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his. If
not…
    Well, it couldn’t hurt to dream. Could it?

Chapter Three
     
    The next morning, Erica was gone before I awoke.
    I’d heard her fumbling around to get dressed, but
with a 6 am departure, she’d been up way too early for me to give
her a proper send-off. After I opened my luggage though, I cursed
myself for not telling her goodbye.
    Inside was a jumble of tank tops, shorts, and mini
skirts. Several necklaces and a pair of tweezers littered the
bottom.
    God, Erica, couldn’t you have at least checked the
bags before taking my only suitcase with you?
    I tried to tell myself it wasn’t her fault—she was
in a hurry—but still, that didn’t help me now. Erica always liked
to show a lot of skin, and while many might consider these clothes
questionable on my 5’2” cousin, they’d be down-right indecent on
me. I was at least five inches taller than Erica, and though my
waist could easily fit in her size 5 mini-skirt, the hemline fell
only a few inches below my ass. One miss-step and my panties were
there for the world to see.
    Of course, I guess a flash of underwear was better
than the show up top. I ripped two of Erica’s tanks before I
finally found a lace camisole that could hold me, and even then I
had to take shallow breaths just to keep the stitches from popping.
Usually I tried to cover up my chest, but when every shirt at my
disposal was tailored for a B-cup, I had no choice but to settle on
squeezing my double D’s inside whatever top could accommodate
them.
    Oh, Lord, Erica’s tight-fitting clothes might as
well have been little black bars for all they covered.
    I couldn’t do anything about my bare midriff, but at
least Erica had left behind the dark red pashmina scarf she’d
bought two days ago. I draped it across my exposed cleavage and
prayed no one could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra.
    Like it or not, I was definitely going clothes
shopping later today.
    With a deep breath and the sole consolation that at
least no one here knew me, I left my room, dropped the key off at
the front desk, and jogged down the early morning streets of
Florence. The town was eerily quiet, but I still kept my fingers
tightly latched around the pearl at my throat.
    What if I really had misunderstood that shopkeeper?
What if he thought I was a thief? What if he’d given my description
to the cops, and now every officer in Italy was on the lookout for
me?
    Doubtful, but not completely impossible.
    By the time I found the leather shop again, the long
run and the constant worrying had worn me out. I panted on the
front step for several minutes before I even tried to open the
door.
    When I turned the handle, it was locked.
    Oh, no.
    The shop couldn’t be closed. Not today. I knew it
was early, but still, I needed to do this now. I couldn’t just
leave. I might never build up the nerve to come back, and then…
    The door opened.
    He must have heard me jiggling the knob, but when
the old shopkeeper opened the door, I almost felt like he’d been
expecting me. His hands reached out for mine, and he hugged me
close before pulling me inside and closing the door behind me. His
Italian was so fast I couldn’t catch a word of it.
    “I’m so sorry.” I gestured to the heavy pearl still
hanging from my throat. “I thought it was a gift. If I’d have known
it was so valuable—”
    “Shh, bella. No worry. You back now, and old Pietro
take good care of you.”
    His words faded into a heavy mixture of Italian
after that, and I just smiled along as he led me to a room in the
back of his shop. I didn’t really know what to say or do. I’d
caused him so much trouble already. I didn’t dare deny any of his
requests. I knew I probably shouldn’t be alone with him—he was a
stranger after all—but he was just so nice. When he pulled out the
old leather chair in front of his work bench, I sat down without
question.
    Oh, God, if only I would have questioned.
    “I just want you to know that I’m not a thief. I
just