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nicked it. She ran shaking fingers through her hair. The plan was to get Cade’s attention, and in the miniscule scraps of white that was a given. The question was, did she have the nerve?
    ****
    “The coach is picking us up from the hotel.” Rosa smothered her croissant with raspberry jam. “Then we’re off to the boat for the sail around the island. I’m so excited; everything is going to be perfect .”
    “And you’ve organized lunch on board, Melo?” Mary questioned.
    “Yes, Mum. Everything is ready.” Melo gulped a mouthful of coffee and dragged in an uneven breath. Crunch time . There was no way she could make the trip. She’d promised her father to sit and work through the figures as soon as she could. “I’ve decided to stay here.”
    Rosa’s cup clattered into her saucer. “What?” She pinned Melo with a glare. “But you’re the bridesmaid. You’re supposed to do everything with me. What will everyone think?”
    Melo glanced at her mother, praying she’d take the bait. “They’ll understand. If I stay to keep an eye on Papa, Mum can go. You’d like to go wouldn’t you, Mum?”
    Rosa tossed her hair back from her face, and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout.
    “Mum’s coming anyway. And Papa will be fine. He has the doctor and his nurse looking after him, he won’t even realize we’ve gone.”
    Mary cleared her throat. “I’d feel much happier if one of us stayed, darling.” Her fingers playing with the handle of her china cup and she raised her bright blue gaze to her daughter. “I feel guilty going, I’ll stay.”
    “Oh, Mum! You can’t!” Rosa wasn’t above wailing when she didn’t get what she wanted, and she was in full pampered-princess mode.
    The pulse in Melo’s jaw twitched. Give me strength. She patted her mother’s hand.
    “You go, Mum.”
    A silent burst of communication flashed between them.
    “Well, if you’re sure…”
    “I am.” Melo drained her coffee and stood up. “I’ll see you later.”
    ****
    “Ciao, Cade. Thanks for coming.”
    Marco lounged on a worn wicker sun bed, propped up with cushions covered in faded red brocade. A huge sun umbrella shaded him from the blazing sunshine, and a woolen blanket swathed his legs. He gestured to an empty wicker chair next to the small, mosaic-topped table. “Sit. Please.”
    The housekeeper bustled out of the open glass doors with a tray of freshly squeezed lemonade with a small plate of biscotti. Marco thanked her, and stayed silent until she disappeared from view. “I’m glad we have this chance to talk in private.”
    Cade brought the frosted glass to his lips and drank deeply of the frigid liquid. His tongue puckered at the sharp lemony taste, and he bit into a biscotti to dilute the sensation. The flavor of almonds and lemon was a great combination.
    “I have been watching your progress, over the past decade. You’ve done well.” Marco crunched the crisp almond biscuit with his teeth, and chewed noisily. “How many hotels do you have now?”
    “Seven. The American and Canadian hotels, one in Wales, and in a couple of months I’m opening my latest in Scotland.” The West Hotel Group was a force to be reckoned with, but Cade’s ambitions were a long way from being recognized.
    “Nothing in Italy?”
    Cade watched Marco carefully. What was the old guy getting at? “Not yet.”
    “As you know, Cade, Isola dei Fiori is a very simple place. But very beautiful. I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of you siting a hotel here.”
    Shock thundered through Cade like a freight train. Sure, he’d had his suspicions, but he never thought he’d see the day Marco would suggest development on the island. The entire family had always seemed so determined to keep it just as it had always been—private and unspoiled.
    Cade pushed his hair back from his face. Sipped his lemonade. Kept his voice even, and his face impassive. “Whereabouts, exactly?” he asked.
    Marco’s alert eyes captured