His thoughts jumped to his father, who’d been married twice. Though divorced from his first wife, he would probably still be with Valentino’s mother if she were alive. Valentino wasn’t like him. He enjoyed taking risks, but not when it came to women.
Though he knew nothing about his birthfather, he suspected that, since he hadn’t shown a fathering instinct where Valentino had been concerned, he’d probably never married either.
At a totally loose end, Valentino headed to the kitchen for a beer. He phoned Roger, his longtime friend at the track. They talked shop for half an hour, then he checked in with Claude, the manager of his bike company in Monaco. Following that, he took a hot shower and got ready for bed.
To his irritation, his scattered thoughts returned to Clara. Throughout his years growing up in Monta Correnti, she’d been the only female constant besides his sister. He couldn’t help but wonder how close she was to settling down. For the hell of it, maybe he’d take the time to find out tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWO
WHILE Clara was getting dressed in jeans and a pink cotton top with three-quarter sleeves, Bianca, who was barely pregnant again, walked in the bedroom carrying her six-month-old boy. “Mamma wants to know how you’re feeling this morning.”
“I’m fine,” Clara murmured as she slipped into her sandals. “How’s my little Paolito today?” The little boy was old enough now that when she gave him kisses on his tummy, he laughed out loud. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” She kissed his tender neck.
“He loves his zia more.”
Together they walked down the hall of the small stone farmhouse to the kitchen where the family ate all their meals. It used to bulge at the seams, but these days it was home to Clara, her parents and grandmother on her mother’s side who lived on the main floor. Because of a stroke, the ninety-one-year-old woman was in a wheelchair. Bianca and Silvio lived upstairs with their spouses and children.
The other married siblings and extended family lived in homes on the outskirts of Monta Correnti. Now when they gathered for meals three times a day, there were only twelve at their noisy table.
Her father cast her an anxious glance. “Ah, good. You’re up.”
Clara kissed him on top of his balding head. “I’m up and hungry.” She turned to her mother, who waited on everyone. “I’ll get my own breakfast. Sit down, Mamma. You work too hard.”
“No, no. You must preserve your strength.”
“I have plenty of strength this morning.”
“That’s good to hear. Now you sit and eat!”
“Yes, Mamacita.” She took her place across from Silvio, smiling secretly at his three children aged seven, five and three who giggled to hear their nonna get mad at her.
Silvio’s pregnant wife, Maria, darted her a friendly glance. “You look better this morning.”
“I feel good enough to run the stand today.” She drank the freshly squeezed orange juice waiting for her.
“Absolutely not!” Silvio barked, so overprotective of her these days she felt smothered.
“Do you think you should?” her anxious mother questioned as she put the hot omelet in front of her. Her devoted mother who did the work of a dozen people went out of her way to make certain she was well fed.
“Of course I do. Thank you, Mamma.”
“Are you telling us the truth?”
“If I weren’t, I would stay in bed.” Clara was getting desperate and wanted to scream, but only because everyone was so good to her and worried about her continually. More than anything she hated being a burden, yet within the last three months that was what she’d become to her hard-working family.
“So you really feel up to it?” Her father stared hard at her.
“Sì, Papa,” she answered in a controlled voice. “Some days I wake up feeling worse than others. Right now I feel good and want to do my part around here on the days when I can.”
His eyes grew suspiciously bright before he nodded. “Then it’s settled.”
Grazie, she murmured inwardly, but Silvio set his mug of coffee down too hard, telling everyone his opinion. He was the sibling who stifled her most with his concern. As a result, he was the most difficult member of the family to be around.
The hot liquid splashed on the table. Maria told seven-year-old Pasquale to run and get a cloth for his father. While the mess was getting cleaned up, Bianca’s husband, Tomaso, walked in the back door in his overalls. He’d been out early setting up the fruit stand for Clara before doing his own work.
His gaze shot straight to Clara. “You’ve got a visitor.” By his awestruck countenance, it told her this was no ordinary person.
“Who is it?” She struggled to keep herself calm, already anticipating the answer with far too much excitement.
“Valentino Casali. He’s driving the latest Ferrari 599.”
Amidst the audible gasps, Silvio jumped to his feet, letting go with a few colorful expletives their household hadn’t heard in a long time.
“Basta!” their father admonished him.
“Clara hasn’t had anything to do with him in years, Papa. He’s no good and he’s not welcome on our farm. I don’t want him here!” Silvio muttered angrily.
Aghast at her brother’s venom, Clara felt a sudden feeling of weakness attack her body, but she fought not to show any vulnerability. She’d thought of course Valentino had only come to Monta Correnti for a few days and might even have left Italy as early as this morning.
In all the years growing up, he’d never once come to the farmhouse to see her for any reason. Every time he’d given her a ride home on the scooter on his way to the lake, she’d insisted on getting off once they reached the road leading into the farm.
“I’ll go outside and see what he wants.” Out of necessity she’d brushed him off too abruptly at the bus stop yesterday. Since then she’d been suffering guilt…and also regret for missing out on spending more time with him. There was no one like him! Because she’d teased him about not visiting her once in the last nine years, he’d probably decided to stop and say goodbye on his way out of town.
While everyone was reeling from the shock of their home-town celebrity showing up here, she rose from the table and walked out the back door. After rounding the corner of the house she spied the black super-car parked further down the drive.
Valentino levered himself from the front seat and strolled toward her, wearing bone-colored chinos and a black, open-necked sport shirt. He looked so fantastic she could hardly swallow. His sensuous mouth curved into a half-smile. “Buon giorno, Clarissima! Forgive me for coming by this early?”
Her assumption had been right. He was on the verge of leaving.
His eyes lingered on her soft curves before scrutinizing her from her sandaled feet to the roots of her hair. It didn’t surprise her. Three years ago she and Bianca had finally taken off the weight that had plagued them most of their lives.
The diet plan she’d chosen had been part of an article by a film star featured in a celebrity magazine with a photograph of her and Valentino on the front cover. A section had been dedicated to the woman who had claimed to stay thin on the prescribed regimen and swore by it. Naturally there were no pictures of fat girls inside the pages of that magazine or any others.
For some reason seeing Valentino smiling at the slender beauty who’d kept her weight off had annoyed Clara. Out of anger she had started dieting and Bianca had joined her. Once they began to see results, they became local wonders for a while, but now everyone was used to the way they looked, except for Valentino, of course.
“There’s nothing to forgive. You know we’re a farming family, up with the sun.”
His expression sobered. “I could have called your house, but thought I might have more luck talking to you if I came in person.”
She was so glad he did. No doubt he was remembering how Silvio used to run interference and decided not to take the chance of her brother answering the phone. It was a good thing. Silvio’s jeal
ousy of Valentino had been over the top then. If he should see him now…
“Your car gave Tomaso a big thrill.”
“But not you?” He sounded intense again, as he had yesterday.
“Of course it does!”
“It’s the only transportation I have at the moment,” he murmured in a voice deeper than she remembered. The eighteen-year-old Tino had become an incredibly attractive male. “Come for a drive with me. I need to talk to you.”
With that silken tone, Valentino had a way of getting under her skin, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know about what was going on in her life. To spend any time with him when he was no doubt leaving town again would be like standing too near a white-hot conflagration. No more pain…
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time. When you drove in, you saw Tomaso opening up the stand for business. I’m running it today.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Clara got this suffocating feeling in her chest. “Can’t we talk right here?”
His striking features darkened with lines. “What are you afraid of?”
The blood hammered in her ears. She backed away from him. “Nothing! I just can’t imagine what’s so important you would come all this way. It’s been years.”
“Nine, to be exact. That’s too many between old friends. I’m here to atone for my sins.” His lips smiled, but for a brief moment his dark eyes looked haunted. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse me as easily as you did yesterday when I offered to drive you home—”
“The bus was there. I saw no reason to put you out, but I meant no offense,” she added to appease him.
“None was taken.” He cocked his head. “Since you’re busy now, I’ll come by later in the day when you’re ready to close up the stand.”
Later in the day? “Please don’t—” she cried, working up to a panic. After a full day’s work, she would need to rest and he’d know something was wrong.
His dark brows lifted. “Have you already made plans for this evening? With a boyfriend, perhaps?”
“Yes.” She leaped at the excuse he’d just given her.
Since her weight loss she’d been besieged by different guys from the valley wanting to go out with her. She’d had a lot of dates. One of the guys, Leandro, had been fairly relentless trying to get her to go out with him. When she did, she realized she had no interest in him. But Valentino didn’t know any of her dating history and she wanted to keep it that way.
“What time will he be picking you up?”
“When he gets off work,” she improvised.
“So when will you close the stand?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.
“You don’t know?” he enquired smoothly. “Four o’clock? Five?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?” she blurted before realizing she’d displayed her anger. Since Valentino had never witnessed this side of her nature, he stared at her as if she’d turned into a complete stranger. In a way she had. Right now her heart was thudding so hard she felt ill.
“I was hoping you’d find a few minutes in your busy schedule for me.” To his credit he held onto his temper.
She averted her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have any time today,” she said in a subdued tone.
“I can hear Silvio in your voice,” his voice grated. “Forgive me for coming here and disturbing you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” He turned away and headed for his car.
After he’d mentioned her brother’s name, she couldn’t allow him to think what he was thinking. “How long are you going to be in Monta Correnti?”
He opened the car door. “For as long as it takes.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father’s not well.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”
“I hope not.” He started to get in the car.
“Wait—” she called out before she realized how anxious she sounded.
His dark head reared back. “Yes?”
“I’m going into town in the morning to do some errands. If you want, I’ll meet you at the Pasticceria Bonelli in the Piazza Gaspare where I caught the bus. We could have a cup of coffee or something beforehand.”
“What time?”
“Shall we say ten o’clock?”
“I’ll be there. Grazie, piccola.”
At eight the next morning Valentino dressed in a polo shirt and jeans before leaving the villa to walk to the restaurant. He entered through the back door into the kitchen with the key Isabella had given him. His plan was to eat breakfast with his father so they could talk business.
Valentino didn’t hold out much hope of getting anywhere with him. His father knew the restaurant business inside and out. You couldn’t tell him how to run it. Valentino could only try to make a suggestion, but even then his parent would probably resent it.
At first he didn’t think anyone was about, but as he passed by the storage area that served as a pantry of sorts he glimpsed someone through the door that stood ajar. On closer inspection he realized it was his father up on a small stepladder with a clipboard. Valentino noticed his cane resting against the leg of the ladder.
Not wanting to startle him by calling out, he moved over slowly to where his father stood, but when the older man saw him, he still jumped and almost fell off the ladder. Valentino rushed to steady him. He was thinner than the last time he’d seen him just a month ago, but he still had a full head of brown hair though it was streaked with silver.
“Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
What a great beginning! Valentino had to tamp down his temper. “I was afraid if I announced myself in the doorway, you’d turn suddenly and fall. I can see you’re doing the inventory. Don’t you think—?”
“Not you, too—” his father barked, interrupting him. “Go on—say it! Everyone else does. Your aunt Lisa yelled at me the other day that I’m too old and crippled to run my own restaurant. That’s the only reason you came back to Monta Correnti, isn’t it? Isabella probably sent you in here to stop me!”
Valentino winced. His father didn’t want him here. What else was new? “I haven’t seen Isabella today. Isn’t she at market?”
“Who knows?”
That was a lie, of course. His father knew everything. “Actually I came early so I could help you do whatever needed doing. Inventory is the only thing I’m good at when it comes to running the restaurant.”
Valentino had thought he could broach his ideas for promoting Rosa while they worked together, but that was what he got for thinking. Clearly it was too soon to offer Luca anything, let alone money. His father had way too much pride for that and would throw it all back in his face.
Coming home had been a big mistake. Valentino was the last person his father wanted anything to do with. “Why don’t you take a break and have breakfast with me?”
“I can’t stop now.”
That was clear enough. “Is there anything I can do for you today?”
“No, no. You run along and have a good time.”
With those words Valentino felt about five years old. All that was missing was a pat on the head. “Then I’ll see you later.”
As he reached the doorway his father said, “How long will you be in town?”
The temptation to tell him he was leaving right now and wouldn’t be back got stuck in his throat. “Long enough to help you. Ciao, Papa.”
Though Valentino had been a grown man for quite some time, Luca had the power to make him feel small and unnecessary. He left the restaurant and headed through town to the piazza to wait for Clara. He wanted to be here ahead of her, in case she came early.
During their conversation he’d purposely brought up Silvio’s name, knowing she’d always defended Valentino to her brother in the past. His gambit had worked enough for her to feel guilty and agree to meet him.
After ordering a cup of coffee in the pastry shop, he took it to one of the tables o
utside and drank it while he watched for her. At twenty to ten, Clara got off the bus.
He took a second to study her womanly figure encased in hip-hugging denim capris. She wore a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a yellow and orange print that buttoned down the front and tied at her waist. The knockout picture she made caused male heads to turn in her direction.
Without doing anything, she elicited wolf whistles and remarks from the drivers in the heavy morning traffic circulating around the piazza, but she appeared oblivious to the attention.
He put the mug down on the table and started toward her. “Looking for someone, signorina?” he asked in a quiet voice. She heard him and turned her head in his direction. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting him yet.
A tiny cry escaped her throat. “Tino—” Her green eyes played over him.
Good. In that unguarded moment she hadn’t forgotten after all. His lips twitched. “Do I dare confess you look good enough to eat this morning?” His comment caused color to seep into her pale cheeks. “Come inside with me. There’s a torta setteveli with our names on it.” She could do with gaining a few more pounds.
“Oh, no, not mine,” she said with the infectious laugh he remembered. It made him want to provoke that response from her as often as possible. “Those days are over.”
Valentino hoped not. She’d always been so happy before, but he decided not to push it. After they walked in, the woman at the counter smiled at them. “What can I get for you?”
“A large slice of that.” He pointed to the torta. “Put it on a plate with two forks, and we’d like two cappuccinos, per favore.”
They always used to drink it together. When she didn’t demur, he assumed she still liked it.
“Bene, signore.”
After pulling some Euros out his wallet to pay the check, he cupped Clara’s elbow and steered her toward a table for two in the corner away from the window. “We’ll hide over here.”
Miracle for the Girl Next Door Page 3
