The Vine (24 page)

Although I’m desperate to get some sleep, I lay there for a while, asking the house to help me, to give me some clue as to where Lizzy’s gone. The house stays silent, and I eventually fall into a restless slumber.

Morning light pierces through the blinds and wakes me and as my eyes flicker open, pain hits me—not physical pain from my scars, but the heartache of knowing I’m facing another day without my Angel. I jump up to try and ward off the pain by keeping busy and being pro-active in my search for Lizzy. First, I need coffee, and lots of it, and then I’m going to contact some friends in high places who owe me some favours and can maybe assist me in my search.

As I get the coffee machine going, I look around and see the box with Lizzy’s ring in it.
Although, technically, it isn’t Lizzy’s yet
,
I feel my mind veer off when I go to pick up the ring. I know this will lead to flashbacks of the accident, so I try to steer clear by thinking happier thoughts, more positive thoughts, like what it will be like when I do propose to Lizzy. It leads me into thinking about Verona, and what a beautiful place it is, and how Lizzy would have adored the villa I had booked for us to stay.

I notice I am actually thinking positively about finding Lizzy again. Katy was right; it must have been tiredness last night making me all doom-and-gloom. I suddenly have the urge to find the information on Verona I’d printed; a little daydream of us spending time there won’t hurt while I’m drinking my coffee. I look around the kitchen to see if it’s handy.
It would be with our flight tickets
, I think as I start to look in all the places where we would put such important items, emptying drawers and cupboards. I then scold myself as I run up to the safe in our bedroom. I know Lizzy would’ve put it all with the passports; she was meticulous that way with all our important documents. Her filing was impeccable, whereas I was hopeless at that sort of thing. I have a personal assistant at work to take care of all that, so I’m useless at home when left to my own devices. As I open the safe, I rifle through, but I can’t seem to find the literature or the tickets. I’m tapping my chin when I see something that makes me gasp; it shocks me so badly I actually stagger back from the safe, and I close my eyes as adrenaline starts coursing through my veins. I eventually find the courage to look again in case I’m imagining things.

I slowly open my eyes and draw them back to the cause of my anxiety and, dare I say, hope, and there it is, clarifying exactly what I thought I saw—there is only one passport in here. I reach in and take the passport out, and on opening it up, all my suspicions are confirmed—it’s my passport. A million scenarios are running through my head, and they’re starting to make me feel dizzy.

I sit on the edge of our bed, where I draw my conclusions. Lizzy has got her passport, and I could be wrong, but my guess is that she has the airline tickets to Verona too. I numbly get dressed
and go back down stairs, where I promptly start to make calls. My first and last are with the airline, and while I’m on the telephone, there’s a knock on the door. I open it just as I’m ending my last call. Katy walks in holding two coffees, for which I’m grateful as I still haven’t had one, and with the shocks of this morning, I’m desperate for a caffeine fix.

With both her hands full, Katy doesn’t bother to close the front door, and I don’t either as we walk into the kitchen, knowing that she’ll soon be rushing out as soon as I deliver my news. “Lucas, you’re as white as a sheet; what’s going on?” she asks, placing the coffees on the worktop. I’m staring at her, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, and Katy knows it is only Lizzy who can render me speechless. “Lucas, you’re scaring me. What is it?” Katy asks, suddenly looking petrified.

“I, —I… I’ve found her, I’ve found Lizzy,” I stutter.

“Where?!” Katy shouts.

“She’s in Verona,” I say, still unable to believe it myself.

“Do you know that for sure? How do you know?” Katy questions.

“Her passport and the airline tickets I’d bought have disappeared, so I’ve called the airline. Only one of the outbound flight tickets was used, the return flight tickets haven’t been used at all.” I must look optimistic.

“Okay, but let’s not get our hopes up; she still could have moved on from there. It has been two weeks since she left.”

I don’t know who Katy is trying to convince, herself or me, so I ease her mind. “I’ve spoken to one of my contacts, and no flights have been booked since using Lizzy’s passport.” I try to stay calm as I mention that titbit of information.

“So she’s still there, or at least not far from there,” Katy whispers, almost daring not to say it.

“It would seem so,” I answer. “I’ve got my flight booked for 6pm this evening.”

“Oh, I see. What should I do then, sit here and wait?” Katy asks sarcastically, sounding really pissed and rather sad.

I think I had better put her out of her misery before she decks me; I wouldn’t put it past her. “No, if I were you, I’d go straight home, pack a bag, grab your passport and be back here as soon as possible, as Daniel is taking us to the airport. You don’t honestly think I would book just one ticket do you? We need to go get our girl and bring her home, remember?” I smile the most genuine smile I own and open my arms as Katy runs into them, hugging me so tightly all I hear is a muffled, “Thank you.”

What we don’t hear during our excited embrace is the click of a camera.

Saskia

I leave through the open front door, just as I had found it minutes before. I get in my car and drive away sporting the biggest grin over not only the information I have just heard, but also the photograph I have just captured. That one, along with the ones I had taken of Lucas at the hospital, with me embracing him, kissing him and our hands entwined, are priceless. I mean, yes, he was asleep at the time, but there’s no way to tell that from the angles my boy-toy photographer friend had taken the pictures; we just look like a couple in love—a man in the hospital, but out of grave danger, and a woman so relieved he is okay, and now with a whole future ahead of them. Oh, sure, I have to
play
this part at the moment, but I have no doubt the part will be mine for real eventually.

I pull over and call a reporter friend of mine, and while he takes notes, I tell him the story of my rich, playboy ex who has had a tragic accident, and how his current girlfriend had cruelly left him near death’s door. I explain that fortunately, he has since recovered after being nursed back to health by yours truly, and after a brief fling with the best friend of the girlfriend who left him, he has now realised his mistake in ever leaving me and has asked me to marry him. I then slip the ring I had just found at Lucas’s on my finger, and click yet another picture, thinking to myself,
Thank God I went and had that manicure yesterday
.

I send the pictures off to the reporter, along with the full names of everyone involved in the story, with a note that he can embellish the story as much as he likes.

I make my way to the airport after receiving a confirmation email back from the reporter, thanking me for my story. He also says he knows Lucas Castle well and had ran a small story on the accident, how this would make a great follow up story and —thanks to me—he’d have a fantastic story to run that should be all over the internet by the morning.

A smile spreads across my face, and as I stare at the diamond of my new engagement ring, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I have never regretted having my young bits on the side when I was with Lucas, as he didn’t pay me the attention that I deserved anyway, but what I did regret was getting caught by him, it had been a massive, schoolgirl error on my part.

I had assumed after a cooling off period he would’ve eventually taken me back—after all, we were made for each other—but now the bastard has gone and what, fallen in love? That’s a laugh; I don’t think Lucas is capable of that sentiment.

I just can’t understand why Lucas was unbelievably going to take himself off the market and marry that pathetic excuse for a woman, but then, fortunately, the accident happened, and what good timing that was and the fact that the heartless girl had just walked away from him—well that was the icing on the cake. But he still wants her, and God knows over the last two weeks, I’ve given my all in winning him back, but to no avail.

So after I heard Katy and Lucas talking this morning, the next part of my plan is to get a ticket to Verona. I needed to be one step ahead of Lucas fucking Castle at all times, and I’ll make sure one way or another that if I can’t have him, no one will.

Especially someone so beneath me, like that dowdy, drab, dull, dreary, pathetic, plain, boring bitch Elizabeth Maynard.

The days are quiet and the evenings even quieter. I help out in the café, which I have grown to love, and I read…a lot. I don’t know how I would have survived without my books; I get so absorbed in them, I feel like I get taken away for a well-earned rest from life. I used to like nothing more but a good, mushy romance with a happily ever after, but now—having my illusions completely shattered and knowing there is, in fact, no such thing—I tend to steer clear of them.

Today though, I have a day off, and I’m meeting Stefano for lunch. He rings me at the hotel all the time, so I have spoken to him loads, but I haven’t seen him since our night out, so I’m quite looking forward to seeing him. Even after this short time, I like his company and he makes me smile. He had called yesterday to ask if we could meet up and I gladly accepted. He explained that another one of his thousands of friends would also be coming, and I was cool with that; Stefano’s gay friends are a blast.

I get the call from downstairs that he’s waiting for me, and since I’m ready, I grab my bag and go straight down to meet him. He greets me dramatically, as always, but I can instantly sense something’s not quite right about him; he seems uneasy somehow. We have a bit of a walk to the restaurant, so I’m glad I opted for flats today, and I link my arm through his as we stride along together.

“What made you pick that hotel to stay in, hun?” he asks casually.

“Well, it’s funny,” I say, “but when I came here, I didn’t really have a plan. I met this guy on the aeroplane—some interior designer or something—and he wrote the address of that particular hotel on the back of his card. I thought maybe he had done the design of the rooms or something; I don’t know. I just got the taxi driver to take me there, and I’m glad I did because I love it. The room is gorgeous, the food is delicious, the hotel staff are out-of-this-world kind and it’s really reasonably priced.” I hear Stefano choke and I look over to him and his eyes are popping out at me. “You okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he responds, trying to plaster a smile on his face, but failing miserably. “Are you loaded or something?” he asks.

“No,” I laugh, thinking,
Yeah, I’ve got a few bob, but I’m not rich
. “What makes you ask that?”

“It’s just surprising you say the hotel is reasonable.” He looks straight at me. “That hotel, my sweet, is one of the most expensive boutique hotels in Verona!”

I look back at him, shocked. “No,” I say quietly, and I tell him the nightly euro-rate I pay.

Stefano shakes his head and laughs. “That’s not possible; they wouldn’t let you into the lobby for that price.” We both fall silent at this point as we walk along, still arm-in-arm, but both of us lost in thought.

“What was the guy’s name who recommended you the hotel?” Stefano queries casually, clearly wanting to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Luca something,” I think aloud, and a look of recognition passes over his face. “Hang on, I’ve still got his card in my purse,” I reply, grappling around in my bag. “Ah, here it is,” I say, proud of myself for finding it as I present the card to Stefano.

He looks at it, and I see his eyebrows shoot up knowingly.

“He should’ve added
property mogul
to his card.”

“Huh?” I’m clearly confused.

“On his card, it should say
Luca Goretti, Interior Designer and Property Mogul
; he practically owns half of Verona,” he says while wiggling his eyebrows at me.

The look of shock on my face is evident, as I think of the casual, young guy from the plane. “Are you sure?” I question as we reach our destination.

“Yes, he’s a friend of mine—a very good friend of mine actually,” he replies as we enter the restaurant.

“Did he design your salon?” I ask with interest.

“Designed it and owns the building,” he says, trying to sound matter-of-fact, “same as he designed and owns the club we went to the other week, and all that goes the same for the hotel you’re staying in.” At that bombshell, he stops and gives our names to the hostess. We follow the lady though the restaurant as Stefano continues, “Well, he was obviously quite taken with you, young lady, and now knowing what you’ve just told me, I guess it would explain the reason he called me and asked to have lunch with him, and to bring my new lady friend with me.”

My eyes widen as we reach our table, and Stefano pulls out my chair for me. Our lunch guest stands politely and my eyes widen further, as I’m looking into dark chocolate pools of brown. In his sexy Italian voice, he says, “Ella, you’re looking gorgeous today. How lovely to see you again.”

I speechlessly plop down into my seat. Luca is staring intently at me, probably trying to gage my reaction.
I hope my look of complete and utter shock pleases him
, I think sarcastically. He finally drags his eyes away from me to shake Stefano’s hand. As he’s still standing, I take the opportunity to give him a once-over. He looks every ounce the property mogul today, wearing an immaculate, black tailored suit in the Italian, three-button style, and a crisp, white shirt sporting a large, high collar.

As he sits down, silence hits the table, and so do my eyes. Luca pours us all some water, and I look at the arms of his black suit; my eyes trail down to the pure white, starched cuffs, and finally,
they land on his deeply tanned, masculine hand finely doused with black hair.