Page 50 of Daddy's Little Spy

One Year Later

“Do we have to go?”

The look her Daddy shot her from the driver’s seat told her he was tired of hearing that question, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Any more than she could seem to keep the whiny, needling tone out of her voice.

“We already discussed this, bambolina.”

Turning her head so he wouldn’t see her eye roll, she crossed her arms and glared out the side window. “Sure, if by ‘discussed’ you mean you said we were going so now we’re going.”

“Rosemary Alice D’Anna. If you don’t lose that attitude before we get there, you’ll be spending the day with a plug in that naughty bottom. Understood?”

Hearing her “new name” was still a jolt, even a year into their new life. After almost a week of indecision, she’d finally settled on combining her two grandmothers’ names. Since she couldn’t contact her family, she’d wanted some way to feel connected to them, to who she’d been.

But the newness of it wasn’t what sent her heart racing. It was the rare usage of all of her names together, letting her know she was on thin ice.

And she still couldn’t seem to help herself.

Maybe it was the nerves at seeing his aunt and uncle again for the first time since they’d come to Italy. She’d fallen a little bit in love with the couple when they’d taken them in for those first couple of weeks until they’d found a place to live. Would they be as welcoming now? Did they miss her as much as she missed them?

Or — and this was the option she’d never in a million years actually tell her Daddy about — maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t punished her in nearly a month. The bakery he’d opened in downtown Tuscany was flourishing, and he left each morning before she’d awoken, then stumbled into bed most nights long after she’d gone to bed. And the stubborn man refused to hire more help. Which was exceptionally stupid given the sum Emilio had deposited into their new bank account. Neither of them really even needed to work, but neither of them were suited for sitting around and doing nothing, either.

It had taken her a little longer to find her place. After a week in the bakery, during which she’d nearly burned down the entire building, insulted half their customers, and earned herself several trips over her Daddy’s knee, she’d been fired and sent back home.

Two other jobs and a dozen abandoned hobbies later, she’d given up. The problem was, she didn’t want just any job — she wanted to be a cop again. But that would have opened her up to far too much scrutiny and risked exposing them, so she’d never even broached the topic. Instead, she’d gotten herself a library card and lost herself in fictional worlds. Police procedurals were a favorite of hers, so much so that she’d decided to try her own hand at it.

Which had been yet another failure. Francesco had read her first chapter and before he’d finished the first page, she’d known by his pained expression how bad it was.

But she’d made lots of friends on the discussion boards she’d joined. And she’d even befriended a romance writer who was struggling with her cop character. Over the past few months, “Rose” had helped her new friend with so many details for her new book, the author had even let her name the main character.

And so, Diana Clarkson, badass New York City cop was born. It was a risk, but since she’d never been linked to the Rinaldis and her death had gone down as natural causes, there was no reason for anyone to suspect anything.

Still, between her lack of a job and her husband’s devotion to his precious bakery, she was feeling restless. On edge. Which was probably why she couldn’t keep her mouth shut even when she knew what the consequences might be.

“Whatever,” she muttered, slumping further down into her seat.

“All right. Have it your way, then.”

Unfortunately for her, they made the turn onto his uncle’s drive just then, which meant her Daddy didn’t have any time to cool off before they arrived. Her mouth went dry when he opened her door to help her out of the car, and she nearly whimpered when his hand clamped down on her elbow as he guided her up the steps to the sprawling stone mansion.

His aunt and uncle met them at the top of the stairs, and Francesco released her long enough for her to sink into their embrace. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as warm arms enveloped her. It felt almost like being welcomed home.

It wasn’t until they released her to fawn over their nephew that she noticed the figures hovering in the shadows behind the older couple. Joy exploded in her chest and she took three running steps before flinging herself at the hidden figures.

“Amara! Emilio! What are you doing here? Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

And with that, she promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, you poor thing. Come with me.” Amara slipped an arm around her waist, gently guiding her to an oversized guest bathroom.

“Here, now.” When Amara had her settled on the edge of the tub, she pressed a wad of tissues into Rose’s hand. “Tell me all about it, honey.”

And she did. Every bit of the stress and worry and the loneliness of the past twelve months came pouring out of her. It wasn’t until that very second that Rose realized how much she’d missed the woman she’d come to think of as her best friend.

“Oh, honey. That’s a lot to keep all bottled up inside. I assume you haven’t told Ben - um, Francesco about any of this?”

“No. He has enough to worry about, with the bakery and everything. I don’t want to put more on his shoulders.”

“Well, that’s just too damn bad.” When Rose jerked her head up, Amara scowled down at her. “A Daddy’s shoulders are meant to carry all our crap. And we carry theirs. That’s how marriage works, even ones like ours.”

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