“When in the morning?” Alessandra Puglisi was never flustered. She’d been an assistant to Fellini in her youth. She understood improvisation and chaos.
“Early. I’ll have a plane standing by tonight. You just have to messenger the items to the airport.”
“Item one?” she asked, imperturbable and cool.
When Rafe gave the location of the shop, she immediately knew the name. “That’s Degli Effetti. They stock several designers, all wonderful. What do you need?”
Rafe described the silver dress. “If it’s available in other colors, send those as well. Then add whatever else you like in dresses—American size four. Shoes too, size six. I’d say more, but this lady finds it difficult to accept gifts.”
Her trill of laughter was bright with merriment. “Where did you find this paragon of womanhood? I’ve never heard of a woman who won’t take gifts.”
“I’m not sure she’s a paragon so much as difficult and troublesome.” Alessandra was like an elderly aunt, charming, chatty, and blind to rules of conduct. He’d known her for years.
“Ah, that’s why she intrigues you. She doesn’t say yes. Good for her.”
“We’ll see.”
“My dear boy, mastering one’s feelings is much overrated. I understand you’re dealing with some demons—with a father like yours, who wouldn’t. But this young lady sounds fascinating. Put your reservations aside. Enjoy yourself. Need I remind you—there are no redoes in life. If you have a chance to touch the stars, however briefly, you’ll never regret it. Now, enough unwanted advice,” she said crisply. “Why don’t I send along a few more things your little girlfriend might like—for your pleasure and hers?”
“I never said girlfriend.” His blunt protest was manifest male phobia.
“Rafe, darling, have you ever once asked me to buy something for your—what do you call them—fuckees? No. So resist or not, and most men like you think they can go around sticking their dick into random women for the rest of their lives—until suddenly, presto, like a shot—the girlfriend checks in and knocks you on your ass. Now, I’ll have the gifts nicely wrapped with pretty name tags that will make her happy, which will make you happy, et cetera, et cetera. So stop being obstinate and listen to your clever aunty.”
He had a pretty good idea debating the point would be useless. “I should get a discount for a verbal flaying,” he grumbled.
She laughed. “My pet, it’s the best advice you’ll ever get.”
“I’m not saying I believe you completely,” he said in a slow, considering tone, “but maybe the door’s open an inch or two when it comes to a bona fide girlfriend. She has knocked me on my ass. It feels good though, so thanks—as always.”
“You’re such a sweet boy with such lovely manners,” Alessandra cooed.
Rafe laughed. “No point in pissing you off when you’re doing me a huge favor.”
“Not just good manners but smart too. Your father died opportunely. I hear the company is doing exceedingly well since you took the helm.”
“I’ll never be as smart as you,” Rafe said, a smile in his voice, enjoying Alessandra’s delight in life, her directness. “Spend whatever you want. I don’t care.”
“I know that, darling. And I’d love you even if you were a pauper. Tell your Nicole she’s very lucky.”
“I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t, of course, but he might show her how he felt.
Next, Rafe chartered a plane in Rome rather than ask his pilots to make a round trip in the middle of the night. Then a last call. Monte Carlo was open late or all night in some cases, so finding a flower shop that would deliver wasn’t an issue.
When all was arranged, he walked back into the bedroom and stood bedside for a few moments, feeling an unalloyed happiness. Alessandra was right. Why question every sensation, decision, possibility? Simply enjoy.
Nicole suddenly cried out and he smiled, recognizing the sound. She was dreaming—of him he hoped—but certainly she was enjoying herself. And he waited in the event she woke. But she didn’t, and when she was sleeping deeply again, Rafe left the bedroom, softly shutting the door behind him. Walking downstairs, he stood outside, called the main house, and five minutes later, Madame Laplace, who’d been at the house as long as he could remember, arrived.
“Sorry, to keep you up, Josephine,” Rafe said, speaking French, “but I need someone I can trust. Sleep in late tomorrow. Right now, I’d like you to sit outside my bedroom with the door ajar so you can hear Miss Parrish if she wakes. If she does, call me and I’ll come right back. Don’t frighten her, just call me. You have a phone with you?”