Everything to Lose (Moonlight Dating Series #2) (5 page)

She opened the flap all the way. Looking inside, she hazarded a guess that Jeanette wasn’t the most organized of people, either. Countless bits of note paper,
photocopied sheets
and printouts made a wild mess like too many chickens in a tight coop.

On top of the bunch was an envelope with Lisbeth’s name scrawled on the surface. Old-world style, regal handwriting with fancy curls and loops – similar to Edwardian Script on Word documents but with bigger flourishes.

Unusual and bold. She wondered,
who i
s Jeanette Lagrange?
Creative, free-thinking, not easy to deal with… she could only guess as Lagrange never met with clients or business contacts, including those whose services she sought.

Why did she want to stay alone, a phone or computer the perfect screen between her and the outside world? Did she go grocery shopping or out for a meal? Did she have friends in her town? Perhaps she was like this only in business, but over the last few years Lisbeth had formed an email friendship with Jeanette that took off when Dane finished his development project for her site. After she and Dane split, Jeanette had given her confidence and strength from afar. Their connection could easily have led to meeting face-to-face. Something that Jeanette never suggested.

Lisbeth focused on the envelope while her traitorous thoughts drifted back to Dane.

Swollen and bruised by his kisses, her lips burned.

The last months were nothing she’d like to relive, but she’d come to grips with life in a sense. Although she hadn’t moved on as far as engaging her heart elsewhere, she’d gotten comfortable in her own skin, her own space.

It took one visit from Dane to
swipe down
the
flimsy
house of cards she’d
built
in recent months
.

Fine now. So she’d given in to her weakness and had sex with him. How did this factor in the equation other than he had her brain in knots?

She and Dane were divorced. That was supposed to be end of story.

But he’d thrown her for a loop.

What to do?

She sighed heavily—let her frustration loose with the exhale—and leaned forward on the table, her forehead in her palm. The tea had cooled down. She took a sip and put it
to the side
; she didn’t want it any more.
What she wanted was some peace.

She let the calm seep into her, blotted out any surrounding sound that would remind her she was in the world.

Moments were gone, moments she’d never get back, but phasing out in a sort of semi-meditation kept the gnawing anxiety at bay. The thoughts hovered in the background, though. They wouldn’t leave for good. She let them be while she bought herself a little bit of detachment.

Surrendering to the temporary reprieve, she sat numb, alone, quiet, until her stomach gave an insistent growl, letting her know that she’d totally skipped dinner.

She spooned some
chicken, rice
,
and veggie salad she’d prepared
earlier
in a bowl
and swallowed the first forkfuls without bothering to savor the food.

Jeanette’s envelope still stared at her from the top of the messy pile. Probably a generic note.

After
she satisfied
the initial pangs of hunger, she set the fork into the
half-empty
bowl
and opened the envelope.

She unfolded
the A4 sheet of paper
and read the
printed
words
.

Dear Lisbeth,

If you still care for Dane and find it in yourself to look past your differences, please make sure to take him to the below address:

Bottega Trasi

Via del Trivio

Ascoli Piceno

Italy

When you’re there, ask for Mr. F. Marsh.

This is for you to find the way to unlock his past and, perhaps, reverse the damage.

I must ask you not to show him this letter. Trust me as I trust you.

Your future is in your hands.

With my best wishes,

Jeanette

Lisbeth reread the letter four times, unsure she wanted to process that strange piece of information.

Italy.
Seriously?

More importantly, had she gone out of her
flipping
mind?

Jeanette wanted her to take him out of country. Some kind of request. And how did she know things about Dane’s life, things that would affect them both, when Lisbeth didn’t have a clue?

Better not ask that last question. After all, Jeanette’s entire business balanced on her lesser understood abilities, her uncanny knack for
knowing
things
.

When you’re there, ask for Mr. F. Marsh.

That line jumped at her and looped around her brain. Odd that Jeanette didn’t provide the full name.

Frank.
That was Dane’s father’s name. The father that Dane hadn’t seen since he was eight. He’d mentioned this to her but never said much else about the man, avoiding the topic altogether. One of the main points of contention between them. She had no doubt that’s where their problems stemmed.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to herself with a sharp intake of breath.
F. Marsh was Dane’s dad.
Had to be.

On impulse
,
she rushed to the computer in the living room.
Pulling
up Google
, she
typed
Bottega Trasi
in the search box. Several links came up, the topmost one being the official business website. It was a dining venue.

She clicked on the home page. It loaded with a picture of a restored fifteenth century palazzo, the name of the restaurant printed in gold lettering on an ornate wrought iron sign that jutted out from the stone wall beside huge, solid wood double doors. The rest of the surround
ing
was
beautiful in travertine and a carved angel at the top,
and
the medieval style
of the building
was retained. Tall potted plants greeted visitors from both sides of the entrance.

The interior stood out with a predominance of wood and brass, especially around the bar area. Both indoor and outdoor seating areas were shown, highlighted by a large dining hall and central courtyard. The place was stunning to say the least, and according to the site
,
was located a few steps from the main piazza of the city.

There was no page dedicated to the owners or staff. What did Frank Marsh have to do with this outfit?

Lisbeth pulled up another tab, sheer impulse hogging the driver’s seat. After a few clicks she was privy to possible itineraries to Ascoli Piceno
—
one would normally go for a flight to Rome or Florence and a train or bus ride to the Marche region. Ascoli Piceno had no international airport.

Rather than waste time surfing for plane tickets she called her travel agent.

“Rachel, when’s the next flight to Rome?” she asked without preliminaries.

Rachel Hurst worked all hours and wouldn’t mind a late call.

“Uh, hang on,” was the muffled reply.

Knowing
the woman
, she probably
had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and her laptop at the ready.

“Tomorrow at 2:05 PM
,
Gatwick to Fiumicino,” she replied after about five seconds. “You’re lucky to find anything this time of year. Do you—”

“Get me two tickets please, will you
? A week with insurance…
”
She gave Rachel both her and Dane’s essential details—which she remembered by heart.
“You have my credit card
information
. I’ll pick them up first thing in the morning.”

Her next task was to search for hotels in the area. She found a decent bed and breakfast located on the second floor of a medieval building that was not far from the restaurant, as she had no intention of driving or taking long walks or rides. The online reservation system took care of that.

She booked two rooms, of course. Her intention
,
though
,
was to simply make the connection between the two men, then she’d leave them to hash it out. Dane needed to take care of it on his own before including her.

She decided to go for it in both their best interests. Yet even if he resolved his father-son issues, she wouldn’t raise her hopes too high.

Whatever happened, she needed to stay emotionally detached and avoid trouble. If she allowed herself to get involved, it would spell nothing but disaster.

Fool me twice…

She closed the browser and sighed.

Now she had a problem.

What on earth was she going to tell Dane when he woke up? She couldn’t just drag him on a plane bound for Italy without a really good explanation.

Then there was the matter of how she could face him at all after what happened.

Her stomach did a reckless flip, leaving her slightly nauseous. Cold sweat beaded her temple
s
and she got up to stand by the window and look outside. Rubbing her arms, she contemplated the darkening spring sky with mounting dread. The lights from the street lamps threw a weak shadow on the sidewalk.

“What shall I do?” she said out loud.

“Do what?” a voice drawled behind her, making her start and want to bolt.

She didn’t turn around, only dug her fingers into her upper arms to quell the trembling.

“Nothing, just… something came up, out of the blue.”

“Tell me… but hang on first. Do you get pizza delivery here? I’m starving.”

“Sure. Top drawer of the desk, left side. There are a couple of menus.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

She heard the paper shuffling while she gathered her thoughts and turned around.

“I’m leaving.”

He stopped and rose to his full height, a questioning look on his face. It would have been easier if he said something rather than let the darkness show in his eyes.

A muscle twitched in his left jaw. He looked like he wanted to punch the wall until his knuckles bled.

“Say that again?”

She fell more than sat on an armchair, elbows on thighs, hands linked. “It’s my job. They just got a contract to redo an old palazzo in Italy and they’re sending me there to get the specs. The guy that set it up owns a restaurant in the area.”

“Why are they sending you and not a senior partner? You’ve only been there a few months.”

She snorted. “Just like you to belittle my work. You never believed in my skills, that much I know.”

Angry, she shot up and started to march past him but his steely grip on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait. I didn’t mean that.”

She stared down at his fingers that dug in her flesh, then back at him. “Yes
,
you did. Now let me go,” she said, unflinching.

She should have known it wouldn’t work.

“I just can’t let you go like this.” His grip didn’t ease.

“Why not? Did you think that by screwing me one more time you’d take the right to hurt me again?” she spat.

“So that’s what you think? That I’m playing some sick game?
”

He pursed his lips and swallowed. She followed that motion downward
, the tension coiling around them like London
fog
.
When he removed his hand from her arm,
the imprint remained.

“Sorry, I… Lissy, I’m coming with you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, you’re not. I can’t mess this up. A lot rides on it,” she faltered.

Agreeing to his proposal straight away would only make him suspicious.

“You must know by now that ‘no’ is not my middle name. Where are you going?”

“You’re bull-headed.”

“Thank you.
Where?
” His tone warned that he wouldn’t take any crap.

Good. That dogged pride came in handy for once.

Guilt pricked her for this subtle manipulation. One little prick, that’s all.

“Italy. I go tomorrow.”

“Your boss not wasting any time, is he?”

“If you’re coming
,
you better go pack.” Her heart raced a hundred miles a minute.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you staying?”