As Isabel gazed up at the pink and green dome of the Duomo outlined against the night sky, she decided that Florence’s most famous landmark looked garish instead of grand. She didn’t like this city. Even at night it was crowded and noisy. Italy might have a tradition as the place where soul-bruised women came to heal, but for her, leaving New York had been a terrible mistake.

She told herself to be patient. She’d arrived only yesterday, and Florence wasn’t her ultimate destination. That had been determined by fate and her friend Denise’s change of mind. For years Denise had dreamed about coming to Italy. Finally she’d applied for a leave of absence from her Wall Street job and rented a house in the Tuscan countryside for the months of September and October. She’d planned to use the time to begin work on a book about investment strategies for single women. “Italy is the perfect place for inspiration,” Denise had told Isabel over the glazed pear and endive salad at Jo Jo’s, their favorite lunch spot. “I’ll write all day, then eat fabulous food and drink great wine at night.”

But shortly after Denise had signed the lease on the Tuscan farmhouse of her dreams, she’d met the man of her dreams and declared that she couldn’t possibly leave New York now. Which was how Isabel had ended up with a reasonably priced two-month rental on a farmhouse in Tuscany.

It couldn’t have come along at a better time. Life in New York had grown unbearable. Isabel Favor Enterprises no longer existed. Her office was closed; her staff had moved on. She had no book contract, no lecture tour, and very little money. Her brownstone, along with nearly everything else she owned, had fallen to the auctioneer’s gavel so she could pay off her tax debt. Even the Lalique crystal vase engraved with her logo was gone. All she had left were her clothes, a broken life, and two months in Italy to figure out how to start over.