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If the trade-off for sanity meant living a life alone, then so be it.
Why was he even thinking about this? Louisa’s comment about needing time for herself, that’s why. Someone had hurt Louisa badly enough that she’d fled to Italy. Her pain was too close to the mistakes he’d made with Floriana. Poor, sweet Floriana. He’d tried so hard to want her properly, but his tepid heart wouldn’t—couldn’t.
Was the man who’d broken Louisa’s heart trying to be something he wasn’t, too? Hard to believe a man would throw her over for any other reason.
“Mario, could you turn down the volume?” he hollered. He could hear the television from in here.
Leaving the beakers he’d been measuring on his lab table, he left his office and walked into the main processing area where Mario and his production manager, Vitale, stood watching the portable television they had dragged from the break room.
“Last time I checked, football didn’t need to be played at top volume,” he said. With the equipment being readied for harvest, it didn’t take much for the noise to reverberate through the empty plant. He motioned for Giuseppe to hand him the remote control. “I didn’t know there was a match today.”
“Not football, signor, the news,” Mario replied.
“You brought the television in here to watch the news?” That would be a first. Football reigned supreme.
“Si,” Giuseppe replied. “Vitale’s wife called to say they were talking about Monte Calanetti.”
Again? Nico would have thought they were done discussing the royal wedding by now. “Must be a slow news...” He stopped as Louisa’s face suddenly appeared on the screen. It wasn’t a recent photo, she was far more dressed up than usual, and it showed her with a man Nico didn’t recognize. A very handsome man, he noticed, irritably.
The caption beneath read Luscious Louisa—Back Again?
Luscious Louisa?
“Isn’t that the woman who owns the palazzo?” Vitale looked over at him.
Nico didn’t answer, but the news reader droned on. “...key witness in prosecuting her husband, Steven Clark, for investment fraud and money laundering. Clark is currently serving seventy-five years...”
He remembered reading about the case. Clark’s pyramid scheme had been a huge scandal. Several European businessmen had lost millions investing with him. And Louisa had been his wife and testified against him?
No wonder she’d run to Italy.
Another picture was on the screen; one from the royal wedding. Nico gritted his teeth as a thousand different emotions ran through him. The presenter was talking about Louisa as if she were some kind of siren who’d led Clark to his doom. Had they met the woman? Alluring, yes, but dishonest? Corrupt?
His ringtone cut into his thoughts. Keeping his eyes on the television, he pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“Have you seen the news?” Dani asked when he answered.
“Watching it right now,” he replied. On-screen, the presenter had moved on to a different headline.
“The story’s on every channel. It’s all anyone in the restaurant can talk about.”
It’s untrue, he corrected silently. The ferocity of his certainty surprised him. He had not one shred of evidence to support his belief, and yet he knew in his bones that Louisa wasn’t guilty of anything. One merely had to look in her eyes to know that whatever the press said, they didn’t have the entire story.
“Did you know?” he asked Dani. Rafe’s wife was Louisa’s closest friend. If Louisa had told anyone of her past...
“No. She never talks about her life before she got here,” Dani answered. “Hell, she barely talks about herself.”
Nico’s gut unclenched. Silly, but he’d felt strangely hurt at the idea of Louisa sharing her secrets with someone else.
“There are reporters all over town,” Dani continued. “One even came in here asking questions. I’ve been trying to call her since the story broke to see if she’s okay, but she’s not answering her phone.”
“Probably avoiding the press.”
“I’m worried, though. She’s so private, and to have her life story plastered all over the place...”
Terrifying. “Say no more,” he replied. “I’ll head right over.”
* * *
Louisa had lost track of the time. Curled in the corner of her sofa, away from the windows, she hugged her knees and tried to make her brain focus on figuring out the next step. Obviously, she couldn’t stay in Monte Calanetti. Not without tainting the village with her notoriety. And going back to Boston...well, that was out of the question. What would she do? Go to her mother’s house and listen to “I told you so” all day long?
