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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014
Copyright © Aubrie Dionne 2014
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Aubrie Dionne asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © May 2014
ISBN: 9780007594443
Version 2014-07-31
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
You may now turn on all electronic devices echoed through the intercom of the Boeing 747 as music to Carly’s ears. After nine and a half hours of practicing her oboe fingerings on her pencil to the beat of Bertha Payne’s snoring, she was ready to tear through the metal hull of the plane with her fingernails.
Carly turned on her phone and waited for her e-mails to load. As much as she loved her bff, Melody Mires, their friendship had taken a back seat to Melody’s grand love affair with the conductor. Four seats up, Melody had glued her head to Wolf’s shoulder. Carly and Melody had practically owned two seats at the bar of the Neighborhood Grill, which they’d frequented every night after rehearsal. Then Wolf showed up and bam! Girls’ nights out ended for life. That left Carly with sweet, little old Bertha.
Her inbox flashed before her eyes in a horror show. Two hundred and seven e-mails. She couldn’t remember the last time her phone had been shut off for so long.
Scrolling down, she hoped she hadn’t missed anything too important. A few gig requests for last-minute summer weddings, three oboe students wishing her good luck on her Italian tour, and a whole ton of e-mails about her contemporary music group, Women Reeds. Although nothing was pressing, she’d had to pass on two concerts with other orchestras, three days of teaching, and a few wedding gigs.
Her best bet was to get through this tour and get back to the States as soon as possible so no one thought of her missing in action and started hiring her rivals.
Her finger stopped on a message from Dino Daywood, the DJ contractor who got her the swankiest gigs. Last-minute performance request at the Hyatt Harborside. Tomorrow at noon. Show up and play Pachelbel’s Canon. Twice union wages.
Dammit! Hadn’t she told him she’d be stranded in the Italian countryside for two weeks?
Wolf stood up from his seat beside Melody and cleared his throat. ‘Attention all Easthampton Civic Symphony members. Welcome to Italy.’ His thick German accent commanded their attention.
He smiled and straightened his broad shoulders, looking like a Roman gladiator. As much as Carly missed her friend, Melody really had scored big time. ‘Our tour guide will be meeting us right outside the gate. His name is Michelangelo Ricci, a native from Tuscany and—get this—his family owns a vineyard. He’s the best tour guide around and has been conducting tours since he was a young boy.’