LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      Salon des Reines, Paris, France

      THE CHAUFFEUR OF Le Comte Jean-Michel Ardois pulled the limousine up in front of the bridal salon on the Rue de L’Echelle. In the last two weeks Princess Tuccianna Falcone Leonardi of Sicily had been here with her mother three times for the bridal dress fitting. Each time they’d come, she’d made excuses to visit the bathroom in order to study the layout of the exclusive shop.

      This morning was her final fitting to make sure everything was perfect for the wedding ceremony tomorrow. Only Tuccia had no intention of showing up for the elaborate nuptials arranged by her parents and Comte Ardois ten years ago in a horrifying, ironclad betrothal forced upon her. She’d dreamed of her freedom forever. Now had come the moment for her escape.

      Madame Dufy, the owner, welcomed them inside. After fussing over Tuccia and telling her how excited she was for her forthcoming marriage to the comte, she took them back to the dressing room befitting a queen.

      “Delphine will be with you in just a moment with your gown. It’s as exquisite as you are, Princess.”

      The second she left, Tuccia turned to her mother, the Marchesa di Trabia of Sicily. “I need to go to the restroom.”

      “Surely not!”

      “I can’t help it. You know how I get when I’m nervous.”

      “You are impossible, Tuccia!”

      “If I don’t go, it might happen in here.”

      Her mother’s hands flew up in the air. “All right! But don’t take too long. We have a long list of things that must be done today.”

      “I’ll hurry, Mamma.”

      Yes, she’d hurry. Right out of the clutches of the comte!

      She knew he planned to assign her a bodyguard the moment they were married and never let her out of his sight for the rest of their lives. After overhearing him discuss it with her parents, who’d said she needed a strong hand, she’d been planning how to disappear.

      Tuccia opened the door and walked down the hall to the door of the bathroom. But she only went inside to leave her betrothal ring on the floor near the sink. Whoever found it could think what they wanted. After looking around to make sure no one had seen her, she rushed down another hallway straight out the back door of the shop.

      From there it was only a short run down the alley used for delivery trucks to the street where she climbed in a taxi.

      “Le Bourget Aeroport, s’il vous plait.”

      Her heart refused to stop thudding as they drove off. She looked behind her. No one had come running out of the alley chasing after her yet. Tuccia prayed all the way to the airport where she boarded an Eljet chartered for her under a fake name and paid for her by her aunt Bertina. Once it landed in Palermo, Sicily, she’d take a taxi to her aunt’s palazzo.

      Before long Tuccia’s favorite person in the whole world would be offering her sanctuary. Her life would continue to depend on Bertina’s help, or all was lost.

      The next day, Milan, Italy

      Dinner had concluded in the private dining room of the legendary fourteenth-century castello, the home of the former first Duc di Lombardi in Milan, Italy.

      Vincenzo Gagliardi, the present-day duc, lifted his goblet with the insignia of the Gagliardi coat of arms. “Buona fortuna this trip, Cesare. Our business is depending on you. May you return with my wife’s replacement soon. The baby will be here in two months. I want Gemma off her feet ASAP.”

      “Amen,” Takis declared, raising his glass. “You’re going to have to be quick, amico.” He touched his goblet to Cesare’s, and they sipped the local vintage Lombardia that Vincenzo had produced from the vast wine cellar for his send-off.

      Cesare Donati eyed his two best friends with a smile. They’d been like brothers to him for more than a decade. Together they’d turned the former fortress palace of Vincenzo’s family into the five-star Castello Supremo Hotel and Ristorante di Lombardi, Europe’s most sought-after resort.

      “I have a surprise for you. I’ll be back in two days with our new pastry chef. I told Gemma as much this morning.”

      “That soon?” they said in unison.

      “It’s been arranged for a while, so have no concerns.”

      His friends smiled in relief. For Cesare’s contribution to their successful enterprise, he’d already found the perfect person to replace Gemma as the castello’s new executive pastry chef.

      But he’d been keeping the identity of his choice a secret until he could present Ciro Fragala in person with one of his many specialties for their delectation.

      Vincenzo’s wife had learned to make Florentine pastry from her mother who’d cooked for the last duc. Though her cooking was perfection and drew the elite clientele that came to the castello, in Cesare’s opinion the best cook in the world was his own Sicilian mother.

      She’d learned from the nuns who made divine pastries and ran the orphanage where she’d been raised until she turned eighteen. On her say-so—and she would know better than anyone

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