But she stayed conspicuously out of sight.
He turned back to the reason they were here, the news of the Barefoot Bay Bucks. In answer to a question about management, Nate explained that he’d be living in Barefoot Bay and supervising the building of the stadium complex and managing the day-to-day logistics of starting a new minor-league team.
“I’m planning to be here a lot, too,” Zeke said under his breath. “You?”
Elliott slid him a glance. “Not sure yet.”
Zeke tracked his gaze to the spa door. “Did you actually beg?”
“Like a pathetic dog.”
“One knee?”
“Till I had carpet burn.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t go for the goat-farm idea.”
Elliott blew out a noisy breath. “I messed up so bad, Zeke.”
“You never know.”
But he knew. He’d taken his usual, easy, effortless shortcut to get what he wanted, and it had cost him everything. He wasn’t quite sure when he’d become so certain that Frankie Cardinale was everything, but it didn’t matter. She was, so now he had nothing.
Finally, the questions turned away from Nate and back to the Bucks, and the stadium complex, and that brought Will Palmer front and center. Thanks to him, they were well connected with the resort, including the talented architect who’d built the place, Clay Walker. Together with Clay, they answered questions about logistics and environmental concerns, and how to handle the increased traffic this would bring to the island.
All the while, Elliott watched that door, his heart sinking like the sun behind him, lower and lower as each minute ticked by.
“I have to talk to her,” he murmured to Zeke.
“Now?”
“I have to.” Before Zeke could stop him, he shot to the side of the patio deck, trying to stay inconspicuous as he hustled behind the crowd and jogged down the stairs. He pulled the door and swore softly to find it locked. Without giving it another thought, he set off to find another way back into the resort, determined and certain now. It took a full five minutes to work through the crowd, back into the lobby, and to the front entrance of the spa.
Without even glancing at the receptionist, he marched right into the management offices, yanked the door open, and...stared at nothing.
She was gone and so was the model of La Dolce Vita.
For a second, he couldn’t breathe, his pulse slamming against his temples, a band of disappointment clamping his chest. Shaking his head, he stood in the doorway and let the power-punch of regret and disappointment pound him.
He didn’t want to live without her, but she clearly felt differently. Taking one step inside, he fought a sting in his eyes and a lump in his throat.
Next time he’d be real. No matter how hard it was, he’d never fake his way through anything again. If nothing else, that’s what a week on the goat farm had taught him.
Swallowing the pain and his pride, he turned and retraced his footsteps, all the way through the lobby, into the restaurant, and back to the deck where he heard...
A woman’s voice through the microphone?
Stepping into the fading sunshine, he peered over the heads of the guests, to see Nate, Garrett, and Zeke on the stage alongside...Frankie?
“I’m thrilled to partner with the project,” she said into the microphone, her voice clear and strong and like music to his ears. “My grandfather was a founding father of this island, and I know he’d be over the moon to see a team named after his beloved animals and this wonderful visitors’ center...”
Elliott shouldered his way forward, reaching the front just as Frankie pointed to the table they’d set up with the three-dimensional stadium complex model, this time with the addition of La Dolce Vita.
She met his gaze, smiling through eyes as misty as his felt right then and reached her hand out. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
He stepped forward, taking her hand and joining his partners. All of them.
Nate leaned up to the microphone. “And now for what you’ve all really been waiting for—the exhibition game! You know we have players from five different Major League teams and our own softball team for a game of sandlot.” He pointed to the beach where a large area had been cleared for a makeshift ball game. “And I do mean sand.”
A cheer went up, mostly from the other guys on the Niners who’d come down for the event, but Elliott barely heard. Instead, he gripped Frankie’s hand.
“Partner?” he asked.
“Not only that,” she said with a smile, lifting her hand to slide on a baseball cap with a stylized N. “I qualify to play on your team.”
He reached to hug her, but Nate gave his shoulder a slam. “No kissing. We gotta win this game.”
“He hates to lose,” Elliott told her. “So we’ll kiss later.”
“Damn right we will, Becker.”
“Frankie! You did it!” A beautiful young woman sidled up to Frankie, her arms outstretched. “I’m so happy for you!”
Frankie hugged her, laughing. “Thanks for breaking the rules, Liza.” She turned to Elliott. “You remember Liza Lemanski, the great unraveler of red tape.”
In a flash, Nate was next to him, his focus on the beautiful blue-eyed brunette. “I like a woman who can unravel.”
Liza didn’t giggle or flush or toss her hair like most women when Nate Ivory zeroed in on them. Instead, she pinned him with a dead-serious look. “Good,” she said. “Because I’ve come to do a little unraveling.”
Elliott looked skyward and finally got his arm around Frankie, pulling her into him and taking her down to the beach. “What changed your mind?” he whispered when they were finally alone on the sand.
“Nonno.”
“You think he would have liked the idea?”
“I know he does.” She smiled up at him. “He told me.”
“He did?” Elliott raised his brows. “What else did he say?”
She turned, the sunset behind her a golden glow, her dark hair falling over one eye under the ball cap, her smile lit up from deep in her heart. “You’re the real deal.”
He let out a sigh and pulled her into his chest. “I been trying to tell you that.”
“I had to figure it out for myself.” She kissed him long and hard, and rested her head on his shoulder. “You really want to be a goatherd, Becker?”
“You really want to spend your life with a billionaire, Francesca?”