Miracle for the Girl Next Door / Mother of the Bride: Miracle for the Girl Next Door

“It’s not what I think—it’s what you feel that matters!” She threw her hands in the air. “I’m just afraid you’re too vulnerable right now. He wasn’t voted the world’s most irresistible playboy for nothing!”

She blinked. “How did you know that?”

“I happened to see it in a magazine Bianca was reading. I’m afraid your sister used to have a terrible crush on him. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? If my words sound cruel, I’m sorry because you know I love you to death.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered in turmoil.

“I would never say such a thing in front of the men in our family, but I say it to you. And now that I have, it is your decision what happens from here on out.”

Her mother’s words stayed with her while she washed the tears from her face. “I’ll see you later today, Mamma.” On the way out the door she grabbed an apple from the bowl to eat on the bus.

By the time she joined Valentino a half-hour later, she’d made up her mind to enjoy this morning’s get-together. Maybe by the end of this day she would have gained some wisdom and would know how to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore.

The problem was, he was sensitive deep down; Clara knew that and she would never want to hurt his feelings. No one would believe an insecure man lived beneath his famous persona. It stemmed from the troubled relationship with his father. He’d let her see inside him just enough for her to feel a little of his torment.

Oh, Tino.

Valentino stood at the bus stop waiting for Clara. Through his sunglasses he watched the activity in the piazza. So far his navy headscarf and striped sailor shirt with the long sleeves had disguised him enough to keep the paparazzi away.

His outfit must have done a better job than he realized because when she got off the bus at ten to nine, she walked past him in her blue print blouse and denim skirt without realizing it. He followed her into Bonelli’s.

There were half a dozen people drinking coffee at individual bistro tables while they read the newspaper. He’d already staked out their table in the same corner as before.

“I’m over here, Clarissima.”

She wheeled around in surprise. A slow smile broke out on her stunning face. “I would never have guessed it was you! You look like a French seaman on leave from Marseille or some such port.”

“That’s the way I’d like to keep it.”

“I know,” she said in a quiet voice. “I won’t give you away.”

He held her chair, then sat down opposite her. “Help yourself.” He’d already taken their cappuccinos and ham-filled croissants to the table.

“Thank you. After all the food we ate last evening, can you believe I’m hungry again?” She bit into her breakfast.

Valentino smiled as he devoured his. “How did the babysitting go?”

“None of them wanted to go to bed. We ended up having our own party.”

He’d wanted to be there. The night had been endless for him. “Is that why you seem a little tired this morning?”

“Yes,” she murmured, but she didn’t look at him as she said it.

“Did Lia bring the limoncello with her?”

Her lips curved upward. “She did.”

“Good. I’m already salivating for it.” Color seeped into her cheeks. “Have you given serious thought to the plus side of the trattoria?”

Clara sipped her cappuccino. “Yes. The placement of the tables was conducive to private conversation. The service was good. The chicken was tender, the gelato excellent.” He liked watching her mouth as she spoke. Even when she had been a girl it had a passionate flare.

“What about the negatives?”

“The bruschetta was mediocre, the wine so-so, the pasta seemed too greasy and the bathroom needed attention.”

He chuckled. “My sentiments exactly, piccola. Bravo. I was going to add that the prices were too high.”

“Yes, but they obviously lower them for the tour-bus crowds. Oh—something else. The decor wasn’t that unique. Not anything like your father’s restaurant.”

“Well, it’s possible Papa will be interested in our findings and can point out the differences to the tour directors when I invite them to Rosa for a meal.”

“Rosa’s sauce is to die for, Tino.”

“My father will be delighted to hear that Signora Rossetti’s daughter has given her seal of approval. What Papa really needs is your mother in his kitchen. I ate most of your lunches at school, if you remember.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she admitted in an odd tone before suddenly getting to her feet. “Thank you for breakfast. Now I need to get going to my appointment.”

For once Valentino was ready for that and stood up. “I appreciate your taking the time to meet me first.” He walked her outside. “After I’ve met with Papa, I’ll call you and tell you what he said.”

As she gazed at him her eyes clouded over. “I hope he shows you how thrilled he is that his wonderful son is trying to help him.” Her earnestness resonated to his insides. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m not his wonderful anything, Clara. He’s not my biological father. You might as well know I’m the product of an extramarital affair.”

He heard her long gasp. “Your mother was unfaithful?”

“Yes. She and Luca hit a bad patch in their marriage, but they made up.”

She looked devastated for him. “Do you know your birthfather?”

“No, and when I learned about it, I didn’t want to know him. Neither did Luca apparently, so I was raised as a Casali.”

“Then he must have loved your mother and you very much.”

Valentino studied her upturned features. “You come from a very loving, close-knit family. You see only the good. It’s a remarkable trait. Don’t ever lose it.”

She bit her lip. “You’ve never told anyone?”

“Isabella and Cristiano know. Our parents told all of us before Mamma died so there’d be no secrets, but it’s not common knowledge.”

“I’ll never say anything,” she whispered.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Tino—” She sounded distressed. “I—I’d like to stay longer and talk to you, but I have to go or I’ll be late. Forgive me.”

“Of course. I’ll be in touch.”

She nodded before hurrying away across the piazza. Once she disappeared he rushed after her, realizing she’d taken the set of stairs where she’d come down that first day.