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

“I can hear Silvio in your voice,” his voice grated. “Forgive me for coming here and disturbing you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” He turned away and headed for his car.

After he’d mentioned her brother’s name, she couldn’t allow him to think what he was thinking. “How long are you going to be in Monta Correnti?”

He opened the car door. “For as long as it takes.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father’s not well.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”

“I hope not.” He started to get in the car.

“Wait—” she called out before she realized how anxious she sounded.

His dark head reared back. “Yes?”

“I’m going into town in the morning to do some errands. If you want, I’ll meet you at the Pasticceria Bonelli in the Piazza Gaspare where I caught the bus. We could have a cup of coffee or something beforehand.”

“What time?”

“Shall we say ten o’clock?”

“I’ll be there. Grazie, piccola.”

At eight the next morning Valentino dressed in a polo shirt and jeans before leaving the villa to walk to the restaurant. He entered through the back door into the kitchen with the key Isabella had given him. His plan was to eat breakfast with his father so they could talk business.

Valentino didn’t hold out much hope of getting anywhere with him. His father knew the restaurant business inside and out. You couldn’t tell him how to run it. Valentino could only try to make a suggestion, but even then his parent would probably resent it.

At first he didn’t think anyone was about, but as he passed by the storage area that served as a pantry of sorts he glimpsed someone through the door that stood ajar. On closer inspection he realized it was his father up on a small stepladder with a clipboard. Valentino noticed his cane resting against the leg of the ladder.

Not wanting to startle him by calling out, he moved over slowly to where his father stood, but when the older man saw him, he still jumped and almost fell off the ladder. Valentino rushed to steady him. He was thinner than the last time he’d seen him just a month ago, but he still had a full head of brown hair though it was streaked with silver.

“Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

What a great beginning! Valentino had to tamp down his temper. “I was afraid if I announced myself in the doorway, you’d turn suddenly and fall. I can see you’re doing the inventory. Don’t you think—?”

“Not you, too—” his father barked, interrupting him. “Go on—say it! Everyone else does. Your aunt Lisa yelled at me the other day that I’m too old and crippled to run my own restaurant. That’s the only reason you came back to Monta Correnti, isn’t it? Isabella probably sent you in here to stop me!”

Valentino winced. His father didn’t want him here. What else was new? “I haven’t seen Isabella today. Isn’t she at market?”

“Who knows?”

That was a lie, of course. His father knew everything. “Actually I came early so I could help you do whatever needed doing. Inventory is the only thing I’m good at when it comes to running the restaurant.”

Valentino had thought he could broach his ideas for promoting Rosa while they worked together, but that was what he got for thinking. Clearly it was too soon to offer Luca anything, let alone money. His father had way too much pride for that and would throw it all back in his face.

Coming home had been a big mistake. Valentino was the last person his father wanted anything to do with. “Why don’t you take a break and have breakfast with me?”

“I can’t stop now.”

That was clear enough. “Is there anything I can do for you today?”

“No, no. You run along and have a good time.”

With those words Valentino felt about five years old. All that was missing was a pat on the head. “Then I’ll see you later.”

As he reached the doorway his father said, “How long will you be in town?”

The temptation to tell him he was leaving right now and wouldn’t be back got stuck in his throat. “Long enough to help you. Ciao, Papa.”

Though Valentino had been a grown man for quite some time, Luca had the power to make him feel small and unnecessary. He left the restaurant and headed through town to the piazza to wait for Clara. He wanted to be here ahead of her, in case she came early.

During their conversation he’d purposely brought up Silvio’s name, knowing she’d always defended Valentino to her brother in the past. His gambit had worked enough for her to feel guilty and agree to meet him.

After ordering a cup of coffee in the pastry shop, he took it to one of the tables outside and drank it while he watched for her. At twenty to ten, Clara got off the bus.

He took a second to study her womanly figure encased in hip-hugging denim capris. She wore a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a yellow and orange print that buttoned down the front and tied at her waist. The knockout picture she made caused male heads to turn in her direction.

Without doing anything, she elicited wolf whistles and remarks from the drivers in the heavy morning traffic circulating around the piazza, but she appeared oblivious to the attention.

He put the mug down on the table and started toward her. “Looking for someone, signorina?” he asked in a quiet voice. She heard him and turned her head in his direction. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting him yet.

A tiny cry escaped her throat. “Tino—” Her green eyes played over him.

Good. In that unguarded moment she hadn’t forgotten after all. His lips twitched. “Do I dare confess you look good enough to eat this morning?” His comment caused color to seep into her pale cheeks. “Come inside with me. There’s a torta setteveli with our names on it.” She could do with gaining a few more pounds.

“Oh, no, not mine,” she said with the infectious laugh he remembered. It made him want to provoke that response from her as often as possible. “Those days are over.”

Valentino hoped not. She’d always been so happy before, but he decided not to push it. After they walked in, the woman at the counter smiled at them. “What can I get for you?”

“A large slice of that.” He pointed to the torta. “Put it on a plate with two forks, and we’d like two cappuccinos, per favore.”

They always used to drink it together. When she didn’t demur, he assumed she still liked it.

“Bene, signore.”

After pulling some Euros out his wallet to pay the check, he cupped Clara’s elbow and steered her toward a table for two in the corner away from the window. “We’ll hide over here.”

“From the paparazzi, you mean?”

“From Leandro Romaggio actually. Is he the jealous type?”

She looked stunned. “How did you hear about him?”

“Restaurant gossip. You can’t avoid it. Would he mind?”

Once they were seated across from each other she said, “If he knew I were here with you, he’d ask me to get your autograph. You’re so famous you’ve become a household word in Italy.”