Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

admit it. Her great-grandfather had been born when Prohibition ended. The family had quickly laundered their moonshine money into legal breweries throughout the Midwest. Two generations later, they had polished away their unsavory start with a chain of automobile showrooms, fashion boutiques, and most importantly, a Madison Avenue advertising firm.

Amy’s mother had taken the quest for a better image a step further. After pressing her husband to move them to London, she had traded in her New York accent for an upper-crust British one. Since her first divorce, she had continued to scale the social ladder by marrying and divorcing men with names like Nigel who held titles like lord chancellor.

Amy had to give credit where it was due. Her mother had taught her that if reality wasn’t palatable, you only had to finesse the details to create a better one. Of course I want you to live with me, but boarding school will expose you to people I can’t. And, Delaying access to your trust fund isn’t a punishment. It’s a lesson in independence.

People often remarked how good Amy was at her job, but she wasn’t so much a natural at repackaging the truth as a lifelong victim of it. Case in point, her mother’s first words when Amy answered her call were, “You wish to cancel our lunch Wednesday?”

As if Amy had been asking for permission.

Amy reiterated what she’d said in her text. “I had to run out of town. I can’t make it.”

“Where are you?”

In a car with the king of Vallia, winding up a series of switchbacks toward the remains of a castle that overlooked the Tyrrhenian Sea.

“I’m with a client.”

“Who?”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

“Amy, if he won’t let you talk about your relationship, it’s not going anywhere.” Perhaps if her mother had worked at the family firm instead of choosing “heiress” as her career, she would know that Amy’s job was not a front for pursuing men with fat money clips.

“Can I call you later, Mom? We’re almost at our destination.”

“Don’t bother. I can’t make lunch, either. Neville—You remember him? He’s the chargé d’affaires to Belgium. He’s taking me to Australia for a few weeks.”

“Ah. Lovely. Enjoy the beach.”

“Mmm.” Her mother sniffed disdainfully. She was more vampire than woman, eschewing sunshine in favor of large-brimmed hats and absorbing her vitamin D through high-priced supplements. “Behave yourself while I’m gone. Neville is ready to propose. I wouldn’t want to put him off.”

Seriously, Mom? It’s been ten years. But her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her.

Amy’s stomach roiled with suppressed outrage, but she only said through her teeth, “You know me, all work and no play. Can’t get into trouble doing that.”

“You wear short skirts to nightclubs, Amy. That sort of work is—Well, I’m sure I can persuade Neville to introduce you to someone if you manage not to mess this up for me.”

Could Luca hear what her mother was saying? He’d finished his own call and pocketed his phone. This town car was the sort that made the drive feel like a lazy canal ride inside a noise-canceling bubble.

“I have to go, Mom. Travel safe.” Amy cut off the call, which would result in a stinging text, but she wasn’t sorry. She was hurt and angry. Bea and Clare always told her she didn’t have to talk to her mother if it only upset her, but Amy lived in eternal hope that something would change.

“Everything all right?” Luca was watching her with a look that gave away nothing.

She realized she had huffed out a beleaguered sigh.

“Fine,” she lied sunnily. “Mom’s off to Australia.”

“You didn’t mention any siblings earlier. Are you an only child?”

“The proverbial spoiled kind. I had one of everything except a brother or sister, which is why my friends are so special to me. Will I meet your sister?”

There was a brief pause that made her think he knew she was deliberately turning the question around to avoid delving into her own past.

“She’s traveling, due home later this week,” he replied evenly.

They were driving past the shell of the castle. As they came even with a courtyard bracketed by two levels of arches in various states of disintegration, she glimpsed a young woman in a uniform leading what looked like a group of tourists. They all turned to point their phones at the car’s tinted windows as it passed.

Seconds later, when they halted to wait for golden gates to crawl open, Amy glanced back, curious.

“The castle is a heritage site,” Luca explained. “Open for booked tours. The island of Vallia was a favorite summer destination for Roman aristocracy. The palace is built on the remains of an emperor’s villa. You’ll see what’s left in one of the gardens.” He nodded as the palace came into view.

“Wow.”

At first glance, the imposing monument to baroque architecture, ripe with columns and domes and naves, was almost too much. Amy could hardly take in everything from the serpentine balcony to the elaborate cornices to the multitude of decorative details like seashells and ribbons. Stone angels held aloft what she presumed to be Vallia’s motto, carved into the facade.

“This is amazing.”

“You can accomplish a lot when you don’t pay for labor,” Luca said, mouth twisting with resigned disgust. “Vallia was a slave trading post through the Byzantine era. Then the Normans used them to build the fortress while they were taking over southern Italy.” He nodded back to the castle. “They sent the slaves into the fields to grow food, and the first king of Vallia used them again to build this palace in the late 1600s, when the Holy Roman Emperor established the kingdom of Vallia.”

Despite its dark history, she was in awe. The white stone of the palace was immaculately tended and blindingly beautiful. The gardens were lush, the windows reflecting the blue skies and colorful blooms.

“It’s not showing its age at all.”

“My father had it fully restored and modernized.”

“The workers were paid this time, I hope?” It was out before she thought better