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She’d gotten this job because of Rocco, but she was going to cover herself in glory whilst doing it. She was going to give Marcia the best flowers any bride had ever had, and she was going to be damned sure this job led to more high-end wedding work.
So…she set about revising the flowers, coming up with two alternative table arrangements, and a bouquet that borrowed heavily from weddings from a century ago. Rather than a small, delicate huddle of flowers, she went for a full old-fashioned sweeping bouquet that would trail romantically toward the floor. It took a long time to construct but when it was done, Maddie couldn’t have been more thrilled with the result. She was just putting the finishing ribbon around the neatly trimmed stems when a woman with muted auburn hair and striking green eyes strolled into the marquee.
“You must be Maddison.” Her accent was British, her smile conveying kindness.
Maddie took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron then extending one to the other woman.
“Portia Santoro,” she said, shaking her hand before extending the other, which held a takeaway coffee cup. “I thought you might need this.”
“Oh,” Maddie blinked at the drink with a warm rush of gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver. I haven’t stopped all day.”
Portia’s lips compressed briefly into a line of what might have been disapproval, but she quickly turned her attention to the table, gasping at the sheer quantity of flowers.
“Oh, Maddison, these are beautiful. Wow.” She moved towards them, lightly brushing her fingertips over one of the irises. “You’re very talented.”
Maddie’s heart lifted. She didn’t know who this woman was, but it wasn’t hard to guess—she wasn’t Italian, yet she bore the same surname as Rocco, so Maddie could only presume she was married to one of his brothers or cousins.
“I love flowers,” she said, honestly. “I always have.”
“You have a gift. These are wonderful.”
“I hope the bride agrees with you.”
Another little flicker of disapproval, and then a bright smile. “It almost makes me want to get married again,” she said, on a laugh.
“Oh?”
“Except, my wedding day really was the best day of my life. I don’t think I’d tempt fate by asking for a do-over.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I presume you’re married to a Santoro?”
“Oh, right. Yes, Marco.” Her eyes softened with affection. “And I work for Dante—his brother. So, I’ve lived and breathed the Santoros for a long time.”
What could Maddie say to that? She had a thousand questions, but she feared that asking any of them might make it seem as if she cared about the answers—as if she cared about Rocco—and she most certainly didn’t. He was her sworn enemy, everywhere except the bedroom.
And what about last night? A voice inside of her pushed. What about the insights he’d shared over dinner, the things they’d discussed, the way he’d opened up to her, and she’d opened up to him…that was hardly how you treated your enemy, was it?
Maybe it was this place. Not just the villa and its stunning gardens, but Italy itself. The ancient, heady beauty of it all, the history, the importance, the cultural uniqueness. Everywhere she looked, there was a reminder of why this country was special, why Tuscany was considered to be one of the most glorious places on earth. It had a magic that went beyond the ethereal; it was tangible, and it had weaved in and around Maddie, making her forget her anger, her rage. Making her forget everything about Rocco except…this.
Here, they existed in a bubble that seemed an awful lot like a truce.
And afterward, in America? When they returned to reality, and she had to face the fact that her grandfather’s house would be sold to him, and be knocked down? Even the thought of that made her stomach feel empty.
She knew the house was valuable. Not for the house itself, but rather the land on which it stood—a good-sized block, a stone’s throw to the beach and the quaint little village nearby. But to Maddie, the house had a value beyond that—it was her home, it was where her heart had slowly been brought back together, where she’d started to trust again, where she’d started to believe she might be safe after all—that there were people in this world who would care for her. It had been a long, slow healing process, and some days, she had to admit, she wasn’t there yet. Some nights, she woke up with a clear image of her mother in her mind, and she cried, because knowing that her mother was out there, living her life and that whatever her life entailed, it was enough to remain distant from Maddie…it hurt. It still had the power to suck the air from her lungs. But not as badly as it had done back then.
Her grandparents had helped her heal, and the house had been such a huge part of that. It was her nest.
“I gather this is your first encounter?” Portia asked, gesturing to the flowers.
Maddie opened her mouth to confirm it, but there was something about the other woman that just invited honesty. While she had no intention of confessing to the personal developments between herself and Rocco, a more truthful description of their relationship seemed okay. “Actually, I met Rocco Santoro in New York,” Maddie admitted, moving to the flowers and beginning to arrange them to display for Marcia.
“For this job?”
“No, actually.” Maddie sipped the coffee and took a moment to rejoice in how excellent it was. Strong without being bitter, just the perfect antidote to a rather sleepless night and very hectic morning. “Your family is trying to buy my grandfather’s house. I don’t want to sell.” She placed the bouquet on the edge of the table, so the tendrils could trail to the floor, for best display.
“Ohhh!” Recognition flooded Portia’s tone. “You’re the problem with the New York beach development?”
Maddie glanced over at Portia, surprised by her knowledge.
