Читать книгу Gaining Visibility - Pamela Hearon - Страница 12

CHAPTER 5

By ten the next morning, Julia had already hiked seven miles, showered, traded her shorts for a skirt and her hiking boots for flip-flops, and was enjoying a continental breakfast on the patio of the hotel, which once again gave her a full view of the pool and Adonis at work.

She noticed yesterday how he worked from a hodgepodge of large stones sometimes piled two feet high, sifting among them to find the one that worked best. He would eye both the spot and the rock carefully, then chisel the edge for the fit he wanted. And sometimes, after all that work, he’d fume and throw the stone away, and search for another. He certainly was picky about which stone went where. Perhaps color also influenced his choice? As a designer, she could appreciate that.

And she could appreciate the man . . . from a distance. She certainly didn’t want to get within his radar and risk the embarrassment of getting caught watching him again. He was used to it, though, she could tell from the self-assured way he carried himself. She couldn’t help but notice the number of looks he garnered from the women in the area.

If he lived to be a hundred, this guy would never know what it meant to be invisible.

As she sipped the last of her caffe latte, he disappeared around the edge of the building. When he didn’t return for at least ten minutes, she decided maybe the coast was clear for a while. Today was her last day in Lerici, so if she was going to get a closer look at the sculpture she’d studied from afar, it had to be now, and preferably while the temperamental stonemason was away. She signed her check and moseyed over toward the clamshell.

The closer she got, the more intriguing the object became. Overlaid with polished mother-of-pearl, the part housed inside the shell—the ball or moon or pearl or whatever it was meant to be—begged to be touched, so she obliged. The smooth orb had already caught the sun, was warm under her palm. A delicate stroke sent it rolling to one end where the concave form sent it back the other direction. She stood mesmerized, rolling the orb from one end to the other, watching the ever-changing display of colors as it moved along the path. It reminded her of the kaleidoscopes she’d enjoyed as a kid, making her feel like a magician wielding great magic with the turn of her wrist or the flick of her finger.

“You like?”

Julia spun around to find the stonemason and the same dark eyes she’d encountered before, but today they weren’t so brooding—and they were much closer. So close they stopped her breath for a couple of seconds. “It’s . . . it’s beautiful,” she finally managed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I was trying to decide if it was a pearl or an iris or the moon passing in front of the sun.”

“Iris?” The eyes squinted in the same questioning way as they had the day she arrived, but today they lacked the fire that lit them from behind, replaced instead by a pleasant warmth.

She made a little circle with her finger in front of her eye. “The colored part of the eye. The iris.”

“Capisco.” He studied her eyes for a few seconds. “You have the beautiful . . . iris. Like the sea in winter.”

Oh my. She’d heard about the legendary charm of the Italian men, but she hadn’t prepared to deal with it—or her resulting momentary lack of brain function—firsthand. His gaze continued to scrutinize her eyes in a disconcerting manner, and she suddenly felt sorry for all those amoebas in high school biology classes. “Thank you. That’s very nice.” She turned back to the sculpture, finding her escape by rolling it once again to the end and back.

“I must work now. I finish today.”

The comment drew her back around to face him. He had one of those smiles that melted a woman’s insides. Perfect teeth gripped a lusciously full lower lip. She felt a twinge of disappointment she wouldn’t enjoy him with her coffee tomorrow. “Please, go ahead and work.” She gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t mind me.”

He didn’t move, just continued to stand close, shifting his weight.

“It’s been nice talking with you.” She gave a little wave.

He still stood there, then his smile broke into a low chuckle that vibrated in and out and around her. “I am Vitale. I work here.” He pointed to the exact spot where she was standing.

Her eyes flitted across the way to the area where he’d been working earlier, only now noticing it was finished. “Oh, of course. Sorry!” Embarrassed she’d been gawking too much to pick up on his hint, and more than a little flustered, she moved to get out of his way, a stack of nearby stones forgotten.

The side of her knee connected with the precarious pile. She stumbled, trying to miss them, but lost her balance in the process. Oh God, I’m going to fall. She fought to keep her skirt from bunching around her hips, trying to preserve some scrap of dignity on her way down. Just when she thought all was lost, two strong hands gripped her arms and kept her upright.

Too bad he didn’t have four hands, for while he managed to save her from falling, he couldn’t do the same for the stones. They toppled every which way with the largest one choosing her foot to break its fall. The corner of the huge rock lunged at her toe and bore into it.

Her knees buckled with pain, but his hands continued to keep her vertical.

“Aieeee! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” She pushed the sounds out through clenched teeth, similar to the Lamaze techniques she’d learned when she was pregnant with Melissa.

They hadn’t helped much then either.

With a swift leverage movement using his own foot, Vitale sent the errant stone tumbling, and once the weight was gone, Julia’s pain eased a little. But a pulsing throb continued up through the middle of her foot. She leaned away from the comfort of the male body that surrounded her and sneaked a look. The foot was red, darker near the toes, but otherwise appeared fairly normal.

“Non muova.” He held her tightly as she regained her balance. “Are you injured?”

Julia caught her breath. “I don’t think so.”

He let go, and she shifted her weight to the foot. Ghah! A knife stabbed through her middle toe and cut its way through the top of her foot. “Shhh—” She cut off the expletive. “I need to sit down.”

Vitale’s arm snaked around her waist, all but lifting her off the ground. The pleasant sensation of being held so tightly took her mind off her toe for a split second until her foot made contact with the ground again. Then the pain tore through her foot, more intense this time.

Leaning heavily against his solid body, she hobbled to the nearest chaise and eased down, dreading to look again. The way the pain was increasing, if her toe looked half as bad as it felt, it was going to be ugly.

He stooped down in front of her and took her ankle gently in his hand, raising her foot. The warmth of his touch and the gentleness of his manner gave her courage. She looked—and immediately wished she hadn’t.

The toe was already turning a peculiar shade of blue with a black tinge creeping in. She tried to curl it, but it didn’t cooperate, and the movement hurt too much to force it. A sinking feeling in her stomach confirmed what her brain didn’t want to admit.

“I think my toe’s broken.”

“Sì, signora. I think you are right.”

Julia’s mind whirled with the ramifications. Would she be able to wear a hiking boot? Or even a shoe? Her heart bounded into a thudding rhythm. “Help me up.” It was more of a command than she meant it to be, but this was no time to be courteous. Besides, if this peabrain hadn’t left his stones piled so high, it wouldn’t have happened. He took her extended hands and pulled her to her feet.

Instinctively her weight shifted onto her left foot, avoiding the inevitable. She put the right one down on the warm paving stone, rolling it from the outside in. A little pain, but bearable. Her heart slowed a notch. She took a step. As soon as her weight shifted from her heel in the direction of her toe, the intensity of the throb increased from mild to excruciating.

“Damn!”

“You should not walk on it.”

“I know that,” she snapped. Frank had broken his toe a few years back. After five hours in the emergency room and a seven hundred dollar x-ray, the doctor had taped his toe to the one next to it and sent him home telling him to ice it and take ibuprofen.

She also knew she wouldn’t be hiking the Cinque Terre tomorrow.

Disappointment and anger festered in her like a boil ready to pop. “I can’t believe this happened.” She swung her fists into the imaginary punching bag in front of her. “What in the hell does this world have against me?”

The question was rhetorical, but Vitale evidently felt she wanted an answer. He shifted his weight, staying well out of reach of her flailing arms, and scratched the back of his head. “I do not know, signora.”

“Stop calling me that.” She punched a fist in his general direction, catching herself before she stomped her foot. “My name is Julia.” She was acting childish—shrewish even, but she didn’t care. She needed to unload, and Vitale was the nearest dumping station. With all those muscles, he should damn well be able to take it. “Months of training. A year of planning, and hoping, and dreaming. And it all came down to this? A jet-lagged night and two measly hikes? I can’t hike the Cinque Terre with this!”

“You come to hike the Cinque Terre?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice since the sympathy in his made her want to collapse in tears.

“I am sorry.”

* * *

The old gentleman Vitale fetched to her room had to be a hundred if he was a day, but he had a charm about him that enchanted Julia. She wished she could introduce him to Hettie. They would make a great pair.

She sat on the bed with the ancient doctor kneeling in front of her. He held her calf firmly, occasionally giving it a light squeeze, his eyes focusing on her toe, running slowly up to her knee, then back down to her toe.

He made a gesture and said something in Italian that appeared to have three parts. She looked to Vitale for the interpretation.

He gave a sheepish grin. “He says you have pretty legs . . . nice ankles . . . and the broken toe.”

Great. The old guy thinks I’m hot.

Julia tapped her finger to Matchbox Twenty’s song “Overjoyed” and tried not to grimace when he started taping her toe to the one beside it. She also tried not to think about how Vitale’s presence in her room seemed to be using up the oxygen her brain needed to put together a rational thought.

“You cannot hike the Cinque Terre now.” Vitale hit on the point again, as he’d done several times since her accident.

She cocked her head and gave her best imitation of an Italian gesture of impatience. “I get it. I won’t be hiking the Cinque Terre. You don’t have to keep repeating it.”

Her irritated tone didn’t seem to faze him. “You will need to change the plans. Where were you to stay?”

“I have reservations in Monterosso. I’ll go there and spend time on the beach.” Not a great plan, but the best she could come up with since she’d already paid a deposit.

“That will not be enjoyable. Monterosso, she is very small. Two days, you wish you were not there.”

“You have a better idea?”

“You stay here. Much to do in Lerici. Monterosso, not so much.”

She knew he was right. From what she’d read, Monterosso was tiny, and lying on the beach for ten days wasn’t her idea of the dream vacation. “But I have reservations, and they’ll charge me if I cancel at this late date.”

Vitale’s bottom lip protruded in a sensuous pout, heavy eyebrows drawn together. He pinned her with that brooding stare she’d encountered at their first meeting. “You have the number for the telephone?”

The small journal lay on her nightstand. She pointed to it, and he handed it to her. She flipped to the page with the hotel information.

“I cancel the reservation for you. I do not let them make you pay.”

Julia’s stomach did a quick tap dance. She’d never had a man take charge of things for her. Frank was more of a sit-back-and-lether-do-it type, and that included everything from paying the bills to making love. But Vitale was waiting for an answer. If he could get her out of the reservation in Monterosso, maybe she could go on to Florence or Pisa or Genoa. Or maybe she would stay here in Lerici for a few more days. “Okay. If you think you can.”

Vitale rested the receiver under his chin as he held the book with one hand and punched the numbers with the other. He started talking as soon as someone answered on the other end. His tone wasn’t angry, just no-nonsense. It wasn’t long before he turned to her. “What is your name?”

“Julia.”

He nodded. “Julietta what?”

Julietta? She started to correct him, but it sounded so nice the way the word rolled off his tongue. “Um, Berkwith.”

“Che?”

She didn’t know the word, but she caught the meaning from the question in his eyes. “Berkwith. B-e-r-k-w-i-t-h.”

He held out the journal and a pen, and she wrote it down for him.

A pat on her leg surprised her. Doctor Old-But-Still-Interested had finished taping up her toe, and she hadn’t even felt it, she was so caught up in Vitale’s conversation. Or in the man, if she dared admit that.

She reached for her purse, but the doctor waved it away and said something she didn’t understand. In her head she translated it as, “No, no. You are such a ripe and luscious woman, it was my pleasure to tape your toe merely to have the opportunity to fondle your shapely legs.”

Vitale’s voice vacillated between stern and forceful to mellow and cajoling, and if hand gestures meant the same as in the States, he told the person on the other end to let his fingers do the walking through a tornado. Twice.

The doctor pointed to her and to the single crutch he’d brought with him. She made a couple of laps around the tiny room to satisfy him. The crutch bore the bulk of the weight on that foot, but she could still touch it down, so she didn’t lose her balance. This was going to be okay. She should be able to do plenty of sightseeing, and the whole vacation wasn’t going to be a bust after all.

“Grazie, grazie mille.” She shook the doctor’s hand warmly.

“Prego.” He patted her hand and responded with something that probably meant, “When you decide you want to bed that Italian Hettie talked about, give me a call.”

At least she wasn’t invisible to him, though, and for that she was grateful. She wasn’t invisible to Vitale either, but it wasn’t lost on her that Vitale was taking care of her the same way she took care of Hettie.

The congenial doctor said his “Arrivederci” and headed out as the hotel manager flitted in again, bringing two more ice cubes for her toe. Ice must be a precious commodity, and she gave them a once-over to see if they were being recycled from left-over drinks from the bar. The faint telltale lemon scent had her worried.

“Mr. Moretti.” She wanted to catch him before he made another round to the bar. “I’d like to stay here a few more days. Would it be possible to keep this room? Or I can move to another if this one is booked?”

He looked at her like she’d asked for the impossible—like more ice. “Aaiee, signora, the room, she is reserved. All the rooms, they are reserved for two week.”

“All of them? You have no rooms available?”

“No, signora. The tour arrive tomorrow.”

“Tour?”

“Sì. The tour come each July.”

“So, I can’t stay here.” That would put Monterosso back in the plans. Oh crap! “Vitale!”

But he was already hanging up the phone, and the smug smile on his face said it all. “You have no reservation, Julietta, and you pay no money.”

“Well, you got that right.” She inwardly cringed when his smile broadened. Gotta quit using sarcasm around this guy. No way was she going to ask him to call and try to get the reservation again. She tossed the crutch on the bed and plopped down beside it.

“Julietta, you are not happy?” Vitale moved over in front of her, looking down at her with soulful eyes. Damn gorgeous soulful eyes.

This guy could never lie and get away with it. He gave everything away with his face. She thought briefly of Frank’s poker face but shoved it out of her mind.

“Vitale, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really.” She leaned her weight against one arm and ran the other hand through the hair at the top of her head. “But Mr. Moretti says I can’t stay here, and we just canceled my reservation in Monterosso, and my toe is broken so I can’t hike the Cinque Terre, so I’m thinking I need to cut my losses and go on to Pisa or someplace where I can work.”

Vitale swung his gaze around to Mr. Moretti, and Julia watched it harden.

“Is this true?” he demanded.

“Sì, Vitale.”

And then came a flurry of words such as she’d never heard before. She wouldn’t call it an exchange—one didn’t wait for the other to finish. Instead, they talked at the same time, spoke over each other, gestured wildly. Faces reddened, voices rose, and Julia watched . . . fascinated.

It ended when Mr. Moretti stormed out of the room, still talking.

She stood up and limped awkwardly toward Vitale with no idea who had won . . . but he didn’t look happy. She reached out to pat his arm in a friendly gesture, but he caught her hand, and she caught her breath.

“No rooms.” He squeezed her hand gently, and she had to force herself to quit watching his mouth and listen to his words. “But I find you the place to stay.”

“No, you don’t need to do that.” She jerked her hand away, feeling silly at the excitement his touch roused in her. “I know I blamed you earlier, but I was just upset. It wasn’t your fault. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“I want to do.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.” She squared her shoulders, preparing to take the blow when he said she reminded him of his mother—or worse.

“Because you work hard.” His fingers skimmed lightly down her arm, causing her to reach across and clutch the crutch with both hands for grounding. “You come to Italy. To Lerici. You cannot hike, but you can enjoy. You want to be here. It make you happy.”

“Happy?” Sarcasm crept back into her tone. “My whole vacation has fallen apart, and you think I’m happy?”

“You are happy. The body, she say happy.”

“How in heaven’s name do you get ‘happy’ out of my limping around the room on a crutch?” She threw the words out like a challenge.

“The finger . . . sometime the toe.” He nodded to her hand resting on her hip. “She dance to the music inside you. On the table when you eat. On the chair by the pool when you rest.” He pointed to the imprint in the comforter where she’d been sitting. “On the bed.”

His answer stunned her. To battle the depression after her cancer diagnosis and the ensuing divorce, her therapist encouraged her to use music as therapy—make playlists of songs that made her happy—to keep her mind occupied with something other than fear. She’d never realized she tapped the rhythm unconsciously.

But Vitale noticed?

That was actually kind of nice. “But . . .” It still didn’t make sense for a perfect stranger to go to this much trouble, dancing finger notwithstanding.

“No but.”

He touched his finger to her lip, and she fought the sudden urge to draw it into her mouth and suck on it. Her brain shouted at her to stop that line of thinking, but other parts of her body seemed to have a mind of their own.

“I want to do it, so I do it. I leave now to finish the work. But I find you the place to stay. I come tomorrow morning to take you there.”

“Well, here.” She grabbed her journal from the table. “The hotels where I have reservations in Florence and Rome are here.” She copied the listings from the first two pages and handed him the paper. “Maybe one of them will have a room available, and I’ll just spend more time there.”

He looked as though he was about to comment, but then he stuffed the paper into his pocket and walked out, head held high, reminding her of stories of demigods in Roman mythology.

Poor mortal women. Never stood a chance.

* * *

Julia needed fresh air.

She needed to check in with Camille, and she needed to check on Hettie. Most of all, she needed to keep her libido in check. Reacting foolishly to Vitale the way she had put her in the same league with Frank and Howard, a thought that made her skin crawl.

“Get hold of yourself, Julietta,” she muttered, but the pleasant shiver that fluttered down her spine when she imagined Vitale mispronouncing her name mocked her attempts to follow her own advice. She grabbed her bag and the crutch, determined to let the salty breeze cleanse the overcharged synapses in her brain.

Passing through the hotel lobby, she spotted a brochure advertising a boat excursion around the area. There would be just enough time to grab a bite and make it to the three o’clock tour.

The walk down the incline went fairly well with the crutch, though a bit slower than she was used to. She hadn’t ventured very far before she found a lovely bistro with alfresco dining. After ordering a panini and a pinot grigio, feeling smugly decadent for drinking wine at lunch, she dialed the business number.

“Panache. This is Camille.”

“So the business hasn’t folded in my absence.”

“Julia! How are you?”

She drew out a long, dramatic sigh. “Well, my toe got broken this morning when Jupiter became angry that I was gawking at one of his gods, so I won’t be hiking the Cinque Terre after all.”

“Oh no.” Camille groaned the utterance in such a way that adequate sympathy and a hug were both conveyed over the distance.

“And I lost my hotel reservation, so I don’t have anyplace to stay, but said-god is looking for a place, and he noticed my dancing finger, so all in all, I’d say things aren’t too terrible.”

“I’m not even sure I followed all of that, but it sounds like you’ve met a man, so I’m impressed.” Impressing Camille wasn’t difficult if romance was involved . . . even the fantasy kind.

“I’ve met a man named Vitale, who’s gorgeous, but he’s only about thirty, so hardly in legal range for me. The good part is that he’s taking care of me like he would his mother—so you got your wish—and he’s very helpful.”

“His mother, huh? Better wait and see what he wants for his trouble before you continue down that line of thinking.” Camille’s philosophy came out chewed around the edges. She must be eating breakfast. “And how’d the broken toe happen?”

Julia opted for the dramaless version. “Vitale was laying a pathway, and he had this pile of stones. One fell off and landed on my foot.”

“Are you in pain?”

Julia thought about that before she spoke. “No, not really.”

“But you can’t hike.” More crunching ensued. “That’s terrible.”

“Could be worse. Of all the great places in the world to get laid up, the Italian Riviera’s got to be at the top of the list. How’s business?”

“Nora Travis called this morning.” An eye roll was evident in Camille’s voice. “She’s ready to do her library and got all excited when I told her you were in Italy looking for new lines.”

Julia answered with an eye roll of her own. “Glad you’re there to take care of the pretentious little twit. You were so good with her last time.”

“As long as she’s willing to pay the price, I don’t mind wearing my boots and carrying my shovel.” Julia heard the familiar door chime in the background. “Anne Hutchens. How are you? Hey, Julia, somebody just came in, so I’ve got to go. Call and let me know where you are and how you’re managing, ’kay?”

“I will. Go make us some money.”

“And you find us some great stuff. Love you!”

As the warm sun beat down on her back, Julia was surprised at how relaxed she felt considering the circumstances. She should be upset . . . in a foreign country virtually homeless. But Vitale’s manner had been so assuring, she really wasn’t worried. He would find her a place to stay.

Allowing someone else to take care of things this once was rather nice, actually. But she wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.

She sipped the crisp white wine, which tasted of sunshine and air and sea—Liguria in a bottle—and soon her server sat the grilled sandwich in front of her, bits of roasted red peppers and eggplant oozing out the side along with the cheese.

Julia’s mouth watered at the sight.

“You meet Vitale?”

Julia’s surprise must’ve shown on her face.

“I hear you say ‘Vitale.’ ” The girl pointed to the cell phone.

“Oh.” Julia pointed to her toe. “I broke my toe this morning, so I’m having to change my plans. Vitale helped me do that.”

“Vitale, he is nice.” The girl took a dreamy breath. “And beautiful. Do you love him?”

Ah! Just as she’d suspected—no woman was impervious to the man’s charms. Julia chuckled and shook her head. “No, I don’t love him. He’s much too young for me.” She estimated the girl to be around seventeen. “And much too old for you, I think.”

The girl flashed her a sheepish smile. “All the women love Vitale. Mia nonna, mia madre, mia sorella . . . me. All love Vitale.” She pursed her lips and gave a knowing nod, looking wise for her years, and shook her finger meaningfully. “And Vitale, he love all the women.”

“So look, but no touch, eh?” Julia tried to match the girl’s wise and somber look.

“Sì. Plenty of look, though.” The sweet face dissolved into a moony smile before she walked back inside.

“Done more than my share of looking already,” Julia murmured, then washed away the admission on a sip of wine.

One bite of the panini, and she was sure she could live here forever. Gorgeous men, great wines, luscious foods—all works of art. What was there not to love about this place?

The young server sat a plate on the next table over with four perfectly formed chocolate truffles. They reminded Julia of Hettie. She dialed the number that would ring directly into her mother-in-law’s room.

Hettie answered on the fourth ring, which was a feat for her.

As soon as she heard Julia’s “Buon giorno,” she opened with, “Gotten laid yet? Remember, it’s got to be by an Italian. Americans you meet on planes don’t count.”

“The American I met on the plane was a jerk. And the only Italians I’ve met would be better suited for Melissa or you.”

“Go for one of the young ones,” Hettie said. “If you caused one of the old guys to have a heart attack, it could get ugly.”

Julia tucked that away under needless advice and shifted the subject to the news about her toe and her change in plans. Hettie was sympathetic, but not sappy. “That stone didn’t just fall on your toe. Fate pushed it there, so be ready.”

“Ready’s my middle name.”

Hettie snorted and launched into a tale about Mable Tarrington’s foray into the game room that morning wearing only a smile.

The time neared for her excursion, so Julia said her good-byes and asked for her check. The girl brought her change along with a small bag.

“For Vitale. From Rosa.”

Julia hesitated. “I won’t see him until tomorrow.”

“Pasticceria. They keep.”

Julia tucked the package into her tote and went to meet the boat.