Chapter Twenty
“He said to tell you that he’s ‘telling the duke’s bees,’” Lance said. “Whatever the hell that means.”
Mel smirked. “Yes, I got the message. Several times.”
“Honey, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Lance said. “I’ve seen those pictures.”
“Stop it, Lance.”
Lance purred. “I mean, his voice gave me shivers.”
“Lance,” she warned.
“Okay, short stuff. So, where are you?”
“You know where I am. In Italy.” The wind played with Mel’s hair as she exited the Autostrada Firenze Mare and headed for the heart of Florence.
“No. I mean, where in Italy. I’ll bet that duke fellow is in Italy, right? Florence maybe? Hmmm?”
“I’m hanging up now,” she said.
“No, wait a minute. You are going to get that Ricci interview to me tonight your time, no matter what, right? I mean, if tall, dark, and gorgeous sweeps you off your feet in Florence, you are not going to forget your old buddy Lance, are you? I don’t want to sleep in my cold, lonely bed tonight with no story to read. ”
“I’m going to tell Mike you said your bed was cold and lonely.”
“Yeah, well, get me that story tonight, and I won’t tell Dr. Daniel Woodruff all your dirty little secrets.”
“I don’t have any dirty little secrets.” Not anymore.
“Mel.”
“Relax. I’ll get you the story. Just the first draft, though.”
“Bless you. Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Mind you, that leaves a lot of leeway,” Lance said.
“Thanks. Bye!”
Mel considered going faster, then checked her speedometer and decided against it. The Piazza Santissima Annunziata was only minutes away, but that felt like an eternity.
What if he wasn’t there? He wasn’t answering his cell. When she’d tried Nick instead, he’d simply said, He’s telling the duke’s bees.
It was a conspiracy. A beautiful, if frustrating, conspiracy. She’d watched enough romcoms to recognize a grand gesture when she saw one. Heck, she’d watched all of them. It made her heart sing, and stutter, and beat too fast, and stop beating altogether.
The same way her heart had behaved yesterday morning when she had gotten the first mysterious text message.
Telling the duke’s bees… It was her very own romcom moment. He was telling the bees. The duke’s bees. Their bees in Piazza Santissima Annunziata.
She had called his cell, ready to apologize for leaving so abruptly, for not waiting for him to return, for all manner of ills, but he had only repeated that text message.
Finally, after the third identical text, she had texted him, I’m coming. She had almost added Ti amo, but that would wait. Those words deserved more than a text message.
Her cell rang. Yet another conspirator, she bet. Daniel was either getting desperate or doubtful, maybe both. I’m coming, dammit!
“Hi, Mom! What’s up?”
“I wanted to call and tell you that your dad and I love you very much and we are very proud of you and—”
“You ran my cards.” The reassurances were to be expected. They’d both been rattled to find out that Daniel had to save her life again since she’d escaped the fair.
There was a long pause. “Yes, of course. I run your cards all the time.”
So much so it bordered on compulsion, Mel thought.
“Lots of Cups, right?” Please, please, please.
She heard the smile in her mother’s voice. “Oh, yes.”
“And a Moon?” Please, please, please.
“Of course.”
“Now you’re going to say he’s telling the duke’s bees, aren’t you?”
There was a muffled sound as the phone changed hands.
“Missy.” Her dad’s voice made her sit up straighter in the seat. It always did.
“Yes, sir?”
“You tell that beekeeper of yours that you’re a magician’s daughter, and I can make him disappear if he doesn’t treat you right.” She felt her throat constrict at the emotion in his voice. “Oh, and he’s telling the duke’s bees.”
“Message received. I love you guys.”
“We love you too, Missy.”
He was doing this on purpose, stringing her so tight that she would be vibrating by the time she reached the piazza. She fingered her pendant. But he had followed her to Europe, just like he had followed her to Texas.
She entered the Piazza di San Marco and circled around it, turning onto Via Cesare Battisti and dodging the gaggles of tourists. In the distance, down the shadowed street, she could see the church for which their piazza was named, basking in the sunlight.
By the time she pulled in next to the rows of bikes chained to the barricade, she was nearly hyperventilating. She parked the car and took a deep breath before she looked toward the statue.
Sitting on one of the low concrete posts in front of it, Daniel gazed off down Via dei Servi, his legs stretched out in front of him, dark hair glinting in the sun.
Perhaps he’d expected her to come that way instead, since that was the way they had come into the piazza all those days ago.
Or maybe he simply liked the view of Il Duomo in the afternoon sun, but he was so preoccupied with watching that street that he didn’t hear her run across the piazza.
She slowed down at the last moment to sneak up behind him.
She took a deep breath and there was his scent—the deep, wild smell of the mountain. He lifted his head, as if he’d sensed her behind him.
“Do you need a guide?” she said. “I’m an incomparable tour guide. At least my last client said—”
He turned and swept her into his arms, silencing her with a kiss and depositing her on top of the post, which put her at the perfect height for him to keep right on kissing her, hands cupped around her face.
He smiled, but it was different. Not his usual warm, soft smile. This one was very hot. And his eyes were on her mouth.
She leaned toward him until she realized people were clapping and laughing all around them, mainly the patrons at the tables outside the gelato shop, but even the tourists on the steps in front of the Spedale degli Innocenti had joined in.
Daniel acknowledged their reaction with a wave and another enthusiastic kiss for Mel.
“I’ve been here a while and had to take breaks, so I needed accomplices,” he said. “Italians enjoy a good grand gesture.”
“Oh, Daniel!” She threw herself at him and he had to catch her. Then he was whirling her around as she clung to him, kissing him passionately.
There was a collective sigh from the onlookers, and even a few gasps.
Forget the shield. She wanted everyone to feel what she was feeling right now. This deserved sighs and gasps, she thought as her toes curled inside her shoes.
“Signore?” came a solicitous voice. “I see the little automobile you were expecting, but I need the keys to park it for you. Signore?”
“Keys,” Daniel breathed against her mouth, lowering her to the post again.
“Mmmm?”
“Keys to…the car,” he said between kisses. “It’s parked…illegally.”
“Oh… I, uh…” She couldn’t seem to find her hands. Then she did. They were in his hair.
Daniel reached inside her patchwork jacket and fished the keys out of the inside pocket. His fingers brushed her stomach through her silk top as he did. Luckily, he was still hanging on to her, or her knees would have given out.
“Grazie. If you could take the signorina’s luggage to our room, I will be very grateful.”
The man bowed. “No problem, signore.”
“Our room?” Mel repeated.
He kissed her again and there was a cheer from behind them. “You know, if we keep this up, the birth rate around here will spike in nine months.”
“Oh! Sorry,” Mel said. Her eyes opened wide in horror. “It’s just that you’re touching me and…” She almost stepped off the post.
Daniel steadied her. “Whoa.” For the first time since she’d met him, that undercurrent of worry, sadness, and dread was gone. There was only elation and joy and…love.
“Oh, Daniel!” She flung her arms around him and he caught her again, lifting her into his arms, which brought another round of cheers and applause. He laughed and carried her to the Hotel Loggiato Dei Serviti that fronted on the piazza facing the old orphanage.
Mel realized where they were headed, the place she’d told him so much about. “You did not manage to get a room—”
“Oh yes. A very expensive room. But it’s also a very isolated room. Very isolated and private, with a terrace.”
She sighed. “A terrace.”
“It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?” he said with a smug smile.
“You’re not going to carry me all the way to our room, are you?”
He leaned in to kiss her again, and she stopped worrying.
As it turned out, the last set of stairs was a bit too narrow to carry her. But at the top he picked her up again and took her the rest of the way before setting her on her feet in the middle of the room.
It was amazing, with lofty ceilings and antique furniture, but it wasn’t the European ambience that interested Mel.
It was the terrace. A table was already set with a crisp white tablecloth, a vase full of roses, two champagne flutes, and a sweating ice bucket with a bottle.
She tiptoed closer and pulled the bottle out of the ice water. Prosecco.
Daniel, however, was frowning. “Something’s missing.”
A soft knock on the door cleared his expression.
“Ah, that’s probably it.” He left her to gaze at the piazza below and Il Duomo in the distance.
Someone sitting across the way caught sight of her and yelled, and soon their entire cheering section down at the gelato shop was clapping and shouting again. She waved regally.
“I have a feeling this part of Florence is going to be a joyous place tonight,” Daniel said. “At least, I hope so.”
She turned to find him holding out a shallow bowl of strawberries. “Oh, Daniel,” she said. He’d remembered every part of her fantasy about this place.
“I’m certainly feeling the, how do you say it, gioia—”
“Gioia di vivere,” Mel slid around the bowl and into his arms. “My little corner of Florence is certainly full of the joy of life right now.” She tilted her head and kissed his neck, the only part of him she could reach. “That’s all that matters to me.” She reached for the top button of his shirt.
He took her arm and led her to a chair. “Right now, you are going to sit.”