style="font-size:15px;"> They landed at Rome and said goodbye. Emily was heading straight to Palermo and Gina was going to sneak in a night with family and see Emily there tomorrow. ‘Have fun,’ Gina said.
There wasn’t time to have fun, Emily thought. Her career was nosediving; she had to come up with something.
Palermo was gorgeous, though. The sky was blue, the air warm, and as she stepped into summer, she breathed it in, determined despite Gina’s warning to turn things around this weekend. As the taxi drove her from the airport, she noticed how many developments were unfinished, left deserted midconstruction. She tried to ask the taxi driver about them but he spoke little English, though Emily felt the hair on her arms rise when the name Corretti was mentioned.
Emily checked in and was taking the elevator up to her room when one of her informants called.
‘Hi there...’ Emily smiled into the phone but her voice broke off as the most stunning man followed her into the elevator. His hair was jet-black and he was unshaven with a full, scowling mouth, and her first, illogical thought was, it would be heaven to be the recipient of his smile. He was wearing black jeans, a black top and a black jacket, his eyes covered with dark glasses. The lift doors closed and it was just the two of them. As his expensive scent reached her, Emily was incredibly aware of his presence, so much so that she forgot she had taken a phone call until her informant’s voice came down the line.
‘Emily?’
‘Sorry!’ She returned her attention to the call, or tried to, but her eyes watched as a beautifully manicured finger pressed the button for one of the top floors.
‘Wrong lake.’ The connection was loud and Emily held her phone from her ear.
‘Oh!’
‘I don’t even know which one the police are going to be dredging—they’re keeping it really quiet. But I don’t want you freezing by a lake for nothing in this weather.’
‘I’m not covering the story now. Adam and Dianne are on their way there. I’m in sunny Sicily.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Covering a wedding.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t ask. It’s a very sore point.’
‘I never imagined you as a wedding reporter.’
‘Neither did I. Look, thanks for letting me know about the lake. I’ll pass it on.’
‘No I bloody well won’t.’
Emily didn’t mean to say the words she had been thinking, but as she pocketed her phone, she realised that she had spoken out loud. Her eyes jerked up to the gorgeous stranger, her face burning red as the elevator doors opened and she realised she was at her floor. He wasn’t even looking at her; he was lounging against the elevator wall reading from his phone. He probably couldn’t speak English anyway, Emily consoled herself as she stepped out.
‘Fattispecie.’
Just as she got out of the elevator, his deep voice halted her and she turned around and looked at him, wishing he weren’t wearing dark glasses just so she could know the colour of his eyes when she dreamt about him tonight. ‘Actus reus,’ he translated, and even though he still didn’t, Emily found herself smiling as the elevator doors closed, as that delicious stranger gave her the legal term for a lie by omission.
Ah, fattispecie, Emily thought, letting herself into her room and thinking of Adam and Dianne standing in the pouring rain at the wrong lake.
Such a lovely word.
EMILY WASN’T going to find out anything in her hotel room, so she freshened up with a shower, then put on a summer dress and some make-up before she went for a wander.
It was early evening and the streets were teeming. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the upcoming nuptials. There were scores of reporters and the police were combing the church with detectors and dogs. Emily dictated a few lines and then put away her recorder. Everything was cordoned off. Even the barriers for the press were set farther back than usual. There really wasn’t a hope of getting closer. Even the most seasoned Italian reporters would have their work cut out, so Emily knew she didn’t stand much of a chance. She walked across to the reception venue but that and the gardens too were cordoned off.
Damn.
It was then she saw him again, and despite the dark glasses, she could see that he was unashamedly watching her. ‘Signor Fattispecie!’ Emily smiled.
‘The name is Anton.’ He made his way over and introduced himself. Emily waited for him to give his surname, to reveal a bit more as to who he was.
He did neither.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Emily.’ He watched her frown as she tried to fathom how he knew her name. ‘I heard your contact speak. So, you’re here to cover the wedding?’
Emily nodded. ‘You?’
‘To observe,’ he said.
‘Oh!’
He could be a Corretti. He was dark and delicious, and like them—well, according to her research, anyway—he gave nothing away. His voice was low and richly accented, and there was that urge again to rip off his glasses, that wish for this man to reveal just a little more of himself to her.
‘So,’ Anton asked, ‘covering a wedding is a sore point?’
Yes, he’d understood every word.
‘Can I ask why?’
‘My career’s just been shot.’ Emily was honest. His presence was just so consuming that there wasn’t the room in her mind to fathom lying or watering down the truth. ‘Well, slowly strangled.’ She looked at him and saw just a hint of a small smile lift the edge of a very beautiful mouth, and so she proceeded on. ‘Prolonged suffocation.’
‘What do you usually work on?’
‘I’m an investigative journalist.’ Emily sighed. ‘Or I thought I was till I was sent here. Still, this wedding sounds pretty interesting.’ He did not respond to her probe. ‘I heard there was a lot of rivalry between the families.’
‘Heard?’ Anton checked.
‘Read,’ Emily admitted.
‘Read what exactly?’
She breathed out through her nostrils, feeling as if she was being tested. She was unsure just whom she was speaking to, but she so badly needed to know more. ‘That Antonioni Battaglia is the minister of trade and industry.’ She watched as from behind his glasses one perfect eyebrow raised. ‘That his backing is needed for the regeneration of the docklands.’ She was aware he could be a member of either family, but it was all or nothing and Emily chose to push on. ‘And I read that the Correttis want the docklands project.’
‘Do you really want to cover more than just the wedding?’ He made her a little nervous,
