Page 11 of His Lost-and-Found Bride

Logan let out a long breath, his brow furrowed. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to find anywhere?’

Lucia gave a little nod of her head. ‘You forget, Logan. I’ve been here more than ten years. I know all Venice’s best kept secrets.’ She nodded her head for him to follow and weaved through the crowds. She was glad she’d opted out of wearing her normal business attire today. In these conditions she would have sweltered in her fitted suit dress. Instead, the lighter short-sleeved white blouse and knee-length navy skirt helped to keep her cooler. She pulled her sunglasses down from her head and snaked her way through the cobbled side streets of Venice. These were instantly cooler out of the sun’s blistering rays and after a few minutes’ walk they were away from the madding crowds.

She pointed towards a café with tables and parasols set on the street. Logan gave a sigh of relief and sank down into a chair. ‘Perfect,’ he said.

The waitress appeared instantly and they both ordered two drinks, one cool and one coffee for later.

She was still amused by how flustered he looked. ‘I’m sorry about being so late, Lucia. I hope I haven’t ruined your schedule for the day.’

She shook her head. ‘No problem. I’d just decided to leave a little earlier because it was so hot. I’m happy to meet you outside rather than in the office.’ She pulled out her files. ‘I brought the paperwork with me. We can do it now, if you like.’

The waiter appeared and put their drinks on the table. Logan finished his cool drink within a few seconds, then sat back in his chair and sighed. He gave her a quirky smile and held up his hands. ‘I don’t remember Venice ever being this hot. What on earth is happening?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘A cross between a heat wave and an extra twenty thousand people descending on the city at once?’ She pushed the papers over towards him. ‘These are the ones I need you to complete. Then we can file the fresco as a “new find” with the Heritage Board. They are the ones that can authorise any restoration that might need to take place.’

Logan was scouring the papers. He lifted his eyes towards her. ‘And who would do that?’

She paused for a second, wondering if it was an answer he really wanted to hear. ‘It would probably be me. I’ve done most of the work on all of the last frescoes that needed to be restored. It used to be my boss, Alessio Orsini, who handled fresco restoration, but once he’d trained me and overseen my work a few times he was happy to hand over the reins. I think he’s looking to retire soon.’

Logan nodded slowly. He sat down his pen. ‘How would you feel about working in Tuscany? There is a good chance that I’ll still be there for the next few months.’

Logan was being cautious, but for some reason she felt as if a little man with icy feet was marching down her spine. It was almost as if he didn’t want her there. She felt insulted.

She looked at him steadily. ‘I’ll go wherever I’m needed. My job is very important to me. The other personalities involved aren’t important.’ She picked up her cappuccino and took a sip, breaking the little caramelised biscuit at the side into pieces.

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He reached over and grabbed her hand.

It was unexpected. A little part of the biscuit dropped from her hand onto the cobbled street.

Her eyes fixed on it lying amongst the cobbles, rather than looking at his hands or his face. She didn’t pull her hand back. ‘I get it, Logan. You’d rather not have to work with me. But I won’t compromise on my job. We’re just going to have to both be professional about it.’ She lifted her gaze to meet his.

His eyes widened. ‘No, Lucia. You’re reading this all wrong.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I know we had a difficult past. And seeing you after all these years...it’s been...’ He seemed to struggle to find the right word. ‘It’s been hard.’

She felt her heart squeeze.

He moved the position of his hand. This time his thumb was inside her palm, moving in tiny circular motions, while the rest of his hand rested over hers.

He lowered his voice. ‘But it’s been good to see you, Lucia. Really good. It’s left me wondering why we didn’t do this earlier.’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Because it would have been too hard.’ Her gaze was steady on his. ‘And you’re right, it is still hard.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be?’ There was an edge of optimism in his voice. A little glimmer of hopefulness.

Tears prickled in her eyes. A lump rose instantly in her throat. This was dangerous territory. Business was business, but this was something else entirely. She swallowed. ‘I think it always will be. There’s too many memories. Too many associations.’

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Logan had always been like this. His thumb kept moving in little circles, the way it always had when he was trying to soothe her. And for the most part it worked. Logan had always been cool, almost like the eye of a storm. Few things made him ever raise his voice. Few things made him rattled.

She looked at him again. He was still her Logan. Still so handsome. Still so protective. Grief had made his love feel suffocating. But the truth was Logan had never been suffocating. He’d encouraged her to blossom and grow while they’d been in Florence together. He’d be the very person to tell her never to hide her light under a bushel.

Why on earth hadn’t he met someone over the last twelve years? Why wasn’t he married with children? It had always been what he wanted. And he’d seemed to cope so much better with the death of Ariella Rose than she had.

He’d been grief-stricken for sure. The plans they’d made for baby furniture and paraphernalia had silently disappeared. He’d spoken to the doctors regarding a proper burial. Things were difficult when a baby was so young. But Logan’s calm and assuring manner had persuaded them to go along with his wishes and they’d got to lay Ariella Rose to rest in a cemetery just outside the city walls.

The short ceremony by the priest had been beautiful, the flowers and funeral arrangements all carried out by Logan—she’d been too numb to help with any of it.

It was only now, in hindsight, that she could appreciate just how hard that must have been for him. She hadn’t been the only one to cry over the death of their daughter. And after he’d spent days trying to get her talk and she hadn’t responded he’d finally stopped and mirrored her behaviour. Closing in on himself and shutting out the world around him.

He finally replied. ‘Let’s just see how things are. I’m glad we’ve met again, Lucia. I’m glad that you’re settled in an amazing city and doing a job that you love.’

There it was. The unspoken words.

I’m glad you’ve finally moved on.

But had she?

* * *

All he wanted to do was reach across the table and hold her. Lucia was at her most fragile right now. He could see the hidden pain in her eyes and he hated it that he was the person who had done that to her. Hated that her association with him was her most painful memory.

He had painful memories too. But he was still able to remember the good times in Florence—running through one of the fountains during a rainstorm, watching her face when he’d come home with every flower that the street vendor had been selling, sneaking out in the morning to buy her favourite pastry and watching her nose twitch as she’d woken up to the smell. For a long time Lucia had been his joy—and the feeling had been mutual. He only wished he was still hers.

She’d haunted his dreams on and off for years. Dreams about them meeting again in s

ome random place, having dinner together, or catching each other’s eye across a crowded room.

He’d always dreaded hearing the news that she was happily married or settled with a family of her own, but somehow seeing her like this was equally hard. More than anything he wanted Lucia to be happy.

Seeing her again was sparking a whole host of emotions that he’d long forgotten. He’d never imagined that the spark between them would still feel so electric. He’d never imagined that once he’d stared into those brown eyes again he’d feel rooted to the spot and never want to break away.

Lucia brushed her chocolate hair from her shoulder. It was a little shorter than he remembered and it suited her. She pulled her hand back steadily, keeping her gaze on his. He could almost see her retreating back into herself and putting a carefully drawn line between them.

She picked up her coffee cup. ‘How soon do you think you’ll get the paperwork completed?’

Business. That was all she wanted to discuss with him. Even after all this time.

He nodded, picking up the biscuit from the side of his cappuccino and placing it on her saucer. He didn’t miss the little hint of a smile from her.

‘How soon can you tell me I can finish my renovations?’

She blinked. ‘Well...’ She paused. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. We have to file your paperwork, then I need to do some investigating. I’ve made a private appointment tomorrow to view another fresco by the artist we think is involved.’

He sat back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s fine. I’ll come with you.’

She looked surprised. ‘Why would you want to come with me?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s not much point in me going back if I can’t give Louisa good news. She needs to know that the renovations and wedding plans can continue. At the moment most of the work in the chapel has ground to a halt. There’s still work ongoing in the palazzo but it doesn’t require my supervision every day. The chapel will be the difference between this wedding going ahead or not.’

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