“I know. I couldn’t.”
“I’m glad,” she admitted. “Was what you said true?”
“Yes. All of it.”
She nodded, sniffed, and snatched a tissue from a nearby box. She dabbed her eyes and nose. “These come in handy here.”
He grinned. “ I bet they do.” Sawyer could only imagine the tears his own mother would shed on his wedding day. And the days leading up to it while seeing him in his tux, or gazing at his bride-to-be in her dress, something she’d probably get to see before he did.
Lorraine walked around the counter and plucked a set of keys off a decorative hook. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we—”
“Oh,” she blurted, throwing a finger in the air. “But first. Just out of curiosity…” Lorraine motioned to a line of mannequins displayed throughout the foyer. There were five in total. “Which of these looks like Betzy to you?”
Sawyer’s brow furrowed for a beat, but he indulged her just the same, inspecting one wedding gown after the next. By the time he got to the third dress, he realized it was the one he’d spotted through the window. The one that had him seeing Betzy taking that long walk down the aisle as his very own bride.
“That one,” he said, pointing it out for her.
He glanced over to see a slow grin pull at one side of her lips. She lifted one hand to her face and sniffed. “Fate takes the wheel once again,” she said in a whisper. At once, she snatched an overcoat off the counter. “Let’s get going. Do you have a passport?”
“Of course, but where are we going?”
Lorraine shoved an arm into the sleeve of her coat. Sawyer hurried over to help her with the other side.
Once he’d lifted it over her shoulders, she spun back to face him with a wide grin. “We’re going to get Betzy.”
Chapter 22
The family’s restored Italian farmhouse wasn’t quite as cozy as Betzy remembered. Of course, it was empty. Plus, it’d been years since she’d been here. In fact, they’d only come once since the plane crash. And it’d been a difficult visit.
After all, Grandpa and Dad had put so many of their own touches on the old place. Transformed the structure from forgotten farmhouse to spacious villa, complete with eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, and one glorious kitchen. Not to mention the guest house sitting on the same property.
A lot of house for one lone girl.
One bitter girl who’d done a fine job of ruining her life. It occurred to her during her long flight from LA to Venice that she’d finally gotten an answer to an almost lifelong question: Were she and Sawyer really meant to be together?
Not only had Betzy gotten the exact answer she didn’t want to get, she’d received it in the worst possible way, complete with public humiliation and all. Joshua, her public relations rep, was working overtime trying to come up with a perfect reply to the accusations that she’d bribed the bachelor into proposing to her.
She’d asked Joshua to refrain from commenting at this time. What could she say? In a way, Betzy had done that very thing. Minus the bribe, of course.
“Christmas Eve,” she said to the open space. “It’sChristmasEve.” She was racking up the tally on botched holidays and last-minute flights. First the crappy trip over New Years, and now this.
Betzy hadn’t thought it’d be possible to sleep on the flight over, but sleep she had. During most of the trip, in fact, her body too exhausted to endure the turmoil.
Yet as she sat in the bright, open sunroom, eyeing the endless stretch of nearby villas and the ocean view, Betzy started to wish she hadn’t slept at all. Because what was she supposed to do now? It was Christmas Eve and she was all alone, thousands of miles from home, and even further from finding the love she longed for.
She grabbed the remote, flicked on the flat screen, and surfed past at least two-dozen triggers before settling on a music station instead. Then, as Christmas tunes lulled her into memories of her past, Betzy watched the room slowly slip through the twilight glow, and eventually, into darkness.
Lights began popping up from the villas stacked along the hillside. One brave soul sailed along the ocean, his boat lit up with Christmas lights as he moved close to the shore.
Suddenly, she heard a distinct creaking sound come from…she couldn’t tell where. At once, Betzy stood to her feet, worrying that she wasn’t, in fact, alone as she’d thought. Was it possible someone had been tucked into the upper quarters of the home all this time? Perhaps someone had been staying in the nearby guesthouse.
The creaking came again, and then again, sounding at a rhythmic pace.
The chances of anyone getting past the security system were slim, but even still, Betzy climbed off the couch, moved slowly to the fireplace, and reached for one of the fire pokers.
The sharp sound of iron on iron briefly cut through the rhythmic creak, but then it picked back up again.
