Page 12 of His Lost-and-Found Bride

Lucia looked thoughtful. Her fingers started twiddling with a strand of her hair and she crossed her legs, giving him a flash of her tanned skin. ‘What do you know about the royal couple?’

He shook his head. ‘Virtually nothing. I’ve mostly dealt with Lindsay, the wedding planner.’ He laughed. ‘Now, there’s a woman I don’t want to call to say there’s an issue with the chapel.’

Lucia smiled. ‘Will she chew you up and spit you out?’ There was a little spark of amusement in her eyes. It suited her. It made her more like the Lucia he remembered. The Lucia he wanted to remember.

‘In a heartbeat,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s no point in going back until I know I’m safe.’

Lucia frowned. ‘Where have you made arrangements to stay?’

This time he frowned too. Oh, no. ‘Well, I haven’t. Not yet anyway.’ His brain started spinning. ‘There’s a small boutique hotel I stay in if I ever come to Venice. I can give them a call.’ He pulled his mobile from his pocket and started dialling.

Lucia shook her head and held out her hands. ‘Have you seen this place? I’ve never seen Venice this busy. I think everywhere will be packed out.’

So do I. He was cringing inside. He’d known as soon as he’d arrived that he would never make his flight back. It was leaving right around now. And he hadn’t even made any attempt to book another. With this number of tourists he imagined that every flight and train journey, in and out of Venice, was booked for the next few days.

He pressed the phone to his ear. ‘Hi, there, it’s Logan Cascini. I wondered if there was any chance of reserving a room for the night.’

He listened to the reply and tried to stop the sinking feeling settling over him. ‘No problem. Can you recommend anywhere else?’

The crease across Lucia’s brow was deepening.

He listened to the receptionist telling him what he already knew. Venice was packed. Every hotel was fully booked for the next two days. He cut the call and gave his best attempt at a shrug. ‘I’ll try somewhere else.’

Lucia sucked in a breath. ‘Why do you want to stay, Logan? There isn’t anything that you can actually do. Did you book a flight back to Tuscany?’

Her tone was almost accusatory. He pressed a button on his phone and spun it around, showing her his online boarding card for the flight that was due to take off any minute.

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh.’

She bit her lip again. ‘Why do you even want to stay?’

The same question again. This time with a different emphasis on the words. It was obviously preying on her mind, just like it was preying on his. When he’d booked his flight he’d planned to be in Venice for four hours and leave again later today and go straight back to Tuscany. It had all seemed straightforward. Except in his mind, where a little voice kept niggling at him.

This was the contact he’d always imagined making. The renovations were a perfect excuse to be around Lucia. He hadn’t planned it. It had surprised him just as much as it had surprised her. But sometimes fate had a mysterious hand in things.

After the first few awkward moments curiosity had been killing him about Lucia. He wanted to know everything about the last twelve years. He wanted to know her plans for the future. If she was happy. If she was settled.

And absolutely none of it was his business. But that didn’t stop the little craving that had always been there growing into something a whole lot bigger.

There would always be something between them. Right now, it still felt as if there was a big black cloud hanging over them. But for him, he could see little remnants of sunlight struggling to get through. And he wanted them to get through. So badly.

But still something was holding him back. Holding him back from saying their daughter’s name and asking Lucia if she was ready to talk about her.

So he took the easy way out. The safest way out, if he wanted to still have contact with Lucia.

‘I want to stay because I want to help move this project along. I would love to see Burano’s fresco. I would love to see how it compares to the Madonna and Child and to the nymph sculpture. You know I love this stuff just as much as you do.’

Part of him felt guilty. These were careful words, designed to push the little buttons inside her and help things spark along.

There was a glimmer in her eyes. He was talking her language. A language she related to and understood.

He pulled something from his bag. ‘Look at this. You told me to try and find any evidence that Burano had been around the village. I’ve photocopied something from the local museum. One of the guest houses had an ancient register. People used to stay for months at a time.’ He pointed to a blurred entry from 1530. ‘I thought that might be Alberto Burano.’

She screwed up her nose and squinted at the blurred entry. It was difficult to judge but he could see the glimmer of excitement behind her eyes.

‘I’m sure we’ll have a sample of his writing somewhere at the heritage board.’ She met his gaze. ‘This could be really important, Logan. You did well to find this.’

It was the first note of approval he’d had from her and it made his heart swell in his chest. He wasn’t going to tell how he’d had to bribe the local museum curator to let him riffle through all the old paperwork. He wasn’t going to let her know he’d spent all of last night checking through mountains of ancient chests in order to find anything that might help.

‘Can I take this?’ she asked, holding up the photocopy.

He nodded as he zipped up his bag again.

‘This can definitely help.’ She looked around them. The number of people in the quiet street was starting to pick up. ‘But where will you stay?’

The million-dollar question. He shrugged as he desperately tried to think of someone, anyone he still knew in Venice.

His fingers flicked through the numbers on his phone. He had a multitude of contacts in Florence, Rome and Pisa. Venice? Not so much.

‘You can stay with me.’

The words came out of the blue. It was absolutely the last thing he was expecting to hear.

‘What? No, I couldn’t possibly put you to any trouble.’ His stomach clenched.

He couldn’t miss the expression on her face. She was saying the words, but it was reluctantly—this wasn’t a warm invitation.

And he hated that. He hated that she felt obliged to offer him somewhere to stay—when it was obvious she didn’t really want to.

That hurt.

But the reality was that he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. Chances were he could spend the next two hours phoning every hotel and just get the same answer—fully booked. There was a strong likelihood he wouldn’t find a bed for the night.

Part of him wanted to refuse graciously and just walk away.

But something else was burning inside...a persistence.

Lucia used to be his. She used to fill his whole world. And he knew that the feelings had been mutual.

They were both adults. They were twelve years away from their shared past. Determination was overcoming him.

He didn’t want to walk away from Lucia—no matter how awkward she felt.

In another world she would love him just as much as she always had, and would be delighted to offer him somewhere to stay and he would be delighted to accept.

But in another world they wouldn’t have lost Ariella Rose.

His fingers itched to reach over and touch her soft hand.

Her own hands were knotted together, turning over and over in her lap.

The rational part of his brain kicked in. He needed to get this job back on track. He needed to finish the renovations at the palazzo and the chapel.

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