Under the Sicilian Sky Read online

  Merda. Backing down went against every fiber of his being, but fine. He wouldn’t punch that asshole into next week—this time.

  “I didn’t kill those men.” Matteo caught the leader’s gaze and refused to blink. “They were my friends. I want justice as much as you do.”

  The fishermen didn’t look convinced, but one of them moved slightly so he and Cristo could pass. Once safely back in the BMW, his friend released a loud breath.

  “That was . . . intense.”

  Matteo stared at the docks while Cristo backed out of the parking spot. The band on his chest tightened another notch. And although they’d escaped today, the tide of public opinion was definitely against him. The longer he stayed in Sicily, the more he risked his freedom, maybe even his life. Yet he’d promised Bella another two weeks. His stomach clenched. Once again, the farm had become his prison.

  “What do you know about Roberto Della Vedova?” Matteo asked as they sped along the road to Sciacca, the region’s main town. It was larger than the village where he’d accompanied Bella shopping, so he hoped for some anonymity there.

  “He comes from Bagheria, near Palermo, and was made questore the day after you disappeared. From the start it was like working with the Secret Service; everything was on a need-to-know basis. Even Bella and your father had trouble getting information out of him. He assured us that he’d issued all the missing person reports and alerted the coast guard and national police of your disappearance, but refused to show us the paperwork. And once the bodies washed up, he was sure you were guilty of the murders and didn’t put much effort into finding you.”

  The police headquarters, a square cement building with no redeeming architectural features, looked as welcoming as a dumpster.

  As they exited their vehicle, a man in his late forties, wearing a suit, approached.

  “Matteo, this is Batista Preatori, the lawyer I mentioned.” Cristo performed the introductions before entering the police station.

  Matteo’s heart faltered as he crossed the threshold. Was Bella right? Was he a fool to try to clear his name?

  The police station was no friendlier than the docks had been. His confidence in his innocence took a hit. What if he had done it? What if his need to provide for Bella had led him to take the assassination contract?

  They were shown into a small, windowless interrogation room with paint chipping off the walls and one chair missing its back. Desperation soured the air worse than the rotting fish at the dock.

  The questore, wearing his dress uniform as though he were going on parade, strode into the room. In this dilapidated space? Things were not as they appeared here. Matteo’s sense of having seen the man before their introduction at the graveyard was even stronger this time. He searched Roberto Della Vedova’s face, trying to force his brain to remember their previous encounter.

  And came up blank.

  Matteo introduced Cristo and Battista and the questore puffed out his chest. When none of the men on Matteo’s side of the table looked impressed, Della Vedova snarled at them to be seated.

  The rest of the interview went downhill from there. Questions came hard and fast, none of which Matteo could answer. It was as though he’d already been found guilty and this was his one chance to prove his innocence. Still, all they had on their side of the table was supposition. Aside from a couple of vague accounts that the boat had left harbor with four men, three of whom washed up on shore five days later, they had no real evidence that Matteo had even been on board. The alleged fourth man wasn’t known on the docks, and descriptions ranged from tall with black hair to short and bald.

  Yet the questore was adamant it had been Matteo, even though he had nothing concrete to hold him on.

  Matteo strode from the building an hour later and sucked in a lungful of freedom.

  “Thank you, Batista, for your assistance,” he said.

  “I’ll be in touch,” the lawyer said. “There’s something not right here. I’m going to do some investigating.”

  Matteo nodded. “I’ll be at the farm for another two weeks. Then my wife is accompanying me to Tunisia. I’m not sure when I’ll return after that.”

  Cristo frowned but kept quiet.

  “My personal advice would be to leave the country as soon as possible,” Battista said. “Remaining here will only spur the police to action.”

  “I promised Bella.”

  Batista checked his watch. When he raised his eyes to Matteo they were full of concern. “I hope you don’t regret that promise.”

  So. Do. I.

  Chapter Twelve

  She should have roses, shouldn’t she? It’d been so long since she’d seen an episode of The Bachelorette, she couldn’t remember how the men were eliminated. Things were probably done differently here in Sicily. Like a kiss on the cheek and a wish for happiness.

  Kai was the first to arrive. “Hello, Pop-Tart,” he said as he exited his vehicle. “Have you already gotten rid of the others? Or am I the first to arrive?”

  “Matteo and Cristo are at the police station,” she replied. A shiver wracked her body.

  “Did they arrest Matteo?” Kai looked around as if expecting snipers on the barn roof.

  “No, he’s gone in voluntarily for questioning.”

  “Brave man.”

  “Or stupid.” Bella pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kai, but as much as I appreciate your offer of marriage, I’m going to have to turn you down again. I owe it to the vows I made to give Matteo another chance. And I love the farm too much to leave it.”

  Kai wrapped his arms around her in a big hug. “Are the two compatible? I may have got this wrong, but Matteo doesn’t look like he’s ready to take up farming again.”

  “I’m not sure he is either. What would you do? If you had to decide between your career or your wife?”

  “That’s no contest. I’d give up everything except my daughter to have even one more day with Tsion.”

  She could almost feel his heartbreak beneath her cheek.

  “But what if you knew she was going to leave? Wouldn’t you want something to keep you sane, a reason to get up in the morning?”

  “I have Joy for that. But I see what you mean. Without my little girl, I’d still be curled in a ball, lying on the floor in a pool of my own tears.”

  “I spent plenty of nights in that condition. I don’t think I could survive a second round.”

  “Do you think Matteo will leave again?”

  She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his polo shirt. “I don’t think he’ll stay. His life is elsewhere now. But he’s going to try farming again for two weeks. Of course, that’s all dependent on whether he even returns this afternoon. He could be arrested and charged with murder. It would probably be better if he went back to Tunisia . . . ” Except Matteo had promised her he’d stay on the farm and she knew he’d live up to that, even at the risk of his freedom.

  Because she’d asked.

  Kai dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Know that you’ll always have a place in my life. If you need anything, even just a hug from an old friend, call and I’ll come running.”

  “Thank you. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d never met Matteo. If I’d married you and stayed in New York.”

  “For one, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Don’t look to the past, Bella. Embrace the future—with all its uncertainty and possibility. Grab love and don’t let go. One of us should have a happy-ever-after.”

  “We both deserve one. I hope you’ll find love again, Kai.”

  He shook his head, a sadness in his eyes she knew all too well.

  They were still hugging when Cristo’s SUV lumbered down the drive. Bella squinted, desperate to see if Matteo sat in the passenger seat. The relief that swept through her when she saw her husband’s glare was palpable.

  She dropped her arms from around Kai and straightened her T-shirt. Matteo was out of the vehicle before it had even come to a full sto
p. Bella was torn between relief he had returned and anger at this possessive display. Sheesh, you’d think he’d trust her by now. She’d stayed faithful to him for six years. Did he think she’d jump in bed with her old boyfriend while he was gone for a few hours? Especially after last night.

  Kai laughed. “Be happy, Bella,” he said before striding over to Matteo. Her ex-fiancé shook her still glowering husband’s hand before leaning in close to whisper something in Matteo’s ear.

  Whatever it was, Matteo looked annoyed at first then broke out into a broad grin. He clapped Kai on the back. With a wave, Kai got in his vehicle and drove off.

  Cristo, looking a bit miserable, finally exited the SUV and moved to Bella’s side.

  “You’ve decided on Matteo, then,” Cristo said with no other greeting.

  “We’re having a trial reconciliation,” she replied. “I’m sorry, Cristo. But I made a commitment to Matteo years ago, and our marriage deserves another shot.”

  Cristo gave her a wry smile. “I would expect no less of you.” After a kiss on her cheek, he got back in his SUV and drove away.

  Matteo wrapped his arms around her from the back and dropped a kiss on her temple. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  He hadn’t just rejected two close friends. “What did Kai say to you?”

  “That if I broke your heart he’d cut out mine with a rusty spoon. But then he congratulated me for putting the just-loved glow back in your eyes and said to keep up the good work.” He kissed her. Whether to wipe Kai and Cristo’s embraces from her mind or he was just carrying on from last night, she didn’t particularly care.

  Before they ended up back in bed or on the table, she pulled away from the kiss but snuggled against his broad chest. “How’d it go with the police?”

  “Fine.” All the tenderness of a moment ago, gone.

  “Matteo?” She pulled back so she could see his face.

  “It was fine, Bella. I don’t want to waste any more time on the questionable questore. Let’s concentrate on us.” His lips caressed hers again, but he didn’t deepen the kiss. “Ti amo,” he said as he nuzzled her hair.

  What wasn’t he telling her?

  • • •

  Bella glanced down her list. Everything had been checked off, but she was reluctant to put down her paper and leave. Her two weeks were up. True to his word, Matteo had helped around the farm, splitting the chores and, without her asking, tackling some minor repairs and improvements that had been on her to-do list for too long.

  As in the early days of their marriage, they’d cooked together, bathed together, and make passionate love each night. All those times she’d dreamed of Matteo’s return—this was what she’d imagined. Now, in reality, it wasn’t quite right.

  She couldn’t have her happiness at the expense of his. While Matteo had put in a fabulous effort, he was restless—anxious to get back to his businesses. He was no longer content to be a farmer and, in truth, she couldn’t see him as one anymore. His custom-made suits hung in the wardrobe, and more than once she’d seen him reach for them first when getting dressed before he’d tugged on jeans and a T-shirt. Phone calls to Tunisia had become longer and more frequent, although at least he’d dropped the lovers’ tone when talking with Farrah. And the notes he wrote to remind himself of things no longer had to do with crop rotations and yields but resort repairs and potential villages to approach for his artisan cooperative.

  The only thing they hadn’t done together that they used to was go into the village. Matteo had stayed on the farm for the entire two weeks, not wanting to risk a run-in with the police or more antagonism from the locals. The lawyer Matteo had hired arrived one afternoon about a week into their trial reconciliation. Matteo had spoken to him out in the paddock, far from any listening ears. When Bella had asked what the lawyer had to report, all her husband would say was that everything was under control and no arrest warrant had been issued for him. Yet. And whenever she broached the subject, he’d tell her he had it all in hand and not to worry. Damn it, hadn’t she proved to him by now that she was no princess who needed protecting from the realities of life?

  Still, every time a vehicle appeared in the drive, Matteo would stiffen and his eyes would get that wary look she’d come to hate. Unless his situation was miraculously resolved, he couldn’t stay in Sicily. Either he’d be arrested or he’d go crazy waiting for the hammer to fall.

  “You’ve checked everything twice, bellissima,” Matteo said. He stood at the barn door, no longer dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Now he wore one of his beloved suits, although the top buttons of his shirt were undone and he hadn’t yet put on a tie. Her stupid heart did a little fibrillation at how sexy he looked, back in business mode. Then again, he looked sexy no matter what he was wearing—or not wearing at all. That was another part of their marriage that had fallen seamlessly back into place. Their sex life was all she’d remembered and more.

  “I just need to—”

  Matteo strode toward her. “You need to change and finish packing. You’ve gone through everything with Tony and Angela. And you’ve left an instruction manual thick enough to knock out Akbar if he were hit with it.”

  He took the slip of paper from her hand, his eyes quickly scanning all her neat little check marks. In eight years she hadn’t spent a night away from the farm. And now she’d be gone for two weeks. Longer, if Matteo got his way.

  Where was the adventurous twenty-year-old who had fled her mother’s overzealous wedding plans and toured Europe all by herself, reveling in her first, and potentially last, taste of freedom? Was Matteo right—had the farm sucked the spirit out of her? Or was she just scared to leave what had become her haven during a turbulent time?

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

  By the time she kissed Angela and Tony goodbye twenty minutes later, the worms that had been wriggling in her stomach had become butterflies and her teeth had unclenched enough to allow a genuine smile. The other couple was ecstatic to look after the farm for her. Sure, Matteo had paid them a generous salary. But it was probably more to do with the fact that they lived with Tony’s parents and staying on the farm meant they’d have the cottage to themselves.

  But as she and Matteo made their way down the driveway, not once did he look in the rearview mirror. He really had said goodbye to the farm.

  It was less than two hundred miles and a quick flight on a private jet from Palermo airport to Matteo’s house in Tunisia. The door Matteo unlocked in the narrow cobblestoned alley looked unpretentious, the same as the tens of others they’d passed. The blue paint was faded and the brass knocker looked like it had been recovered from the ark. But when he flung the door wide and gestured for her to precede him, a gasp caught in her throat.

  The outside door was a portal to a magical world of Arabian treasures. Any second she expected a genie to appear and offer her three wishes. A fountain bubbled in a tiled courtyard. Potted palms, lemon trees, and flowering vines on trellises softened the hardness of the white plastered walls, which towered three stories above where she stood.

  “Come. Let me show you around.” Matteo took her hand, his smile full of warmth as he led her through a keyhole-shaped entryway.

  The floors were covered in white marble, the walls half tiled in blue ceramic, the intricacy of the design stunning. Bella paused to take it all in, her mouth falling open when she saw the ornately carved ceiling.

  “It was a ruin when I bought it,” Matteo commented. “It took ten craftsmen almost a year to restore. Although I did tone down some of the original decor, keeping the floors simple rather than mosaicked. Still, I think it turned out rather well.”

  “It’s gorgeous. Makes the farm cottage look like a hovel.”

  Matteo put both hands on her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her lips. “The cottage will always be special because that’s where our love blossomed. This house is just a little more comfortable.”

  Comfortable was an understatement. It was one
of the most beautiful homes Bella had ever seen—a virtual palace. If Mom could see me now, she might not have rejected me for marrying Matteo. But Bella had never wanted her family to accept her husband because of his potential, rather the fact that he made her happy and loved her.

  So, what had changed? Matteo still made her happy. He still loved her. Why wasn’t it enough for her now?

  As if sensing her change of mood, Matteo took her hand once more and led her up the staircase. On the third floor, he opened a door to a massive bedroom. A huge bed was draped in white curtains, the only punches of color in the space the bright blue cushions. The bed was fit for a king; the base and four posts had the same delicate carving as the ceiling. It probably wouldn’t creak and protest during sex like hers at the cottage.

  While she ran her fingers over the polished wooden top of the dresser, Matteo opened a door on the other side of the room. A luxurious bathroom beckoned. A tub. The last time she’d had a bath was the morning after Matteo reappeared, and that was more of a quick rinse. Here she could have a long soak, enjoy a glass of wine, maybe read a book . . . or entertain a certain hot Italian male. A tear threatened. How sad was her life that the sight of a bathtub made her cry?

  Bella plonked down on the daybed set into a small alcove. What did she know of this world? She picked at the fringe of a pillow.

  “Tesori, what’s the matter?” Matteo sat on his haunches before her. With his thumb he wiped away the tear that had escaped.

  “I can’t compete with this. How can I even ask you to give all this up and live on the farm with me?”

  She felt his frustration even though his touch remained gentle. “Bella, you don’t have to compete with anything. The choice is not between you and a house. But you did promise me two weeks of 100 percent effort to integrate into my world.”

  Pulling in a deep breath, she forced a smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Matteo sat next to her on the daybed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “There’s nothing to apologize for. And I don’t want you to hide what you’re feeling from me or pretend to like something when you don’t.”