Her Italian Soldier

He munched until there was nothing left but the pit, which he removed and tossed in the wastebasket in the corner. “You’re mistaken, signorina.”

“No.” Annabelle remained firm. “The medication you’re taking tells me otherwise.”

On cue his dark brows furrowed with menace. “What makes you such an authority?”

“I’m a nurse with experience taking care of patients recovering from heart and thoracic surgery, gunshot wounds, broken bones.”

Stillness surrounded him before she saw a look of alarm break out on his face. “What’s wrong with my father?”

She blinked, trying to make sense of his hyperspeed leap from the subject at hand to Guilio. Once the light dawned, she cried, “No, no—I’m not working for your father in that capacity. I’m helping do some advertising for him. As far as I know, he’s fine!” she assured him, noting that his first reaction had been one of a son who loved his father. That cleared up one question haunting her.

His eyes looked disbelieving.

“You’re the person I’m worried about, signore. I’ve a feeling you left the hospital before it was wise. Combined with the fall you had last night, you need to nurse that leg as much as possible. Even if the pain has subsided for now, you’re wiped out.”

“Grazie for your concern.”

She decided the ice between them was thawing a few degrees. His sarcasm didn’t come off sounding quite as bitter as before. “Prego.” It was one of few words she knew in Italian for you’re welcome.

“One more thing, signore. I told Guilio I didn’t want any maids or housekeepers around while I’m here, so you should have no worries in that department. After work I’ll be back to pack and go to a hotel. I don’t know the exact time of my arrival, but rest assured I’ll be alone,” she promised with a pleasant expression.

He watched her disappear out the side door. If she could be believed, then he had little to worry about for the rest of the day. But it caused him to wonder that she’d be willing to keep his secret that long.

Why would she do it? For how long? She wanted something in return, evidently enough to be willing to cooperate.

Breaking in on a defenseless woman in the dead of night should have scared her senseless. Instead, she’d turned the tables on him and had made threatening gestures with the cane. He felt a grudging admiration for her resourcefulness. But he couldn’t help but question what she expected to gain by her compliance with Lucca’s wishes. Did she think getting on his good side would earn her a promotion with his father down the road? More perks?

What was his father playing at? To let his alleged employee have her own way and install her in Lucca’s house meant she’d twisted him around her finger. What kind of advertising was she doing for his father?

It was a little late for him to be having a midlife crisis. Surely his second wife—Maria was enough for him. She’d managed to marry him only six months after Lucca’s mother had been buried. For years Lucca had blamed her for changing his father. Until one day when Lucca grew up and realized no force could make Guilio marry the attractive widow who had two sons of her own if he hadn’t wanted to.

Now this American woman—a nurse, no less—had come into Guilio’s life, so different in every way that Lucca was baffled.

He frowned. Nine months ago when he’d flown to Milan on furlough for a brief visit to see his father, Signorina Marsh hadn’t been on the payroll. That meant she was a fairly recent addition to the company, but because she was in his father’s confidence, she had Lucca at a disadvantage.

He didn’t like the idea that she would know more about him than he wanted anyone to know, yet for the time being he had no choice but to live with it. It didn’t escape him that he bore some responsibility for arriving in the dead of night.

After locking the door, he turned to the fridge. While he rummaged for items to fix himself a sandwich, he heard a car turn into the gravel drive. The voices were too faint for him to make out conversation. Before long it drove off.

In a minute he sank down on one of the hand-carved wooden chairs. He extended his long legs, trying to get into a more comfortable position, which was virtually impossible, just like she’d said. As he bit into some locally grown ham and his favorite provolone dolce cheese, he found himself glowering at the daisies she’d put in the old family pitcher and hardly noticed the taste.

He’d wanted complete solitude and sleep for one night. That way he could appear at his father’s door today looking rested enough that Guilio’s first reaction wouldn’t be one of heartache over his son. There’d been enough of that in the early days.

Soon enough his father would learn about the flashbacks, but they usually happened after he fell asleep.

Starting to get that drugged feeling, he headed for the bedroom. Whether Signorina Marsh exposed him or not, he was no longer alone in his own home and wouldn’t be able to totally relax.

He should phone his father right now, but the pain since his fall last night was more than he could bear right now. Once the pills took effect, he would pass out again for a few hours. When he awakened, he had to pray the throbbing would have died down enough that he could make the call.

Annabelle stepped out of the van where they’d done her hair and makeup. “Perfetto, signorina. That’s the look I want. Like a margheritina!”

“What is that?”

“A flower.” Giovanni, the photographer, put one of his hands on top of the other and made spokes.

“Ah. A wheel. You mean like, he loves me, he loves me not?”

He grinned. “Sì, Sì.”