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

Crazed by the thought that a life as sweet and innocent as hers could be coming to an end, he found himself headed for the church. Eventually he pulled up in front of the rectory. It was after nine p.m. when he levered himself from the car and was made instantly aware of the sound of crickets chirping. Tonight all his senses had come alive to nature, sending bittersweet pains through his body.

He took the steep steps two at a time to gain the porch, not hesitating to tug on the bell pull. In a few minutes, a much younger priest he didn’t recognize opened the door.

“Yes?”

“I’m here on an emergency to see Father Orsini. Is he still awake?”

“I believe so.”

“Will you tell him it’s Valentino Casali? If he can see me, tell him I’ll be out here waiting for him.”

The other man studied him for a brief moment. “Bene,” he said before shutting the door.

Unable to remain still, Valentino walked to the wrought-iron railing and looked out over Monta Correnti. The lights of the town with its red-tiled roofs and centuries-old palazzos spilled over the undulating hills, creating a fairyland illusion. In the distance, the Rossetti farm made up part of the magical landscape.

Would that what he’d learned at the clinic today were just a bad dream from which he’d awaken at any moment.

“Valentino?” came a familiar voice. “Don’t tell me you’re here to confess ten years’ worth of sins?” He’d asked the question in a joking manner, but the ring of hope lingered in the night air.

Consumed by a guilt so deep he’d never been able to talk about it, he turned to face the grayhaired priest who’d grown much more frail over the last decade. “Not tonight, Father. Otherwise you would never get to bed,” he teased. Their easy relationship stretched back to Valentino’s childhood.

Father Orsini chuckled. The years hadn’t deprived him of a sense of humor, for which Valentino was thankful. “It’s good to see you.”

“Then you’ll understand how pleased I was when Father Bruno told me Monta Correnti’s most legendary figure was outside waiting for me.”

“Let’s not play games, Father. A legendary figure should at least connote someone worthy.” He shifted his weight. “Forgive me for calling on you so late, but this couldn’t wait.”

“Evidently not. Let me put it another way. What’s troubling Luca Casali’s most famous son?”

“Famous for what?” Valentino muttered in self-abnegation. “Certainly nothing that matters.” When the priest blinked in astonishment, Valentino added, “Did Luca or my mother ever take the opportunity to tell you I’m not his birth son?”

“What is this?” Father Orsini cried out aghast.

“I don’t blame you for being bewildered. Forget I asked.”

“My son—”

“It’s all right, Father. If you did know, you couldn’t reveal it anyway. He and Mamma told me the truth years ago. It was a good idea at the time considering I don’t look or behave anything like Isabella or Cristiano.”

“Do your siblings know?”

“You mean that my infamous qualities can be laid at my biological father’s feet?” he mocked. “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. What I’m hoping is that you’ll be able to help me over another matter. It’s of life and death importance.”

The priest cleared his throat. “If I can, but that places a great burden on me.”

Valentino squinted at him. “I knew you’d say that, but I have nowhere else to turn.” He stared at the priest. “What do you know about Clara Rossetti?”

In the quiet that followed, a sadness entered Father Orsini’s eyes and he pursed his lips, giving Valentino the answer. Fresh pain arced through him as surely as if he’d crashed on the track and the paramedics couldn’t separate his body from the wreckage.

The compassionate priest put a hand on Valentino’s shoulder. “She doesn’t want to die and is fighting this with everything she has in her.”

Valentino’s body trembled. “I know. I’ve been with her every day since I came home. She’s so courageous, I’m in awe of her.”

“You two were very close growing up.”

A sob got trapped in his throat. “Very. I don’t want her to die, Father.”

“Of course you don’t. After being away such a long time, this news must have come as a great shock.”

Shock hardly covered it. Shame for his narcissistic lifestyle had seeped into his soul. Up to now Valentino had lived only for his own pleasures. He’d avoided marriage and children in order to pursue new adventures without suffering any more guilt than he already dragged around.

In the process he’d pretty well abandoned his family, not to mention Clara. Valentino wasn’t only selfish, he was a coward unwilling to face certain unpalatable truths. After his aunt Lisa had leaked the latest family secret, his first instinct had been to run away and stay in denial. That had been his pattern over the years.

That was the mortifying part. After spending time with him during their growing-up years, Clara had become so well acquainted with his self-focused obsessions, she’d written him off when he’d left in his late teens. And why not?

What had he ever done for her?

His hands curled into fists.

Nothing! Not a damn thing!

It strained his credulity that she’d given him the time of day since he’d been back. While he’d been off in his superficial world, angry at life while he tried to break barriers and set new bars, she had been battling for her life!

Somewhere in his psyche Valentino had known there’d be a price to pay for always running away, for always taking without giving anything back. He just hadn’t expected it to come now, in this particular form. Clara, more than any other human being, had shown him unqualified friendship, but he hadn’t realized or understood until it was too late.

“I can see you’re in pain, my son.”

“I want to help her, but I don’t know where to begin.”

“She could use a good friend.”

Something he hadn’t been.

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me?”

Valentino shook his head. “No, grazier.” He had quite enough on his plate and had said more than he should already. Calling on the priest this late at night constituted a special act of selfishness all its own, the kind for which Valentino was famous.

Luca’s “famous” son who really wasn’t his son. The negative connotation fit.

“I’ve intruded on your time long enough. Thank you for seeing me, Father. Buona notte.” He started down the stairs.

“Don’t be such a stranger!” the old priest called after him.

Valentino deserved that particular distinction, too. A stranger was one who was neither a friend nor an acquaintance. Those who knew his name would say that pretty well summed up his existence.

He waved to the priest from the lowered window of the car before he headed back to the villa. His black thoughts drove him to the kitchen where he made a pot of strong coffee. On an empty stomach the caffeine was guaranteed to keep him wired for the rest of the night. He did his best thinking when he prowled around in the dark.

The priest’s words wouldn’t leave him alone. She could use a good friend.