The Collector
Page 100

Jai Maddok didn’t go by, Lila thought as she stayed alert, scanning faces even as she talked wedding venues, flowers.
“I get it.” Lila tapped a finger on the table. “You want simple elegance with a big side of fun. The ritual, and all it stands for, followed by a rocking party.”
“That sums it up.” Julie smiled at Luke. “Does that sum it up for you?”
“You sum it up for me.”
“Aww. You’re racking up such major points,” Lila said when Julie leaned over for a kiss. “I’m glad I’ve got my sunglasses on because the glow you two are beaming out is blinding. Maybe we should have sunglasses as guest favors. I’m making a note.”
“She’s kidding,” Julie said.
“Maybe. I’m definitely not kidding about scoping out some of the shops for the single most important element—the wedding dress. If we have time we should take a look right here in Florence.”
“You read my mind.”
Lila gave Ash a poke. “You’re very quiet.”
“Men, in my experience, have little to do with wedding plans and execution. They show up, and their job is done.”
“Think again. I’m going to have a list for you, Mr. Best Man. You can start another famous spreadsheet. I think—”
She broke off as his phone signaled.
He answered, “Archer . . . Yes . . . Okay . . . No name? . . . No, that’s exactly right, thanks. . . . Yes, that’s fine. Thanks again.”
He ended the call, lifted his glass again. “A woman called the hotel, asking to be connected to my room. As I requested, the desk told her I wasn’t registered. And neither were you,” he told Lila, “when she asked.”
“She’s making the rounds.”
“And if you hadn’t seen her, I wouldn’t have told the desk to tell any and all callers or visitors we aren’t registered.”
“And she’d know where we’re staying. So that’s major points for me.”
“Spotting her and running after her are different things. But I’m mellowing. Let’s get another round, and you can entertain yourself trying to find her in the crowd.”
“I was being subtle about it.”
He only smiled, signaled the waiter.
Twenty-four
She wore the white dress and the new shoes, and had to admit Julie—as always—had hit a bull’s-eye. A classy and classic summer look, she decided, and finished it off by braiding her hair and rolling it into a loose knot at her nape.
Nobody would suspect, if it mattered, it was her first non-job-related visit to an Italian villa.
“You look almost perfect,” Ash commented when he walked into the bedroom.
“Almost?”
“Almost.” He opened the top drawer of the dresser, took out a box. “Try this.”
Delighted, she lifted the top of the box, then stared at the case inside. Casual souvenir necklaces didn’t come in leather cases.
“Problem?”
“No.” Stupid to feel nervous over a gift. “I’m building anticipation.” She took out the case, unfolded it.
The teardrop pendant glowed a soft lavender blue in a thin frame of tiny diamonds. It hung from two chains, delicate as spiderwebs, where more little diamonds sparkled like drops of dew.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful. It’s a moonstone.”
“It seemed appropriate for a woman who essentially finished her third book about werewolves. Here.”
He unclasped it himself, slid it out of the case, then around her neck. After securing it, he stood behind her, studied the results in the mirror they faced.
“Now you’re perfect.”
“It’s gorgeous.” But she looked at him, into his eyes. “Appropriate’s the wrong word. Appropriate is just manners. This is thoughtful in a way that means you thought of something that would mean something specifically to me. I love it, not just because it’s gorgeous, but because it’s thoughtful. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“You just said it. We were right to take the day yesterday, to celebrate with Luke and Julie. This celebrates what you’ve done.”
She turned, pressed her cheek to his. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me, and it means the most.”
He eased her back, stroking lightly at her shoulders as he studied her face. “There are things we need to talk about once we’re back in New York.”
“That we can’t talk about in Italy?”
“Today’s the reason we came, so we need to deal with that. In fact, we should go. I’ll call Lanzo.”
“I just need my bag. I’m ready.”
When he stepped out, she turned back to the mirror, brushed her fingers over the stone. And glanced at the binoculars she’d put by the window.
Wasn’t it strange they’d led to this? And what was she going to do about this feeling of sliding down a long, long tunnel into love?
No foothold, she thought, no handy ledge to crawl onto to catch her breath, slow her speed. As exhilarating as the drop, she didn’t have a clue how to handle the landing.
A day at a time? she asked herself as she picked up her bag. Do what they’d come to do, then do what came next. It was the only way she knew.
But she looked in the mirror one last time, at the necklace. He’d known her, understood what would matter to her. And that, she understood, was as beautiful as the stone itself.
Lila would think of the drive into the Tuscan countryside in colors. Blue skies, yellow sunflowers dancing in fields along the roadside. The dusky green of hills, of olive groves, of the conical cypress, all the citrus hues of lemons, limes, oranges dripping from trees, and the deep purple of grapes thick on the vine.
Gardens blazing with hot reds and purples, or flames of yellow and orange shimmered in the sunlight against the baked white walls of houses or sturdy brick walls. Miles, it seemed, of vineyards stepped their way up terraced hills or blanketed fields in tidy rows.
If she could paint like Ash, she thought, she would paint this—all the color steeped in luminous sun.
Lanzo peppered the drive with snippets of local gossip, or questions about America, where he vowed to travel one day. As Ash had about the flight, she thought the drive a kind of limbo, as if they were traveling through paintings, from landscape to landscape.