Her Italian Soldier Read online

  The latest dose of medication taken in the pharmacy had removed some of the grimace lines. His eyes reflected more green than grey at the moment. Like his father, he had a strong nose and chin. Lucca’s features had a more chiseled cast.

  She was struck by the warmth of his olive complexion, the vibrant black of medium-cropped hair and winged brows. Without pain tightening his lips, the mouth that had come close to touching hers moments ago appeared wider than she’d realized. Sensuous even. He was a gorgeous-looking male specimen uniquely Italian, but that wasn’t the important thing here.

  “When you’re ready to go to bed, call me.”

  “I thought you were going to pack and leave.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow after work. But any vet leaving the hospital having PTSD should have someone nearby. At least for tonight.”

  Her comment appeared to have taken him back. “So you’re willing to put yourself in jeopardy a second time?”

  “Like you said last night, you couldn’t if you wanted to, and you don’t want to. Did I get that right?”

  “Perfetto.” Were those little green sparks shooting from the slits of his eyes?

  “Good. Then we understand each other. After you get into a comfortable position, I’ll put pillows between your legs to relieve the strain. You should feel less pain by morning. Maybe then you’ll tell me when you plan to let your father know you’re home.”

  “I’ll tell you now.” He cocked his head. “If I hadn’t fallen, I would have called him this morning to come to the farmhouse so we could talk. But I was in too much pain. I wanted to be in the best shape possible when I told him my plans for the future, knowing he won’t like them.”

  “Why? What are your plans?” Annabelle was dying to know.

  “I think I was born wanting to farm, but by the time I turned eighteen, my father wouldn’t hear of it. He said a Cavezzali wasn’t meant to farm.”

  Annabelle listened as he told her all the things his father had said to shut him down. It was a side of Guilio’s nature she wouldn’t have known about unless Lucca had decided to confide in her.

  “My mother’s family made their living that way and they were the happiest people you ever saw.” His eyes lit up. “I liked learning how to grow things and watch the fruit trees change in different seasons. I learned everything from my mother and grandparents. When Papa set off for work, I went off early with Mama before school. We either did pruning, or we picked fruit. Whatever needed doing.”

  Lucca sounded so happy just talking about it, that happiness infected her. “I have no doubts it would be a wonderful life,” she murmured.

  “I doubt my father’s opinion has changed over the years, but it’s the life I want and he’ll have to get used to it. If I’m feeling fit enough tomorrow, I’ll phone him.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute with those pillows.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  LUCCA found it easy to talk to Annabelle, but he realized he was wiped out. She’d been right about the PTSD and several other things. Before help had arrived, he’d been fighting pain and felt utterly drained. Though he’d lain around most of the day needing relief from the jabbing pain and finding none, bed had never sounded better.

  Ten minutes later he’d brushed his teeth and had pulled on grey sweats and a white T-shirt. If he were alone in the house, he wouldn’t have bothered with clothes. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than she appeared in the same robe she’d worn last night, holding two pillows and a glass of water. She’d fastened her hair at the nape.

  “How did you know I was ready for you to come in?”

  “I didn’t. I’m working on my time schedule. When you didn’t call out, I came anyway.”

  “Then—”

  “Then I could have caught seeing you in the altogether,” she said, coming around to the right side of the bed. She put the glass next to his bottle of pills. Something about her smelled like fresh lemons.

  “I hate to tell you this, but I haven’t been living for it. I’m afraid you don’t want to know how many men—thin, fat, old, young and in between—I’ve helped change out of their inadequate hospital gowns, let alone shower. It wouldn’t be a new sight, except for the face, of course,” she said with a smile.

  Lucca couldn’t help chuckling. It had been ages since he’d done that.

  “He laughs, ladies and gentlemen—and his face didn’t crack,” she teased. “Okay. Find your favorite way to sleep, then I’ll fix you up.”

  Without thinking about it, he turned on his right side and carefully crossed his left leg over. His body felt like a dead weight. When he was settled, she fit the two pillows in between them. “This helps distribute the weight of your top leg over the whole length. That way there’s less strain on the injured bone.”

  Lucca exhaled a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately when I’m asleep, who knows what I’ll do.”

  “Who knows?” She flashed him a mysterious smile. “You might find your quilt on the floor in the morning. Or, you might actually enjoy a sound sleep in this position for a change.” She put the covers over him before turning out the light, cloaking them in semidarkness, due to the moon.

  When she left the bedroom, he felt an odd twinge of disappointment. Though she gave as good as she got under fire, she was one of the least unobtrusive women he’d ever met.

  If his father didn’t require nursing services, then what kind of job in advertising was she doing for him? He had to admit that when he’d heard the two of them talking on the phone earlier, his father hadn’t sounded loverlike with her. His tone conveyed that he treated her more like a cherished friend.

  What was the other offer Guilio had referred to on the phone, the one she’d turned down so blithely?

  Lucca decided that whatever reason she had for not giving him away to Guilio, it couldn’t be because she’d decided to come on to his son. That wasn’t the kind of embrace she’d given Lucca. Hers had been full of compassion, the furthest thing from a plan of seduction. He’d been moved by it.

  Over the years he’d enjoyed his share of women and knew the difference. But something else was motivating her.

  There were many parts to Signorina Marsh still hidden. Secrets. While he lay there drifting in and out of sleep, he found himself wanting to expose them. His thoughts wandered all over the place until morning, when once again sunlight streamed through the window. The angle told him it was probably eight-thirty, nine o’clock.

  He blinked. During the night he’d turned on his other side. Though his covers lay at the bottom of the bed and one pillow had fallen to the floor, the other one was still in place between his thighs.

  Two things surprised him. His first instinct hadn’t been to reach for his pills. The pillow trick must have worked because he hadn’t awakened in pain. In fact it had subsided enough to give him a good night’s sleep. The pills he’d taken last night were still working. He got to his feet actually feeling rested for a change. This morning he would make café au lait with sugar, the second best thing to cappuccino.

  After freshening up in the bathroom, he wandered into the kitchen. Not until he reached it did he realize he hadn’t grabbed for the cane lying on the bedside table.

  His gaze darted to the terrace. Signorina Marsh, still in her robe, had placed one of the patio chairs near the railing. She sat there gazing over the view deep in thought while she sipped her coffee. He quickly heated up milk and fixed his own concoction before walking out to stand next to her.

  She must have felt his presence and lifted her eyes. They were more blue than violet this morning. What woman could look so good without makeup? Her hair, caught loosely at the back of her head, hadn’t been touched since last night. She was in bare feet.

  “I don’t need to ask how you slept,” she murmured. “It’s there on your face. I’m glad.”

  “Thanks to your expertise.” He took a long swallow of his hot drink.

  “It’s good to see you feeling better, signore.”
/>   “You called me Lucca when you woke me out of my nightmare last evening. Since we’ve already slept together, let’s drop the formality, shall we?” He watched heat spiral into her cheeks as he’d intended.

  Their first night together had been an interesting one since he’d fallen asleep almost immediately. Looking at her right now, he found that incredible. What in the hell had been wrong with her husband?

  She nodded. “I’ve been hoping you’d say that. Why don’t you pull up the other chair and tell me what else is going on inside you.”

  In an instant his good mood vanished. “What are you? A psychiatrist now?”

  “Maybe you need one.”

  “The hell I do—” Her mild-toned comment had pressed his hot button.

  She didn’t flinch. “During your nightmare you were in combat mode and called out a name in agony. Last night you opened up to me, but you’ve only scratched the surface. Now that you’re awake, you need to keep on talking.”

  “No thanks.”

  In an unexpected move, she got to her feet. “One of the doctors I trained under at the vet hospital explained that a man who has seen combat needs to validate his existence to another warm body. It’s vital that what he did in the war did matter to at least one other human being besides himself.

  “If you don’t choose to use me for a sounding board, don’t wait too long to find someone, Lucca. For your sake it’s vital you pick out a person who wants to listen, and do it soon, even if it’s a therapist. Is it that impossible to consider talking to your father?”

  He darted her a piercing gaze. “You really do go where angels fear to tread.”

  “If our positions were reversed, wouldn’t you want to help me?”

  She had him there. During his time in the hospital, part of his therapy had been with a psychiatrist who’d told him everyone’s war experience was a singular one. Those in combat lived, died or survived, yet humanity was scarcely aware of it. The worst thing he could do was remain mute.

  Lucca closed his eyes and threw his head back. “How’s this for starters? My father forbade me to go to the military academy in Bari. I went anyway against his wishes because I wanted to be like my grandfather, who’d fought in the previous war.”

  A stillness came over her. “I had no idea. Guilio never told me.”

  “No. He wouldn’t. That’s because his father-in-law came home minus his lower leg. It’s not something my father likes to think about.”

  “The cane …” she cried softly “Was it his?”

  “Yes. If you think my father wants to hear about my injury and relive that horror, then you’re very much mistaken. But I realize he has to be told. Despite what I’ve been through and am still going through, you’re not a man and don’t understand how much I want to look substantial to him when he first sees me. Is that honest enough for you?”

  Her eyes glazed over as she nodded. “I’m so sorry, Lucca,” she whispered.

  It had been a long time since anyone had responded that way out of concern for him. It’s been too long since you allowed anyone to see into that part of your soul, Cavezzali. Her reaction surprised and touched him, stirring feelings inside him he hadn’t had any idea were there.

  “So am I.”

  “I feel very honored you would share that much with me. Maybe later you’ll share more.”

  “There is no more.”

  “Oh, yes there is.” Before he could countenance it, she raised up on tiptoe and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. Then she quietly moved the chair over to the table and walked back in the house with her empty cup.

  He stood at the railing for a long time, realizing he needed to call the doctor. The hospital had arranged for him to see one in Solerno for a checkup and more medication.

  Maybe fifteen minutes passed before he heard her car pull out of the driveway. A new sense of emptiness stole through him. He disliked the fact that she was the cause of it. Why this woman? She’s getting to you, Cavezzali. Diavolo!

  You fool, Annabelle.

  As he’d said, this morning she’d had to go to a place even the angels knew to avoid! Now she’d forced Lucca to open up in ways he might resent her for later. Oh she hoped not! But even if he did, this had been a major step for him to start the healing process.

  How would Guilio respond when Lucca faced him? His son’s injury would pain him. The fact that Lucca hadn’t told him he was back yet would pain him. She knew that. It pained her. She was in pain for Lucca.

  He hadn’t told her everything. The vision of what he’d held back sent a shudder through her body because she’d seen and heard part of it already during his flashback. She marveled that he’d survived and she was absolutely in awe of his instinct for self-preservation.

  That was the problem. At this point she felt an affection for both men that ran deep. She wanted to help, but it wasn’t her place.

  She would love to blame this whole situation on Guilio. He’d related so many happy memories of his first wife and their endearing, handsome son, she’d been curious about Lucca long before meeting him.

  Her guilt deepened because she hadn’t told him the exact nature of her work for his father. He was too intelligent a man not to know she’d been less than forthcoming. Yet unlike her, he hadn’t forced the situation out in the open yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

  Fortunately she had a new place to stay and would move there after work. If she ever got there … The traffic in Amalfi was horrendous. She needed all her powers of concentration.

  Thanks to the map and specific directions Guilio had provided after settling her at the farmhouse, she found the Hotel Europa overlooking the Piazza Sant’Andrea. Their parking garage had never been more welcome. If her employer hadn’t set everything up ahead of time for this special photo shoot, it couldn’t have happened, not here in this crowded tourist mecca.

  “Ah, you’ve arrived—” Guilio met her in the foyer and swept her up the stairs to a suite on the next floor.

  “I’m not late, am I?”

  “No, but Marcella needs more time.”

  “Why?”

  “When I saw the proofs taken in Rome, I was so elated with the outcome, I decided we would substitute a wedding dress for the businesswoman’s suit layout planned for today’s shoot. She brought several of her own bridal creations. We need to see you in all of them before a final decision is made.”

  Annabelle didn’t mind trying on the various signature outfits meant for someone else. Her own wedding was past history. She’d been there and done that, except her bride’s dress hadn’t been a gown like one of these $50,000 selections.

  The whole crew gathered round to give input. Each rendition was breathtaking in its own way. “Ah,” they all cried when she donned the last one of filmy silk and lace.

  “That’s it!” Guilio declared, voicing his approval above the others.

  Giovanni squinted at her before turning to the hairdresser. “Let her hair flow like a maiden’s. It will make the most of the mantilla. I’ll arrange it after we’re outside.”

  With those words everyone went to work on her. Marcella told one of the assistants to carry the matching high heels out to the piazza, where Annabelle would put them on. For the final touch she wore a dazzling diamond choker and matching diamond earrings. When all was ready and her makeup perfect, she left the room in her sandals and they went down the stairs with the assistants, who carried the long lace train.

  People in the packed hotel foyer started clapping. It grew louder as she moved out the doors into the piazza, where she was met with more oohs and aahs. Police had cordoned off the area where a gleaming, flame-red Amalfi convertible sports car stood parked at the base of the ancient staircase. The famed fourteenth century cathedral of Saint Andrew awaited at the top.

  Guilio must have seen her expression. “We won’t ask you to climb all sixty-two steps.”

  She laughed to cover her gulp.

  Once Giovanni had arranged the floor-length lac
e mantilla to his liking and she’d stepped into the high heels, he announced he was ready. Leaning close he whispered, “When his son sees this picture, he’ll run off with the bellissima Amalfi Girl. Every woman on the coast will mourn the loss of the sought-after Cavezzali bachelor.”

  Her heart raced for no reason. “Right.” But she covered her sarcasm with a wink.

  Annabelle had news for the photographer. Lucca had already seen her in the flesh. The last thing he wanted to do was run off with the woman who was an intruder in his home. Giovanni, artistic to his core, didn’t have a clue about the pilot who’d come back from the war agonizing physically and emotionally.

  But the photographer’s comment, meant to flatter her, only hit her harder for keeping quiet about Lucca in front of Guilio. As heat poured guilty color up her neck into her face, Marcella unwittingly saved her from having to talk by handing her flowers. Annabelle lifted the bridal bouquet and inhaled the fragrance of the white stephanotis interspersed with tiny flame-red tea roses.

  “We want you to try several poses.” Basilio took over. He opened the passenger door, revealing the ultraposh tan leather interior, where a long-stemmed rose of flame-red lay on the seat. “First, walk up the steps until your whole train is exposed. Look back toward the car as if waiting for your bridegroom.”

  Thanks to Giovanni’s comment, an image of Lucca rather than Ryan passed through her mind. In a tuxedo, he’d be spectacular. When she realized where her thoughts had wandered, she took a sharp breath and tried harder to follow instructions.

  A few more touches here and there and the shoot began. Basilio wanted different looks. So did Guilio. Between the two men, who got into animated conversations and gesticulated with their hands, the day wore on and on. Giovanni had endless energy and continued in his upbeat way to encourage her, but finally even he declared they had enough film.

  Relieved it was over, Annabelle hurried inside the hotel. After being dejeweled and disrobed, she freshened up. Once she’d removed her makeup, she changed into her sleeveless orange linen shirtwaist and sandals.