His Lost-and-Found Bride

by Scarlet Wilson

  There couldn’t be a Logan and Lucia. Not if she still couldn’t mourn their daughter.

  It would be best for them both.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE FELT NUMB. It was the only way she could survive.

  Last night had been a blur. They’d got up this morning just as the sun had been rising and made their way in a water taxi to the airport. Logan had spoken barely a word to her.

  And that was what hurt most.

  He’d been polite, of course, courteous even. But it had all been strained. Any time she’d caught a glimpse of his once gleaming green eyes all she’d been able to see was the blankness that had been pulled over them.

  They stood patiently in the queue, checking in and filing through to Departures. As soon as they made their way through she made a feeble excuse that she needed to pick up some things.

  Logan gave a nod of his head and said he was going for coffee and would meet her at the departure gate. He seemed almost as relieved as she was to get some space.

  Lucia ducked into the nearest shop. She didn’t even care which one it was—and started walking blankly through the aisles.

  Lingerie. Just what she needed. She cringed as she passed a couple winking and nudging each other near the sexiest black and pink lingerie in the shop. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d spent money on matching lingerie. And she certainly wasn’t going to need some any time soon. Not at these prices anyway. Who actually spent this kind of money on underwear?

  Something inside her sparked a wave of fury. Her steps became quicker, more determined. She marched along the aisles until she saw something that caught her eye, something she might actually wear.

  It was a pale pink satin nightdress trimmed with exquisite lace. It was not as short as she might usually wear, reaching down to at least her knees. She reached out and touched it. The heavy satin was silky to touch, pure of quality and luxury. She picked out her size and walked to the cashier’s desk without a second thought.

  The cashier folded and wrapped the nightdress in tissue paper and Lucia didn’t even blink when she handed over her credit card.

  Why shouldn’t she buy herself something beautiful? As she pushed the package into her bag her mind flashed back to her bedroom and the beautiful red dress that Logan had bought her lying crumpled on the floor.

  She hadn’t even picked it up. She didn’t need any reminder of the night they’d spent together. It was already ingrained in her brain.

  She didn’t need anything to remember the feel of his fingers on her skin, the feel of his lips on her neck and throat. The smell of his scent winding its way around her. The squeeze in her heart the next day when he’d told her they needed to talk.

  And the look in his eyes when she’d finally stood up and walked away, pushing everything else back into a space she didn’t have to deal with.

  She’d been walking on eggshells ever since.

  And not just around Logan. Around herself too.

  For a few tiny seconds she allowed herself to think about Ariella Rose. She’d allowed herself to say a few words, to contemplate what might have been and what she’d lost.

  But it had been too much. The wave of emotions that had swept over her had had to be quickly quelled. On that warm summer’s day she’d never felt so cold. The tremors that had come over her body had been overwhelming.

  It would have been so easy to bury her head in Logan’s shoulder and just hold on for grim life. But she was too scared. Scared that if she went there she might never come back.

  The truth was that no adult should outlive their child. And only someone who’d been there could understand that. Her friends and family had no idea of the type of thoughts that had crept through her brain in the few days after her daughter’s death. She’d never acknowledged them to anyone.

  Instead, she’d kept things locked away—even from Logan. How did you tell the man you loved with your whole heart that you would rather be with your daughter than him?

  It had been too cruel. Even for her.

  Her eyes scanned the coffee shop. Logan was sitting staring out of one of the windows, his hand stirring his cappuccino endlessly.

  She dumped her bags in the chair next to him. It wouldn’t be long until their flight was called. She walked over to the counter. ‘Full-fat caramel latte with whipped cream and a strawberry frosted doughnut.’

  A whole day’s worth of calories about to be consumed in ten minutes. But she just felt like it. Sometimes days were just like that.

  And from the look on Logan’s face his day was entirely like that too.

  * * *

  It seemed the longest flight in history.

  It was amazing the things you could think up to do rather than talk to the person sitting directly at your elbow.

  Lucia was wearing a bright orange dress, and matching stilettos. She had a large brown leather bag—which looked as if it could carry the entire contents of her kitchen—slung over her shoulder.

  Her wheeled suitcase looked bigger than his car. It was clear she was here to stay.

  For a second he’d wondered if she was having second thoughts. She’d disappeared at the airport for a bit, then reappeared, eating a whole host of things that would never normally cross her lips.

  Logan was far too wise to comment. Lucia hadn’t been known for hormonal binges. But it had been twelve long years. Lots of things could have changed that he knew nothing about.

  And, frankly, it wasn’t his business any more.

  As they landed at the private Tuscan airport and waited for their car, one of the signs at the newsstand caught his eye.

  He gave her a nudge. ‘When was the last time Prince Antonio saw his Cinderella bride?’

  For the first time since they’d left Venice the glazed expression left Lucia’s face and her eyes widened. ‘What on earth have we missed? We’ve only been gone a few days.’

  He shook his head as the car pulled up in front of them. ‘I have no idea. We’ll need to talk to Louisa as soon as we reach the palazzo. I wonder if this will have implications for the wedding?’

  He opened the door for Lucia and they climbed inside. After a few seconds she pulled out her laptop and started working. Logan sighed and leaned back, watching the green Tuscan hills roll by.

  The journey from the airport took them back through the village and he took a few moments to study the surrounding architecture again. It was important that he keep the palazzo as in keeping with its surroundings as possible. Any kind of modern renovation would be disastrous. So, while modern fixtures and fittings could be included, they had to be sympathetic to the history of the house.

  They pulled up outside the palazzo. It was a hive of activity. Monday mornings in the Italian building trade could notoriously start slowly. Not today.

  Connor was in talks with someone outside the chapel building. It was obvious he was keeping on top of the security of the fresco.

  A delivery of the special pink-coloured stone used in the palazzo was being unloaded. Some of the outer restoration work still needed to be completed. He could see his special stonemason signing for the delivery.

  Louisa came walking out of the main entrance as Lucia grabbed her case. Louisa looked distracted, as if her mind were on a hundred other things. She hadn’t even noticed their return.

  ‘Louisa?’ he said, trying to be heard above the building work around them. She was frowning and it marred her pretty face. Her hair was pulled back in a rumpled knot and her long tunic looked like yesterday’s.

  Her head flicked up. ‘Logan.’ Her eyes darted over to Lucia. ‘Lucia. You’re both back.’ She walked over quickly. ‘Do you have news?’

  Lucia gave her a cautious smile. ‘We do. The fresco is by Burano, he lived and worked in the Renaissance period and we have other
examples of his work. He was both a painter and a sculptor. We’re making arrangements to look at the sculpture on the fountain in the village. It could be another piece of his work.’

  Louisa gave a smile and a quick nod. ‘That’s great. Really great. What happens next?’

  Lucia glanced towards Logan. It was obvious that she was picking up the same vibes that he was. Louisa’s body language was all over the place. She was saying the right words but her hands were continually knotting in front of her abdomen.

  ‘Things will be fine. I’ll begin the restoration work on the fresco. It could take a few months. All the costs will be covered by the Italian Heritage Board.’

  ‘A few months?’ Louisa looked shocked. ‘But what about—?’

  Logan stepped forward and took her arm, cutting her off. ‘Are you okay? Don’t worry about Lucia’s work. It won’t interfere with any of the plans here.’ He nodded towards Lucia. ‘We’ll make sure of that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Is this about the headlines? We saw them when we landed at the airport. Is the wedding still going ahead? Is there anything you need to tell us?’

  Louisa’s face tightened and she pressed her lips together. ‘Of course the wedding is still going ahead. There’s nothing to tell. Nothing to tell at all.’

  It was clear by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t willing to discuss anything.

  She waved her hand towards the palazzo. ‘Lucia, you’re welcome to stay here, but...’ she glanced at Lucia’s stuffed suitcase ‘...you might need to make other arrangements while the wedding is taking place.’

  Logan turned and stared at Lucia just as she turned and stared at him. Both of them had wide eyes. It was like a cartoon scene. It was something that hadn’t occurred to either of them.

  Of course Lucia would need somewhere to stay for the next few months. He’d invited her to stay with him in the farmhouse, but that had been when they’d been at the top of the campanile. It seemed like a million years ago. She’d promised to consider it and they hadn’t discussed it again since.

  He knew that he should say something here.

  Logan’s arrangement was different from everyone else’s. He was staying in one of the old converted farmhouses on the estate. It was comfortable. It was private. And it was big enough for two people.

  There were two reasonable-sized bedrooms. He had hardly set foot in the other one—even though he could have used it as his office. His computer and paperwork were currently spread over the dining-room table. Dining for one didn’t really require the full use of the table.

  He caught a glimpse of the expression on Louisa’s face. She was caught in the middle, probably unable to fathom out what their relationship was. She waved her hand. ‘I’ll leave that to you two.’ She walked away into the vineyards.

  Lucia was watching her retreating back. ‘Do you think she’s okay?’

  He shrugged. ‘She certainly didn’t want to be drawn into any gossip. She could be worried about how this could affect the prospects for the vineyard and the palazzo. I can only assume that the wedding costs are covering all the renovations around here. If they back out now...’ He let his voice drift off. They both knew exactly what that could mean for Louisa.

  Lucia gave a little nod and tugged at her case. ‘In that case, I have things I need to do. I’m going back to chart some of the fresco and make an approximate estimate of how long the restoration work will take. I’ll share the timetable with you when it’s finished.’

  Logan looked around. There was a mountain of work here for him too. A little gust of wind swept past and carried Lucia’s rose-scented perfume towards him.

  He cringed as it automatically evoked memories in his brain. Nights. Days. Passion. Love. And loss.

  Avoiding Lucia in Palazzo di Comparino could be harder than he’d thought.

  It could be nigh on impossible.

  ‘See you later,’ he said briskly as her eyes met his.

  For the tiniest second he held his breath. There it was again, that connection. It sparked every time he looked into those deep brown eyes and reflected the pain and passion that had affected them both.

  He dug his hands in his pockets and turned away.

  It was best to break the connection.

  Best for them both.

  * * *

  Lucia couldn’t sleep. The windows in her bedroom were open wide and she could practically hear the music of the Tuscan hills calling to her. Every rustle of the vineyard leaves, every noise from the watering system, the tiny cranking noises of some of the mechanical systems were all being carried in the warm night air.

  The bed was comfortable, but even wearing just her new satin nightdress and only having one sheet was proving too much. She couldn’t settle. Every time she closed her eyes for a few seconds her brain started to replay the last few days with Logan.

  And it was infuriating. Because it wasn’t one tiny part—it was everything...almost told in parts like a TV series. Her nerves at speaking to him for the first time. That whoosh that had swept over her body when she’d set eyes on him again. The way her skin had prickled just from being near him. Feeling the heat from his body when he was in close proximity to her. The touch of his lips on hers, awakening all the old sensations. Being held in his arms as they’d danced at Piazza San Marco. And the feel of his skin against hers when they’d finally gone to bed together.

  Being around Logan seemed to have set all of her five senses on fire. And now they’d been reawakened it seemed they didn’t want to go back to sleep.

  She sat up in bed for the twentieth time and slid her feet onto the floor. The tiles of the floor were cool and it took a few seconds to find her flat sandals.

  She stood at the window for a moment, wondering if she should go outside. There was not a single person in sight. That wasn’t unusual—it was the middle of the night. She glanced around her room.

  There was somewhere she wanted to be. Was it worth getting changed? The chapel was only across the courtyard from the palazzo. Could she just sneak across the way she was?

  She grimaced at the stuffed-full suitcase. Packing when your mind was on other things wasn’t exactly ideal. She hadn’t brought a dressing gown. Or her running gear. Or a hairdryer.

  She opened her door. It creaked loudly and she held her breath for a few seconds to see if anyone had noticed the noise.

  The air in the corridor was still. Her sandals made barely a sound as she crept along and down the stairs. The front door of the palazzo wasn’t even locked.

  She slipped outside and her footsteps quickened as she crossed the courtyard, the warm air making her nightdress flutter around her. It didn’t matter, there was nobody to see her. She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t even think about it too much. But she was being drawn to the chapel like a magnet.

  Except it wasn’t really the chapel she wanted to see—it was the fresco.

  The thick wooden door was heavy and she had to put her shoulder to it to finally push it open.

  The slightly colder, stiller air of the chapel swept around her as soon as she stepped inside. Her footsteps stopped as the tiny hairs on her arms stood upright.

  It was like walking into a scene from a scary movie. She was being ridiculous. Of course the chapel was slightly colder. The walls were thicker than the palazzo’s and the cooler air had probably helped with the preservation of the fresco.

  It was pitch-black. Only a few strands of moonlight were sneaking through the stained-glass windows. Nothing was really visible. She hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her.

  She took a few small steps forward, hoping her eyes would adjust to the darkness around her. Her hand reached out to touch the cold wall. It was odd. This chapel must have hundreds of years’ worth of history, hundreds of years’ worth of stories to tell. Weddings, birth, funerals all held in here.

/>   In a way it was nice the royal wedding was being held here. A piece of history was being brought back to life, back to its former glory. If they hadn’t proposed to use this site, Burano’s fresco might never have been discovered.

  ‘Yaow!’ She stubbed her foot on something—some kind of carpenter’s toolbox—and bent to rub her bare toe. Her hand touched something on the floor. She fumbled for a second. A flashlight. Perfect. She flicked the switch and a thin beam of light cut through the darkness.

  Now she could move more easily. She spun the torch around towards the fresco wall, the light hitting squarely on the Madonna’s face. Lucia sucked in a breath. Her feet moved forward automatically. An invisible hand had reached into her chest and was squeezing at her heart.

  This was it. This was what she’d needed to see. She moved the light a little downwards onto the face of baby Jesus, then back towards Mary. She drew up directly to the fresco, her hand shaking a little as Mary’s face was illuminated in all its glory.

  Every hint of colour, every hair on her head, every tiny line of her face—it was the expression that had been captured so beautifully. The expression that made her knees tremble.

  She’d never seen it captured quite so perfectly. Even though it was paint that was centuries old she felt as if she could reach out and touch Mary. Stroke her cheek, feel the warmth of her skin, see the wonder in her eyes.

  This was what she’d remembered. It was the thing that she’d pushed to the back of her head when she’d first seen the fresco. Now it was drawing her back.

  Now she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t ignore it.

  This had all been in Burano’s imagination. It felt as if he’d stepped back in time and caught that moment when a mother first looked at her child and was overcome by that huge wave of emotions and undeniable love. Baby Jesus was looking back at his mother with childlike wonder and awe. The look of love that only a child could give his mother—making the bond complete. The light behind the depiction of the Madonna and Child was almost ethereal. The glow around them was all-encompassing. All-consuming.