Half an hour later, I maneuvered my old Volvo through the slow traffic. I was still hyperventilating from the shock. The more I thought about it, the more everything felt surreal. Almost like a dream. Maybe it was nothing but an error, a case of mistaken identity, a scam. Maybe Clarkson had the wrong Brooke Stewart, because inheriting a large European estate sure didn’t sound like something that would happen to me. To my surprise, the first person I wanted to share my news with was Jett. I tried to reach him on my cell, and when he didn’t pick up I left a voicemail to call me as soon as he got my message. The second person in line was Sylvie.

My head was giddy with excitement as I parked my car across the street and dashed through the lobby of our apartment complex, then up the stairs because the elevator was busy. When I entered—half-breathing, half-choking—Sylvie didn’t even look up from her comfortable seat on the couch. My heart was beating so fast, I figured it was only a matter of time until it burst. But Sylvie noticed none of it. Only when I bent over, trying to catch my breath, did she look up surprised.

“Hey. Did you run a marathon?” She sounded rough and looked the part, dressed in sweatpants and a washed out, oversized tee. Under normal circumstances I would have paid attention, but her face looked okay and her hair was its glossy self, so I figured it was nothing but post binge drinking depression or something. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t possibly beat my news.

“Guess what.” I kicked my high heels off and slumped onto the couch, minding her outstretched legs. She pushed them onto my lap and leaned back against the pillows with a bored sigh.

“You got sacked.”

“No.” Frowning, I shook my head. “Why would I be happy about that?”

Sylvie shrugged and let out another bored sigh. I made a mental note to help her find a job so she finally had some meaning in her life.

“I met with that lawyer today.” Of course that barely managed to spark a glint of recollection, as though it hadn’t been the subject of our obsessive compulsive speculation the night before. I stared at her, realizing even though she was sitting inches away from me, she wasn’t here mentally.

“Yeah?” She sounded about as interested as a five-year-old listening to a long and drawn out PhD thesis.

“Want me to switch on the TV instead?” I tickled her feet in mock annoyance, knowing she hated it.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and sat up. Her blue eyes glowered at me. “Sorry. I’m so tired and bored. This day’s been dragging on forever.” She had reached the unemployment slump. I nodded sympathetically. “I need something to do. Like—”

“Find a job?” I suggested. She returned my smile and I continued, “Or you could come with me to Italy. I know this magical place with mountains and lakes and the most amazing Tiramisu you’ve ever tasted.”

She eyed me carefully, not quite sharing my enthusiasm. “Another business trip?”

“Nope. I’m the sole heir of the Lucazzone estate.”

Her jaw dropped. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, and a frown creased her forehead. I could almost read her thoughts in her fast changing expressions, as she tried to make sense of my statement. Eventually, she said, “The Luzzone what? You don’t mean that place across the lake?”

Of course she was stunned. And in disbelief. I had been too, but speaking out the unspeakable helped me wrap my mind around the sheer incredulity of it.

“It’s Lucazzone,” I corrected her. “The attorney kept calling to arrange a meeting and discuss the will’s content. The old man, Alessandro Lucazzone, wants to meet me. Jake’s secretary’s booked two flight tickets for tomorrow night.” I jumped up and grabbed Sylvie in a hug. “We’re going to Bellagio. How about that?”

Her expression didn’t quite catch on to my enthusiasm. “Are you sure you’re not being scammed? You know, like getting an email telling you you’ve won or inherited a million, and then you’re supposed to enter your bank details.”

I shook my head, ignoring the urge to groan. “It’s a legitimate law firm. Jake never asked for my bank details. And may I remind you he knew my name, address and so forth prior to contacting me?”

From the glint in her eyes, I could she was having a hard time believing it. To be honest, so was I.

“You’re right,” Sylvie said. “But just to be on the safe side, let’s ask Doctor Google.”

She booted up her laptop, and I entered Clarkson & Miles in the search engine. After less than a second, a picture of Jake popped up along with his company’s details. A few minutes later, I found some mention of the Lucazzone Estate and that Clarkson & Miles had been the appointed law firm for the last five years. Everything looked legitimate.

“That’s him and that’s the estate,” I pointed at the screen and inched forward to regard the tiny picture of Alessandro Lucazzone and his deceased wife. Even though it was blurred, and probably old, I could make out a few details about her, like her stubborn jaw and the way her brows arched in a slight V shape, just like my father’s.

Maybe I was beginning to see similarities where there were none. Or maybe half of my family descended from Italy and no one ever bothered to tell me.

Sylvie leaned over me and sucked in a sharp breath. “Jesus, Brooke. You’re rich!”

 

***

 

“Didn’t Jett take you to that place?” Sylvie asked.

“Bellagio?”

She nodded. Motioning her to wait, I poured two cups of café latte, grabbed the cookie box, and returned to the sofa, where Sylvie sat cross-legged, eagerly awaiting my full account. I placed the cups on the couch table and passed her a cookie dipped in milk chocolate—my absolute favorite.

“There better be lots of hiking opportunities, because I’ll need lots of it after this.” She held up a cookie before biting off half, and moaned with ecstasy. I laughed because it was our inside joke. Sylvie could eat like a horse and wouldn’t gain a pound.

“So, did he take you to the same place?” Sylvie asked. The cold undertone in her voice surprised me and I remembered what she said about him moving in a different society.

“Well, sort of. We stayed on the other side of the lake.”

“But it’s still the same place, isn’t it?” she insisted.

Where the hell was she going with it? I scanned her face for any clues. Her expression was impassive, all except for the strange glint in her eyes. I swallowed the half-chewed cookie inside my mouth, suddenly oblivious to the buttery taste of the dough dipped in the creamiest chocolate twenty dollars could buy. She took my lack of response as an affirmative.

“Yes,” I said. As though I was confirming her suspicions, she nodded. “Why are you asking?”

“That’s quite the coincidence.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She brushed her long hair back and moistened her lips as her blue gaze bore into me. “I know you’re still under the influence of his big dick and the dreamy stuff it did to you, but you need to switch on your brain. And pronto.” She raised her hand to stop the angry protest on my lips. “I’m not suggesting anything. But you’ve got to admit it’s a big world and he took you to the one place you’d inherit. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

A cold shudder ran down my spine. She didn’t even know half of it. How could I possibly tell her the rest and not feel completely stupid? “Actually, it’s the same estate he’s been trying to buy.” And the same estate I, as the heir, probably would have given to him, just to see him happy—had he just asked. But he didn’t. Which led me to my next concern. Did he use me? Was I naïve to believe what we had was real?

We stared at each other for a few moments. The magnitude of our words hung heavy in the air.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Sylvie said, breaking the silence. “Maybe he didn’t even know there were relatives.”

According to Jett’s file, the company had watched Alessandro Lucazzone for ten years. Was it really possible the private detective never found out about a possible heir? Possible. And then he hired me? Unlikely. Coincidence?

“I don’t know. This is fucked up.”

“When was the will signed?” Sylvie asked.

I grabbed the copy of the will Jake left me and scanned it once more until I found the date.

Shit.

“About six weeks ago.” Jett and I hadn’t met yet. The way I saw it, it must have taken Jake at least four weeks to prepare the necessary paperwork, double check my identity and heritage, and then contact me. Only I wasn’t around to receive the news because Jett had whisked me off to Italy. But why hire me to acquire the estate in the knowledge I was the heir? Unless he wanted me to fall for him in the hope I’d do anything to please him.

“I think he tried to set me up,” I said slowly as the realization dawned on me. A pang of pain shot through my chest, threatening to kill me. I snorted and shook my head. Coincidence, my butt. You’re not usually hired on the spot without even applying for the job, get jetted off to a luxurious mansion, enter a relationship with the hot boss, and inherit an estate worth millions, which happens to be the one estate your boss can’t seem able to buy.

“He tried to set me up,” I repeated. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Why would you say that?” There was no surprise on Sylvie’s face, no sign of disagreement, just caginess, as though she knew it was the truth but needed me to acknowledge it first so I wouldn’t blame her.

Don’t shoot the messenger.

I smiled bitterly. How very true. “Jett gets whatever he wants. He simply makes it happen. His tactic is to sweet-talk the owners with expensive trips and meals, and then get them to sign.” I wondered if he slept with all his female targets, or just me.

“Maybe it wasn’t his intention. It could still be coincidence.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sylvie.” My voice raised a notch. “He made me believe he cared for me, and I fell for it. I fell for his whole love, attraction, sex stuff.”

“Are you going to let him explain?” Sylvie asked.

I shook my head, wiping away the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes. What would be the point? Now that I had the entire picture, I knew I was nothing but a pawn in his game, and I had stupidly fallen for it. The guy was like poison. Getting near him was the last thing I wanted. I had fallen for the wrong person, even opened my heart to him. The realization of my stupidity hurt me more than anything.

Sylvie hugged me as more tears streamed down my face. “Are you going to expose him for the rat he is?”

Smiling bitterly, I shook my head. “And how would I do that? No, I’ll do something else. I’ll break up with him in a way he’ll never forget.”

Jett might have broken my trust in him, and probably in all other men in this world, but he didn’t yet get what he wanted, which was Alessandro’s estate. He might usually win, but not this time. Alessandro Lucazzone wouldn’t sell; I’d make sure of that.

“Just be careful,” Sylvie said, hugging me tight. “Guys like him always get far, but not without gathering a few skeletons in their closets.”

“Thank you.” I placed a soft kiss on Sylvie’s cheek.

“For what?”

“For being honest. If you didn’t tell me, if you didn’t make me aware of it, who knows whether I would have seen through his lies.” I shook my head as I remembered how much I had wanted this man. I winced at the pang of pain rocking my chest, right where my heart was. It shouldn’t have hit me so hard, but it did. Maybe because he was the first person I trusted after what happened to Jenna. Maybe because I thought if we shared our life stories, the good and the ugly, we might indeed be kindred spirits. Maybe because I thought he knew me and liked me for who I was, rather than for who I pretended to be.

I needed to get away from here. Leave him and the pain behind. Forget everything that happened.

Forget him.

I jumped up from the couch, pulling Sylvie with me. “Come on. We need to pack.”