had been a long time but Logan had been the father of her child. She knew exactly how much something like this would matter. If he failed to complete this job his reputation would be ruined—he could kiss his company and all his hard work goodbye.
‘Is there anything I can do to help prevent the delays?’ There was an edge to his voice. Determination.
From the second she’d got here all she’d wanted to do was get away. Being around Logan was claustrophobic, too cluttered—stifling, too many memories.
But she couldn’t let his business fall apart because of things he had no control over. This wasn’t his fault.
She hesitated. ‘There will be a whole lot of paperwork that will need to be completed in Venice. That’s always the thing that causes the most delays. If Louisa will allow you to be a signatory for her it could make things much easier. As you know, Italian paperwork can be complicated.’
‘You want me to come to Venice?’ He sounded a little stunned.
But so was she. Had she really just suggested that?
‘Well...it might move things along more quickly. I will be working on the comparisons with other frescoes. If you could find any history of the village that might link Alberto Burano to being here it could also be a huge benefit.’
He nodded slowly. She could almost see him thinking everything over, weighing up the best way forward.
He stepped forward. A little closer than she expected and as she breathed in all she could smell was his woodsy aftershave.
‘What day do you want me in Venice?’ His voice was determined.
‘Friday,’ she said quickly, trying not to think about it too much.
Friday was only a few days away. She would have done some of the groundwork before he got there.
He seemed to wait a few seconds before he replied. His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. ‘Friday it is.’
What had she just done?
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HEAT IN Venice was stifling. It seemed the whole world had descended on it to hear one of the world’s biggest rock bands play in a concert. Piazza San Marco was positively heaving, the streets crowded beyond measure and tourists juggling to pay the inflated prices in the surrounding cafés and bars.
Venice was always hot in the summer and Lucia was used to it. Living in the middle of permanent tourist attractions meant it was rarely quiet but today was the busiest she’d ever seen it. The queue of people to get inside St Mark’s Basilica snaked around the centre of the piazza twice.
Lucia glanced at her clock again. She’d expected Logan to call her over an hour ago. When they’d made the arrangement for him to come and help complete the paperwork she’d had no idea about the rock concert. It hadn’t even been on her radar. She didn’t want to think about what Venice Marco Polo Airport was like right now. She knew that the wait for the water buses was over an hour and that everything was going much slower than expected.
But the heat in her office was becoming claustrophobic. Even with her windows opened wide over the Grand Canal there was no breeze. She glanced at the clock again and pulled her fitted blouse away from her back. The air conditioning rarely worked at the Italian Heritage Board. Today was no exception.
She gathered up the papers she might need, closed her windows and headed for the door. Her mobile sounded just as she walked down the stairs. Logan. She answered quickly, but could barely make out his voice for the background noise. ‘Logan, where are you?’
She walked out into the bustling crowds, her feet turning automatically in the direction of San Marco, the waterbus drop-off on the Grand Canal. His voice was lost as she struggled to hear, so she continued through the thronging crowds towards the drop-off point. There, in the distance, she could see Logan and a smile flickered to her face.
His bag was clutched in one hand, alongside a pale beige jacket and his mobile phone. His white shirt was wrinkled, his hair rumpled and his face red. It was the first time in her life she’d ever seen Logan looking hot and bothered. It was kind of nice to know that could actually happen to him too.
He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around him, scanning the crowds. The rock concert had obviously caught him equally unawares.
She lifted her hand and waved at him, snaking her way through the people. A flash of relief was all over his face and gave her an unexpected glow. He moved towards
her. ‘Lucia, thank goodness.’ He held up his hands. ‘This place is even madder than usual. It wasn’t until I hit the airport that I heard about the concert. I guess I should have got an earlier flight. The queue for the water taxis and buses was a mile long.’
She gave a nod and glanced at his bag. ‘You look hot. How about we find somewhere to sit down and get something cool to drink?’
Logan let out a long breath, his brow furrowed. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to find anywhere?’
Lucia gave a little nod of her head. ‘You forget, Logan. I’ve been here more than ten years. I know all Venice’s best kept secrets.’ She nodded her head for him to follow and weaved through the crowds. She was glad she’d opted out of wearing her normal business attire today. In these conditions she would have sweltered in her fitted suit dress. Instead, the lighter short-sleeved white blouse and knee-length navy skirt helped to keep her cooler. She pulled her sunglasses down from her head and snaked her way through the cobbled side streets of Venice. These were instantly cooler out of the sun’s blistering rays and after a few minutes’ walk they were away from the madding crowds.
She pointed towards a café with tables and parasols set on the street. Logan gave a sigh of relief and sank down into a chair. ‘Perfect,’ he said.
The waitress appeared instantly and they both ordered two drinks, one cool and one coffee for later.
She was still amused by how flustered he looked. ‘I’m sorry about being so late, Lucia. I hope I haven’t ruined your schedule for the day.’
She shook her head. ‘No problem. I’d just decided to leave a little earlier because it was so hot. I’m happy to meet you outside rather than in the office.’ She pulled out her files. ‘I brought the paperwork with me. We can do it now, if you like.’
The waiter appeared and put their drinks on the table. Logan finished his cool drink within a few seconds, then sat back in his chair and sighed. He gave her a quirky smile and held up his hands. ‘I don’t remember Venice ever being this hot. What on earth is happening?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘A cross between a heat wave and an extra twenty thousand people descending on the city at once?’ She pushed the papers over towards him. ‘These are the ones I need you to complete. Then we can file the fresco as a “new find” with the Heritage Board. They are the ones that can authorise any restoration that might need to take place.’
Logan was scouring the papers. He lifted his eyes towards her. ‘And who would do that?’
She paused for a second, wondering if it was an answer he really wanted to hear. ‘It would probably be me. I’ve done most of the work on all of the last frescoes that needed to be restored. It used to be my boss, Alessio Orsini, who handled fresco restoration, but once he’d trained me and overseen my work a few times he was happy to hand over the reins. I think he’s looking to retire soon.’
Logan nodded slowly. He sat down his pen. ‘How would you feel about working in Tuscany? There is a good chance that I’ll still be there for the next few months.’
Logan was being cautious, but for some reason she felt as if a little man with icy feet was marching down her spine. It was almost as if he didn’t want her there. She felt insulted.
She looked at him steadily. ‘I’ll go wherever I’m needed. My job is very important to me. The other personalities involved aren’t important.’ She picked up her cappuccino and took a sip, breaking the little caramelised biscuit at the side into pieces.
‘That’s not what I meant.’ He reached over and grabbed her hand.
It was unexpected. A little part of the biscuit dropped from her hand onto the cobbled street.
Her eyes fixed on it lying amongst the cobbles, rather than looking at his hands or his face. She didn’t pull her hand back. ‘I get it, Logan. You’d rather not have to work with me. But I won’t compromise on my job. We’re just going to have to both be professional about it.’ She lifted her gaze to meet his.
His eyes widened. ‘No, Lucia. You’re reading this all wrong.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I know we had a difficult past. And seeing you after all these years...it’s been...’ He seemed to struggle to find the right word. ‘It’s been hard.’
She felt her heart squeeze.
He moved the position of his hand. This time his thumb was inside her palm, moving in tiny circular motions, while the rest of his hand rested over hers.
He lowered his voice. ‘But it’s been good to see you, Lucia. Really good. It’s left me wondering why we didn’t do this earlier.’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Because it would have been too hard.’ Her gaze was steady on his. ‘And you’re right, it is still hard.’
‘But it doesn’t have to be?’ There was an edge of optimism in his voice. A little glimmer of hopefulness.
Tears prickled in her eyes. A lump rose instantly in her throat. This was dangerous territory. Business was business, but this was something else entirely. She swallowed. ‘I think it always will be. There’s too many memories. Too many associations.’
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Logan had always been like this. His thumb kept moving in little circles, the way it always had when he was trying to soothe her. And for the most part it worked. Logan had always been cool, almost like the eye of a storm. Few things made him ever raise his voice. Few things made him rattled.
She looked at him again. He was still her Logan. Still so handsome. Still so protective. Grief had made his love feel suffocating. But the truth was Logan had never been suffocating. He’d encouraged her to blossom and grow while they’d been in Florence together. He’d be the very person to tell her never to hide her light under a bushel.
Why on earth hadn’t he met someone over the last twelve years? Why wasn’t he married with children? It had always been what he wanted. And he’d seemed to cope so much better with the death of Ariella Rose than she had.
He’d been grief-stricken for sure. The plans they’d made for baby furniture and paraphernalia had silently disappeared. He’d spoken to the doctors regarding a proper burial. Things were difficult when a baby was so young. But Logan’s calm and assuring manner had persuaded them to go along with his wishes and they’d got to lay Ariella Rose to rest in a cemetery just outside the city walls.
The short ceremony by the priest had been beautiful, the flowers and funeral arrangements all carried out by Logan—she’d been too numb to help with any of it.
It was only now, in hindsight, that she could appreciate just how hard that must have been for him. She hadn’t been the only one to cry over the death of their daughter. And after he’d spent days trying to get her talk and she hadn’t responded he’d finally stopped and mirrored her behaviour. Closing in on himself and shutting out the world around him.
He finally replied. ‘Let’s just see how things are. I’m glad we’ve met again, Lucia. I’m glad that you’re settled in an amazing city and doing a job that you love.’
There it was. The unspoken words.
I’m glad you’ve finally moved on.
But had she?
* * *
All he wanted to do was reach across the table and hold her. Lucia was at her most fragile right now. He could see the hidden pain in her eyes and he hated it that he was the person who had done that to her. Hated that her association with him was her most painful memory.
He had painful memories too. But he was still able to remember the good times in Florence—running through one of the fountains during a rainstorm, watching her face when he’d come home with every flower that the street vendor had been selling, sneaking out in the morning to buy her favourite pastry and watching her nose twitch as she’d woken up to the smell. For a long time Lucia had been his joy—and the feeling had been mutual. He only wished he was still hers.
She’d haunted his dreams on and off for years. Dreams about them meeting again in s
ome random place, having dinner together, or catching each other’s eye across a crowded room.
He’d always dreaded hearing the news that she was happily married or settled with a family of her own, but somehow seeing her like this was equally hard. More than anything he wanted Lucia to be happy.
Seeing her again was sparking a whole host of emotions that he’d long forgotten. He’d never imagined that the spark between them would still feel so electric. He’d never imagined that once he’d stared into those brown eyes again he’d feel rooted to the spot and never want to break away.
Lucia brushed her chocolate hair from her shoulder. It was a little shorter than he remembered and it suited her. She pulled her hand back steadily, keeping her gaze on his. He could almost see her retreating back into herself and putting a carefully drawn line between them.
She picked up her coffee cup. ‘How soon do you think you’ll get the paperwork completed?’
Business. That was all she wanted to discuss with him. Even after all this time.
He nodded, picking up the biscuit from the side of his cappuccino and placing it on her saucer. He didn’t miss the little hint of a smile from her.
‘How soon can you tell me I can finish my renovations?’
She blinked. ‘Well...’ She paused. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. We have to file your paperwork, then I need to do some investigating. I’ve made a private appointment tomorrow to view another fresco by the artist we think is involved.’
He sat back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s fine. I’ll come with you.’
She looked surprised. ‘Why would you want to come with me?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s not much point in me going back if I can’t give Louisa good news. She needs to know that the renovations and wedding plans can continue. At the moment most of the work in the chapel has ground to a halt. There’s still work ongoing in the palazzo but it doesn’t require my supervision every day. The chapel will be the difference between this wedding going ahead or not.’
His Lost-and-Found Bride Page 6
