Читать книгу Gaining Visibility - Pamela Hearon - Страница 10

CHAPTER 3

Julia slouched down low enough in her desk chair to rest her head on the back. She ran her fingers into her hair, grasping the roots for a quick squeeze. “How did people travel to foreign countries before the Internet? If I hadn’t read the comment on that blog, I wouldn’t have considered taking a bus from La Spezia to Lerici. It’s a lot cheaper than a taxi and runs every twenty minutes.”

Her business partner, Camille, glanced up from the catalog she was ordering from. “Will a bus take you to the hotel, though?”

“No.” Julia rolled her head from side to side to loosen the tight bands of muscles in her neck. “But I checked that out, too. It’s only a short walk.”

“Two miles is short to you.” Camille jotted something on the paper in front of her. “Remember, you’ll have luggage.”

“I’m packing light.” Julia sat up and stretched her arms over her head. “The heaviest item will be my hiking boots.”

“You’re sure your boobs are ready? It’s only been six weeks. What’s going to keep the friction from rubbing those new nipples completely off?” Camille flipped the pencil she was holding and rubbed the eraser roughly across the paper. Then she lifted it to her lips and blew away the debris. “Like that.”

“Thanks for that visual.” Julia shook her head as she covered her eyes. “Only you would come up with that comparison. The doctor says I’m already good to go, and the trip is still two weeks away. Trust me, the girls are ready.” Grasping a breast in each hand, she bounced in her chair. “And so am I.”

Camille’s chin buckled, putting her face in serious mode. “I worry about you. Going by yourself. Hiking alone in a foreign country. Nobody to take care of you.”

Camille could be such a mother hen, despite being sixteen years younger. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. You know that.” Julia used a firm tone, hoping to put this subject to rest for good. “You know I’ve done my research and checked everything out.” She held up the brochure she’d been looking through yesterday. “The hiking trails around Lerici are popular, so there’ll be plenty of other people on them.” She dropped that one and picked up another. “And the Cinque Terre trails will be filled. I’ll probably have to step over the slow ones who get knocked down in the stampede.”

That brought a giggle from her friend. “I’m sure you’ll lead the pack.” She turned her attention back to the catalog.

Julia stared at the photo of the village of Monterosso gracing the front of the pamphlet. The Cinque Terre was in her grasp. In two-and-a-half weeks, she would be living the dream she’d first conceptualized nine months ago. Her “baby’s” due date was almost here.

Her hand and the brochure it held trembled with excitement.

She’d worked hard for this—going from couch potato to someone who could walk twenty or more miles a day.

But she would be all alone.

Was she ready?

Her hand trembled again. She laid down the brochure and pressed the hand to the middle of her chest. Cancer-free, reconstructed breasts. Perky, new nipples, completely healed. What had once been her broken heart, now beating wildly at the mere thought of this adventure.

Oh yeah. She was ready.

* * *

Hettie squinted her good eye and peered at the paper Julia had given her containing the trip itinerary. “I’ve never heard of any of these places until you get to Florence. You’re sure they exist?”

“Oh, they’re popular destinations.” Julia considered it for a couple of seconds and then shrugged. “But maybe not so much for the first-time visitor to Italy.” She grabbed her tote and rummaged through it but didn’t find the map she thought she’d put in there. That’s right, she’d decided she wouldn’t need it until she got to the hotel, so she’d put it in her duffel instead. “Let me grab an atlas.” She left Hettie at the table and hustled over to the reference books on the shelf of the nursing home’s limited library, returning with the thick world atlas. She sat down and flipped to the page containing the map of Italy. Spying the magnifying glass on another table, she jumped up again and grabbed it, then settled on the edge of her seat.

Hettie gave her a lopsided grin. “You’re as feisty as spit on a skillet this morning.”

“I am, aren’t I,” Julia agreed. “I can’t believe the day’s finally here, and I’m on my way.” She positioned the magnifying glass over the northwest area of the map and pointed. “See. Here’s Lerici.” She glided her finger across the small body of water and tapped the five villages. “And these are the five little towns that make up the Cinque Terre.”

Hettie’s good hand clasped around Julia’s finger and tapped it against the map again. “And see right there? It’s the sexy Italian you’re going to meet. He’s waiting right there.”

The pull of her mother-in-law’s hand had brought the finger over the Ligurian Sea area of the Mediterranean. “If he’s waiting right there, I hope he’s on a boat . . . or a good swimmer.”

“Fisherman.” Hettie’s hand lost its grip and dropped to the table. “They make the best lovers because they’ve learned to be patient.”

Frank’s dad had loved to fish, so Julia couldn’t keep from smiling at the subtle but unmistakable innuendo. “That so?”

“If I’m lying, I’m dying.” Hettie winked and made a cross over her heart.

“Well, patience is something I’ve been in short supply of lately.” Julia laid down the magnifying glass and slid back in the chair. “Camille was talking about how antsy I’ve been just yesterday.”

“Now don’t start belittling yourself. You’ve got loads of patience. Too much when it comes to some things.” Hettie didn’t say what, but Julia suspected she was referring to Frank . . . or herself. “I like seeing you restless and excited.”

“That pretty well sums me up right now.”

Hettie plucked another truffle from the new box Julia had brought this morning and nibbled on it. “Not sure where I failed with you. I can’t imagine wasting fabulous vacation time with exercise—at least, not the kind you’re planning on—much less getting excited about it.”

Chocolate dribbled down Hettie’s chin and Julia dug in her tote for a tissue to wipe it with. “Then you’ll probably disown me for admitting this.” She dabbed away the sweet spot. “But honestly? I’m looking forward to the business part almost as much as the hiking. Getting to be the procurer? Mmmm! I love the treasure hunt.” She lobbed the tissue toward a nearby trashcan and drummed the table when it went in. Then she clasped her hands together, determined to quiet her exuberance. “Camille is way better than I am with the customers.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Hettie laid a cold hand on her arm, but it warmed Julia’s heart. “You’re the one with the eye.”

Julia glanced down at her watch as she patted her mother-in-law’s hand. Time was running out here much too fast.

“You need to go on. I don’t want you rushing.” Hettie’s words and tone were pure mother. Julia had said the same things to Melissa countless times in exactly the same manner.

She really should be going, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave just yet. The trip was only for three weeks, but she’d never left Hettie that long, and the separation was one of the things that had her so jittery. “Do you want me to push you back to your room?”

“No, the book club will be starting here in about ten minutes.”

Julia had shifted to the edge of her seat, but now she settled back again. “What was this month’s book?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” Hettie grunted and fitted the lid back onto the candy box. “Poor Lizzie. Blinded by her pride.” She gave her head a sad little shake. “Seven times I’ve read the dang book, always thinking one of these times she’ll drop those blinders earlier and go for it.”

Austen was a favorite, so Hettie’s comment piqued Julia’s interest. “Hey, if Darcy had let his prejudice slip and quit being Mr. Snootypants sooner, she would’ve come around. And I didn’t know you were reading that one. We could’ve read it together.”

“No, thanks. Seven times is enough. Lizzie and Darcy will just have to go on learning the hard way.” Hettie raised an eyebrow. “But don’t be thinking you’ll find a Darcy where you’re going. Those hot-blooded Italian guys? They’re anything but stuffy. Not a Mr. Snootypants in the bunch.”

The gentle reminder had Julia glancing at her watch again. She really should be on her way, but . . .

“Julia.”

She raised her eyes to meet her mother-in-law’s firm yet tender gaze.

“It’s time, sweetheart. Get out of here before you get caught by the book club. Those old women will be all over you wanting to talk.”

Julia’s eyes blurred with tears. She was being silly and overly emotional, but she couldn’t help it. She scooted close enough to give Hettie a long hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Love you, sweetheart.” Hettie let go and pushed her firmly away. “Now shoo. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Julia stood. “Can I do anything for you before I leave?”

“Yes.” Hettie nodded toward the candy. “Stick that in the chair pocket, would you? I don’t want to have to share.”

Julia did as she was told and then rested her cheek for a quick moment to the top of the lovely white head.

She paused at the door for one last wave.

Hettie threw her a kiss in return.

* * *

During the three-hour drive from Paducah to the airport in St. Louis, Julia sang loudly with each song that came on the radio—no need of her playlist to make her happy this day. And later, tethered to the airplane by a seat belt, she still felt like a kite set free, literally soaring above the earth, on her way to a new place, ready for a new experience.

Anything was possible.

The two-hour weather delay in Chicago didn’t dampen her spirit either, even when she struggled to get her carry-on into the overhead storage compartment.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

Played against the surrounding drone of muffled murmurs, the vibrancy in the voice caught her off guard. Her body stirred at the brush of the hand that grasped her case and the male body that leaned in to her to give it a shove.

She turned to find herself staring at the pocket of a dress shirt and had to lean back slightly to make eye contact with the speaker, a payoff well worth the effort.

Fringes of dark blond surrounded jade-green irises in a pair of eyes that crinkled at the sides when he smiled. In fact, his whole face crinkled when he smiled. Deep dimples creased the jawline at the sides of his mouth, and a cleft staked its claim in the middle of his chin.

The whole effect was engaging and warm and, Julia couldn’t keep from noticing, directed entirely at her.

He saw her.

She flashed him a smile of gratitude. “Chivalry’s alive after all. Thanks so much.” She edged past the first two seats to the window seat she’d been assigned, and her heart launched into a three-two beat when he settled into the middle seat beside her.

She didn’t even try to hold back the smile that sprang onto her lips. The next eight hours might prove to be very interesting.

“I’m Lancelot, by the way.”

Lancelot? Julia choked on the laugh that bubbled in her throat. Poor guy. “Do people call you Lance?”

“No, they call me Howard.” A twinkle in the jade irises hinted she was being toyed with.

She ran her thoughts back to her chivalry comment. “Well, my real name is Guinevere, but my friends call me Julia.”

“Then Julia it is.” His face broke once again into a pleasant mass of dimples and grin wrinkles that somehow enhanced his features rather than detracted from them.

Men were so lucky. People would be chasing her down armed with Botox guns if her face wrinkled like that, yet on him it looked charming.

He slid the book he was carrying into the pocket of the seat in front of him. “And you’re obviously on your way from Camelot to Italy.”

Julia nodded, getting her travel necessities out of her bag before shoving it under the seat in front of her.

“Business or pleasure?”

He punctuated the word pleasure with a flash of dimples that sent a tingle into places she’d all but forgotten.

“Both.” She buckled her seat belt, enjoying the feel of tightening it around a stomach thirty pounds lighter and much firmer than it had been a year ago. “I’m in interior decorating, so I’ll be on the lookout for unique pieces for my clients. But before I get to the work part, I’ll be hiking the area around Lerici and the Cinque Terre.”

Howard’s eyes squinted. “What’s the Cinque Terre?” He seemed genuinely interested, or else he just wanted to talk to her. She liked either option.

“There are these five villages in Liguria that are connected by a trail overlooking the sea. They’re called the Cinque Terre, and people hike from one to the next. That usually only takes five or six hours, but then there are extra trails running from the villages up into the hills. I plan to hike most all of them.”

Howard let out a low whistle and those jade irises did her a quick once-over. “You must be in great shape.”

Julia’s face grew a tad warm, in what she hoped was a becoming blush. “I’ve been training for a while, but it’s not that bad really. Five to seven miles a day. And the terrain isn’t too rugged.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Training for a while for the fun part of a vacation? I admire that conviction.”

Admire? What a great word. She hadn’t been admired in years. This guy was totally flirting with her and it felt marvelous—like someone had popped the cork on a champagne bottle inside her.

How long had it been since she’d had a fun, flirty conversation with a man? She was forty-eight, had married when she was twenty-three. Twenty-five years? No wonder it seemed so foreign. She’d forgotten how exhilarating it could be.

The flight attendants encouraged the passengers standing in the aisles to find their places quickly with reminders that the flight was already late.

Julia settled back into her seat for the ride. Howard propped his arm on the armrest between them, and when the tight setting brought their arms into contact, the temperature in the plane vaulted several degrees. Julia readjusted the vent above her head so the air streamed directly onto her face.

“So tell me more about these hikes you’ll be taking.” Howard shifted his posture toward her as much as possible with his long legs scrunched against the seat in front of him.

“Well, I have a couple of short hikes in the area around Lerici planned for the first two days. After that I’ll be playing it by . . .”

A willowy brunette with smooth, olive skin plopped into the aisle seat. Her black tank top clung to a pair of breasts that had no need of a bra to support their ample size. Denim short shorts showed off perfectly shaped, tanned legs that must’ve started at her shoulders.

“Scusi,” she murmured in a soft Italian accent.

Howard’s attention diverted so fast, Julia wondered if he would suffer whiplash. “Well, hello there.”

“. . . ear.” Julia finished her sentence, speaking to the back of the chair in front of her.

Howard extended his hand and introduced himself to the new seatmate. The fact she was native Italian must have fascinated him as he immediately started to bombard her with questions about her country, none of which mentioned hiking, his all-consuming interest three minutes before.

And with the appearance of Miss Italy, Julia once again vanished before her own eyes.

She told herself to ignore the slight. She should be used to it by now. But she wasn’t. Something short-circuited inside her every time it happened. More than once she’d noticed how the streak of gray hair running from her left temple looked ominously like burned wires. How long would it be before her motherboard burned out completely? Before she was just a gray box of dead, worn-out wires and fuses?

She reached inside to pinpoint the emotion churning there. It wasn’t jealousy precisely. Watching people fascinated her, and nothing was more intriguing than two beautiful people coming together for the first time. The magic. The spark. She saw that with Melissa and Michael and prayed every day it would continue for them and that the years wouldn’t extinguish it the way it had for her and Frank.

But at that moment, it was the obvious twenty-year age difference—at the very least—between the two people beside her that disgusted her. Men who’d reached the age of Howard and Frank should be interested in more than a woman’s physical makeup. Shouldn’t they have developed an “inner eye”? One preferably located somewhere other than their penis?

Her clenched jaws couldn’t exactly be chalked up to envy either. She didn’t want Howard, didn’t want what anyone else had, except in a general way.

If she had to put a name to it, it would simply be . . . longing. She so longed to feel full again—full of love and desire and life.

Of all the things she resented Frank for—his weakness, his abandonment of her when she needed him, his self-absorption—she shed the most tears over the loss of the life she used to know. The loss of who she used to be.

Now she was a white sneaker in a world of stilettos.

Howard’s right shoulder cocked far enough forward to give her a spectacular view of his shoulder and the nape of his neck. He chatted easily with the brunette, who soon discovered the book he’d placed in the seat pocket in front of him was “the most amazing book” she’d read in a long time. And it sounded infinitely more appealing described in a sultry, Italian accent.

Armed with her new copy of Interesting Interiors, Julia prepared for what was shaping up to be a very long flight.

In the seats next to her, the book club met throughout the takeoff, the climb to cruising altitude, the meal, and the start of the movie, which was one she’d seen recently. Although it wasn’t entertaining enough to sit through again, she watched it anyway, hoping it would put her to sleep.

It didn’t.

She donned her blindfold and her ear buds, willing the music on her Sleepytime playlist to drown out the sounds of the growing acquaintance.

The blow-up travel pillow wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the woman on the box, smiling in her perfectly restful sleep, implied. But Julia tuned her music to the series of Strauss waltzes and imagined herself as the woman on the box. She smiled dreamily and coaxed her mind into a restful frame for all of seven minutes, at which time she woke with a start to the mortifying realization she had drooled down the front of her blanket.

Fretting her seatmates might’ve noticed or that her fidgeting might bother them seemed needless, though. Howard’s left-hand lady had him so absorbed, three-year-old ADHD twins could’ve been sitting in the window seat and he wouldn’t have noticed.

With that comforting thought, Julia relaxed and enjoyed almost two full hours of sleep before the crew started waking everyone for breakfast.

Howard did acknowledge her presence once more when he passed a cup of coffee to her. His eyes took her in with a quick once-over. “Rough night, huh?”

She looked at him closely. Lancelot’s irises had changed. They were actually more jaded than jade. She took the coffee without comment, sipping it as Milan appeared on the horizon.

When the plane landed, Howard and Venus de Milo scurried off together, his hand casually pressed against the small of her back.

Julia managed to get her carry-on out of the overhead compartment by herself.

After a two-hour layover, a second flight took her from Milan to Genoa. A taxi ride to the train station and a short train ride from Genoa got her to La Spezia. From there, the crowded bus took her to Lerici.

Her hair was frizzed, her attitude frazzled, and her nerves frayed.

One look, however, at the small jewel of a town snuggling around its breathtaking azure bay, and she was renewed.

Time seemed to have slipped into slow motion somewhere between La Spezia and this place.

Gone were the bustle and the noise of the city, replaced by a palpable tranquility. Maybe it was the warm breeze that slowed people’s walks to a stroll or the tangy, salty air that filled their lungs and quieted their speech to a pleasant hum. Whatever it was, the magic cast a spell around her instantly and pulled her under its power.

“The Lord Byron Hotel?” she asked an elderly woman waiting in line at a gelato stand.

“Sì.” The woman expelled an additional line of something that hadn’t been on the Italian language CDs, but she pointed to a conspicuously orange building set high up on the hillside—and the walking path that led to it.

Julia eyed the steep incline, noting the weight of her carry-on and her duffel. Both pieces of luggage had wheels . . . and in a few days, she’d be conquering the Cinque Terre.

Determined, she took on the hill, schlepping her bags behind her.

Dragging the extra forty pounds up what felt like eighty degrees of cobblestone incline for two hundred yards left her questioning her fitness and her sanity, however. She stopped at intervals, filling her lungs with huge gulps of air that apparently held no oxygen as she felt little to no recoup in her body. The bags threatened to pull her arms from their sockets, and her fingers gripped the handles with terror, knowing that any slip backward meant having to retrace her excruciatingly painful progress.

By the time she reached the turnoff onto the hotel’s walkway, the twenty-two hours of travel since leaving Paducah hit her like a Mac truck. The warm fuzzies she’d started up the hill with had been abandoned along the way, replaced by hot pricklies that caused her blouse to stick to her chest and back and underarms, making the areas alternate from itch to burn.

She stomped along a walkway built on yet another incline, albeit gradual, up to the sign that indicated the office. In front of the door, two men blocked the path, discussing something that apparently had to do with the swimming pool. From their wild gesticulations and heated tones, one of them had released piranhas into the water.

If you stop, you drop, Julia reminded herself. But it was the sight in front of her more than her mantra that inched her closer.

Adonis—or whatever the Roman mythology equivalent was—had come to life. Stripped to the waist, his torso was an ocean of waves and ripples that made her mouth so dry she longed for a taste. Long legs defined with muscles bulging from the shorts he wore pivoted him gracefully toward the pool and back to the other man whom he towered over.

Julia drew close enough to appreciate the sunlight glistening on the perspiration that poured from the black curly hair onto the wide, sculpted shoulders and chest. Despite the angry undertones, his deep voice had a smoothness that glided across his tongue like caramel gelato.

This was the man, rather than Howard, who should’ve been hooking up with Miss Italy. At thirtyish, he was the perfect age—the perfect everything—and Julia released the breath she’d been holding with a sigh.

“Um . . . excuse me. I need to get through here.”

Adonis swung toward her, pinning her with a sullen gaze from eyes as dark and rich as mahogany. “Mi dispiace, signora. I did not see you.”

Julia drew another sigh and shrugged. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

His dark eyes filled with confusion. “You expect the surprise? A package perhaps?”

Her sarcasm had obviously gotten lost in translation. Julia brushed her fingers through the top of her hair to get the sweaty strands out of her face. “No—never mind. You’ll have to excuse me. It’s the jet lag talking.”

“Americana.” Adonis pinpointed the accent, and Julia nodded. “But . . . the jeta-lag, she is the . . . ? He twirled his hand as if it could wind out the word he was groping for.

Julia would’ve filled in the blank if she’d known what he was going for. But the fogginess in her brain wouldn’t allow the foggiest notion to penetrate the surface layer.

He finally gave up. “English.” He spat the word. “She is the confused language.” His sullen manner pinned all the blame for that on Julia.

The shorter man finally lost the exasperated glare he’d been using on Adonis and turned his attention to her. “You wish to check in, signora?”

Julia nodded. “I’m Julia Berkwith.

“I am Signor Moretti, the owner.” His tone slid into smooth hospitality as he opened the door to the office and held it for her.

Adonis’s disgruntled frown said he hadn’t finished the conversation with Signor Moretti that she’d interrupted, but he directed a pointed look to the hotel owner before stomping off.

Julia breathed a relieved sigh when she stepped into the cool office—out of the heat of the day and away from the heat of their argument, not to mention the heat Adonis generated simply by his presence.

Thank heavens, everything was in order and check-in was easy. She could tell her brain had started to misfire as she signed her name the last time and left out the k.

“You will check out on Sunday, just ahead of the crowd.” Signor Moretti’s English was much better than Adonis’s. “That is when all of Italy come to Lerici.”

“I read that this is a prime vacation spot for Italians. In fact, it’s the main reason I chose this place,” Julia admitted. “If you want the best restaurant, you ask a local. I assumed it would be the same for vacation spots.”

“Sì, signora.” Signor Moretti beamed at the compliment. “Leave your luggage. I bring it to you.”

“I’ll get it,” she assured him, though not sharing the reason why. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to wait even an extra ten minutes to take a shower. “Thank you, though.”

“As you wish.”

He gave her the directions to the room and held the door open for her again.

Before she made the left out of the office, she was treated to one more quick view of Adonis’s perfectly sculpted backside.

Melissa would describe him as a total hottie, and for once, Julia thoroughly understood the term.

* * *

By the time Julia dragged her bags all the way to her room, she was nearly delirious with exhaustion.

She showered, hoping it would revive her, but the warmth made her almost catatonic, so she lay down for a short nap and awoke to different lighting.

Her foggy brain took a minute to explain the discrepancy. She’d gone to sleep with streaks of afternoon sun casting long shadows in her room. She awoke to darkness . . . and hunger. The clock on her bedside table told her it was barely after eight in the evening.

She slipped into one of the new knit dresses she’d bought for the trip and smiled at the bit of cleavage showing in the scoop neck—certainly nothing that would draw attention, but enough to make her marvel at how normal she looked . . . as long as she kept her clothes on.

The scrumptious scent surrounding the hotel led her to its restaurant. She stopped in the doorway, taking in the white linen tablecloths and candlelight—much more romantic than her single status called for. She started to turn away but got caught by the maître d’s greeting.

“Buona sera, signora.”

He asked her something in Italian, which she didn’t understand, but she held up a hesitant finger. “Uno?”

“But, of course,” he answered in English, and his unruffled elegance eased her discomfort a notch. He led her to a table for two but made quick work of dismantling the extra place setting and directing a server her way.

As she waited for her glass of wine, a twinge caught between her shoulder blades—that distinct feeling of being watched, though no one around her seemed to be paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was about to chalk it up to a mild case of woman-traveling-alone paranoia, when her eyes wandered to a dark corner and met with a brooding stare.

Adonis. Showered and changed into different clothes . . . sipping a glass of wine . . . no doubt waiting for a hot date.

Julia glanced away, discomfited by the impression he was looking through her rather than at her. She took a sip of wine, trying to carry off a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She scanned the room, letting her eyes drift toward the dark corner again. Yep, still staring.

Maybe it was some kind of game with him. A form of “Who’ll blink first?” She wasn’t about to be drawn in by something so childish. She fished her phone from her small clutch and absorbed herself with checking for nonexistent texts, calls, and e-mails while the gentle rhythm of the Beatles’ “Across the Universe” played in the background of her mind.

Her salad arrived, giving her reason to look up again. She glanced to the back of the room, relieved to see Adonis had pulled out a pad and seemed to be sketching. But the forkful of luscious spring greens clogged her throat when he glanced at her and back to his sketch.

Was he sketching her? Oh, surely not. He was probably daydreaming about the woman who was on her way to meet him.

An elderly gentleman, elegantly dressed in a full suit, entered the restaurant. The maître d’ nodded in recognition, but a hand gesture told him not to bother with a menu.

The gentleman’s eyes scoured the room, landing on her and staying a fraction too long to be appropriate. A quick exchange with the maître d’ and then he headed in her direction. She absorbed herself in her salad and her phone again.

He stopped beside her table. “Buona sera, signora.”

Julia looked up with feigned surprise. “Buona sera.”

His head cocked in question. “You are English, yes?”

“American,” she corrected him.

He gestured to the empty seat next to him. “I see you dine alone.” His English was almost perfect. “Would you enjoy company?”

Was this a pickup? It had been so long since anyone had tried, she wasn’t sure how it was done these days. Even with the nap, jet lag had left her enervated and not in the mood for forced interaction. “No,” she replied, then felt a little ashamed of her curt reply. “But thanks for the offer,” she added.

He shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned in Adonis’s direction.

The younger man was watching their brief interaction with a look of keen interest. He quickly closed the sketch pad and pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing its availability to his elderly friend, but not before spearing Julia with a disapproving look.

She arched an eyebrow and shot the look right back as the two men greeted each other amiably. They spoke low and, of course, in Italian, so she wouldn’t have understood them anyway. But the telltale glances in her direction raised her suspicion she was the topic of a terse conversation.

Men like Adonis and Frank and Howard from the plane—and ninety-nine percent of their species—viewed the world as open season on women . . . thought at her age she should welcome any attention. Well, the welts of still-angry scar tissue that closed the tear where Frank ripped her heart out, as well as the ones that ran like vines across her breasts, were made of tougher fiber than the original and were pleasantly numb. They’d convinced her to come to Italy alone . . . to hike alone . . . she certainly could survive eating alone. She’d done it often. And while she didn’t particularly enjoy it—a part of her longed for companionship and conversation at the table—it by no means targeted her as easy prey.

Anyone who thought differently could go piss up a rope.

She swallowed another forkful of salad and washed it down with the wine.

The waiter arrived with her grilled fish entrée, and she welcomed the distraction although the conversation in the corner had moved on, and she no longer sensed the looks directed her way.

Her sea bass was half eaten when the two men got up and left after having only a glass of wine. Neither looked her way, which was no surprise.

The surprise came, though, when she asked for her check and the waiter informed her that it had already been paid “by the gentleman in the corner.”

She didn’t have to ask which gentleman. Adonis would never pay for a dinner without expecting something in return.