Tuscany, Italy. Two days later.

A flutter of blue and red flashed through the trees. Alessia sat perfectly still in the grass, her arm outstretched, her palm full of sunflower and thistle seed. The chaffinch landed in a bush ten feet away and hopped from branch to branch.

Alessia smiled, despite the tight ache in her throat.

Ciao, Luca.

The bird nestled itself behind a cluster of leaves, lifted a wing, and began to preen. But Alessia didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe. She would sit here all day if she had to. She'd been waiting all summer, what was a few more minutes? Still, silent, and patient. She knew he would come to her.

A high, shrill scream echoed through the trees, filling the clearing she sat in. The bird flew away, and she frowned. What was that about? She tossed the birdseed on the ground and stood, just as another cry of high-pitched horror drifted from the direction of the farm.

Alessia sighed, picking birdseed out from under the ring she wore on her left hand.

Veronica.

She scooped up the leather notebook from the ground and cast a glance over the page, a chalk drawing of a chaffinch. The moment replayed in her mind. Luca had sat down on a well in Venice, ignoring the historical buildings around him, to sketch a bird in a bush. Before she could start replaying the moments that followed, she snapped the journal shut.

Having been scared off once, the bird wouldn't come near her again today. Maybe next time.

The screaming continued, so Alessia hugged the notebook to her chest and walked down the forest path, back toward the farm. Who knew what she would find? Had Veronica broken a nail? Did her wedding caterer call to tell her they had no substitute for gluten?

It was all so painfully tiring.

She took her time, taking in the different shades of green, the way the sunlight beamed through the branches, and the wind's whispers of an ancient song in the leaves. Usually, the forest was her refuge. Leave it to Veronica to disturb the peace.

All too soon, she emerged from the woods and continued toward the barn that belonged to the family's mini farm. Veronica was still screaming something, only now the screams were accompanied by the squeals of a pig.

Oh, this was going to be good.

Alessia rounded the corner of the barn and stopped, taking in the scene in front of her. Her sister ran back and forth between their mother's rose bushes, swatting the ground with a broom. Veronica wobbled with each step, her heels a poor choice for running on gravel. One of their young pigs scurried several feet ahead of her, always out of reach.

Veronica caught sight of Alessia and stopped, her free hand balled into a fist. A wild mane of once perfectly styled beach waves framed her face. Her look of fury was comical. "Stop staring and do something! He's eating Mama's roses!"

Alessia bit down on her lip to stop from smiling. Taking a closer look at the garden, the bare branches of the rose bushes did look deplorably absent of flowers, which had only started blooming a few days ago. As much as she wanted to continue watching, it was probably traumatizing to the poor swine. She set the notebook on a bench, then dashed around the bushes to round up the pig.

It squealed and ran, bursting through the bushes and scampering toward the row of cypress trees that lined their long driveway. Alessia ran after it, cursing the beast. This was the third time in a week it had escaped the pen. The pig took a U-turn around a tree and Alessia came at it from the front. It dashed to the side, just out of reach of her fingertips.

She growled and lunged back into a run. The pig seemed undecided about where to go. It darted to the left, then right, then changed course and made a beeline for the forest. With a burst of speed, Alessia threw herself at it, catching one of its hind legs as she tumbled to the ground. The pig let out a squeal and kicked, but Alessia's hold was tight. She wrapped an arm around its middle and stood.

It kicked helplessly in protest as she carried it to the pen. Thankfully, it was one of the younger ones at eight weeks old. In a few more weeks it would be too big for her to carry. Now would be a great time to fix the fence.

Veronica was waiting by the pen with a melon in her hand. "I can't wait to eat that one," she grumbled.

"It just wants to be free," Alessia said with a grunt as the pig kicked her in the stomach.

"It ate Mama's roses! Now we're not going to have enough for the wedding. I'm going to have to order more and with my luck, no one is going to be able to deliver in two weeks."

"Well, maybe you should have fixed the pen when he escaped the first time," Alessia suggested, knowing full well Veronica would never do anything like that. She dropped the pig over the fence. It scurried away, snorting.

Veronica handed Alessia the melon. "I have way too much to do right now." She walked away, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Finalize the music, finish the table decorations, order new flowers, count the RSVPs, get my facial and manicure, confirm with catering..." her voice faded as she left the barn, her heels clacking against the pavement the whole way.

Alessia pursed her lips, then turned back to the pigs. They sniffed eagerly through the fence, their noses wiggling in search of the melon in her hands. "I have so much to do," Alessia said in a squeaky voice, scowling, then returned her voice to normal. "As if I don't?"

No. Actually, she didn't. It had been two years since she'd quit her studies at the university in Florence and her job at the archaeological museum. Two years since she'd done much of anything at all besides help her parents out around the B and B. Lately, she'd been expected to do more, with Mama and Veronica busy with the wedding preparations.

Except, there wasn't much to do around the B and B, either. Summer usually brought a constant flow of guests, but this year, nothing. They hadn't had any bookings in months. It had been quiet. Strangely quiet.

Alessia's shoulders drooped. She didn't know anything about the B and B finances. Papa took care of all that, but she wasn't sure they would last much longer if this continued.

"All right," she sighed. "Where's the hole?" She climbed over the fence and tossed the melon on the ground, hard enough it cracked open. Squealing, the pigs scurried to the melon and chomped away.

Alessia scanned the pen, then walked around the perimeter, testing the fence boards with her foot. She found one that was loose, which would easily let one of the younger pigs escape if it was pulled back. She had no doubt the escape artist was doing just that.

After locating a hammer and a few nails in the barn, she fixed the fence and made sure the rest of it was secure. Satisfied with her work, she started to climb back over the fence. The board snapped under her weight and she fell backward, landing with a thud in the pen.

She lay in the mud, staring up at the dusty rafters as the pigs came rushing to her with squeals and sniffed her face and hands.

Really?

Thirty minutes later, she had the broken board replaced. Her dignity, well, that was a different matter. But whatever. Who would care about the mud and who-knew-what-else all over her out here in the Tuscan hinterland? If they had any guests, she would have at least tried to shake the grime out of her hair and off her clothes.

But there was nobody.

She stepped out of the barn and retrieved her leather notebook from the rose garden, then headed toward the main house. Somewhere above her, she heard the distinct sound of a window being unlatched.

"Alessia!" her mother yelled. "Go to the entry! Our guest is here!"

Guest? Alessia turned and looked up at her mother, who wore a towel wrapped around her head. "What guest? We don't have any bookings."

"Since last night we do! Hurry up, the car is coming down the driveway."

Alessia whirled around. Sure enough, a black sedan slowly rolled between the cypress trees toward the house, a cloud of dust swirling behind it.

Oh, crap.

She darted to the back door and burst into the kitchen. The scent of basil and boiling tomatoes met her nose as she crossed the room. Nonna stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand, the other cupping a mound of salt.

"Hungry?" Nonna asked as she dumped the salt into a steaming pot of water. Her shoulders and back were hunched, and her apron splattered with sauce and dusted with flour. She had probably been in the kitchen all day, doing what she loved most.

"No. Apparently, we have a guest. Did Mama tell you?"

Nonna tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot. "I'm making extra for dinner in case they'd like to stay in for the evening."

Alessia pressed her lips together. Of course. No one had bothered to tell her. And yet she was the one who had to go check them in.

Nonna's nose wrinkled. "Why do you smell like the pigs?"

Alessia didn't answer; she was already halfway out of the kitchen. She ran down the hallway and into the foyer where a desk stood facing the door. Parking herself in front of the desk, she set her notebook down, and searched the surface until her gaze landed on a few sheets of paper lying on the side.

"Here we go." She picked up the paper and glanced it over. John Barone. Booked for two weeks. Traveling alone. Address in Westport, Connecticut. His only special request: no cleaning service during his stay.

"Sounds uncomplicated enough." She dropped the sheet on the desk and fired up the laptop. She would need to enter his passport information. As she set her hands on the keyboard, she studied the crust of mud covering them.

"Perfect. Not only do I smell like a pig, I probably look like one too."

It was too late to do anything about that now. A shadow filled the milky door windows. The door handle was pushed downward. The door swung open. A man stepped inside.

His face was clean-shaven, his black hair combed back, and his t-shirt hugged his biceps in all the right places. The foyer instantly filled with the peppery scent of his Gucci cologne. He removed his sunglasses and looked down at her. A detached, bored stare.

And, like an idiot, all she could do was stare back.

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Author's Note:

Hey hey! Thanks for reading! I'll be posting one more chapter this week, probably Wednesday, and then I'll start posting once a week. What day of the week do you like story updates? I'm thinking Wednesdays, but what day gets your vote?