Vettori's Damsel in Distress (Harlequin Romance Large Print) (7 page)

‘I don’t know your family,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know Giovanni, but I do know that weddings tend to be emotional affairs. There’s the risk that, after a few glasses of the bubbly stuff, tongues will be loosened and fists will fly.’

‘Maybe. Then they’ll all get drunk, fling their arms around one another, vow eternal friendship and cry.’

‘Or they’ll all land in jail.’

‘Or that.’ He sat back. ‘You don’t have to take the job but if you’ll just play along until they leave I’d be grateful.’

‘I get that. What I don’t understand is why throwing us together is so important to her.’

‘We’re doing each other a favour, Angelica. Does it matter if Lisa has her own agenda?’

Did it?

Lisa wanted to get them into bed together. Okay, so she’d been way ahead of her on her own account, but that was different. This was different... ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, sliding off her chair and standing up. It was time to leave. ‘I’ll pay for my breakfast and then I’ll go and pack—’

He was on his feet, had caught her hand before she could move. ‘Angelica...’ She didn’t pull her hand away, but she didn’t look up at him. ‘I haven’t dated since my fiancée broke off our engagement a little over a year ago. Lisa thinks it’s time I got back on the horse.’

He’d been dumped by the woman he loved? How unlikely was that? Then her brain got past the fact that any woman would dump him and she heard what he’d actually said.

‘And I’m the horse?’ she asked very quietly, aware that they were now the object of a dozen pairs of eyes. ‘Gee,
grazie
, Dante. Or do I mean gee-gee
grazie
?’ And, as everything suddenly fell into place, she took a step back. ‘Is that what this has been about?’ she demanded.

He tightened his grip on her hand. ‘This?’

He’d known within minutes of her arrival that she was in trouble. All she’d seen was a man who could melt her underwear at twenty paces. All he’d seen was an opportunity. ‘You’ve been using me from the beginning. Damn it, I should have known. If it looks too good...’ she muttered, hurt, angry and feeling stupid. Again. ‘Tell me, Dante, what would you have done without the kitten?’

‘More to the point, what would you have done?’ He closed the gap between them. ‘You would still have needed somewhere to stay.’ He reached up, touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers and the heat trickled through her, sweet and seductive as warm honey. ‘There were two of us in that bedroom last night, Angelica. Which of us walked away?’

She flushed with embarrassment, well aware that it hadn’t been her. That she’d wanted him with all the ‘hang the consequences’ recklessness of her Amery genes.

‘I suppose I should be grateful that you weren’t prepared to go that far,’ she said, fighting the urge to lean into his hand. ‘Oh, no, I forgot. You couldn’t make a move in your own apartment. You need me off the premises so that it’s not some totally sordid exchange that’s open to misinter—’

‘Basta!’
His fingers slid through her hair, captured her head, shocking her into silence.

Around them, the café went quiet. He looked up and instantly everyone found they had somewhere else they needed to be. Then he turned back to her.

‘I’m sorry, Angelica. You’re absolutely right. We are both using you for our own ends but here’s the deal. You get an apartment rent-free for a month and a temporary job if you want it. And, no matter what my cousin hopes might happen, there are no strings attached to either offer.’

‘No strings? Well, golly, that’s all right then.’

‘Lis thinks she’s helping,’ he said, ‘but I’m not ready for any kind of relationship. I don’t know if I ever will be.’

‘I don’t imagine she’s envisaging a “relationship”,’ she replied, making ironic quote marks with her fingers. ‘Just a quick gallop to shake out the cobwebs. I’m a temp, remember?’

‘Dio...’
he said a touch raggedly. At her nape, his hand softened but he didn’t remove it and, despite her anger, she didn’t step away. ‘I was trying to be honest with you, Angelica. Nothing hidden. No con—’

Behind her, the café door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘Signora Amery?’

‘Would you rather I’d prettied it up?’ he insisted. ‘Lied to you?’

Behind Dante, she saw Lisa watching them anxiously.

Above her, Dante’s face was unreadable.

She had left Longbourne determined to shake up her life, grab every experience that came her way. So far, Isola was delivering on all fronts. Make that all fronts but one. Not a problem. She was here to work, to learn, to grow as a designer, an artist. A little hot sex would have been a bonus but she wasn’t looking for anything as complicated, as involving as a relationship. She had that in common with her mother, too. And, apparently, Dante.

The man at the door called out something in Italian and Lisa said, ‘Geli...someone wants you.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she muttered, then turned to the man standing in the doorway, ‘
Sono
Angelica Amery.’

* * *

‘I’ll see your boxes safely stored while you get your coat,’ Dante said as the driver went to unload them. ‘We’ll go to the police station as soon as it’s done.’ He needed a little breathing space to recover from the sensory overload of being in close proximity to Angelica. A little cold air in his lungs.

‘Would you like me to bring your jacket?’ she asked.

‘
Grazie
, Angelica. Thank you.’ For a moment neither of them moved and the long look that passed between them acknowledged that it wasn’t just the jacket he was thanking her for.

The last of the boxes was being stacked in the room opposite his office when she returned, dressed for the weather in the head-turning coat with pockets big enough to conceal a small animal. She’d added a scarf which she’d coiled in some fashionable loop around her neck and a black velvet beret with a glittering spider hat pin to fasten it in place.

Lisa was right. She certainly knew how to make an entrance. She was going to be a sensation at the
commissariato
.

‘What is all this stuff?’ he asked, indicating the boxes as she handed him his jacket and scarf.

‘My Mac. A couple of collapsible worktables,’ she said, walking around the boxes, touching each one in turn as she identified the contents. ‘My drawing board, easel, paints, brushes, sketch pads.’ The long full skirt of her coat brushed against the cartons as she moved among them.

‘You intend to paint as well as design clothes?’ he asked.

‘Maybe... I haven’t done anything serious since I switched to fashion for my post-grad. And I’ve been busy with the ice cream parlour franchise.’ She stopped and bent to check a label. ‘My sewing machines are in this one. And my steamer.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll need to unpack the fragile stuff to make sure it’s all survived the journey.’

‘No problem. What about these?’ he asked, indicating some of the larger boxes.

‘Material, trimmings, buttons. It looks a lot when you see it in a small space,’ she said.

‘Buttons? You brought buttons with you? You can buy them in Italy,’ he pointed out.

She smiled at that. ‘I know, and I can’t wait to go shopping, but these are buttons I’ve collected over the years. Some are very old. Some, like these—’ she touched one of the tiny jet buttons at her waist and he tried not to think about the way she’d unfastened them last night...one by one ‘—are quite valuable.’

‘Right.’ He struggled with a dry mouth. ‘Well, the bad news is that you’re never going to get all this into Lisa’s tiny one-bed flat.’

‘Is there any good news?’

‘This room isn’t being used. You can work here until you find workshop space. Or a flat large enough to accommodate all this.’

‘But—’

‘I’ll move these out of your way.’ He indicated the few dusty boxes he’d pushed to one side. ‘Will it do?’

‘It’s perfect, Dante, but we have to discuss rent.’

He’d anticipated that. ‘No discussion necessary. In return for a month’s lease, you can design an ice cream parlour for me. Whether you consider that good news is for you to decide. Shall we go?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘There are no recipes for leftover ice cream.’

—
from
Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream

T
HE
POLICE
STATION
was noisy, crowded, and Italian policewomen, Geli discovered to her delight, really did wear high heels.

‘How on earth do they run in them?’ she asked. Anything to break the silence as she waited with Dante for a detective to come and talk to them.

‘Run?’

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Stupid question. They’re all so glamorous I imagine the crooks put up their hands and surrender for the sheer pleasure of being handcuffed and patted down by them.’

She swallowed, unable to believe she’d actually said anything so sexist.

Dante said nothing. He’d said very little other than, ‘Take care...’ as they’d walked along the snow-packed street.

‘Dante!’ A detective approached them, shook him by the hand.
‘Signora...?’

‘Giorgio, may I introduce Signora Angelica Amery?’ Dante said, then, ‘Angelica—Commissario Giorgio Rizzoli. Giorgio...’ Dante explained the situation in Italian too rapid for her to catch more than a word or two. ‘
Inglese
... Via Pepone...’

‘Signora Amery...’ The Commissario placed his hand against his heart.
‘Mi dispiace...’

‘He’s desolate that you have had such a terrible experience,’ Dante translated. ‘We are to go through to his office, where he’ll take the details, although he’s sure you will understand that the chances of recovering your money are very small.’

‘Tell him that I understand completely and that I’m very sorry to take up his valuable time.’

Reporting the crime took a very long time. Apart from the fact that everything had to be translated, it seemed that every officer on duty, from a cadet who was barely old enough to shave to one who was well past retiring age, had some pressing matter that only the Commissario could resolve. He was extraordinarily patient, introducing each of his men to her, explaining what had happened and smiling benevolently as each one welcomed her to Isola, offered whatever assistance was in their power to give and held her hand sympathetically while gazing into her eyes.

Dante, in the meantime, gazed out of the window as she repeated the well-rehearsed phrase,
‘Mi dispiace, parli lentamente per favore...’
—begging them to speak slowly. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was afraid to catch her eye in case he laughed. It gave her a warm feeling. As if they were partners in a private joke.

‘Well, you promised me it would be an experience and I have to admit that it was almost worth being robbed,’ she said as they paused on the steps, catching their breath as they hit the cold air. ‘Tell me, are the women officers notably more efficient than the men?’ He took her arm as they made their way down the steps, despite the fact that they had been cleared and gritted. ‘Only I noticed none of them needed assistance.’

‘I think you know the answer to that.’

He wasn’t smiling and released her arm the moment they hit the slushy, slippery pavement, keeping a clear distance between them as they walked back to the café, his face, his body so stiff that he looked as if he’d crack in two.

After about twenty paces she couldn’t stand it another moment and stopped. ‘Dante, last night...’ He’d gone a couple of steps before he realised she wasn’t with him and glanced back. ‘This morning...’ She swallowed. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m truly grateful for everything. I won’t do or say anything to mess up Lisa’s plans.’

He turned to face her. ‘I appreciate that,’ he said stiffly.

‘And I’ll design you the prettiest ice cream parlour imaginable. If you’re serious about the workshop space?’

‘It’s yours, but this isn’t the weather to be standing around in the street discussing interior decoration.’

She didn’t move.

He shrugged. ‘There’s a small room at the back of Café Rosa that opens onto the garden. When I saw your designs it occurred to me that an American ice cream parlour might go down well with the younger element.’

‘In that case, forget pretty—it had better be nineteen-fifties cool.’

‘Maybe. Will your sister object to me borrowing her ideas?’

‘There’s no copyright in ideas,’ she said. ‘She borrowed the concept from the US after all and you won’t be calling it Knickerbocker Gloria, using her branding or copying her ices. You’ll be using gelato rather than ice cream, I imagine?’

‘You’re getting technical.’

‘Just thinking ahead. Will you make your own
gelato
or buy it in, for instance? Is there anyone local who would make specials for you?’

‘Good question. I’ll think about it. Shall we go?’

‘Yes...’ She took a step, stopped again. ‘No.’ There was something she had to say. ‘I want you to know that I understand why you were being completely—if rather brutally—honest with me this morning.’

‘Do you?’

‘You said it’s no con—at least where I’m concerned. Lisa, well, that’s between you and her.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Yes...’ She rolled her eyes; he really wasn’t helping... ‘No.’ He said nothing, although his eyebrows spoke volumes. But he waited. ‘You might want to relax a little, walk a little closer, try and find a smile from somewhere because right now we look as if we’re in the middle of a fight rather than about to fall into bed.’

‘Do we?’ And for a moment the question, loaded with unspoken reference to how close they’d come to the latter, hung there. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets, looked somewhere above her head. ‘I owe you an apology, too.’

‘If it’s about the horse thing,’ she said quickly as they continued walking, ‘the least said the better.’

‘Lisa put the words in my head last night and they leapt out when I wasn’t paying attention,’ he said and stuck out his elbow, inviting her to slide her arm beneath it. Her turn to do the thing with the eyebrows and he raised a wintry smile. ‘You said it, Angelica—we’re in this together.’

‘Right.’ She tucked her arm in his and he drew her closer, no doubt glad of warmth. ‘And forget about the horse. I shouldn’t be so touchy. I don’t know what I’d have done last night if you hadn’t been so kind.’

‘You’d have managed,’ he said as they walked back towards Café Rosa. ‘You’re a resourceful woman.’

‘I’m glad you think so because I’d rather like to put my resourcefulness to the test,’ she said as they reached the piazza. ‘Will the bartending lesson keep for an hour?’

‘Take all the time you need. Lisa managed to drag hers out for weeks.’

‘How?’ she asked. The fancy barista stuff might take time to master but the basics weren’t exactly rocket science.

‘I was too wrapped up in my own misery at the time to realise that she was playing the idiot in order to keep me busy. Doing her best to take my mind off Valentina.’

‘Valentina? Your fiancée?’

‘She’s not my anything.’ In the low slanting sun his face was all dark shadows. ‘She’s married to someone else.’

‘So soon?’ Not the most tactful response but the words had been shocked out of her.

‘My father was ready to give her everything I would not.’ Grey... His face was grey... ‘And it seems that she was pregnant.’

His father?

They’d reached the first market stall and, while she was still trying to get her head around what he’d told her, he unhooked his arm and stepped away. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in your contacts.’

Geli handed over her phone but her brain was still processing his shocking revelation.

Valentina had been cheating on him with his father? No wonder he’d withdrawn into himself or that Lisa was so worried about him.

Dante slipped off a glove, programmed in his number and handed her back her phone. ‘Give me a call if you need any help haggling over the price of designer clothes and shoes.’

‘What...?’

He’d dropped an emotional bombshell and was now casually discussing the price of shoes. But there had been nothing casual or throwaway about his earlier remark. His mention of Valentina had been deliberate; he’d chosen to tell her what had happened before someone else—before Lisa—filled her in on the gossip. And then, just as deliberately because he didn’t want to talk about it, he’d changed the subject.

‘Oh, yes.
Grazie
,’ she said, doing her best to sound equally casual as she dropped the phone back in her pocket. ‘I love looking around a new market but I’m afraid that clothes and shoes are on hold until I find out if the bank is going to refund my money.’ Concentrate on the most immediate problem. ‘My first priority is to take a walk back to where I found Rattino and see if anyone is missing him. Do people put up “lost pet” notices around here?’

‘I can’t say I’ve noticed any. I suppose we could put up some “found” ones?’

‘That’s probably a lot wiser than knocking on strangers’ doors when I barely speak a word of Italian,’ she agreed.

‘Not just wiser,’ he said, ‘it would be a whole lot safer. Do not, under any circumstances, do that on your own.’

‘You could come with me.’

‘Let’s stick with the posters. Can I leave you to take a look around the market without getting into any trouble while I take a photograph of the rat and run off a few posters? I’ll come and find you when they’re done.’

‘Trouble?’ she repeated, looking around at the bustling market. ‘What trouble?’

‘If you see anything with four legs, looking lost, walk away.’

* * *

Geli explored the market, using her phone to take pictures of the colourful stalls and sending them to her sisters. Proof that she’d arrived, was safe and doing what came naturally.

She tried out her Italian, exchanging greetings, asking prices, struggling with the answers until her ear began to tune in to the language of the street as opposed to the carefully enunciated Italian on her teach yourself Italian course.

Despite her intention to simply browse, she was unable to resist some second-hand clothes made from the most gorgeous material and was browsing a luscious selection of ribbon and beads on a stall selling trimmings when Dante found her.

The stallholder, a small, plump middle-aged woman so bundled up that only her face was showing, screamed with delight and flung her arms around him, kissing his cheeks and rattling off something in rapid Italian. Dante laughed and then turned to introduce her.

‘
Livia
, questa è la mia amica
,
Angelica.
Angelica, this is Livia.’

Geli offered her hand. ‘
Piacere
,
Livia.
’

Her tentative Italian provoked a wide smile and another stream of unintelligible Italian as Livia closed both of her hands around the box of black beads she’d been looking at and indicated that she should put it in her bag.

‘I sorted out her traders’ licence a few months ago,’ Dante explained. ‘It’s her way of saying thank you.’

‘She should be thanking you.’

‘I don’t have a lot of use for beads and, since you are my friend, it would make her happy if you took them. You can buy something from her another day.’

‘
Grazie mille
,
Livia,’
she said. ‘Will you tell her I love her stall, Dante, and that I’ll come back and buy from her very soon.’

He said something that earned her a huge smile then, after more hugs and kisses for both of them, Dante took the carrier she was holding and peered into it.

‘You changed you mind about window-shopping, I see?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a job, rent-free accommodation for a month and a workshop that I’m paying for with my time. And now I’ve got some fabulous material to work with, just as soon as I unpack my sewing machine.’

‘Do you need more time?’ He looked around. ‘I believe there are still a few black things left—’ She jabbed her elbow in his ribs and he grinned. ‘I guess not.’ He took a sheaf of papers from the roomy pocket of his waxed jacket. ‘Shall we get this done?’

She took one and looked at the photograph Dante had taken of the kitten. ‘He’s quite presentable now that he’s clean and dry.
Trovato
... Found?’ He nodded. ‘
Contattare
Café Rosa.
And the telephone number. Well, that’s direct and to the point. Uh-oh...’ She looked up as something wet landed on the paper and the colours of the ink began to run into one another as more snow began to fall. ‘If we put them out now they’ll be a soggy mess in no time,’ Geli said. ‘Have you got a laminator?’

‘No.’

‘Fortunately, I packed mine.’

* * *

While Dante, wrapped up against the weather, left on his mission to stick up the laminated posters of the lost kitten, Geli called her bank’s fraud office and passed on the crime number the Commissario had given her.

‘Okay?’ Lisa asked, handing her a long black apron.

She shrugged. ‘I’ve done everything I can.’ She tied the apron over her clothes and watched Lisa’s demonstration of the Gaggia and then produced, one after the other, a perfect espresso, latte and cappuccino.

Lisa, arms folded, watched her through narrowed eyes. ‘You’ve done this before.’

‘I was a student for four years. My sisters paid me for the work I did for them, but paints, material and professional sewing machines do not come cheap. Then, as now, I needed a job.’

‘Right, Little Miss Clever Clogs, you’ve got your first customer.’ She indicated a man standing at the counter. ‘Go get him.’

Geli took a deep breath.
‘Ciao, signor. Che cosa desidera?
’ she asked.

He smiled.
‘Ciao, signora...
Geli
,’
he added, leaning closer to read the name tag that Lisa had pinned to her apron.
‘Il sono
Marco
.’

‘Ciao,
Marco
. Piacere. Che cosa desidera?’
she repeated.

‘Vorrei un espresso, per favore,’
he said. Then, having thanked her for it,
‘Che programme ha per stasera? Le va di andare a bere qualcosa?’

The words might not have been familiar, but the look, the tone certainly were and she turned to Lisa. ‘I think I’m being hit on. How do I say I’m washing my hair?’