“What keeps you from texting pictures or hooking up with social media?”

“You hand over your cells when you arrive. If you want to make a call, there are phones in your room and around the resort. You’re not completely unplugged, but as close as you can be and still live in this century.”

“No cell phones? That’s crazy.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to charter something and head to Key West. I think you’ll go nuts on a private island without the Internet.”

Meg shoved several pairs of shorts next to her bathing suits. “The lack of Internet isn’t my concern. It’s the week with stuffy people that I find troubling.”

“How do you know they’re stuffy?”

“They’re hiding. Chances are they’ll either be holed up in their bungalows banging someone they shouldn’t be, or holding their chins high and flaunting their wealth or fame. The place is stupid expensive.”

“Not everyone with money is stuck-up.”

“Did we ever meet any of Michael’s neighbors when we were living in his house?”

Judy wrinkled her nose.

“Exactly.” They’d lived in the Beverly Hills estate for eight months when they’d both moved to the state. Meg remembered talking with the hired help in the neighborhood, but not the owners.

Of course, many of them were like Michael . . . not home very often.

“Michael knows how to party. He doesn’t know how to hide in the background. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

Meg shrugged. She wasn’t going there for the ultimate vacation. She planned on finding the resort’s flaws. After waiting nearly two months for an approval from Valentino Masini, the man, and his hotel, deserved a microscopic test.

She planned on delivering it.

Val Masini tapped the edges of the last e-mail he’d printed out from Miss Rosenthal against his palm before checking his watch. He didn’t always meet his guests on the tarmac, but for Miss Rosenthal and Mr. Wolfe, he’d make an exception.

He’d personally made the phone call to the first lady of California, half expecting a fraud to answer his call.

He’d been wrong.

In fact, Eliza Billings not only told him that Margaret Rosenthal was everything she claimed to be, but that if Valentino Masini knew what was good for him, he’d be on his best behavior during Margaret’s stay.

Miss Rosenthal alone had the power to bring him a client base that would prove lucrative for years to come. Since word of mouth was how Val made Sapore di Amore thrive, he needed voices singing his praises. Even if that voice belonged to the snarky woman who delivered stinging letters.

“Gabi?” Val knocked on the door to his sister’s suite.

“Just a minute.”

Less than two seconds passed and he knocked again. “Check your makeup in the cart, Gabi. We can’t be late.”

He was about to knock a third time when the door swung open. “I just need to gather my purse.”

Before Gabi could turn away, Val grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the sunshine. “There’s no need for a purse.”

“Val!”

“The plane will land in ten minutes. There’s no time.”

Gabriella pushed out her bottom lip in a full pout. His sister’s beauty would make the Mona Lisa cry with envy. Lush black hair, dark watchful eyes, and olive skin that many women worked their entire lives to achieve. Gabi was born to it. They both were.

“I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush. You’ve had other, more important guests come to the island.”

“Michael Wolfe is in a class by himself. The paparazzi will search him out en masse if they learn he’s here.”

“Your guests never tell the media where they’re vacationing.”

“Yet the press always hunts for them.” Sometimes they found them. But not on Sapore.

They stepped into the open bench seat of one of the villa’s golf carts.

The driver took off the moment they were secure.

Sapore di Amore was Val’s pride. In five years, he’d taken a simple island getaway and turned it into one of the most exclusive resorts in the world.

Screening all of his clients to ensure their privacy was of utmost importance.

Some clients, like the one arriving today, weren’t on his top list of wanted guests. Well, he was intrigued with Margaret’s tenacity and thinly veiled jabs. Val looked through them and expected to dismiss her. Yet he couldn’t, and since he’d had no choice but to accept her presence, he was determined to learn as much as he could about her in a few short hours and decide for himself if she was a security risk. Keeping his temper in check if her demeanor was the same in person as it was in an e-mail would prove challenging.

Between the wind blowing off the sea and the speed that their driver managed on the narrow road, Gabi’s hair blew in every possible direction. “I don’t know why I bother with anything other than a tie in my hair,” she said.

A long cascade of trees lined the road. It opened to a small airstrip where only private jets and the occasional helicopter would land. “If you didn’t primp, I’d know something fatal was on the horizon.”

Gabi clicked her tongue. “Such drama, Val.”

He lifted the left corner of his mouth and glanced to the sky.

The private jet carrying his guests descended on the island on a rapid approach. The runway was short, not giving the pilot much time to bring the plane down.

The landing gear hit the tarmac, the engines screamed as the pilot reversed the engine thrust.