Little chopped ends curled around her fingers. The scissors made angry clicks, moving faster and faster until her sleek bob became a riot of disheveled wisps. Finally she pulled off her bangle, tossed it on the bed, and left the room.

As she made her way up the path from the farmhouse, the heels of her sandals sent the stones scattering. The Villa of the Angels came into sight, and she spotted a dark-haired man climbing into a dusty black Maserati. Her heart gave a lurch, then settled back into its normal rhythm. It was only Giancarlo moving the sports car off to the side of the drive to make more room for the cars of the guests who were still arriving.

The day was too cool for such a bare dress, but even as the sun disappeared behind a high bank of clouds, her skin burned. She made her way through the formal gardens to the back of the villa, where the villagers had already begun to gather. Some of them stood chatting beneath the canopy that had been erected, others gathered on the loggia. Jeremy and a few of the older boys were kicking a soccer ball through the statuary while the younger boys got in their way.

She’d forgotten her purse. She had no money with her, no tissues or lipstick, pens or breath mints. She didn’t have Tampax, car keys, or her pocket screwdriver set-none of the objects she carried to protect herself from the messy reality of being alive. Worst of all, she didn’t have a gun.

The crowd parted.

Ren sensed that something unusual had happened even before he saw her. Tracy’s eyes widened, and Giulia made a soft exclamation. Vittorio lifted his head and muttered a familiar Italian phrase, but when Ren saw what had captured everyone’s attention, his brain lost its ability to translate.

Isabel had set herself on fire.

He took in the glowing conflagration of her dress, the heat in her eyes, the angry energy that radiated from her, and his mouth went dry. Gone were her tidy neutrals-all those comforting blacks, whites, and beiges that defined her world. And her hair… Disorderly curls blazed around her head in a style that Beverly Hills hairdressers charged hundreds of dollars to produce.

Her lipstick was wrong and her shoes didn’t match, but she burned with a sense of purpose that put him on high alert. He’d spent a year on The Young and the Restless. He’d studied the scripts, and he knew exactly what was happening.

Isabel’s evil twin had come to town.

23

Isabel watched Ren watching her. He was dressed entirely in black. Under the canopy behind him, bright blue linens covered the rows of tables, each of which held a terra-cotta pot spilling with pink geraniums. But the splashes of color did nothing to soothe her. Music played from the speakers Giancarlo had set up on the loggia, and the serving tables already held platters of antipasti, trays of cheeses, and bowls of fruit.

As Isabel held Ren’s gaze, the flames of her anger crackled. This man had been her lover, but she had no idea what was going on behind his silvery eyes, and she no longer cared. For all his physical strength, he’d proved to be an emotional coward. He’d lied to her in a thousand ways-with his seductive cooking and winning laughter, with his furious kisses and soul-wrenching lovemaking. Whether he’d intended it or not, each had been an unspoken promise. Maybe not of love, but of something important, and he’d betrayed that.

Andrea Chiara was coming toward her through the garden. She turned away from Ren with his black clothing and equally dark heart and went to meet the town’s doctor.

Ren wanted to punch something as he watched Isabel greet Vittorio’s smarmy brother. He heard her say his name, her voice sounding as breathy as a 1950s starlet’s. Chiara gave her an oily look, lifted her hand, and kissed it. Punk.

“Isabel, cara.”

“Cara,” my ass. Ren watched Dr. Lovebutt take her arm and steer her from one group to the next. Did she really think she could beat Ren at his own game? She wasn’t any more interested in Andrea Chiara than he’d been interested in Savannah. So why didn’t she at least glance his way to see if her poison was working?

He willed her to look over, just so he could yawn, which was all the proof he needed that he’d finally turned into a certified prick. He wanted to end it with her, didn’t he? He should be relieved that she was flirting with someone else, even if she was only doing it for effect. Instead, he felt like killing the son of a bitch.

Tracy appeared and dragged him just far enough away from the others so she could give him hell. “How does it feel getting some of your own medicine back? That woman’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’re throwing her away.”

“Well, I’m not the best thing that ever happened to her, and you damn well know it. Now, leave me alone.”

He’d no sooner gotten rid of her than Harry ambled over. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Better than anyone.”

He missed her passion, her kindness, her infinite sense of certainty. He missed the way she almost made him believe he was a better man than he knew himself to be. He gazed over at her gorgeous, messy doppelgänger and wanted his tidy, patient Isabel back, the same one he was trying so hard to get rid of.

As Chiara set his hand on her shoulder, Ren forced himself to swallow his jealousy. He had a mission this afternoon, a mission that he’d been hoping would give him a bittersweet redemption. He wanted her to know that the emotional investment she’d made in him had been at least a little worthwhile. Maybe he’d even hoped to earn one of her smiles, although that no longer seemed likely.

He’d originally planned to wait until the meal was over for his big announcement, but he no longer had the patience. This was something he needed to do now. He motioned for Giancarlo to turn down the music.

“Friends, could I have your attention?”

One by one, people stopped talking and turned to him: Giulia and Vittorio, Tracy and Harry, Anna and Massimo, everyone who’d helped with the harvest. The adults shushed the children. Ren moved into a shaft of sunlight next to the canopy, while Isabel stayed at Andrea’s side.

He spoke first in Italian, then in English, because he wanted to make sure she didn’t miss a word. “As you know, I’ll be leaving Casalleone soon. But I couldn’t go without finding a way to show my appreciation for your friendship.” As everyone beamed at him, he switched to English. Isabel listened, but he could feel her anger coming at him in waves. The undertow sucked at his legs and threatened to swamp him.

He pulled out the box he’d hidden beneath the serving table and set it on top. “I hope I’ve found the right gift.” He’d planned to build the suspense by making a long speech, teasing them a little, but he no longer had the heart for it. Instead, he opened the lid.

Everyone moved closer as he pushed away the packing material. He slipped his hands inside and pulled out Shadow of the Morning for all of them to see.

A few seconds of stunned silence ticked by, and then Anna gave a muffled shriek. “Is it real? Have you found our statue?”

“It’s real,” he said.

Giulia gasped, then flung herself into Vittorio’s arms. Bernardo lifted Fabiola off the ground. Massimo threw his hand to the heavens, and Marta started to weep. Everyone surged closer, blocking his view of the one person whose reaction he’d most wanted to witness.

He held Ombra della Mattina high so everyone could see. The fact that he had no faith in the statue’s magical powers didn’t matter. They believed, and that was all that counted.

Like Ombra della Sera, this statue was about two feet high and only a few inches wide. It had the same sweet face as its male counterpart, but the hair was a bit longer and a tiny pair of breasts marked it as female. The questions about how he’d found it began to fly.

“Dove l’ha trovata?”

“Com’è successo?”

“Dove era?”

Vittorio put his fingers to his teeth and whistled for silence. Ren set the statue on the table. Tracy moved a few inches to the side so that he could finally catch a glimpse of Isabel. Her eyes were wide, her fingers pressed to her lips. She gazed at the statue, not at him.

“Tell us,” Vittorio said. “Tell us how you found it.”

Ren began by recounting Giulia’s phone call to Josie for a list of the gifts Paolo had sent. “At first I didn’t see anything unusual. Then I noticed that he’d given her a set of fireplace tools.”

Vittorio drew a sharp breath. As a professional tour guide, he understood before the rest. “Ombra della Sera,” he said. “I never thought…” He turned to the others. “The farmer who found the male statue in the nineteenth century was using it as a fireplace poker until someone recognized its value. Paolo knew this story. I heard him tell it.”

Ren had studied the list several times before he’d remembered how the other statue had been found. “I called Josie and asked her to describe the fireplace tools. She said it was an old set and very unusual. A shovel, some tongs, and a poker shaped like a woman’s body.”

“Our statue,” Giulia whispered. “Ombra della Mattina.”

“Josie had been trying to have a child. Paolo knew this. When she couldn’t get pregnant, he took the statue from the church and packaged it with the other things so she wouldn’t suspect what she had. He told her it was a valuable antique set, and that if she kept it by her fire, it would bring her good luck.”

“And it did,” Anna said.

Ren nodded. “Three months after she received the statue, she was pregnant with her first child.” A coincidence, but no one here was going to believe that.

“Why did Paolo go to all the bother of making the statue look like it was part of a set?” Tracy asked. “Why didn’t he just send it to her as it was?”

“Because he was afraid she’d mention it to Marta, and he didn’t want his sister to know what he’d done.”

Marta twisted her apron and began telling everyone how much her niece had wanted to have a baby and how it broke Paolo’s heart to hear of her sadness. Even though her brother was dead, she still felt a need to defend him, and she insisted that Paolo would have returned the statue to the town after he’d learned of his granddaughter’s pregnancy, but he’d died too soon. The crowd was in a magnanimous mood, and they all nodded their agreement.

Giulia picked up the statue and held it in her arms. “It’s only been a little more than a week since I got the list from her. How were you able to get this so quickly?”

“I asked a friend of mine to go to her house and pick it up. He shipped it to me at my hotel in Rome two days ago.” His friend also had efficient methods of bypassing customs.

“She did not mind giving it back to us?”

“She has two children now, and she knew how important it was.”

Vittorio grabbed Ren and kissed his cheeks. “I know I speak for everyone in Casalleone when I say that we can never thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

From then on it was a free-for-all. From men and women, old and young-he was smothered with kisses. From everyone but Isabel.

The statue made its way from one set of hands to another. Giulia and Vittorio glowed. Tracy shrieked good-naturedly as Harry tried to draw her closer to it. Anna and Massimo gazed with pride at their sons and with love at each other.

Ren was too miserable to enjoy any of it. He kept glancing at Isabel, trying to see if she understood that, at least in this one thing, he hadn’t failed her. But she didn’t seem to be getting the message. Even as she smiled and laughed with the others, he felt her anger scorching him.

Steffie leaned against his side. “You look sad.”

“Who me? Never been happier. Look around. I’m a hero.” He wiped a dab of chocolate from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“I think Dr. Isabel’s mad at you. Mom says…” Little pucker marks formed in her forehead. “Never mind. Mom’s cranky. Daddy told her she has to be patient with you.”

“Here, have a breadstick.” He pushed it into her mouth to shut her up.

Anna and the older women started herding the crowd to the tables. As the statue was passed from one family to the next, the toasts began, all of them directed at him. An unaccustomed tightness gripped his throat. He was going to miss this place, these people. He hadn’t planned it, but he’d somehow managed to grow roots here. Ironic, since he couldn’t come back, not for a very long time. Even if he waited until he was an old man to return, he knew he’d still see Isabel walking in the garden, her eyes shining just for him.