When You Were Mine (Adams Sisters) (11 page)

Lincoln thought it over and shrugged at the logic.  “I guess that means I’ll have to let Ronald down easy.”  He cringed.  “That’s gonna be awkward.”

“It’s not easy playing Cupid.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“More like a witness to every bad idea and plan my sisters had every come up with.  And trust me, there have been a lot of them.”

“Hey,” Marlin yelled from the front porch.  “You two heading out?”

Lincoln and Peyton linked their arms together and walked back toward the house.

“I’m afraid so,” Lincoln said.  “House renovations should be completed today.  I want to thank you again for your hospitality.”

“No need to thank me.  This will always be you guys’ second home.” Marlin winked.

A car pulled up into the driveway and everyone turned to see Michael’s Volvo.

Peyton waved and then broke away from Lincoln.  She’d been more than a little concerned about Michael ever since Phillip’s call Saturday morning.  Peyton had also expected Michael to rush home once word of Flex’s visit hit the Sisters’ Network.  Even their father had noted the oddity.

Michael climbed out the car, flashed a high-wattage smile and waved.  “Hey, everybody.”

“Where have you been?” Peyton asked, taking her sister into her arms for a quick embrace.  “I was beginning to think I was going to have to round up a search party.”  She glanced into the car.  “Where’s Joey?”

“She’s not here?”

Peyton frowned.  “No.  I thought she disappeared with you.”

Worry instantly creased Michael’s brow.  “Dear God, I hope she hasn’t done something stupid.”

#

Twenty-four hours in Milan, Italy, and Dr. Laurence Benson was miserable.  The beautiful high-fashion city felt like an icicle in the middle of February, and each time he saw his swollen jaw in the mirror, he thought of Joey.

              Beautiful, tomboyish Joey had expected an engagement ring for Valentine’s Day—and he had almost given it to her.  Joey had his heart, but Carlina was the logical choice.

              The train of his thoughts was derailed when Carlina emerged from their suite’s bathroom.  She was dressed stunningly from head to toe in winter-white.  It might be cliché, but she looked the part of the perfect trophy wife.  Plus, it wouldn’t hurt his practice to be married to Hollywood’s “it” girl.

              “How do I look?” Carlina asked, spinning around for inspection.

              “The way you always look…magnificent!”  He went to her with open arms.  “Let me guess.  You’re all set to go shopping?”

              “Well, there’s only three days before the wedding and I have a ton of things to do.”  She tweaked his cheek and walked over to the bed to pick up her purse.  “Are you sure you don’t mind my going out with old school friends?”

              “No.  Have some fun.  I’ll be fine,” he said. 

              “Great.  I’ll try not to stay out too late.  We’re having breakfast with my parents in the morning.”

              “I’ll be ready.” He winked and held onto his smile until she walked out of the door.  “What am I doing?” he moaned.  He quickly made himself a drink at the bar and then strolled over to the window.  “Joey, Joey, Joey.”  He squinted down at a woman in the courtyard.  “Joey?”  He thought about it for a moment and shook his head.  “Nah.  It couldn’t be.”

#

The moment Joey walked into Hotel Principe Di Savoia Milano, she felt as if she’d been transported to another time and place where kings and queens ruled the world and she was in the company of royalty.  She eased down the marbled entryway, feeling as if she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In truth, she did.

At the front desk, a tall, lanky Italian man with the shiniest black hair she’d ever seen turned toward her. 
“Posso aiutarla, Signora?”

“I’m sorry, but I speak very little Italian,” Joey informed him.

“Of course.” His smile brightened.  “May I help you, Madame?”

“Yes, I have a reservation for Joseph Adams.”

The clerk’s skinny fingers glided across his computer keyboard.  “Yes, I show we have one suite reserved for a Signore Adams.”

“Actually, it’s Signora Adams.  I’m Joseph.”

The young man’s eyebrows dipped together in confusion.  “Joseph is a man, no?”

“No.  In this case Joseph is a girl.”  She pulled out her passport and showed it to him.  He studied it, but his expression remained the same until she admitted, “My father was hoping for a boy.”

“Ah.” He flashed her a tight smile, and then resumed typing.  “I show one junior suite, single use is eight twenty-five American dollars and--”

“A night?”

“
Sì, Signora
.  Will that be a problem?”

A frog leaped into Joey’s throat in time for her to croak, “No.”

“Excellent.”  A smile returned to his face before he commenced to ask how she would like to pay for the room.

Joey nervously fished through her purse and pulled out her wallet.  She held her breath as she withdrew Frankie’s credit card and handed it over to the clerk.

“Just one moment,” he said, and slid the card down a magnetic strip next to his computer.

She tapped her fingers across the countertop until the clerk flashed her a look of annoyance.  “Sorry.”

He punched a few buttons and slid the card down again.

Joey’s heart threatened to burst through her chest cavity.  The other two credit cards she possessed were just hairs away from the maximums and would certainly decline.  One thing was for sure, she didn’t have a whole lot of time to win Laurence back.

“
Spiacente
, Signora Adams, but your credit card has been declined,” the tall, lanky desk clerk informed Joey.  “We have been instructed to destroy the card.”

“What?” Panic seized Joey.  “You can’t do that.  That is the only credit card I have.  I don’t have any money.”

He produced a pair of scissors and sliced the card in half before she could even think to stop him.  “Does that mean that you’ll be canceling your reservation?”

She blinked.  “Er, huh.”

“Signora?”

“How long can you hold the room?”

“
Spiacente
.  We’ll need a credit card in order to hold the suite.  And unfortunately it is now the only suite we have available.  So if anyone can ask for it
and
can actually
pay
for the suite, we will give it to them.”

A woman snickered behind Joey, and she could literally feel herself shrink a few inches.  “Thank you,” she muttered and turned away from the front desk.

Now what?

She walked back down the marbled entryway toward the front door with her head down.  She had to think of something.  She didn’t come all this way to be turned down.  Hell, without Frankie’s credit card, she couldn’t even afford a plane ticket back home.

Calling home wasn’t an option.  Her sisters would haul her back so fast her head would spin.  She couldn’t allow that—not until she spoke with Laurence.

Stepping out of the building, Joey glanced up at the towering palatial hotel.  She was an ant who’d barely escaped being squashed.  “I am no quitter,” she mumbled under breath and then marched back into the hotel.

When she reached the front desk, the clerk turned and greeted with another magnanimous smile.  “Ah, Ms. Adams.  You returned--with money, I hope?”

She mimicked his smile.  “No.  Actually, I was hoping that you could give me Dr. Laurence Benson’s suite number?  He’s my fiancé.”

One of the clerk’s bushy eyebrows rose to the center of his forehead.  “Dr. Benson is
your
fiancé?”

“Yes,” she lied with a straight face. 

The clerk’s face remained dubious and his voice obnoxiously polite.  “
Spiacente, Signora.
  If Dr. Benson is indeed a guest at our hotel, his privacy is of utmost importance with the staff of Principe di Savoia Milano.”

“You won’t tell me his room number?”

“As you American’s say, ‘Bingo.’”

When he smiled, Joey wondered what the consequences would be if she knocked his block off.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No.  I guess not.” She leveled him with her best evil glare.

“Very well.” 

He turned and left her to glower at his back.  She left the front desk in yet another huff. 
Think, think.
  The only cash she had was used on the cab ride, and the driver was none too thrilled to take American dollars.  Planning ahead has never been her strong suit.

Once again she stood outside the grand hotel without a man, a plan or a clue on what do next.

“One thing for sure,” she mumbled under her breath.  “This trip can’t get any worse.”

Chapter 13

              Things got worse.  A whole lot worse.

              Hours after getting the boot from the hotel, Joey decided to find a small café so she could gather her thoughts and devise a new plan.  Certainly, she had enough money on one of her other credit cards for a cup of coffee.

“Thief!  Thief!” the café owner shouted.

“No, no.” Joey frantically looked all around her small table.  “Someone stole my purse.  I placed it right here.” She gestured to floor underneath her table.  “Someone must have stolen it.”

“
Chiamare la polizia
!”

Joey’s limited Italian certainly recognized the word police.  Another jaunt in jail, this time in a foreign one, held little appeal.  “Please, please.  I swear someone has stolen my purse.”

All eyes in the small café zeroed in on the loud commotion.  Joey’s ears heated with embarrassment, but her humiliation grew leaps and bounds when the police arrived.

              The café owner and the
polizia
acted like they didn’t buy her story, especially since she nor the other patrons witnessed the thief.

              She dug into her jeans and her one suitcase until she found a five-dollar bill in her packed denim jacket.  The burly café owner snatched the money and had the
polizia
escort her off the property.

              It didn’t occur to her until after the incident and the cops were gone that she still had a major problem.

              No credit cards, no money, no passport and no cell phone.

              That was two days ago.

              Last night while she was sound asleep on a public bench, another crook managed to steal her one suitcase.

              At this moment Joey was convinced that she would sell her soul for a Tic Tac.  The country may be beautiful, but the locals didn’t look too kindly upon the homeless, and it was getting harder and harder to mask that was what she was: homeless, or rather hotel-less.

              Since cell phones ruled the world, Joey was amazed how difficult it was to find a single payphone in the whole damn town.  By the time she found one, she didn’t know what she should tell her family.  If she called and told them what she did, her sisters would be on the next thing smokin’ to Italy.  Call her crazy, but she wasn’t ready for that.  Not yet.

              And then she saw him: Dr. Laurence Benson, her ex-almost-fiancé.  She spotted him and Ms. Boob Job exiting Principe di Savoia Milano.  They were arm-in-arm, smiling and laughing about something--probably Joey.  Chances were that all of Milan was talking about the foreign black American girl who stole coffee and slept on public benches.

              She sighed as she stared at them.  They were the pin-up interracial power couple and looked like they’ve recently enjoyed a hot shower.

              Joey’s face twisted with misery.  She wanted a hot shower, too.  She was beginning to offend herself.  More important, she couldn’t approach Laurence looking like she looked or smelling the way she smelled. 

              She needed another plan--one that would actually work.

              As night descended...again, she struggled to remember how long a body could go without food.  Not to mention how cold it was at night.  Instead of falling asleep, Joey felt more as though she was being induced into a coma.

              If she committed a crime, at least she would be able to sleep in doors for a night.  She walked with no destination in mind, but her stomach followed the wonderful aromas wafting from a nearby restaurant.

              She approached and plastered her face against the restaurant’s glass walls.  The elegantly dressed men and women dined merrily off plates that looked more like works of art than dinner.  Joey drew a deep breath and imagined what the food must taste like and how smooth the wine would flow down her parched throat.

              She closed her eyes and let her imagination go wild.

              “Will you just look at that woman?”

              Ryan turned his head and his gaze followed where most of the patrons stared at a woman writhing against the window.

              “What the hell do you think she’s doing?” Zach asked.

              “I don’t know.”  Ryan squinted.  “But I think I know her.”  He pushed back in his chair and tossed the napkin from his lap onto the table.  “Excuse me for a minute, won’t you?”

              “Ryan--”

              “I’ll be back,” he said absently, and stood.  As he made a beeline from his table to the front door, he tried to convince himself that the woman outside the restaurant was not, could not be who he thought it was. 

              Stepping out into the cold night, Ryan’s footsteps slowed as his heart sank.  “Joey?”

              Her head jerked back and her eyes zoomed toward him.

              Ryan blinked.  “Oh, my God.  It is you.”  He rushed over to her.  “What happened?”

              “Ryan?”  She said his name as though she was almost afraid to believe.  “Is that you?”

              He reached out and touched her matted hair, while his gaze took in her dirt-smudged face and the large bags under her eyes.  “You look...”

              She hand-pressed her hair down and buttoned her denim jacket.

              “...different,” he settled on saying.

              “Well, I know I’m not exactly presentable at the moment.” She laughed weakly and then frowned.  “What are you doing here?”