39

Ben’s gut burned as he watched an Italian fashion plate kiss Harper—on the lips. What was happening?

“You are angry, my Harper, no?” The Italian purred each word.

Bile boiled in Ben’s belly. “Dude, can’t you see she wants you to leave her alone?” Ben stood and towered over the interloper.

“Large American, this has nothing to do with you. Can you not see Harper and I have much to discuss? I know not you.” He waved his hand at Ben’s face as if Ben was a gnat.

“Listen, here, you…”

Harper yanked Ben’s hand. “Marco, don’t be rude. Marco Aquino, this is my…friend, Ben Langston.” Her lips tilted as she shifted her focus from Marco to Ben.

The sight of the visible hurt etched in her glossy gaze squelched the fiery jealousy bubbling in Ben. He wanted to ease Harper’s tangible pain even if it nearly killed him in the process. Ben extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marco.”

Shaking Ben’s hand, Marco nodded. “And you, Signore Langston.”

“Ben’s fine.” Ben shoved his hand in his pocket, locking his opposite arm tightly around Harper’s shoulders.

Harper leaned into his side. Her soft scent filled his senses and soothed the tiny edges of the jealousy fighting for escape.

“Marco, what’re you doing here?” Harper asked.

“Mia bella, is this not the famous Christmas Festival you always speak of?”

“Yes, but why’re you here? In Ohio? In Gibson’s Run? I haven’t heard from you in nearly eight years.”

Oh…this was the mistake. The bad choice that kept her from her father. Harper seemed too independent and practical to be swept away by some overly romanticized European. But then again, he knew the Harper of now. The Harper of then could have been very different. The now Harper lived under the weight of guilt and regret only measured in a bad decision. Ben could empathize.

“Mia bella—”

“Don’t call me that, Marco. Answer the question. Why’re you here?”

“I was in the States for business. And I happened on a news article about this being the fiftieth anniversary of your Christmas Festival, and I wondered if this could be the festival of my Harper Jessup? And there was your name. Like a beacon calling to me. I knew I must come. Fate was wooing me to you. Your lights are beautiful. Just like you. Bellisimo.”

“You expect me to believe you happened to be in the United States and you happened to read an article about my tiny town’s annual Christmas Festival. And on a whim, you decided to come to Gibson’s Run, Ohio? Where you’ve never been before? The day before the festival officially opens? Seriously, Marco? You’ve lied before, but you at least had a better back story.”

Harper pivoted out of Ben’s grip and stomped away, disappearing around the corner.

“Mia bella!” Marco shouted.

“Dude, lay off. Can’t you tell she needs some air?”

“I do not know who you are. But that woman is the love of my life, and I cannot spend another day without her. Fate has brought us back together. You can give her air. I must go to her and make right all the wrong.” Marco hustled after Harper.

“What just happened?”