White Lies (A Twisted Fate Series) (Volume 1) (19 page)

“I promised you a view of the
Duomo
to sketch at sunset. Do you think this will work?”

Throwing my arms around Carson’s waist, I gave him a quick hug. “It’s perfect. I’m going to order room service and sketch to my heart’s content.”

For a moment, Carson’s brows pinched. “I hate leaving you here while I see Francesca.”

I was excited to see him with Francesca tomorrow. On our trip over here, he seemed softer when he spoke of her.

I waved him off. “I’ll get to see you guys tomorrow for dinner. There are a few places around town I want to visit while I’m here. I think I’m going to schedule something with the Uffizi, too, so I can see Dad’s Botticelli while I’m here.” He began to argue, but I stopped him. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Right before Dad died, he had loaned the piece to the museum indefinitely and under the condition the family was able to have a private viewing whenever we wanted. I never understood why, and the will gave no indication. My mother had given him the painting she procured at an auction on their first wedding anniversary. He loved that painting. Going there was one of the things I dreaded doing but needed to do at the same time.

It was time to face that part of my life. And I was scared how I would feel seeing it for the first time without Dad.

Carson watched me skeptically. I reassured him. “I promise I’ll be okay. I need to do this by myself.”

“Okay, but remember, I’m a phone call away.”

He stood there, looking like he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. I waved my hands. “Shoo! Go arrest thieves and get managers in line.”

Carson laughed and gave me a salute. “Will do.” As he walked away, he added, “Call the front desk with anything you need. I’m the next room over. Anything you want from the spa is yours. I’ve let them know to give you carte blanche. I have to take care of my wingman.”

“I love being your wingman. Sign me up anytime.” I winked.

He grinned. His phone rang as he walked out, leaving me alone.

I looked out at the view again and sighed. It was perfect. I thought about the conversation I had with Tack yesterday as I packed.

I pulled out my suitcase to begin packing for Italy.

Tack had been on my mind since we’d returned from Martha’s Vineyard. We talked a few times, but it had been surface level. I think our discussion the day of my hangover had affected both of us, baring ourselves to each other.

I threw in some more clothes.

Last night I promised to call him before I left for Italy. Rummaging through my purse, I found the burner phone.

I blew out a big gust of air as I looked at the phone. A small grin emerged as I typed out the message. Maybe I would see if he called me after I texted. I wasn’t sure why I wanted him to call me, but I did.

Me: Headed to Italy tomorrow.

The phone rang almost instantly, and a wider grin spread across my face. “Hello.”

“Hey, there. How was your day?”

I settled into the chair. “It was good. I’m nervous about going to Italy tomorrow.”

In that moment, I knew I’d wanted to talk to Tack to help calm me. He had that effect.

“Do you think you’ll go see the painting?”

Of course Tack knew about the Botticelli if he knew about Dad’s and my special tradition of going to the place where he proposed to Mom. “I’m not sure. Probably. Maybe. I guess I’ll see when I get there. I reached out to the curator.”

“I’m always a phone call away if you need something, Willow. Always.”

Again, I wanted, not for the first time, to feel Tack’s presence again. Anything. A small touch on my lips or his forehead to mine. “Thank you, Tack.”

“How are you feeling since your talk with the security guy? I think something happened that day that bothered you. Are you okay?”

I was stunned. “H-h-how did you know?”

“Sweetheart, I was able to tell in your voice, but didn’t want to pry. You seem more settled tonight, and I wanted to make sure.” That concerned Irish accent had me internally swooning. “Willow, you don’t have to answer. I don’t want to scare you.”

I stood and began to pace. “Dad knew this security guy, Trent O’Malley. They were friends for almost two years, and he never said a word. There was a note in Dad’s writing on stationery my mom had given him but he never used. In it, Dad asked me to trust Trent.”

“That must be hard.”

Tack understood where I came from, which helped. “It is.” I got into bed. “Will you read me something, Tack?”

I heard shifting on the other side of the phone. “What would you like me to read to you?”

“Anything.”

Tonight, the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. Tonight I wanted to distance myself from it all.

“It was a time of old. A time of new. It was a time for all men to unite.” Tack’s voice chased away all of my demons as I settled into a deep sleep.

Last night had been intimate as I fell asleep to the sound of Tack reading to me. There had been no nightmares to chase away. I had peace while I slept.

The tolling of the bells brought my attention back to the
Duomo
. People milled about below. Tourists were easy to spot with their maps and confused looks. Some looked up at the
Duomo
with awe. I loved watching people fall in love with Italy.

From the first time my parents brought me here, I’d been a goner as I fell in love with the city. Early in the mornings while Mom slept, Dad would bring me to one of the artesian squares. We’d set up our canvases and paint the dawn until Mom called us home for breakfast.

Those were happy times. The best. I wished I had them back.

The beautiful city’s sounds comforted me as they wafted in through the open balcony door while I set about unpacking. Halfway through my suitcase I remembered to let Tack know I’d arrived.

Rummaging through my bag, I was unable to find my phone. “Shit. Where is it?”

Then I remembered stuffing it in the side pocket.

Me: Made it. I have a beautiful view of the city.

Tack: I’m glad. I hoped you thought of me on the plane over there.

Me: Are you flirting with me?

Tack: Maybe. Is it working?

Me: Hmmm… send me chocolates and I’ll say yes.

Tack: Done.

Me: Thank you for reading to me last night.

Tack: Anytime, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.

Tack was kind. I wondered what the woman he’d loved had done to break his heart. It had to have been terrible. My mind became occupied with possibilities while I finished putting my clothes in the armoire. Yawning, I decided to take a nap. My energy was zapped.

I
t was a perfect morning. Manicured within an inch of my life after using the spa services, I was fresh from a nap, sitting on the balcony and sketching in my notepad. My damp hair piled on top of my head allowed the fresh air to invigorate me. Being a wingman definitely paid off.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Ms. Russo. It’s Tomas. I have a delivery for you.”

I put my sketchbook aside as I called, “Coming!”

When I opened the door, the bellhop looked at ease. Things must have gone well today, which was good. “Good evening, Ms. Russo. This came for you.”

I didn’t expect anything.

A cream envelope was adhered to a black box with a ribbon. “Thank you, Tomas. Have a wonderful evening.”

“You, too, Ms. Russo.”

It had been a while since I received a gift. I figured it was from Carson, who was always doing small things like this for me.

The door closed. As I took the envelope out from underneath the silk ribbon, I noticed my name was written in an elegant script.

Slipping my index finger underneath the seal of the envelope, I pulled it apart.

I opened it and covered my mouth.

My heart skipped a few beats with the romantic gesture. Tack. I was filled with anxiousness to be near him again. Over the past week, things had changed—or rather I allowed them to change. There had been something more since the moment we first met, but the timing was off. The timing was still a little off considering the uphill battle I faced. But it had become impossible to keep my emotions at bay. I wanted to feel again. Even if this went nowhere, I wanted to enjoy the journey.

Words from Dad echoed through my mind.
“To take a chance on love is worth everything.”
By no means were we in love, but sometimes it was important to let your heart guide you, regardless of how fragile it felt. Hopefully, through this journey, my already-broken state wouldn’t become shattered.

Inside the box sat elegant chocolates wrapped in tissue, like I’d asked for. In fact, they were dark chocolate truffles—my favorite. An excited giggle came out. I took a bite, and the chocolate melted in my mouth. It was succulent. I let out a small moan as the rich chocolate assaulted my taste buds.