Page 3 of Under Her Skin

When they’d met at Harvard, they quickly found they had the same irreverent sense of humor. Peter had been the man-whore of the college, and he relished his role; Arturo had Flavia and was deliriously happy. It had been only after Flavia was murdered that Peter showed his serious and loyal side. He never left Arturo’s side during the funeral and the subsequent murder investigation within which Arturo was a natural suspect. Luckily for him, he had a strong alibi; the reason he was late to the party that day was he had been helping a young mother change a burst tire in the pouring rain. The woman happened to be the daughter of the local newspaper owner, and when Arturo was questioned, she came forwardimmediately.

Peter Armley was a year older than Arturo, already forty and still resolutely single. Unlike Arturo, he was picky about who he slept with and always called them back, even if just to say goodbye. He was on good terms with most of his former girlfriends and had even dated a couple for significant periods of time. A tall man, an inch shorter than Arturo’s six-six, Peter could easily pass as a Roman citizen wearing a toga and laurel wreath in the Coliseum. His handsome face looked to be hewn from rock, but when he smiled, his blue eyes shone with warmth. His close-cropped brown hair was always neat, and his suits were SavilleRow.

A math genius, he was recruited by Philipo to be the company’s financial director—and to look after Arturo’s finances. Arturo teased his friend about being his ‘accountant,’ but it really was down to Peter’s handling of the finances that Arturo was the man he wasnow.

“Listen,” Arturo told his friend, “I just want you to know, that if everything goes well with this auction, it’s entirely down to you, Pete. You picked me up out of the sinkhole. I love you,brother.”

“My pleasure.” Pete smiled and looked at his watch. “Twentyminutes.”

Arturo nodded. “Gotta go pee before it kicks off. Hold mychampagne.”

He madehis way into the villa and found the restroom on the second floor. It was quiet up here, and Arturo relaxed in the moment’s peace before the auction started. Stepping out of the restroom, he made his way back towards the stairs and thenstopped.

At the far end of the hallway, a woman was staring out of the window, her features in profile, and Arturo’s heart nearly stopped. Her long, dark hair, falling in soft waves, was pulled over one shoulder, and she looked so sad it made Arturo’s chest hurt. Her resemblance to Flavia was so uncanny that everything in Arturo’s body screamed at him to go toher.

She was wearing a white dress that ended just above the knee; the dress molded to her body, her full breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the long legs. Seeming to sense his scrutiny, she suddenly looked up at him, and Arturo’s chest tightened at the depth of sadness in her lovely, dark eyes. He wanted to know what was making this beautiful woman so unhappy and how to make her smileagain.

“Buongiorno,” he said softly. She blinked at him, those big doe eyes a little startled at hisspeaking.

“Buongiorno.” A soft, American-accented voice. Her lips were plump, pink, and parted slightly, and Arturo felt his body respond, becoming aroused by this mysteriousstranger.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she turned away. “Scuzi.” She disappeared back into the hotel, and Arturo stepped forward, ready to pursue her, but then he heard Peter’s voice from thestairs.

“Turo? They’re ready. Let’sgo.”

Arturo hesitated, his heart still thumping hard again his chest. God…what a fucking beautiful woman…hehadto know who shewas.

“Turo? Come on. Hotel Bachiawaits.”

Ahalf hour later,Arturo was no longer thinking of the beautiful woman, nor was he in a good mood any longer. “How the fuck did that happen? Itdidhappen,right?”

He’d been outbid. He, Arturo Bachi, had beenoutbid. The apartment was sold and not to him. He could feel the stares of his friends, colleagues, and investors as he tried to process what had justhappened.

Bidding had started off as expected, somewhere in the low hundred-thousands and had quickly shot up to almost a million. Arturo had shot a smug look at Peter, then at George Galliano, who raised his champagne glass at him, somewhatsarcastically.

Then it had all gone to hell. Just as the auctioneer was about to bring down the hammer, there was a new bid. Two million. A hush ran through the crowd. Arturo rocked back in shock and scanned the attendees to see who the new bidder was, but he or she wasn’t giving themselvesaway.

“Two-five,” he shotback.

Threemillion.

Peter was looking alarmed, shaking his head at Arturo. The top end of their budget for the apartment was only one and half million, and in any case, the apartment was only worth a tenth ofthat.

“Four million,” Arturo called it, and Peter made a disgustednoise.

“Turo,no.”

Five million. Another, louder gasp in the crowd and a hum of astonishment. Peter grabbed Arturo’s arm as the auctioneer looked at him. “SignoreBachi?”

“Arturo, if you do this, I’m out. I mean it, I quit. You cannot do this. It’s reckless, and you’ll be humiliated. Whoever this is…obviously money is nothing to them. Let it go. We’ll figure out somethingelse.”

Arturo stared at his friend helplessly. Peter wasn’t kidding, but it was Arturo’s dream that was slippingaway.

“SignoreBachi?”

Everyone was staring at him. Peter’s eyes were fierce, and finally Arturo shook his head, his heart sinking. “No.”

Another hum of gossip, and then the hammer came down. “Sold for five millioneuros.”