Give a Little (22 page)

He pulled back. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” she said softly but with feeling. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I was scared, which was no excuse, and I know I bollocksed it all, but I’d like to make it up to you.” She clutched him to her. “I told my father that I don’t want his money and that he could cut me off.”

“What?” Rowdy blinked. “I wasn’t expecting the story to take that twist.”

“I don’t want his money.”

Rowdy nodded. “You just want his love.”

Her lips turned down. “I may never have that.”

“No, but at least you can try.”

“That always mattered so much, but now I wonder if you don’t matter more. I’d like to find out.” She pulled him closer, holding him tight as if she were afraid he’d slip away. “Please let me make it up to you.”

Pursing his lips, he shrugged. “Okay.”

She blinked. “Okay?”

“Only if you dance with me.”

Her face lit. “I can do that.”

Before he could do or say anything, she turned around and made a beckoning motion. A trio of musicians in penguin suits were suddenly on the walkway, tuning their instruments.

She reached into her bag and took out a yellow crescent-shaped piece of paper. It was wrinkled, with a tear near the end, but it had a big face drawn on it—a smiling new moon.

Smoothing it, Jasmine stuck it to the door. “There was supposed to be moonlight,” she explained.

Rowdy swore he heard Pop say “Awww” from his perch in heaven.

The musicians stilled, and one counted. “One, two, three—”

And they launched into a classical tune that sounded familiar.

Jasmine faced him, her hand outstretched. “Dance with me?”

Rowdy’s heart filled with hope and happiness. “Forever, princess,” he promised, and he accepted her hand.

As Bea’s train hurtled toward Bologna, her mobile rang. She answered it, because it was Inga. “Did you email the contract?” she asked without any ado.

“It should be in your inbox.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “In case I don’t express it often enough, I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“You express it in my paycheck, and that’s all I need,” Inga said with a husky laugh. “And you may feel differently when you see the clauses I added to the contract.”

Bea sat up. “What clauses?”

“I think the line is breaking up. Are you entering a tunnel?”

“Not even close.”

Inga laughed again. Then, sober, she said, “I’ve worked with you for years, and I never thought I’d see the day when a man could challenge you as much as a multibillion-dollar deal, but I’m happy that it happened. Maybe it’ll happen to me one day.”

“From experience, I’d caution you to stay away from Italians.”

“Noted. Good luck, Beatrice.”

She ended the call and pulled up the contract she’d had Inga draw up. She skimmed through it, mentally shaking her head at all the things her assistant had improvised on her behalf.

Bea called Inga back immediately. “You had to know that I was going to edit this.”

“Of course, which is why I locked the document, so you can’t change it.”

She blinked. “You crafty minx.”

“I learned from the best,” Inga said smugly before she hung up.

Bea reread the contract as the train pulled into Bologna, wincing at some of the clauses. She’d just strike them before they signed it, she decided as the doors opened to Bologna.

Inga had arranged for a car to pick her up and take her to the Stallon-E factory. She sat in the back of the Mercedes, calmly going over her arguments in her head, the way she would before an important negotiation.

This was perhaps the most important negotiation of her life.

Her mobile rang, but this time is was Jacqueline. “Mother, this is a surprise.”

“Rosalind mentioned that you were going to Italy to bring Luca back.”

She smiled wryly. “Did she?”

“Darling, you of all people should know that nothing is sacred in this family.”

She remembered how it was when Reginald was alive, how splintered they’d been. She’d tried so hard to keep her sisters together. Having the closeness now was a gift. “I don’t think I mind.”

“Neither do I,” her mother agreed softly.

The car pulled into the factory driveway, slowing as it neared the entrance. “I’ve arrived now.”

“Luca loves you, Beatrice. More importantly, you love him. Don’t doubt the power of that.”

“Okay, Mum.” She stared at the front entrance, where Jeff Toland exited and waited for her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

She ended the call but kept her mobile in her hand. The driver opened the door for her and she stepped out.

Toland stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Beatrice, I was so happy when Inga called to say you were coming.”

“I have business with Luca,” she clarified.

Jeff nodded as he escorted her inside. “That’s what Inga said as well. She also said you’d need copies of a contract printed and available upon your arrival.”

She glanced at him. “You read it.”

“A little.” Smiling, he motioned down the hall. “Luca is a lucky man.”

“That’s assuming he agrees to the contract.”

“He’s a fool if he doesn’t. I’ve known him a while, and I can tell you without doubt that Luca Fiorelli is no fool.” He pointed to the conference room where they’d met the last time. “He’s in there. He doesn’t know that you’re coming.”

She arched her brows.

Jeff grinned. “He’ll really appreciate the drama of you suddenly showing up to win him back. It’s a very Italian thing. It’s really romantic.”

“It’s mad.”

“That, too.” Jeff handed her a manila folder. “Your contract, printed.”

She accepted the folder. “Thank you.”

“I’d wish you luck but you don’t need it.” Jeff grinned. “I’ve heard rumors about your negotiation tactics. You’ve got this nailed.”

Hopefully. She opened the door and strode in.

Luca was sitting in the same seat at the head of the table. He scowled down at the papers front of him. “I don’t like the way this is worded,” he said without looking up.

She closed the door and walked toward him. “Maybe you’ll prefer this.”

His head jerked up, but his face went blank. “What are you doing here?”

“Negotiating.” She took the contract out of the folder and held it out to him.

He stared at it.

Take it, she urged him silently. But she didn’t move, didn’t insist. She knew she didn’t have the right to push him.

Crossing his arms, he leaned back in the chair. “What are you negotiating?”

“Our partnership.”

His face clouded. “I thought Toland told you I’d step away from any sort of managerial position with Stallon-E.”

“That’s not the partnership I’m talking about.” She stretched the contract toward him again.

He glanced at it suspiciously, but he finally took it.

She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Standing where she was, she watched him scan over it. His brow furrowed, and then he appeared to reread it, more slowly.

She cleared her throat and then, very deliberately, she set her mobile in the middle of the table and stepped away.

His brow furrowed and he sat up, at attention.

Good. Feeling like maybe this deal had turned in her favor, she pointed at the contract in his hands. “There are a few sections that need to be struck.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the one about you taking me on one three-week vacation every year.” She never took vacations.

“I like that one.” He sat back, his expression both more relaxed and more intense. “We’ll keep it.”

Bea frowned, hearing the dare in his voice. “We’re definitely not keeping the item that says I’ll cook dinner for you once a week. I don’t cook.”

“I’ll help you,” he replied, unconcerned.

She narrowed her gaze. “Then I get to add a clause that says I’ll castrate you if you so much as look at another woman.”

“Done.” He picked up a pen and scribbled it in at the end.

“That easily?”

He looked at her like she was foolish. “I only want you, Beatrice.”

Something in her eased, and she felt some strange emotion in her chest. It took her a moment to suss out that it was hope.

“I added some other clauses as well,” Luca said, holding out the contract.

“
Should Luca Fiorelli so much as glance at another woman in an amorous way, Beatrice Summerhill may exercise the option to castrate and/or nail his bollocks to a tree,
” she read out loud. She glanced at him over the paper.

He shrugged. “As I said, this isn’t an issue.”

Shaking her head, she read on. “
Upon verbal request, Beatrice Summerhill agrees to hold Luca Fiorelli’s hand.
”

“I like holding your hand,” Luca said with a shrug.

“I think that’s reasonable. But this one”—she pointed to the next—“
Beatrice Summerhill agrees to turn her phone off at a reasonable time of night and focus solely on Luca Fiorelli”
?

He shrugged. “I had to try.”

“Then I’ll try, too,” she said. “But sometimes I’ll need to work.”

“I know.” He stood. “I know you, Beatrice.”

Emotion filled her throat. She knew that. Nodding, she read the last clause. “
Beatrice Summerhill agrees to marry Luca Fiorelli upon signing this contract.
”

“That one is nonnegotiable,” he said as he came to stand in front of her.

Lowering the contract, she swallowed. “You want to get married.”

“I want to marry you.” He held her gaze but didn’t touch her. “I don’t plan on letting you get away. Since you honor your contracts, I figure that’s the best way to insure that you’re mine forever.”

“I’m not easy.”

He laughed, a sound full of mirth. “Beatrice, I know that better than anyone. You’re also the most stubborn woman I know, willful, and unforgiving.”

“And you’re insufferable.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “You’re highhanded and have questionable taste in clothing.”

“However, my taste in automobiles is flawless.” He kissed her knuckles. Then he sobered. “The question is do you love me?”

“Without doubt,” she said, rising up to kiss him. She felt his grip on her heart and realized it wasn’t tight or strangling. Instead, it felt gentle and protecting and caring.

Loving.

She hugged his hand close, cradled over her heart, where it belonged.

Sebastian knew that when he looked back on this day, it’d be the details that he’d remember.

Like the soft smile of joy on Jacqueline’s lips as Rosalind pledged her love to Nick. Or the proprietary way Bea watched over the proceedings, ever in charge. And the surprisingly self-effacing way the rock star, Bijou Taylor, attended to Rosalind, making sure all the layers of her fairy tale dress were perfect.

The scent of roses in the air.

Fran’s perfect table of goodies and champagne for post-ceremony revelry.

The warm look of love that Rosalind and Nick exchanged.

If this were a commercial, it’d be about diamonds or life insurance. It’d make people hope and tear up, and it’d win all the awards.

Sebastian smiled, a private moment of wry humor at his own expense. He hadn’t realized how mercenary the advertising business had made him until he’d left and reevaluated his choices.

Amazing how facing death could change how you walked through life.

He shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus on today and Rosalind’s wedding, because this might be the last time he’d see his family for a while. Tomorrow he was going to San Francisco for an undetermined period of time. He wasn’t sure when he’d see his new family again. Ironic that what was such a sweet moment for the Summerhills was a little bitter for him, since it marked the end of his time in London.

Bea had been right: It was time to go back to reality. Sebastian hadn’t been hiding, but he hadn’t been facing the future either. It was time to figure out what he wanted to do.

As though life was helping him along, a few weeks ago he’d gotten an email from an old colleague calling in a favor. Apparently his daughter was starting a company and needed help with branding and marketing, but she didn’t want to work with her father. Knowing the man, Sebastian couldn’t blame her. He’d been trying to contact her, but she hadn’t replied. So it was off to San Francisco to meet her in person.

Not that Sebastian wanted to continue in advertising. It was the only thing he knew, but he was done with that world. There were more important things in life other than working a minimum of eighty hours a week.

Of course, it’d taken a brain tumor to show him that.

The sun streamed in through the windows, giving everything a yellow glow as Rosalind and Nick placed rings on each other’s fingers. Likely Bea had ordered Mother Nature to shine on her sister’s wedding. If there was one thing that was without doubt, it was that Bea had amazing powers to make anything happen.

He glanced at the oldest Summerhill, in the row in front of him, sitting next to her husband. That she had a husband was surprising enough—that it was Luca Fiorelli was astounding. That man had to be the best closer on the planet.

Next to him, Portia, the third oldest Summerhill, sat holding her husband’s hand. Jackson wore cowboy boots with a light gray suit, which should have looked out of place in the fussy decor of the South Street salon but only looked like he belonged. Jon and Summer sat on the other side of the Texan, all focused on the ceremony.

Suddenly applause erupted, and Nick tugged Rosalind into his arms and kissed her like she was his next breath.

Instead of the couple walking back down the aisle together, everyone crowded them right where they stood. Fran was the first to hug her
lamb
, as she called all the Summerhills she’d raised. Jacqueline, her daughters, and her granddaughter, Chloe, converged on Rosalind almost as quickly. The only one who held back was Titania, who was busy taking copious photos of the momentous day.

Sebastian contributed a whistle, wishing he were part of that intimate group hugging Rosalind. The Summerhills were an alluring family; watching them made you want to be one, even as you recognized their flaws.