''I Do''...Take Two! (5 page)

He surrendered gracefully. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Bologna is home to Cassa di Molino, one of Italy's largest banks. It was organized back in the 1800s by a commission of wealthy patrons to manage the city's poorhouses. The commission also encouraged better-off citizens to save by offering them a safe place to deposit funds they could draw on in emergencies or old age.”

Her fiscal interests fully engaged, Kate skimmed the article describing the minimum deposit—not less than six scudi—and loans tailored to craftsmen and merchants to stimulate the local economy.

“Back then the bank allocated all profits to helping young entrepreneurs, depositors who fell on hard times and women with no dowries.”

“I'm guessing it's not as philanthropic these days.”

Ignoring the sardonic comment, she worked her thumbs. “And I think... Yes! Here he is, Antonio Gallo. The bank's new president.”

She angled the phone to display a photo of a distinguished gentleman with a genial smile and a full head of silver hair.

“I met him at a conference last year. He mentioned then that he was being considered for a senior position. I didn't remember where until just now, when you mentioned Bologna.”

“Sounds like a useful contact.”

“Very useful.”

“Since we're heading in that direction anyway, why don't you call and see if he's available for a courtesy call?”

She hesitated for only a second or two. She hadn't factored any business calls into her vacation schedule. Then again, neither had she planned a visit to Bologna. As Travis indicated, however, this was too good an opportunity to let slip.

So much for their carefully reconstructed agenda, she thought, as she Googled the number for the headquarters of Cassa di Molino. After speaking to several underlings, she reached Signore Gallo's executive assistant, who advised that his boss's schedule was quite full but a short visit at 11:20 a.m. might be possible if he juggled some other appointments. Could he call Signorina Westbrook back to confirm? And in the interim, perhaps she might email a short bio?

“Certainly.”

She gave him her contact information, then zinged off a copy of the bio she kept stored in her iCloud documents file.

“We're tentatively set for eleven twenty. Can we make that?”

He checked his watch. “Shouldn't be a problem if we hit the road within the next half hour.”

“I need to change. Can you get my bagel to go?”

“Sure. Or...”

“What?”

“Rather than drive up and back, we could check out here and go on to Venice after our meetings. Stop over in Florence on the return leg.”

He was right. It didn't make a lot of sense to drive a hundred kilometers north, come back, then retrace the route a few days later on the way to Venice and Aviano. Conceding defeat, Kate mentally shredded their much-amended and totally useless itinerary.

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.

“You go change and pack. I'll get our breakfast to go, throw my stuff together and meet you in the lobby.”

Upstairs, she hurriedly sorted through her limited wardrobe. The slinky caramel-colored pantsuit she'd worn for dinner at the Cavalieri was her most viable option. It would do for a business meeting if she dressed it down.

The chunky wooden necklace she'd brought to wear with the cotton tanks and sweaters was a little
too
down, though. What she needed was a scarf, she decided. One that could perform the double duty of adding a touch of sophistication to her wardrobe and keeping her hair from whipping free of the plastic clip during the drive. Remembering the many street vendors she'd seen set up close to the hotel last evening, she shimmied out of her jeans and into the knit slacks.

Signore Gallo's assistant called to confirm the appointment as she was pulling on a pearly tank. Flinging an emergency makeup repair kit into her purse, she hurried down to the lobby. Travis was already there, holding his leather carryall and a cardboard tray with two to-go cups and a bag she assumed contained their breakfast. He was wearing the gray suede sport coat and jeans again but had paired them with a very European-looking black crewneck.

“I need a scarf,” she told him a little breathlessly. “I'll duck out and buy one while they're bringing the car around.”

Most of the street vendors were still setting up, but she found one vendor who offered quite a selection of scarves. They ran the gamut from a neon yellow square imprinted with a kaleidoscope of the city's most famous landmarks to a red banner featuring a blinged-up version of Michelangelo's
David
. She was tempted, really tempted, but decided against walking into Cassa di Molino sporting a naked, sparkling
David
.

She settled instead for a silky oblong with an ocher-hued palace set amid a garden bursting with spring blooms and moss-covered fountains. The scarf was long enough to wrap securely around her head and neck yet still leave the ends to flutter like colorful wings when they hit the autostrada.

Kate tried to pump Travis for more information about Brian Ellis during the drive, but aside from sharing the interesting fact that the man had brought his young son to Italy, her husband seemed reticent to go into much detail about the reason for this spur-of-the-moment meeting. Shelving her curiosity, she gave herself over to the enjoyment of the sunlit morning and the rolling vista of small towns and hills covered with vineyards.

* * *

With step-by-step directions from MapQuest, Travis navigated the narrow, twisting streets of Bologna's historic center and got them to the Cassa di Molino twenty minutes ahead of their appointment. Barely enough time, as it turned out, to find a parking place. Dodging heavy traffic and a web of one-way streets, they completely circled the block before they noticed the
Riservato Mrs. Westbrook
sign. It was right at the entrance to the magnificent pink-and-white marble palazzo that housed the bank.

A receptionist just inside the cavernous lobby called Signore Gallo's assistant. He came down a few moments later and introduced himself as Maximo Salvatore. Kate tried, she really tried, not to gawk as he led them up a grand staircase graced by wrought-iron railings as beautifully crafted as the paintings and statues gracing the upper level.

Proud of both his heritage and his institution, Maximo had to show them a library with an elaborately stuccoed ceiling, several salons hung with portraits and damask tapestries, and the two antique safes that had secured the hard-earned scudi of the bank's first depositors. He was about to usher them into the president's suite of offices when Kate spotted a discreet sign for restrooms.

“I need to make some emergency repairs,” she told the two men. “I'll just be a moment.”

“But of course,” Maximo said courteously. “We shall await you here.”

The ladies' room was small but as beautifully decorated as the rest of the bank. It was also occupied by a woman with both palms planted on the marble sink. Her head was bowed, her shoulders shaking.

“Oh!” Kate started to back out.
“Scusi.”

The woman whipped her head around. She was older than Kate by some years, her dark brown hair streaked with gray. Tears spilled from her red-rimmed eyes and left glistening tracks on her cheeks. Kate hesitated, caught between chagrin for invading her privacy and an instinctive urge to offer comfort.

“Can I help you?”

The older woman answered in an obviously embarrassed spate of Italian.

“I'm sorry,” Kate responded. “I don't... Uh...
Non parlo italiano.
”

That produced another mortified river of words, accompanied this time by an agitated wiggle of her hands. Kate got the message and said nothing further as the woman swiped a wet paper towel across her cheeks and hurried out.

Kate used the facilities, then made the necessary repairs to her own hair and face. She debated mentioning the brief encounter to Maximo but decided against it. Women, especially those in the rarefied upper levels of international banking, had to stick together. Whatever was troubling the older woman, she obviously hadn't wanted witnesses to her tears.

Pushing the episode to the back of her mind, Kate summoned a smile and rejoined the men. Maximo ushered her and Travis through an outer office with five gilt-edged desks, three of them empty at the moment. It also boasted an entire wall of portraits of appropriately somber bankers staring down at them from elaborately carved frames.

The inner sanctum was paneled in gleaming golden oak. Tall windows draped in rose-and-gold damask filled the office with light. The silver-haired gentleman who rounded a desk the size of a soccer field was every bit as gracious as Kate remembered from their brief meeting at the conference.

Signore Gallo welcomed her enthusiastically, professed himself delighted to meet her husband and accepted her congratulations on his new position as president of the prestigious bank with a deprecating shrug.

“An honor such as this comes if one survives long enough in this demanding and so exhausting profession, yes? As it will to you, Signora Westbrook.”

“Perhaps. If
I
survive long enough.”

“Of course you will. You are... How do you say it? A rising star. One had only to read your profile in
Wall Street Journal
to know you are on your way to the top.”

He caught the look of surprise on her husband's face and lifted a bushy white brow. “Your wife did not tell you she was identified as one of the young superstars, someone to watch in the field of international investments? No, I can see she did not. You should be most proud of her, Major Westbrook.”

“I am. More proud than she knows.”

“
Bene, bene.
So. You must tell me. Are you in Italy on business or pleasure?”

Travis left it to Kate to answer. “Some of both, actually. My husband is on temporary duty at Aviano Air Base and I, er, flew over for a visit.”

She wasn't lying. Not technically. Travis
was
at Aviano, and she
had
flown over for a visit. Just not with him.

“And you came to our beautiful city of Bologna!” Signore Gallo exclaimed in delight. “There is much to see here and much to do.”

“Unfortunately, we just have time for a short visit. We're on our way to Modena, then Venice.”

A discreet signal from his assistant reminded the genial banker that his time, too, was limited.

Expressing profuse regrets that he had to terminate their visit, Gallo got to his feet. When Kate and Travis rose, as well, the banker took both of her hands in his.

“You must come to visit again, signora. I should very much like to discuss the recent changes to the liquidity index promulgated by the US Securities and Exchange Commission with you.”

“I'd like that, too, but...”

“Yes, yes, you are on vacation. I understand, and I don't wish to impose on your precious time. But may I have Maximo call you in a day or two? Perhaps we can arrange something.”

Buoyed by the visit and feeling smug after Gallo's effusive compliments, Kate exchanged air-kisses with Cassa di Molino's president before preceding Travis and Maximo out of the sumptuous inner office.

Two steps into the outer office, her startled gaze locked with that of the well-dressed matron seated behind one of the desks. The woman gulped and telegraphed an unmistakable appeal from eyes still showing a faint trace of red.

Kate responded to the mute plea with a friendly, impersonal nod and let Maximo escort her and Travis down to the lobby. She fully intended to tell her husband about the brief encounter, but he distracted her with a demand for more details about this
Wall Street Journal
profile. That discussion was cut short by the intense concentration required to exit the city center.

To make matters worse, an accident just a few blocks from the bank blocked the narrow streets and enveloped them in a traffic snarl of gargantuan proportions. As a result, they pulled into the parking lot of Maserati's gleaming steel-and-glass headquarters in Modena just minutes before they were supposed to connect with Brian Ellis.

And five minutes after meeting the supercharged aerospace executive, the last thing on Kate's mind was a chance encounter in the ladies' room of Cassa di Molino.

Chapter Four

“Y
ou're going to work for Ellis Aeronautical Systems? As VP for test and evaluation?”

Kate's incredulous gaze bounced from her husband to the executive in what she guessed was a two-thousand-dollar suit and back again.

“Starting the first of the year?”

They were ensconced in a small conference room on the top floor of the steel-and-glass tower housing Maserati's headquarters. Its solid wall of windows overlooked the curving, glass-fronted building that showcased the world-famous manufacturer's latest automotive offerings.

Sunlight slanted through the windows' mini-blinds and painted Travis's face in alternating stripes of shadow and sincerity as he responded to her shocked question. “It isn't a done deal yet.”

“Not from lack of trying on my part,” Ellis admitted with a wry smile.

He was a big man. Not heavy, but tall and broad shouldered, with ice-blue eyes above a nose that sported a slight dent in the bridge.

“Your husband's a legend among the special ops community, Ms. Westbrook. Not just because of the rows of ribbons on his dress uniform. They speak to his airmanship and courage under fire. Add in his hours in the cockpit, and we're talking a level of experience few can match. I know I don't have to tell you he's racked up twice as many combat hours as other C-130 pilots with his years in service.”

“No,” Kate agreed tightly, “you don't. But...”

She swiveled her ultramodern chrome-and-leather sling chair to face her husband. Now that her first stunned surprise had ebbed, other emotions flooded in. Chief among them was doubt that he could jettison a career he loved without a mountain of regret. And guilt that he would even consider it. And a sudden, swamping hope they might carve out a future together after all. Those jumbled emotions were followed almost instantly by a spurt of indignation that he would spring this on her here, in front of a total stranger, with no warning.

“How long have you been considering this?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

“Brian made the offer a few days ago, but I didn't even consider taking him up on it until last night.”

When they'd adjourned to separate bedrooms. He didn't say it. He didn't have to. Kate could fill in the blanks.

“And before I do accept it,” he said instead, “I want you to hear exactly what the offer entails.”

Ellis's keen blue eyes assessed Kate's face. “We usually try to woo the spouse as well as a prospective executive-level hire, Ms. Westbrook. We recognize a position like this is a team effort. If we were meeting at our corporate headquarters, we'd do this more graciously.”

“Call me Kate. And I don't need to be wooed with expensive dinners and visits to corporate headquarters.”

“Then I'll skip the hype and cut straight to the basics.”

Any other time she would have admired the polished manner so at odds with those wrestler's shoulders. Now all she could think about was the fact that Travis was actually considering turning his whole world around.
Their
whole world.

“We're a Fortune 500 company specializing in the research, design and manufacture of advanced aircraft avionics. About half our contracts are with the Department of Defense, the rest with other agencies in the States and abroad. Our headquarters are in Bethesda, Maryland, which is convenient, considering our primary interface is with Lockheed and Northrop Grumman, both located nearby.”

Kate's heart gave a little bump. Bethesda was only thirty minutes from where she worked in downtown DC.

“Our main manufacturing and test facility is in Texas. As VP for test and evaluation, Travis would have to spend a fair amount of time there and at the plants of our various subcontractors.”

Last Kate had heard, there were no land mines and IEDs blowing off limbs in Texas. No rocket-propelled grenades slamming into communications centers and crew quarters. No surface-to-air missiles arcing through the sky to take out low-flying aircraft. Every third Texan might tote a gun, but most of them weren't out to kill men and women wearing a uniform with a US flag.

“Your husband and I are still negotiating a total salary and benefits package,” Ellis told her, “but I realize it'll have to be sweet to entice him to leave the military at this midpoint in his career. Big decision, I know.”

“Very big,” she echoed, still trying to take this all in.

“Given your financial background, I'm not surprised he wants your input before we finalize any deal.” His smile suggested that he anticipated some spirited salary negotiations. “That's about as basic as I can get. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Dozens,” she admitted, “but none that need asking until I talk to Travis.”

“Understood. Well, I'd better head to my meeting.” When they got to their feet, Ellis enfolded her hand in his. “It's good to meet you, Kate. I've heard a lot about you.”

She certainly couldn't say the same.

“Travis mentioned he was going to try and entice you up for a visit to the base at Aviano,” the executive said. “Maybe I'll see you there or at the hotel in Venice. Although,” he added, his smile turning rueful, “I'd better warn you that I come prepackaged with a hyperactive six-year-old. He's already tumbled into the Grand Canal once. I'd like to believe that'll be his only swim, but I'm not putting any money on it. Or that he won't take some unsuspecting bystander with him.”

She had to laugh at his sardonic expression and couldn't help thinking that he and Travis would be a good fit. They were both so down-to-earth, yet supremely confident in themselves and their abilities. When Ellis departed, however, the look she turned on her husband wasn't exactly complimentary.

Folding her arms, she skewered him with an ice-pick stare. “Why in hell did you let me walk into this cold?”

“Two reasons. First, I wanted your no-frills, no-holds-barred gut reaction.”

“Oh, you'll get that.”

“Second...”

She waited, foot tapping, until he finished more slowly.

“I guess I needed to hear the offer again before I let myself believe it might happen.”

She dropped her arms, her throat suddenly tight. “Do you
want
it to happen, Trav?”

“Only if you do.”

The answer cut straight to the tangled knot of their marriage. Kate had always known he'd quit the service in a heartbeat if she asked him to. For that reason, she
couldn't
ask him to.

“We were at the bar in the hotel,” he related. “Brian and Carlo and me. The project we're working on passed a major milestone earlier that day and we were having a few beers to celebrate. Brian let drop that the executive who runs his test-and-evaluation division is retiring and asked if I knew anyone with my kind of expertise and number of hours in the cockpit to replace him. I don't know who was more shocked—him, Carlo or me—when I said I might be interested in the job.”

Travis had heard the words come out of his mouth and been as stunned as the two men he'd come to know so well in recent weeks. Yet as soon as his brain had processed the audio signals, he'd recognized their unshakable truth. If trading his air force flight suit for one with an EAS patch on it would win Kate back, he'd make the change today.

“So what do you think?” he asked her. “Again, your first, no-frills, no-holds-barred gut reaction?”

“I won't lie,” she admitted slowly, reluctantly. “My head, my heart, my gut all leaped for joy.”

He started for her, elation pumping through his veins. The hand she slapped against his chest to stop him made only a tiny dent in his fierce joy.

“Wait, Trav! This is too big a decision to make without talking it over. Let's...let's use this time together to make sure it's what you really want.”

“I'm sure. Now.”

“Well, I'm not.” Her brown eyes showed an agony of doubt. “The military's been your whole life up to now.”

“Wrong.” He laid his hand over hers, felt the warmth of her palm against his sternum. “You came first, Katydid. Before the uniform, before the wings, before the head rush and stomach-twisting responsibilities of being part of a crew. I let those get in the way the past few years. That won't happen again.”

The doubt was still there in her eyes, swimming in a pool of indecision. He needed to back off, Travis conceded. Give her a few days to accept what was now a done deal in his mind.

“Okay,” he said with a sense of rightness he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember, “we'll head up to Venice. Let Ellis's proposal percolate for a day or two.”

And then, he vowed, they would conduct a virtual burning of the divorce decree before he took his wife to bed.

* * *

They left the Ferrari in a patrolled section of the parking garage on Tronchetto Island and took a water taxi across the broad, slate-gray waters of the bay. The wind whipped Kate's hair free of both her clip and colorful head scarf. She didn't even notice as the vaporetto skimmed the choppy waters.

The driver throttled back to enter the Grand Canal. Venice's busy central waterway hummed with water taxis, gondolas filled with tourists snapping picture after picture, and the flat-bottomed scows that transported goods throughout the city. Kate stood braced against the vaporetto's deck, her upper body exposed by its open hatch, her face alive with the delight of viewing one of the world's great treasures for the first time.

Travis had driven up and back from Aviano often enough to take the distinctive fusion of Byzantine, Moorish and Roman architecture in stride. Viewing it through his wife's eyes, though, gave him a renewed appreciation of the arched bridges, domed churches and tall, narrow houses with laundry strung across their windows.

As they curved past the Grand Canal's first bend and headed for the Rialto Bridge, the houses became wider, grander...including the one the vaporetto driver nosed up to. Painted a deep terra-cotta red, it boasted a colonnade of white marble pillars topped by three stories of intricately arched windows.

“This is our hotel?” Kate asked, her eyes wide as Travis helped her out of the boat and onto a marble landing slick with water that lapped from the canal.

“It is.”

“Travis!” Her gaze roamed the fifteenth-century exterior. “This has got to cost a fortune!”

“Not as much as it would have if Carlo didn't have an in with the owner. I think they're cousins or something.”

“Wow,” she murmured as the vaporetto driver handed up their cases. “Your friend and his family certainly live well.”

“So it would seem. I don't know the whole story, though. Carlo doesn't talk about his background, and I'm not about to pry. All I know is that he prefers his air force rank of
maggiore
to the one he inherited.”

“Which is?”

“Prince of Lombard and Marino.”

“What?” Disbelief and incredulity chased across her expressive face. “Have you stumbled into some alternate universe? One populated with Ferraris and Maseratis, Italian princes and CEOs of Fortune 500 companies?”

“I've asked myself that same question the past few weeks,” Travis admitted as a uniformed bellman popped out of a door at the rear of the landing.

“Buonasera. Benvenuti a
Palazzo Alleghri
.”

“Thanks.”

Switching seamlessly to English, the bellman gestured to a marble staircase. “The lobby is just up those stairs, signore. If you will check in, I'll have your bags carried to your room.”

The stairs led to a black-and-white-tiled loggia dominated by gilt-edged mirrors, six-foot-tall vases bursting with flowers and a statue of a muscular Roman goddess in flowing marble robes.

“Ah, yes,” the receptionist said when Travis gave his name and a credit card. “Maggiore
e
Signora
Westbrook. As
il principe
requested, we've put you in the blue suite. I think you will find it very comfortable.”

Comfortable
didn't come close to describing the luxurious set of rooms. The source of the suite's name was immediately apparent in the shimmering ultramarine brocade drapes in the sitting room. The same fabric covered the upholstered chairs and was picked up in the broad stripes of an Empire-style sofa with one rolled arm and gleaming gilt trim. A Murano glass chandelier in a rainbow of colors hung from an elaborately carved ceiling medallion, and the antique marble-topped bombé chest that served as a sideboard could have graced a medieval prince's palace.

Which it probably had, Kate thought as she paused in the arched entry to the bedroom to gape at its opulence. More rich brocade, more handblown glass, more sumptuously carved plasterwork...and a massive bed of silver-painted wood with four flat-topped posts entwined in gold-leaf vines. She was still taking in the suite's splendor when the bellman arrived with their luggage. He placed their two small pieces on the bench at the foot of the bed before turning to ask if they cared to dine on the rooftop terrace.

“The view is one such as you will see nowhere else.”

Kate looked to Travis, who endorsed the recommendation. “He's right. Once you see Venice in the moonlight, you'll forget that coin you tossed in the Trevi Fountain and always come back here instead of Rome.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Then the terrace it is.”

“
Bene.
What time shall I tell the concierge to reserve your table?”

Since they'd eaten breakfast on the run and skipped lunch, they opted for an early dinner.

“I shall see to it.”

Silence descended after the bellman's departure. Travis lingered at the foot of the bed; Kate stood by the windows. Her hair was a wind-tossed tangle from the drive and vaporetto ride. Her expression reflected none of the enchantment she'd displayed earlier.