LITMIR.BIZ

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go. The Procession of Abundance won’t wait.”

      * * *

      After the parade, they strolled the Promenade in the harbor area, not far from where he’d told stories to the children the day before.

      She chattered gleefully about her upcoming first semester at the Fashion Institute of New York. She’d been to the school and pestered some of her future instructors for ways she might better prepare for the classes to come. As a result, she was designing accessories and working with fabrics she hadn’t used before.

      And then, again, she brought up his painting. “I know you have a studio here in Montedoro. I want you to take me there.”

      He teased, “Never trust a man who wants to show you his etchings.”

      “But that’s just it. You don’t want to show me. You keep putting me off.”

      He took her soft, clever hand and tucked it over his arm. “I’ll consider it.”

      She bumped her shoulder against him and flashed him a grin. “And I’ll keep bugging you until you give in and let me see what you’ve been working on.”

      “But I haven’t been working on any of that. I’m a businessman first. And you know that I am.”

      “You’re an artist, Dami,” she insisted. “You truly are.”

      “No, my darling. You are. Now please stop nagging me or I won’t take you to the holiday gala at the National Museum tonight.”

      Her big eyes got wider. “Oh, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten about the show at the museum. There will be an exhibit of that new car you’ve been working on, the Montedoro, won’t there?”

      “You make it sound as though I built the car personally.”

      She put on an expression of great superiority. “I know how to use the internet, believe it or not. I read all about the new sports car and how you helped design it.”

      “So, then, we’re agreed.”

      She sent him a look. “Agreed about what?”

      “You’ll go with me to the gala tonight. We’ll drink champagne. I will dazzle you with my knowledge of Montedoran art. And you’ll stop giving me grief about how I should spend more time in my studio.”

      * * *

      Lucy wore red to the gala that night. Her own design, the dress was strapless, of red satin, with a mermaid hem and a giant jeweled vintage pin in the shape of a butterfly at the side of her waist. She felt good in that dress—comfortable and about as close to glamorous as someone everyone considered “cute” was ever going to get.

      Dami said, “Wow,” when he saw it. And she had to admit, the way he looked at her, all smoldering and sexy, had her convinced that the dress was just right.

      The National Museum of Montedoro filled a very old, very large rococo-style villa perched on a hillside overlooking the harbor. Dami’s sister Rhiannon, who was a year older than Alice, worked there. Rhia oversaw acquisitions and restorations. She greeted the guests as they entered the museum.

      Seven months pregnant, wearing royal-blue satin, Rhia had that glow that so many pregnant women get. She kissed Lucy on the cheek and said that Alice and Noah were expected any minute now. Lucy shared a glance with Dami over that. He frowned a little, probably doubting that Noah would behave himself. Lucy flashed him a confident smile. Noah would behave himself, all right. If he didn’t, he’d get another middle-of-the-night visit from his little sister.

      Rhia said, “Follow the Hall of Tapestries. The Montedoro Exhibit is in the South Gallery. You can’t miss it.”

      They proceeded down a long hallway hung with beautiful tapestries, some of them very old, to a large two-story room with tall windows overlooking the harbor. The second floor was a balcony rimming the space. Guests could stand at the railing up there and gaze down on the action below.

      The gallery was already milling with people in full evening dress sipping champagne. A jazz quartet played on a stage near the windows. A sleek red sports car gleamed under spotlights in the center of the room.

      “It’s so beautiful,” she told Dami at the sight of the new car.

      “It has to be,” he said. “After all, it’s called the Montedoro.”

      They made their way around the exhibit. Lucy took her time, studying the photographs and scale drawings and reading the descriptions that detailed the creation of the new car. The Montedoro would be available to exclusive individual buyers that coming May and offered for sale in upscale auto dealerships all over the world in the fall. Many of the drawings were signed DBC.

      Evidently, Dami saw her checking out his initials. “See? There’s more to life than painting and sketching fat cats in windows.”

      “Noah told me that you took a degree in mechanical engineering and design.”

      “I like to keep busy.”

      “You’re way too modest.”

      “Oh, no, I’m not.” He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed her temple. “I have a lot of interests. And I become bored very easily.”

      “You hide your abilities behind your jet-setter facade.”

      “Does anyone actually say jet-setter anymore?”

      She drew her shoulders back. “I do. It’s a perfect way of saying shallow-rich-people-who-fly-all-over-the-place-in-their-private-jets. Just IMO, of course.”

      He pretended to hide a yawn. “I hope this isn’t the beginning of one of your lectures concerning my wasted artistic talent. I thought we had an understanding about that.”

      “You’re right.” She did her best to look contrite. “We do. And I didn’t mean to insult rich people with too much time on their hands.”

      “As opposed to hardworking rich people, you mean?”

      “Well, you have to admit, a hardworking rich person is much more admirable.”

      “Spoken like an American.”

      She scolded, “And would you please stop telling me how easily you get bored?”

      He leaned even closer and whispered, “Done.”

      She breathed him in. He did smell wonderful. “Terrific.”

      He touched her hair, tracing the line of it along her temple and cheek then following the shell of her ear. A little shiver of pleasure went through her and he whispered, “Not bored now. Not with you....”

      They were sharing a lovely, intimate smile when she heard the disturbance by the wide arch that opened back onto the Hall of Tapestries. Dami was facing the entrance. He could see what was happening. His tender look turned to a scowl. Lucy followed his gaze to the stunning woman surrounded by admirers and eager photographers just entering the exhibit.

      It was Vesuvia.

      And she looked even more magnificent than she did on the covers of all those glamorous fashion magazines, with magnetic almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones to die for and lips so full they should be X-rated. She was very tall, with shapely shoulders and long, graceful arms. Her lion’s mane of tawny hair fell to the middle of her back and her perfect round breasts seemed to defy gravity. She wore a low-cut white gown that clung lovingly to every curve and was slit high on the right side to reveal a whole lot of toned golden-skinned leg and a pair of Grecian-inspired metallic sandals with the straps wrapping halfway up her otherworldly calves. She laughed and tossed her acres of hair and the photographers went into a frenzy of picture taking, calling encouragements to her and begging, “Vesuvia, this way!” and “Vesuvia, over here!”

      Dami leaned close again, “Don’t stare, Luce. It only encourages her.”

      Lucy turned back to him, feeling slightly dazed, the way

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