Murphy's Law by Lisa Marie Rice

to noon. We’ll have an early lunch here and then we’re starting again at 2.”
    “Great.” Faith repressed a smile at the idea of a two-hour lunch on the first day of an important conference. In the States it would be half an hour for sandwiches.
    “I’d like the work to be over by 5 p.m. because most of the participants will want to get down to Siena to see the trial heat of the Palio .” He smiled at her blank look. “That’s our local horse race. It’s—” He pursed his lips. “—it’s a deeply felt event in Siena. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
    Faith smiled politely. A horse race. Gah. “I’m sure I will,” she said, womanfully refraining from rolling her eyes.
    “And coming back to our business, I suggest you co-chair Critical Points in Hysteresis with Murauer in Room Four, from 3:00 p.m. to 4:15 p.m., and moderate the Tipping Behavior Panel from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.. We’ll see about the other days as we go along. Is that all right with you?”
    Thoughts of Roland Kane’s perfidy fled from her head and for a second Faith forgot how much she hated him.
    It was happening . It was finally happening. Eighteen long, miserable years in Sophie, Indiana and eight long, hard, empty years putting herself through school and graduate school, and then this last year at Southbury under Kane which had been hell on earth.
    Who cared? It was over. She was in this gorgeous country on a beautiful summer day and this wonderful Italian man had just handed her the keys to the kingdom.
    Is that all right with you? Leonardo’s words echoed in her head.
    She smiled and saw him blink. So, okay, maybe she didn’t smile all that much. “That’s just fine with me, Leonardo,” she said softly. “Just fine.”
    “Well, good.” He rose and took her hand. “After work, we’re organizing minibuses to take the participants down to Siena in the evenings to watch the trial races of the Palio, and I found seats for the participants for the big day itself.” He beamed with pleasure.
    Faith tried to think of something she cared less about than horse racing, but came up blank. Still, if Leonardo wanted her to watch a bunch of horses run around a track, fine. She’d have happily gone along if he wanted to show her the Cow Patty Museum. She’d even make ooh-ing sounds if he wanted.
    “Well.” Faith was so spaced out she simply sat there, looking up at him, neck craned. Then she hastily scrambled to her feet. “I think Richard Allen’s just arrived. You might want to talk with him about co-ordination. We’re very happy to have you with us, Faith.”
    He escorted her to the door and she walked out, dazed, into the dazzling sunshine. Into her newly dazzling life.
    She’d need to read Dunhatton, Yamaki and Daumier off the net, and she’d need to put her notes on tipping behavior in order. She’d need to interface with the other members of the panel on hysteresis…
    God, it was all so exciting.
    This immense male cloud she labored under had been…lifted. She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life under a mean drunk—her father—another long year under another mean drunk, Roland Kane. In between had been gray years of slog.
    It was as if Kane’s death had freed her to be herself, to be who she was meant to be.
    Faith lifted her head and closed her eyes, delighted with the warm, fragrant sunshine, the gorgeous Certosa, the warm welcome she’d received. A brand new chapter in her life. She drew in a deep breath and strode swiftly into her future, walking right into a man instead.
    “Faith!”
    “Tim!”
    Her former lover held her by the arms, face pale with shock. If her life had been a book, Tim Gresham would be the chapter on bad sex.
    “What on earth are you doing here?” He sounded stunned.
    She stepped back. “I could say the same thing.” She peered at him closely. “Weren’t you too sick to travel?”
    He still looked sick. He was slightly gray and new lines crisscrossed his pale