Aubrie Dionne - An American Girl in Italy - HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

As Carly squirmed in her seat, Wolf gestured to the orchestra’s biggest donor and the board of directors. ‘Ms. Maxhammer handpicked him after a series of rigorous interviews. Michelangelo knows his way around and will be with us every step of the way.’ Wolf waved his hand over to the front of the plane, where people had already started pulling down their bags in first class. ‘Play well and I hope you and your families enjoy the tour.’

Carly glanced at Bertha. By the time she woke up, they’d be the last ones off the plane. She needed to get to a quiet place and call Dino back. He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d be even less happy if she didn’t give him enough time to find someone else.

Carly’s neck burned with frustration. Twice union wages, and a contact with the Hyatt Harborside. She’d been dreaming of playing there ever since she saw it glisten from across the Back Bay. Enjoy your trip, my ass.

She nudged the old violinist. ‘Bertha, it’s time to wake up.’

Al chuckled from the seat behind them as he picked up his trombone. He insisted his instrument have its own ticket, whereas Carly’s oboe fitted in the overhead. ‘There’s only one way to wake her up.’

He unzipped his case and brought out his mouthpiece.

Carly shook her head. ‘You’re not going to—’

Before she could finish, Al buzzed the mouthpiece down by Bertha’s ear.

Carly winced as Bertha’s eyes flickered open. She smacked her dentures together and gazed up at Carly. ‘We’re there already?’

Al winked as he passed them down the aisle. ‘You can thank me later.’

Carly gave him a dirty look. In his dreams. Melody may have made a lucky match in the orchestra, but Carly didn’t mix business with pleasure. Her life was one hundred percent business and she endeavored to keep it that way.

It took forever to help Bertha with her violin and baggage. Only then did she have the luxury of whipping out her phone. Cringing, she dialed Dino’s number and punched in his extension.

The other orchestra members gathered around the glass windows at the front of the Leonardo da Vinci International Airport. A man with curly dark hair wearing a white cotton shirt waved them over. His back was turned, so she couldn’t make out his face, but she bet it was chubby and dark with a long, oily mustache like the guy on her pasta label. Oh great, that must be the Italian guide.

‘Dirty Dancing DJs, Dino speaking.’ He sounded like he was in the other room, not four thousand miles away.

Maybe a little distance, in this case, is good.

‘Hey, Dino. It’s Carly.’

‘Hey babe, what’s happening? Did you get the good news?’

The orchestra started to leave through the double doors. Melody waved to her, but Carly waved her back. ‘That’s what I’m calling about. I’m in Italy for the next two weeks. I left you a message—’

‘Italy? Damn, girl. How am I supposed to book you over there?’

‘One of my orchestras is on tour, and I had to go to keep my full-time status. I’m sorry. I thought you got the message.’

He sighed, sounding more annoyed than sad. ‘Well, I guess I have to find someone else.’

Someone else. Those two words cut to her gut like reed sharpeners. In the gig business, if you refused, you got bumped to the bottom of the list. Dirty Dancing DJs was like the music mafia. It controlled every event center from the coast to western Massachusetts. She could already hear his fingers clicking over the keyboard for more numbers.

Someone tugged on her sleeve and she yanked her arm back. Melody has some guts coming to me now after ignoring me for the whole flight. ‘Just give me a sec,’ she hissed while covering the phone.

Dino hung up, leaving her with a dead phone stuck to her ear. Carly stomped her foot as anger threatened to get the better of her. How long would it take to rise back to the top of his precious list? ‘Asshole.’

There was that tug on her arm again, this time more insistent. Fury boiling inside her, she whirled around. ‘I told you—’

A man who looked like he’d walked off a Giorgio Armani ad glowed before her, illuminated by the Italian sun shining through the windows behind him. Midnight hair rolled in waves around his ears, slicked back from his face with just the right amount of mousse. Thick, perfectly sculpted, dark eyebrows contrasted with smooth, olive skin. Blue eyes with a ring of amber around the center mesmerized her.

‘Are you with the Easthampton Civic Symphony, signorina?’ He accented his words just like the cultured Italian men on the James Bond films she had watched growing up.

‘Yes, I was just—’ what was she doing? Carly’s voice trailed off.

‘May I introduce myself? I am Michelangelo Ricci, your tour guide.’

Their tour guide? Carly’s stomach plummeted. She’d just made a bitchy fool of herself right in front of the man she’d have to spend the next two weeks with. Great. Or what do the Italians say? Bene.

Michelangelo stared in expectation at her with his beautiful blue-amber eyes. What did he want? Some sort of pat on the back? A kiss? Stop daydreaming. Carly blinked back to reality. ‘Yes?’

‘And you are?’

‘Oh. Carly Davis.’

He extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Carly.’

She took his hand in hers and squeezed. He had a strong grip with rough calluses, maybe from working outside in the vineyard? Boy, this guy was too good to be true. Which was why she should stay the hell away.

He released her hand politely, if not a little too soon for her taste. ‘ Per favore , follow me. The tour bus is just beyond the doors.’

‘I know that.’ She grabbed her oboe case. Her long, floral bohemian skirt caught on her Birkenstock, and she tumbled face-forward on top of her luggage. Her over-packed bag broke her fall, but it didn’t stave off a humbling wave of embarrassment.

He reached for her arm, pulling her up. ‘ Mio dio , are you all right?’

Why was she so off all of a sudden? Must have been the conversation with Dino. It couldn’t possibly be the tall, dark and gorgeous hottie, who must think she was the biggest idiot ever to land in Italy.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her fingers shook as she grabbed the handle of her rolling bag. ‘Just a long flight, that’s all.’

‘I’m sure it was.’ His eyes glanced to where the bus was parked, looking very unconvinced. He reached for her oboe case, of all things. ‘May I help you?’

‘Absolutely not.’ She pulled her case back. He may be hot, but she wasn’t about to trust him with her twelve grand rosewood Lorée. Embarrassment climbed its way into her cheeks until she was pretty sure her entire face was red as a ketchup bottle. Her pale skin didn’t help. Even at her most calm, her cheeks always looked pink.

‘ Va bene .’ He stiffened as though slightly offended, then stepped away from her and moved toward the double doors. ‘If you’ll come this way.’

Carly followed him to the tour bus, dragging her luggage behind her and feeling like she was unwittingly doing everything she could to tick off the one person she’d have to rely upon for the next two weeks.

Maybe it was for the best. She was dangerously attracted to him, and the last thing she needed was a distraction.

Off to a great start.

*****

Michelangelo Ricci trudged to the tour bus feeling as though he’d signed away the next two weeks of his life. Fourteen days of vivere l’inferno , or as the silly Americans would say, a living hell.

It was because of wealthy Americans he was here, scraping together a paycheck so they didn’t build luxury condos on his family’s winery. The irony of his situation cackled in his face.