cleared her throat, getting her mind back on the job. She had to take Logan out of this equation. This discovery could be career-changing. It was time to put her business head on her shoulders.
‘What can you tell me about the fresco?’
He hesitated. ‘I almost don’t know where to start.’ His voice was echoing. He must be standing in the chapel now. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t need to imagine Logan—his broad shoulders, thick dark hair and oh-so-sexy green eyes. He was already there. Permanently imprinted from the last time she’d seen him.
After all the emotion, all the pent-up frustration and anger, all the tears, she’d been left with his face on her mind. A picture of resolve. One that knew there was no point continuing. One that knew walking away was the only way they would both heal.
She’d known he wouldn’t come after her. They had been past that point. He might not have agreed but he’d realised how much they’d both been damaging each other.
The vision of him standing in the stairwell of their apartment, running his hand through his just-too-long hair, his impeccable suit rumpled beyond all repair and his eyelids heavy with regret had burned a hole in her mind.
‘Just tell me what you see.’ She spoke quickly, giving her head a shake and trying to push him from her mind.
He sighed. ‘I can’t, Lucia. I just can’t. It’s just too...too...magnificent. You have to see it for yourself. You have to see it in the flesh.’
Flesh. Every tiny hair on her arms stood on end. Seeing it in the flesh would mean seeing him in the flesh. Could she really go there again?
‘Wait,’ he said. She could hear him fumbling and for a second it made her smile. Logan wasn’t prone to fumbling. ‘What’s your email address?’
‘What?’
‘Your email. Give me your email address. I’ve just taken a photo.’
She recited off her email address. It was odd. She didn’t even want to give that little part of herself away to him again. She wanted to keep herself, and everything about her, sealed away. Almost in an invisible bubble.
That would keep her safe.
Being around Logan again—just hearing his voice—made her feel vulnerable. Emotionally vulnerable. No one else had ever evoked the same passion in her that Logan had. Maybe it was what they’d gone through together, what they’d shared that made the connection run so deep. But whatever it was she didn’t ever want to re-create it. She’d come out the other side once before. She didn’t think she’d ever have the strength to do it again.
Ping. The email landed in her inbox and she clicked to open it.
As soon as the photo opened she jerked back in her seat. Wow.
‘Have you got it?’
‘Oh, I’ve got it,’ she breathed. She’d spent her life studying frescoes. Most of the ones she’d encountered were remnants of their former selves. Time, age, environment had all caused damage. Few were in the condition of the one she was looking at now. It was an explosion of radiant colour. So vivid, so detailed that her breath caught in her throat. She expanded the photo. It was so clear she could almost see the brushstrokes. What she could definitely see was every hair on the baby Jesus’s head and every tiny line around Mary’s eyes.
‘Now you get it,’ said the voice, so soft it almost stroked her skin.
‘Now I get it,’ she repeated without hesitation.
There was silence for a few seconds as her eyes swept from one part of the fresco to another. There was so much to see. So much to relish. The palm of her hand itched to actually reach out and touch it.
‘So, what now?’
The million-dollar question. What now indeed? ‘Who owns the property?’ she asked quickly.
‘Louisa Harrison—she’s an American and inherited the property from a distant Italian relative. She hired me to renovate the palazzo and chapel for the upcoming royal wedding.’
Lucia frowned. ‘What royal wedding?’
Logan let out a laugh. ‘Oh, Lucia, I forget that you don’t keep up with the news. Prince Antonio of Halencia and Christina Rose. It’s only a few short weeks away.’
‘And you’re still renovating?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. All the Italian renovation projects that Logan had been involved with before had taken months to complete. Months of negotiation for the correct materials sourced from original suppliers and then the inevitable wait for available master craftsmen.
This time he didn’t laugh. This time there was an edge to his voice. ‘Yes. I have around forty men working for me right now. This fresco—it was more than a little surprise. There was wood panelling covering all the walls. Every other wall we’ve uncovered has been bare. We expected this one to be the same.’ He sighed. ‘I expected just to use original plaster on the walls. It should only have taken a few days.’
Now she understood. This discovery was amazing—but it could also cause huge hold-ups in Logan’s work. She’d known him long enough to know that would be worrying him sick.
Logan never missed a deadline. Never reneged on a deal. And although she hadn’t heard about this wedding she was sure it must be all over the media. If Logan couldn’t finish the renovations of the church in time the whole wedding would be up in the air and his reputation would be ruined.
Not to mention his bank balance. She’d no idea who the owner was, but there was every chance she’d put a clause in the contract about delayed completion—particularly when it was so vital.
‘I’ll come.’ The words were out before she really thought about it. She grabbed a notebook and pen. ‘Give me the address and I’ll make travel arrangements today.’ As her pen was poised above the paper her brain was screaming at her. No. What are you doing?
She waited. And waited.
‘You’ll come here?’ He sounded stunned—almost disbelieving.
Her stomach recoiled. Logan obviously had the same reservations about seeing her as she had about him. But why—after twelve years—did that hurt?
But he recovered quickly, reciting the address, the nearest airport and recommending an airline. ‘If you let me know your flight details I’ll have someone pick you up.’
His voice was still as smooth as silk but she didn’t miss the implication—Logan hadn’t offered to pick her up himself.
It didn’t matter that she was alone in her office, she could almost feel her mask slipping into place. The one that she’d used on several occasions over the years when people had started to get too close and ask personal questions. When past boyfriends had started to make little noises about moving to the next stage of their relationship.
Self-preservation. That was the only way to get through this.
‘I’ll email you,’ she said briskly, and replaced the receiver. She ignored the fact her hands were trembling slightly and quickly made
