White Lies (A Twisted Fate 1)

Me: I will try. I don’t understand and I want to.

Tack: I know you do. Just give me a little more time.

Me: Please don’t hurt me.

Tack: I feel it, too, Willow, and I’m just as scared.

Blowing out a pent-up breath, I tucked away the phone and focused back on the picture.

I worked on centering myself, thinking about the good times.

My lips turned up as I thought Dad and Mom dancing in front of the Botticelli. Every anniversary, Dad played an Italian opera favorite of mine, “‘O’ Sole Mio” by Luciano Pavarotti. I pulled up my phone and played it. It was the same song he’d played when he proposed. I wished I had Mom’s ring. After he died, I searched the safe for it, but had no idea where it was. I wondered where he put it and hoped one day I’d find it.

Tears gathered in my eyes as I remembered sitting on the couch and watching them dance while I stared up at the painting.

The opera was the most beautiful love song about the love of his life being more beautiful than the sun. It’s about how, without having the love of his life with him, he becomes sad and only wants to be near her. They were the definition of love, or as they said in Italian, amore.

And I wanted to find the real thing.

Carson, Francesca, and I were under a tree at the Boboli Gardens. Unexpectedly, dinner had been canceled when Carson’s meeting ran late last night. He’d been at a local vineyard about an hour away. Actually, it was a competitor of Francesca’s father, Bernardo. At this point, Bernardo still wanted to keep the wine local and not sell anywhere but at his winery. Business-wise, the concept wasn’t the best, but it was probably the way his father and grandfather had done it.

“Are you sure you don’t want any wine, Willow? It’s some of Father’s best.”

“I’ve had a headache all day. I’d love to take some home to my Nonno. Carson told me how magnificent it was.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. That would be an honor to send some home.”

Idly, I wondered if it would make things difficult if Carson went with this other vineyard. From what he said last night on the phone, it looked promising.

If it was meant to be, they would figure it out.

Carson stretched out beside Francesca as we continued to talk. She was a marketing major and frustrated with her father’s antiquated business practices. Business was not my favorite topic. Dad had me take courses, saying it helped round out a person’s education since every transaction was some sort of business deal. But still, I wanted to sit back and enjoy the beauty of the gardens while they spoke about target audiences, growth potential, and marketing strategies.

Children played. There was peace here. An old man with a cane picked up a ball and handed it to the little girl playing as he meandered across the way. It was sweet.

The afternoon progressed. Francesca drew something on one of my sketch pads. She’d minored in art. “Hold still, Carson.”

He grunted and closed his eyes. “Are you going to show me?”

“Not until it’s done. Be patient.”

Francesca appeared to be doing some shadowing from the way she moved her pencil. I was interested to see what it looked like. We’d talked extensively about the Medici family. They fascinated me, especially because they were the reason the Botticelli survived all this time. Francesca and I both did our theses on the Medicis. We were alike in so many ways. I knew we’d get along great.

So far, she didn’t seem bothered by the relationship Carson and I shared. Hopefully it stayed that way. Francesca blew some of her brown hair out of her face and glanced at me for a second. “Carson says you have a house on the beach.”

“I do. I grew up there. It’s home.”

In a flash, Carson snatched the notebook from Francesca and took off. I couldn’t stop laughing as he tried to look at it. “I think my nose is too big.”

“Carson Whitmore! Give that back.” Francesca jumped about trying to snatch it back.

He jogged backward and held it up above his head. It was déjà vu from our childhood; Carson used to do the same to me. He used his height to his advantage.

Francesca squealed while looking like a bobblehead. “Carson Bennett Whitmore! Give that back!”

“Make me.”

I called after him, “Very mature, Carson.”

Giggles erupted from a few children, and I joined in. They kept chasing each other. All of a sudden, Francesca bent over and gasped in pain. “Ouch!” she grunted.

Carson was by her side in an instant. “What happened, baby?”

Quickly, she snagged the notebook and took off. “I fooled you! I fooled you!”

Onlookers clapped. I stood and said, “Carson, you lost. Be a good sport.”

He was close, so close. Francesca dodged right, left, right. “Oomph.”

Carson caught Francesca with ease and hoisted her over his shoulder. “Looks like I got back what was mine after all. Are you ready, Willow?”

I shook my head as Francesca continued to yell, “Carson!” His name was barely understandable in her delight.

I picked up the remnants of the picnic and followed them to my car. They were most definitely in love.

“Signorina Russo, a delivery came for you today. I had the bellman put it in your room. Is there anything else you need before I leave for the evening?”

A yawn slipped out. I was exhausted. After the Boboli Gardens, we’d driven through Tuscany, admiring the view. We’d walked through vineyards and talked all afternoon.

I gave him a tip. “Thank you, Tomas. I don’t think so. I’m so tired I’m going straight to bed. You have a great evening with your family.”

This morning when breakfast was delivered, we’d chatted a few moments. He had a small daughter who was four. She was the apple of his eye and adorable in her pigtails, from the pictures I’d seen.

One day I would have a family. One day.

“Thank you, Signorina Russo. And you have a good evening, as well.”

Carson had put Francesca into a car and sent her home. He planned to meet her out at her place after he reviewed a few reports. The night was only beginning in the Italian culture.

They’d asked me to join them, but I politely declined. Carson and I were heading back to the states in a couple of days, and they needed their time together. Hopefully, Francesca would decide to join him stateside over the next couple of weeks.

Tired, I trudged up the staircase. My phone vibrated in my purse as I slipped the key card into the door. It was Tack. Last night we hadn’t talked. Only texted good-night to each other. I missed talking to him, but I was relieved to have some space, in a way. I’d been emotionally drained.

As soon as I was inside, I answered. “Hey, you.”

He chuckled with that accent. “Evening. Did you have fun today?”

I yawned. “I did. I’m turning into an old person. It’s not even eight, and I’m exhausted. I’m about to head to bed.”

A large, flamboyant arrangement of flowers sat on the table. The fragrance was incredible, and I sniffed a few of the buds before locating the card.

“Did you enjoy meeting Francesca?”

I shifted the phone. “I did. I think Carson is in love. I’m happy for him.”

“Me, too. Everyone deserves it.”

There went that warm gooey feeling again.

I yawned again. “I think you’d like him.”

As I opened the envelope, I wondered who sent the flowers. They seemed too loud to be from Tack. He seemed to be more the simply elegant type of man.

The smile faded as I read the words that chilled me to the bone.

“Willow, did you hear me?”

“I-I…” I reread the words.

The command in his voice jolted me, his accent becoming thicker. “What’s going on, Willow?”

My hand began to shake as I read it aloud.

“Fuck! Send me a picture. Call Carson. Willow, don’t leave your hotel room.”

This wasn’t over. I had been living in a false reality, thinking I’d escaped Alex’s deceit so easily. Yesterday, I’d been all over Florence by myself.

They weren’t done with me.

This wasn’t over.

“Willow!”

I took a steadying breath as my heart fought its way into my throat. “Y-y-yes.”

Traffic sounded in the background. Tack was on the move. “I need you to call Carson and tell him about this. I want him to stay with you, understood? Send me a picture. Keep me on this phone. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tack, why are they doing this?”

“Money. Sweetheart, I need you to do as I asked. I need someone with you.” Tack remained calm, but I sensed the panic in his voice, which worried me. If he was worried, then this was more serious than I had given it all credit.

My mind was sludge. “Is this why you’ve been watching me in Italy?”

“Willow.” The strong voice snapped me back again. “I swear we will talk about this more. But I need you to hurry. Take the picture. Call Carson.”

Without any thought, I followed his command. Using the burner phone, I sent him the picture. “Okay, it’s sending. Let me call Carson from my other phone.”