An American Girl in Italy Read online

  Then his memory came back to him in a rush of relief. ‘Originally called the Flavian amphitheatre, it is the largest ever built in the Roman Empire, made of concrete and stone. Capable of seating fifty thousand spectators, it is considered one of the greatest works of Roman architecture.’

  The doors opened, and Michelangelo jumped out to help unload the larger instruments from the storage space underneath the bus. Hopefully, they’d arrived intact. He’d sworn his life away convincing the musicians to store them there in the first place. One dent and he’d have a problem for the rest of the trip.

  He opened the storage compartment and prayed. Cases had shifted during the short ride to the center of town, but nothing looked damaged or out of place. As the orchestra members filed off the bus, he started with the cellos first.

  He had to pull things together. He’d be a pretty lousy tour guide if his vineyard troubled him too much to recount the exact dates and details from his notes. If he couldn’t think straight enough to conduct the tour, than he wouldn’t get the big check at the end.

  After he set up the orchestra and made sure everyone was happy, he’d consult his program notes. As translator, he’d have to announce the Easthampton Civic Symphony in both Italian and English, and he wanted to make an impression on Ms. Maxhammer.

  He checked the compartment. Three instruments were left, along with some percussion equipment. He brought out two violins and turned to see Carly waiting for him.

  ‘Signorina! I trust you had a pleasant ride?’ Even though he flashed his most charming smile, he went into panic mode. There were no oboes under the bus. Had he lost her instrument?

  Carly placed a hand on her hip. ‘I got a lot done, but I wouldn’t exactly call it pleasant.’

  He glanced back at the almost-empty storage compartment and his stomach hollowed. Why else would she come to him if she already had her instrument? ‘It seems your oboe is…’

  ‘Right here.’ She turned to the side, showing off her square black bag.

  Relief trickled over him. ‘Snuck it on, did you?’

  She grinned, looking like a mischievous pixie as the sunlight brought out the freckles on her nose. ‘I have my ways.’

  So, if she wasn’t here for her instrument, what was she here for? Michelangelo leaned toward her, wondering if his flirtatious tactics had worked. ‘I wonder what those are.’

  She stepped back, her face turning into a professional mask. ‘I’m picking up a trombone for Al Greenwood. The case should be black.’

  Was that the man she’d sat next to? A current of jealousy rippled through him, even though he had no claim on her at all. Seems he had some competition. ‘He can’t pick it up for himself?’ What was with these American men? Was there no sense of chivalry?

  Carly scratched her forehead above her left eye as if considering what to say, which only piqued his interest more.

  She leaned over and whispered in his ear. ‘Let’s just say he had a little too much fun last night and is searching for a bathroom as we speak.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ So Carly liked the party boys? Somehow he had a hard time believing that.

  Michelangelo reached in and brought out the case with Al’s name on it. He handed it to her, their fingers brushing. Heat traveled up his hand to his shoulder.

  Carly looked away. Either she’d felt it too and couldn’t handle it, or she felt nothing at all. She turned toward the main entrance of the Coliseum.

  A cord tugged on his heart, as if she’d lured him in with a fish hook and hadn’t let him free. Michelangelo wasn’t ready to say goodbye. ‘Ms. Davis?’

  She whirled around, swinging the trombone in the air. ‘Yes?’

  He pointed to the grand arches behind them. ‘What do you think?’

  She wrinkled her perfect little button nose and shrugged. ‘Looks old and crumbly to me.’

  Before he could respond, she’d turned back to join the rest of the orchestra.

  Michelangelo laughed, his mood lifted from the earlier call. Ah, how I’ve missed Carly’s sass.

  Chapter Five

  A Chance in the World

  The rehearsal and soundcheck dragged on forever. Sure, it was neat to play where Roman gladiators had once battled to the death almost two thousand years ago. But the newness wore off pretty quickly, turning into two hours of measure counting. To make matters worse, Wolf had crammed the orchestra into the part of the Coliseum where the tourists could walk, because the rest of the structure was too old and too precious. She had no idea where the audience would sit. There was so little space as it was that the back row of violas threatened to impale her with their every up-bow.

  Not that a whole bunch of Italian people were going to drop their normal routine on a Wednesday and come watch an orchestra during their lunch break.

  Forty-nine-two-three-four, fifty-two-three-four. Her mind wandered to Michelangelo. Putting down his country’s most famous iconic landmark was downright mean. He was a tour guide, for crying out loud. He must love ancient history. She vowed to apologize and find something nice to say the first chance she got.

  Melody elbowed her from her principal flute’s seat. ‘Sixty-two!’

  Carly blinked in surprise. She must have lost count, which hadn’t happened to her since her high school orchestra days. Sticking her way-too-dry reed into her oboe, she hoped the first few notes would come out.

  Wolf gave her the cue, and she took a deep breath. Her first note came out like the squawk of a duck. Mortified, she adjusted the air stream and the pressure behind the sound, smoothing over the next set of notes.

  Cursing Alaina for not letting her play through her long tones, she finished her solo with a sweet taper and breathed. She wouldn’t admit it was because of her own preoccupation with a certain tour guide. No way in hell.

  Wolf held the last fermata in a glorious swell of sound, ending the song.

  He placed both hands on the podium and his blue-eyed gaze scanned the orchestra, settling on Carly. A muscle twitched in his temple, making her anxiety level spike.

  Oh no, here it comes.

  ‘Excellent job, my friends. We will give this audience something to remember.’ Wolf closed his score with finality.

  Carly let go of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Maybe losing your bff to the conductor had its advantages? He was less inclined to pick at her mistakes. Still, Carly missed her time with Melody. She’d rather be called out than have to sit with Bertha and Al.

  Wolf grinned, bringing out the harsh angles of his German face. ‘I have a treat in store for you. Our fabulous tour guide has arranged a picnic lunch right here in the Coliseum. He’s ordered some of Italy’s finest meats, cheeses, and breads. Please help yourself and have a breather. We are scheduled to be back on stage, dressed and ready to play by one o’clock.’

  The orchestra muttered in agreement and began packing up. Carly opened her case and ran her lucky cleaning rag over her oboe.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Melody leaned over as she polished her flute.

  Carly furrowed her eyebrows, feeling like a five-year-old who’d bruised her knee. ‘I’m perfectly fine, why?’

  Melody shrugged sheepishly. ‘You never miss entrances. Usually you’re the one that helps me come in.’

  ‘Must be the jet lag. I’m still getting used to the fact that it’s still sunny at midnight.’

  ‘Yeah, that is strange, isn’t it?’ Melody closed her case and stood, stretching her legs.

  ‘Eating with Wolf?’ Carly tried not to sound jealous.

  ‘Actually, he had a meeting with Ms. Maxhammer so I was hoping…’ Melody batted her dark eyelashes. ‘You’ll take me back.’

  ‘I don’t know. I was really looking forward to talking about World War Two with Bertha and Trudy.’

  Melody laughed. ‘What have I done to you?’

  Carly smiled and waved her away, feeling like the old Melody had returned. ‘Made me get out of my bubble, that’s what you’ve done.
I had to join the world sometime.’

  ‘True, but how about a little reminiscing?’ Melody waved to Wolf, then turned back to her.

  Carly winked. ‘Only if we get to gossip.’

  Melody hiked her flute bag over her shoulder. ‘Boy, do I have some fodder for you, and a few questions of my own.’

  Carly’s heart dropped to the stage. Would Melody ask about Michelangelo’s wandering eye? If she backed out now that would certainly make the matter worse. ‘All right. But I can’t promise anything too juicy.’

  Melody pushed her music stand down. ‘You don’t have to promise anything at all.’

  Michelangelo was nowhere to be seen when they approached the table with all of the packed lunches. Guilt panged Carly’s chest. She still had to apologize to him. But not here, not in front of Melody. Her friend would take that one little I’m sorry and run with it, making something grand out of nothing at all.

  Or, at least she thought it was nothing.

  They picked up two mini picnic baskets and found a quiet spot outside the Coliseum on the grass. Carly gazed up at the part where the delicate carvings on the top broke off into the arches below. The shadowy stone gave her the creeps, as if ghosts of spectators lurked in the depths.

  Not that she believed in ghosts. But she refused to live in any apartment building older than fifty years. Just in case.

  Melody smeared some cheese over a slice of focaccia. ‘Someone’s got the hots for you.’

  Carly almost spat out the grape she’d just stuffed into her mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘You know who I’m talking about.’ Melody jabbed her finger behind her. ‘Mr. Tour Guide.’

  Carly tried to look surprised. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because he was ogling you the whole trip here. Not to mention how interested he looked sitting next to you yesterday.’

  ‘It’s his job to make us comfortable.’ She half-convinced Melody and half-convinced herself.

  ‘Yeah, but he didn’t have a smidgen of the enthusiasm he had with you when talking with Alaina.’

  Carly tightened her lips to resist smiling as satisfaction rippled through her. Yeah, take that, diva supreme. She remembered she was supposed to be fighting him off and shrugged as if she didn’t care. ‘Just another flirt.’

  ‘He’s actually pretty darn gorgeous.’ Melody sighed and shook her head. ‘Too bad, if you ask me. Not only does he live a world away, but he’s not even a musician. I mean, what the heck would you do on a vineyard?’

  Carly shrugged and stuffed another grape into her mouth. The problem was, she could think of more than a few things to do.

  Melody frowned as if Carly’s aversion to the tour guide was a truly tragic thing. ‘He doesn’t have a chance with you.’

  ‘You got that right.’ Carly finally felt as though they’d wandered back into safe territory. ‘My life’s so full; I can’t imagine squeezing another thing into it. Something would have to give, and I’m telling you now it’s not my career.’

  A mischievous look danced in her friend’s eyes. She brushed her hands on her black pants and stood. ‘Maybe I should just go over and tell him to forget it, so he doesn’t waste his time.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Carly grabbed her friend’s arm.

  Melody’s eyes widened as though she’d caught her in a trap. ‘Why’s that?’

  Absolute mortification zapped through Carly. Not only would it bring attention to the fact they’d been talking about him, but she wasn’t ready to blow him off like that. She still had an apology to make.

  Melody waited for a reasonable response, tapping her toe.

  Carly had to come up with something quickly. The truth was, she didn’t know him all that well. He seemed flirtatious and bold, like a Casanova. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Something tells me he’ll take that as a challenge.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Melody settled down again next to her and winked. ‘Wouldn’t want that, would we?’

  Carly popped a chunk of blue-veined, crumbly cheese in her mouth. She needed to change the subject quickly before she said something she shouldn’t. ‘So how are you and Wolf?’

  Melody placed her hand on her lacy, silk blouse over her heart. ‘We just had our one-year anniversary.’

  The cheese left a sour taste on Carly’s tongue, which was totally canceled out by Melody’s sweet answer. Even though she missed her friend, she was happy for her. ‘Great.’

  ‘Here’s the gossip I promised you…’ Melody twirled a strand of her dark, curly hair around her finger. ‘He’s hinted at a ring.’

  ‘A ring!’ To Carly, that would be like a death sentence for all her dreams. Hopefully, Melody would take her shocked expression as a happy surprise and not horror. ‘You don’t think you’re moving too fast?’

  Melody sighed. ‘I’m not like you. Sure, I love music, but I want more to my life; a happy marriage, maybe a family. The truth is, I’ve been looking to settle down with someone for a while now. I just haven’t told you because I didn’t want you to freak out.’

  ‘Like I’m doing now?’ Carly laughed, relieved that Melody had finally decided to confide in her. She’d known something was up ever since her friend started spewing melancholy reflections about life on their drinking nights after concerts.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I thought Wolf might be a phase, and we’d get together again after the whole whirlwind romance ran its course. But, I was wrong.’ Boy, did that come out the wrong way. Carly raised her hand. ‘Thank goodness I was wrong—because you too seem very happy together, and I want you to be happy…’ She realized she was rambling and stopped as shame burned in her cheeks.

  Instead of being angry, Melody reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have abandoned you like I did, spending all my free time with him. I got a little obsessed. I promise, when we get back, I’m going to carve out time for us.’

  A wall crumbled in Carly’s heart. Those words were the best thing she’d heard ever since landing in Italy. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘That’s if you don’t find a whirlwind romance of your own.’ Melody’s gaze focused upon something behind Carly’s right shoulder, in the direction of the entrance to the Coliseum. ‘Speak of the devil.’

  Nervous jitters danced up Carly’s arms. ‘No way.’

  ‘Yup, straight off a Valentino ad.’

  Carly brushed the crumbs off her shirt and stashed the remainder of her lunch in her picnic basket. She wouldn’t want him thinking she was a pig on top of a lazy, bossy, profanity-laced oboe witch.

  ‘Good afternoon, signorine.’

  ‘Hey there, Michelangelo.’ A hint of amusement tinged Melody’s voice, which Carly hoped he didn’t pick up on.

  Calmly turn around. Pretend nothing has happened—because nothing really had. But, when Carly turned around, there was nothing calm about her. Michelangelo had changed into a crisp, black tux with a silver vest and tie, which brought out his stone-hard physique. A waft of pine and citrusy aftershave blew by on the wind, tantalizing her senses. She had the distinct urge to run her hands through his long curls.

  Stop it! Why was he crashing their girls’ lunch? Didn’t men understand some things were private?

  As if reading her mind, he gestured toward the entranceway. ‘I was told to round up the last stragglers. Maestro Braun wants everyone changed into concert attire.’ He eyed Carly’s t-shirt and skinny jeans up and down, lingering a little too long on her legs.

  ‘What time is it?’ Melody shot up, eyes bright with alarm.

  He checked his phone. ‘Twelve thirty-eight. The concert is in twenty minutes.’

  Carly swallowed a rising current of embarrassment. Again. Great. Late for the coach this morning and now this. He thinks I’m totally time-challenged.

  ‘Geez, where did all the time go?’ Melody collected the last of her things and started running to the entrance. ‘See ya there, chico. I still need to organize my music!’

  Michelangelo sm
iled at Carly. Sure, a few long tones would make her job easier. But now was her chance to apologize. It would only take a few seconds more.

  ‘Listen, about that comment I made about the Coliseum—’

  He took her hand, sending tingling zaps of warmth from her fingers to her toes. ‘Don’t apologize.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Shhh.’ His calloused finger touched her lips, seizing her heart. ‘I liked it.’

  Chapter Six

  Vision in Red

  Michelangelo pressed his finger to Carly’s velvety lips, wishing his lips were there instead. It was so sweet of her to apologize for her joke about the Coliseum. As though he was that sensitive? Bring it on, signorina. Having a name like Michelangelo warranted jokes far above and beyond a crumbly old stadium.

  Carly stepped back and picked up her oboe case and her picnic basket. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Of course. Wouldn’t want you to be late.’ He smiled, and an adorable blush rose in her cheeks.

  Carly averted her eyes. ‘I’m already late.’ Without a backward glance, she hurried to the entrance.

  Amusement brought a smile to his face as he watched her jog. Her blonde hair spread in a silken curtain behind her, glowing in the midday sun. Her skinny jeans brought out her long legs as she ran to the entrance. Everything she did was cute in a sexy way.

  With a wistful sigh, he brought out his concert notes and memorized his first speech. Unfortunately, Carly wasn’t the only one that had to perform. She was the professional, whereas he was just a poser, a vineyard-worker in disguise. He’d have to rely on the charm his friends teased him about. Hopefully it was enough to get him through. Reciting the phrases in Italian, then English, he walked to the entrance.

  The black-costumed orchestra contrasted with the cream stone, showing life and vitality where only ghosts roamed. Maestro Braun was a wise man to choose such a location for the start of their tour. Carly gave the tuning note, and the entire string section surged with sound. The high rafters reverberated the harmony in a gorgeous echo effect.