She pushed her window open a little wider. Venice was hot, even for a woman who’d stayed there for the last twelve years, and the small-paned leaded-glass window obstructed her view out over the Grand Canal. A cruise ship was floating past her window right now—in a few months these larger ships wouldn’t be allowed along here any more. The huge currents they unleashed threatened the delicate foundations of the world-famous city. So much of Venice had been lost already—it was up to the present generation to protect the beauty that remained.
Her boss, Alessio Orsini, put his head around the door. His eyes were gleaming and she straightened immediately in her chair. Alessio had seen just about every wonder of the world. There wasn’t much left that could make his eyes twinkle like that.
‘I’ve just had the most interesting call.’ She waved her hand to gesture him into her room, but even though he was in his late seventies he would rarely sit down.
‘What is it?’
He gave a little nod. ‘There’s been a discovery. A new fresco—or rather an old one. Just been discovered in Tuscany during a chapel restoration. I’ve given him your number.’ He glanced at her desk. ‘Seems like perfect timing for you.’
She smiled. Alessio expected everyone around him to have the boundless energy he had. But her interest was piqued already. An undiscovered fresco could be a huge coup for the heritage board—particularly if they could identify the artist. So many frescoes had been lost already.
It seemed as though the whole of Italy was rich with frescoes. From the famous Sistine Chapel to the ancient Roman frescoes in Pompeii.
The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up straight away. This could be the most exciting thing she’d worked on in a while.
‘Ciao, Lucia.’
It was the voice. Instantly recognisable. Italian words with a Scottish burr. Unmistakable.
Her legs gave a wobble and she thumped down into her chair.
‘Logan.’ It was all she could say. She could barely get a breath. His was the last voice in the world she’d expected to hear.
Logan Cascini. The one true love of her life. Meeting him in Florence had been like a dream come true. Normally conservative, studying art history at Florence University had brought Lucia out of her shell. Meeting Logan Cascini had made it seem as though she’d never had a shell in the first place.
He’d shared her passion—hers for art, his for architecture. From the moment they’d met when he’d spilled an espresso all down her pale pink dress and she’d heard his soft burr of Scottish Italian she’d been hooked.
She’d never had a serious relationship. Three days after meeting they’d moved in together. Life had been perfect. He had been perfect.
They’d complemented each other beautifully. He’d made her blossom and she’d taught him some reserve. He’d been brought up in a bohemian Italian/Scots family and had often spoken first and thought later.
She’d had dreams about them growing old together until it had all come to a tragic end. Getting the job in Venice had been her lifeline—her way out. And although she’d always expected to come across him at some point in her professional life she hadn’t realised the effect it would have.
Twelve years. Twelve years since she’d walked away from Logan Cascini. Why did she suddenly feel twenty years old again?
Why on earth was he calling her after all this time?
He spoke slowly. ‘I hope you are well. Alessio Orsini suggested you were the most appropriate person to deal with. I’m working in Tuscany at the Palazzo di Comparino in Monte Calanetti. I’m renovating the chapel for the upcoming wedding of Prince Antonio of Halencia and Christina Rose, and yesterday we made the most amazing discovery. A fresco of the Madonna and Child. It’s exquisite, Lucia. It must have been covered up for years because the colours of the paint are so fresh.’
His voice washed over her like treacle as her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. How stupid. Of course. Alessio had just told her he’d given someone her number. He just hadn’t told her who.
Logan Cascini was calling for purely professional reasons—nothing else. So why was she so disappointed?
It wasn’t as if she’d spent the last twelve years pining for him. There was a connection between them that would last for ever. But she’d chosen to leave before they’d just disintegrated around each other. Some relationships weren’t built to withstand tragedy.
She tried to concentrate on his words. Once she’d got over the initial shock of who was calling, her professionalism slipped back into place.