'I Do'...Take Two!

When the door closed behind her, Travis stared at the white-painted wood panel. He was gripping his own key card so fiercely the edges cut into his palm.

He’d known this trip would be hard. Had fully anticipated spending most of the day with his insides balled in a knot. Turned out he’d grossly underestimated the degree of difficulty. It took everything he had to refrain from rapping on that door, folding his wife in his arms and kissing away the sadness that had flickered across her face for the briefest instant.

A low, vicious oath did little to relieve his frustration. Slinging his carryall onto the bed in his room didn’t help, either. Not when all he could think about, all he could see, was Kate’s long, slender body stretched out on the brocaded coverlet, her skin bathed in moonlight and her eyes languorous after a bout of serious sex.

“Dammit all to hell!”

He stalked to the minibar and ripped the cap off a plastic bottle of scotch. Glass in hand, he stood at the window and gazed unseeing at the floodlit dome of Florence’s famous duomo, just visible above the jumble of buildings in the heart of the city.

* * *

When he headed down to the hotel’s breakfast room the next morning, he was feeling the aftereffects of a restless night. Kate was already there, coffee cup in hand and a fistful of brochures fanned on the table in front of her.

Grunting, Travis squinted to block the glare from the picture windows framing the Ponte Vecchio. Despite the early hour, tourists were already streaming onto the medieval stone bridge that spanned the Arno River. The bridge was topped with multistory shops, just as it had been centuries ago, but shopkeepers now hawked gold instead of scalded chickens and haunches of raw meat dangling from iron hooks. Since the bridge no doubt topped Kate’s list of must-see sights, Travis gave fervent thanks they wouldn’t have to battle with the flies and smells of an open-air market like those he’d visited in Africa and Asia.

She looked up at his approach. The faint shadows under her eyes gave him a small, totally selfish dart of satisfaction. Apparently her night hadn’t been any more restful than his.

The rest of her looked good, though. Too good. He pulled out a chair, wondering how the hell he was going to get through another day without dropping a kiss on the soft skin left bare by the honey-colored curls she’d clipped up and off her neck.

“Good morning.”

Her polite greeting only increased his irritation. What was he? Some casual acquaintance? His response came out short and a little gruff.

“Mornin’.”

“Uh-oh.” Cradling her cup in both hands, she eyed him over the rim. “Rough night?”

“I’ve had better.” He debated for a moment and decided there was no point pretending to be noble. “Took a while to get to sleep. The combination of warm scotch and a cold shower finally did the trick.”

“Took me a while, too,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. She looked down at her half-empty cup, then up again. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Trav.”

“What?” He helped himself from the carafe on the table. “You? Me? Sleeping in separate beds? Dumbest idea since pet rocks.”

She set her cup down with a clink. “What I meant was you. Me. Thinking we could patch our marriage together by playing tourist.”

“Okay, hang on a sec.”

He needed a jolt of caffeine for this. Preferably mainlined straight to a major vein. He settled for taking it hot and black and bitter. Fortified, he met her challenge head-on.

“First, I’m not playing at anything. I’m dead serious. I love you. Always have. Always will. Second, I don’t—”

“Wait! Stop! Back up.”

The crease that suddenly grooved her brow annoyed him no end.

“Cm’on, Kate. Despite that Facebook stupidity, you know...you have to know you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”

When the groove dug deeper, the thought Travis had kept buried in the dark recesses of his mind slithered out of its hole like a venomous snake in search of something to feed on.

“Unless...” He reached deep, fought savagely for calm. “Have you found someone else? Someone you want to spend yours with?”

“No! God!”

“You can tell me. I’ll understand.” His jaw worked. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake! Do you think I’d dump Dawn and Callie and take off with you if I had another man waiting in the wings?”

Breathing deep, he lopped off the snake’s head and booted its carcass into the netherworld. “So what’s the bottom line here, Kate? Why did you dump Callie and Dawn?”

“Bottom line?”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He waited, certain the painful honesty he saw in her brown eyes signaled the end. If it did, he swore with a vow that cut sharp and deep, he would back off. Accept the damned divorce. Let her get on with her life.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly. “Always have. Always will. But we’ve both learned the hard way that love isn’t always enough. I guess I wanted... I needed...one last shot at bridging the gap between what is and what could be.”

His chest unfroze. His heart started beating again. His lungs pumped enough air to fuel an instant decision.

“We need to reopen negotiations.”

Instantly wary, she held up both palms. “No way. I’m not ready for—”

“The itinerary,” he cut in. “Are you up for another side trip?”

“Depends. Where do you want to go?”

“Let me make a call. Then I’ll give you the details.”

He tossed his napkin on the table and found a quiet corner in the hall outside the breakfast room. Digging his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, he used his thumb to skim his list of contacts and found the one he wanted. A few seconds later, the call went through the international circuits.

“Ellis.”

“It’s Westbrook.”

Brian Ellis was president and CEO of Ellis Aeronautical Systems, the prime contractor on the highly classified modification to the Combat King’s avionics that Travis and his Italian counterpart were currently testing. Ellis had flown over to Italy for a progress review and the final test flights.

A former aviator himself, Ellis had struck a chord with both Travis and Carlo. Over beers a few nights ago, he’d let drop that his corporation was in the process of subcontracting with Lockheed for a multinational, multimillion-dollar contract for an upgrade to the jet engine’s electronic injection system. He’d also mentioned that he’d scheduled a visit with one of the other major players in the proposed upgrade.

“You still heading down to Modena this afternoon?” he asked Ellis.

“I am. Assuming Mrs. Wells can manage Tommy.”

“Oh. Right.”

Travis had almost forgotten that Ellis had brought his six-year-old son to Europe. The plan, the CEO had explained drily, was to spend some quality time with his son before school started while exposing him to as much history as his young mind could absorb.

Travis admired the busy executive for wanting to spend time with his son. But he’d had to grin when Ellis confided that the little stinker had already escaped his nanny twice during those hours his father couldn’t be with him. The boy knew better than to leave the hotel on his own, his exasperated father related, and he’d wreaked enough havoc within its centuries-old walls to make it questionable whether they’d be allowed back.

“What’s your schedule in Modena?” Travis asked.