Chapter Seventeen
This time it didn’t take a musical genius to know that something had gone terribly wrong in the aria. While Carly struggled with the music, Michelangelo felt as though he was right up there with her. Every ounce of heartbreak, embarrassment, and shame spread directly to him.
It was all his fault.
He’d distracted her this whole tour by leading her on, then cutting her off as though she was nothing to him. But she was so much more.
Carly was the first woman that had made him forget about his problems with the winery. She proved to him he could have a life outside the vineyard, and she made him feel youthful and sexy again when so many of his family’s problems rested on his shoulders. He loved her dry sense of humor and her blunt honesty.
And now he’d lost her.
As Carly’s eyes narrowed at him, he died a little inside. He could hardly blame her; he’d been an idiota earlier on in the day.
The concert ended, and Michelangelo shot up from his seat to find her. He had no idea what he’d say, but he had to try. It wasn’t every day a woman like that came around, and he couldn’t let her go that easily. But where would she go after such an embarrassing spectacle?
Backstage. Of course.
As he walked around the stage, Ms. Maxhammer’s voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Another wonderful evening, Mr. Ricci.’
He turned around and gave her his most sincere smile. ‘I do my best.’
Her gray curls had been reformed into a glossy wave. She looked like old Hollywood royalty. ‘What an excellent idea to have this final concert here at such a monumental icon of Milan.’
‘I must say the location was purely your maestro’s idea. All I did was to make it happen.’
Her fingers touched her neck, where a ruby necklace sparkled in the concert lights. ‘And so modest, too.’ She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close. ‘Tell me, do you have any faults?’
Faults? Like lying about being an experienced tour guide? Or distracting the lead oboist enough to ruin the last concert? He gulped down his reply. ‘Several, I’m afraid. Although such a great evening is not the time to dredge them up.’
She wiggled her finger at him. ‘Touché, Mr. Ricci, touché.’
A blur of red over her shoulder caught his eye. Was it Carly?
Michelangelo needed to find her before she got back to the hotel, or she’d never let him into her room. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to—’
Alaina pushed through the crowd, almost blinding him with her bejeweled monstrosity of a dress. She positioned herself between them as if they’d invited her to join the conversation. ‘Michelangelo, please excuse me, I have urgent news for Ms. Maxhammer.’
‘Of course.’ He moved to turn away, but Alaina grabbed his arm. ‘And I’d like to speak with you afterward.’
He resisted the urge to recoil. Splendido. Just what I wanted. ‘I don’t mean to intrude if this is a private conversation.’
‘It’s not, and it won’t take long.’ She turned to Ms. Maxhammer. ‘Carly Davis has disappeared.’
Michelangelo blinked in shock.
Ms. Maxhammer narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
Alaina smacked her lips together. ‘She took off after our aria, and hasn’t been seen since. The second oboe played her solos in the last piece.’
Ms. Maxhammer scanned the crowd. ‘Well, maybe she got sick. Has anyone called the hotel?’
‘I have, ma’am, and no one’s in our room. They say she hasn’t checked in yet.’
‘Well then, where could she be?’
Alaina put both her hands on her hips. ‘I think she was so embarrassed that she ruined my aria that she snuck off like a coward.’
Ms. Maxhammer wrinkled her already wrinkled brow. ‘She’s supposed to attend this evening’s reception.’
Alaina’s lips twitched as if she held back a smirk. ‘I have reason to believe she may have gone out…’ she paused for effect. ‘Drinking.’
‘Ha!’ Ms. Maxhammer scoffed. ‘Drinking on the job?’
Michelangelo placed his hand on her arm. ‘You don’t know that. She probably had some sort of emergency.’ Then an idea brightened in his mind, he could save Carly, give him a chance to talk with her, and get him away from Alaina all at the same time. ‘Let me go look for her.’
Alaina gaped as though he’d pulled some trick on her. ‘Picking up drunk orchestra members is not in your job description.’
He ignored her and looked to Ms. Maxhammer. ‘I found Trixie, and I can find her.’
‘Very well.’ Ms. Maxhammer waved him away. ‘Go find her before she gets into trouble. The streets of Milan are like any other big city. It’s not a place where you want to get lost, especially if you’re not in your right mind.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Michelangelo moved, but a vice-like grip closed on his arm. He turned around, knowing full well who to expect.
Alaina stared at him like a jealous girlfriend. ‘I’m coming with you.’
He pried her fingers off. ‘No you’re not. You have to stay with the orchestra and greet the audience in the reception, as per Ms. Maxhammer’s wishes.’
She put hands on her curvy hips. ‘I’m not under the same contract as the rest of the orchestra, I’m a soloist.’
‘Very well, but I don’t need your help. I’ll find her faster if I go alone.’
Her lower lip trembled. ‘What about us?’
He swallowed her comment hard. ‘Us?’
‘You know there’s only two more days of the tour, and you haven’t even come over to say a word to me. If you think you can just go kissing me that first night, and then—’
‘Listen.’ He took her arm and brought her over to a quiet place. ‘You forced that kiss. All I’ve been is cordial to you, like everyone else in this orchestra. It’s my job. But as for us, there is no us.’ At this point he didn’t care if she complained and he lost his job. The charade could go on no longer.
Alaina put her hand up to her neck and stifled a quiet little sob. ‘You don’t mean that.’
Michelangelo leaned in, giving her his most serious glare. ‘I do.’
‘Damn it.’ She stomped on the cobblestone. ‘Every guy I meet is Mr. Wrong. I’m never going to fall in love.’
As much as he felt bad for her, he couldn’t be the one to show her love. He had feelings for someone else, someone who’d gone missing, maybe put herself in danger. He turned and pushed through the crowd before Alaina could stop him. She’d already done enough.
He jumped into his Fiat and merged into traffic before he realized he had absolutely no idea where Carly would go. He pulled over, took out his phone and tried her number. He was sent directly to voicemail.
Merda! He put both hands on the wheel and placed his forehead on the rim. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t led her on in the first place—after all, what with his winery problems, he knew things couldn’t have gone anywhere between them—then she would have never bombed the aria and jeopardized her career—the one thing that meant the most to her. He’d been such an idiota, and he had to make things right. Where would she go?
The only other place she knew of in Milan was the Galleria. Flinging on his turn signal, he maneuvered back into the traffic, weaving between the larger trucks.
Lit by the golden storefront lights, the Galleria was even more magical at night. Michelangelo jogged the length of the storefronts. Most of the shops had closed, leaving only the restaurants and bars, overfilling with patrons with queues curving around the front.
In all of Milan, did he really think she’d come back here? It was the only place she knew of. Carly was a practical woman. She wouldn’t take chances with a place she didn’t know—even if she was out of her mind.
He walked in circles, until he found himself on top of the bull mosaic in the center. He’d never believed in the tradition of spinning on the bull—just another way to get tourists into the Galleria to shop. But, desperate to find her, he closed his eyes and spun on his heels.
The force of his spin whipped through his hair. He’d cast himself adrift. His vinery was slipping through his fingers, his mother lost more of her memories every day, and now he’d met the most amazing woman only to drive her away.
Please, let me find her.
When he stopped, his gaze settled on Zucca’s Bar, the place with the longest wait. That’s where he’d try. Getting in line, he smoothed his suit and hair and put on his most charming smile. The hostess was a young woman in her early twenties, with her silken black hair pulled up into a high ponytail.
He placed both his hands on her hostess stand and spoke in a low velvety voice. ‘Buona sera, signorina.’
She giggled. ‘Buona sera, signore. Would you like me to take your name for this list?’
‘No, thank you. I’m meeting someone here.’
She pouted. ‘A woman?’
‘Yes, an American woman by the name of Carly Davis.’
She checked the list, chewing on the end of her pen. ‘I don’t see her name here, signore.’
He considered turning away. Was he really going to listen to a mosaic of a bull? Still, he had to be thorough if he was ever to find her. ‘She may have gone straight to the bar. Please allow me to check inside.’
She shook her pen at him playfully. ‘You cannot cut the line, signore.’
He smiled, catching her eyes. He took her hand with the pen and lowered it to the hostess stand. ‘I assure you, she saved a seat. If I’m wrong, I’ll find my way out.’
She watched his hand on hers. ‘Can I trust you, signore?’
He winked. ‘Certemente.’
She gave him a sideways smile. ‘Go on, the bar’s in the back.’
Maybe he still had some of that smooth as gelato charm? If so, he was going to need it.
Michelangelo breathed with relief as he cut through the tables and circled around waiters and waitresses with steaming dishes and glasses of wine.
He turned into a smaller antechamber in the back, where people sat at a circular bar watching television and flirting over martinis. A few private booths sat in the back.
No Carly.
Disappointment rushed up, and he squelched it down. Really, did he expect to find her in the very first place he looked? Life just wasn’t that easy. At least not for him, not these days.
A flash of red caught his attention from the back booth. The waiter brought over a tray with a strawberry margarita, and a slender arm wearing the same dress Carly had worn on stage snaked out. The waiter spoke in Italian, and she spoke in perfect Italian back, with a slight accent he’d tried to teach her how to erase.
Carly was here.
Now, he had to figure out how to convince her to give him a second chance.