Gladly Beyond (38 page)

We rounded the table under its wisteria vine and then I stopped.

All of Florence lay before us. Glistening streetlights and gilded raindrops. The Duomo soared above it all, blazing through the misty darkness. Everything reflected on the terrace flagstones, long golden streaks.

It was utterly glorious.

I sighed and relaxed into Dante, lacing my fingers more firmly through his. The rain plastered my hair to my head. I brushed it back and leaned my head on his shoulder. Me drinking in my boyfriend city with the man who just might be my boyfriend.

It was all sorts of poetic.

“Do you think they were happy together?” My voice drifted in the hush.

“Ethan and Caro?”

“Yeah.”

He was still caressing my hand with his thumb. “Yes. I think they were deliriously happy.”

“Do you think that kind of happiness is actually possible?”

“Yes.”

A few more heartbeats.

“I’ve never experienced it. Have you?”

“Not in this life. Not yet, at least.”

“Whenever friends go on and on about how
in love
and perfect their relationships are, I have to roll my eyes. There’s this stupid voice in my head that insists they must be lying.”

“Such a relationship isn’t impossible. My parents’ marriage was like that.” Another pass of his thumb. “Utterly in love.”

“I thought you said they divorced?”

“No. Just separated. And it wasn’t due to lack of love. My dad became more unstable the older he got. They were both concerned for our safety. Dad eventually sent us all away. He didn’t want to inadvertently hurt anyone. But he always loved my mom and she him. That never changed. It was the great tragedy, I suppose. Sometimes love just isn’t enough.”

“I hope it was enough for Caro and Ethan.”

I could almost feel Caro and Ethan trailing us, the silvery shadow of who we had been. The promise of what we might become.

By now, the rain had soaked us both. Dante’s wet hair dripped down his throat. His t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, bringing every dip and valley of his chest into sharp relief.

Damn but he was a fine specimen of a man.

Inside and out.

From somewhere below, the sound of an accordion and violin drifted up. A traditional Italian folk tune mingling with the soothing
shush shush
of traffic in the rain.

I smiled. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

He turned his head . . . a question mark.

“The music.” I nodded toward the street.

“Ah, yes. That. Well, we can’t dance without music, can we?”

A beat.

“I’m not sure I know how.”

“I’ll teach you,
cara mia
.”

Somehow, we weren’t talking about dancing.

He wrapped his free hand around me, pulling me into a traditional dance position. His right hand snugged firmly in the curve of my lower back, left hand holding my right against his shoulder. Our bodies flush.

Slowly, he began to move us in a circle. Junior high slow dance style. Pulling me even closer with each step. The rain pattered softly around us, dripping in romantic gloom . . . the scent of wisteria and lemons and Florence.

“Is this how you dance?” I whispered in his ear. Goosebumps flared across his neck, glinting in the low light.

“With you,
cara
? Always.”

He turned me in a circle, hands firm but kind.

He had been true to his promise . . . to let me set the pace for our relationship. To move at my own speed.

So . . . what was I waiting for?

I liked him.

Like-liked him.

Liked him more than I had
ever
liked any other man.

I also knew he like-liked me.

I was so tired of being watched and hunted. Of being prey.

I wanted to be the huntress.

So though I knew I was playing with fire, I pulled our linked hands down and around my back.
Hold me tighter.

He obliged. The man was anything but dense.

I wrapped both my hands around his head. Nuzzled my nose into the space below his ear. Returning a taste of his own actions.

And then grazed my lips along his neck.

His breath hitched. Sharp. Quick.

I dragged my mouth along his jawline. My destination surely obvious.

He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. His big frame suddenly shaking.

I brushed my lips over his. Feather soft. Rain chilled.

Dante’s reaction was . . . gratifying.

His arms tightened around me justlikethat—

Banded me against him with such fierce strength, I nearly got whiplash. Claiming another, hotter kiss.

And then another. And another.

His mouth a burning brand against mine. Demanding. Hungry.

I melted, arcing into him. Just as Caro had.

My memories blended with hers . . . ours.

He tasted like Ethan. Honey-sweet. Give and take.

Each kiss was a blast of cannon fire against the walls surrounding my heart.

I hated those walls. I was so very tired of them. The sheer effort of maintaining them, patrolling them, always on guard . . .

I wanted Dante to be their keeper now.

Somehow, the rain became . . . cleansing. Purging.

Those walls crumbled in a flash of infinity—

My soul remembered this man. All of him.

More than just cognitive knowing . . . a visceral sense of . . .
us
.

We had been here before. Over and over. Countless times, experiencing this kiss.

Dante kissed me like a man drowning. First ravenous, greedy.

But gradually his kisses morphed. Softer. Savoring. Lingering.

A hand threaded into my hair, turning my head for a better angle. My own arms were around his neck, clutching his head to mine.

Finally he pulled away enough to rest his forehead against mine, heart thumping under my hands. A reflection of my own.

“You’re a much better kisser than Caro,” he whispered.

I chuckled. Naughty and low. “I should hope so. You certainly top Ethan.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. Wicked, full of promise. “Glad to see we have improved on
something
over the last two hundred years.”

“Practice does make perfect.”

I popped onto my toes, slanting my mouth over his again. Warm. Intoxicating.

Would I ever get enough of this man?

He rumbled deep in his throat. A noise of pure male satisfaction.

After a while, he moved to kiss my jaw, my cheeks, my eyes . . . leaving a final lingering kiss on my bottom lip alone.

“That poor little lip.” His breath a puff of air against mine. “You worry it to death.”

I laughed. Carefree. Happiness fizzing through my veins.

I was Claire and Caro and a hundred other women all at once.

He was more than Ethan or Dante . . .

He was my soul. The other half I had spent an eternity of lives watching, waiting, longing . . .

Finally. At last.

I was home.

Thirty

Claire

I
’m so happy you have decided to accept my offer, darlin.’” As usual, the Colonel rocked back on his heels, thumbs in his jacket lapels.

Dante and I were on our way to visit the Certosa but, as it was near the Colonel’s villa, we had swung by. I wanted to give him word of my acceptance in person. Dante decided to wait with the car, as he could watch me enter and exit the house. It was still raining.

Staying at the D’Angelo palazzo had been . . . delightful.

And not only due to Dante’s goodnight kissing skills. Though that
had
been a highpoint . . .

After Dante said goodnight (over and over), Chiara had kept me up late chatting about her latest men troubles. Turned out, she and I had a lot in common when it came to dating losers—Dante excepted, of course.

“Shall we have dinner to celebrate?” The Colonel continued. The Colonel was his cheerful self today. So far nothing weird.

It felt good, accepting the job. The money was necessary. And, even more, this job would go a long way to rebuilding my lost professional cred.

“Sure, Colonel. I would enjoy that. We could discuss my game plan for curating your collection.”

And lay down some ground rules about our working relationship.

“It’s a date then.” The Colonel smacked his hands together.

Annnnd maybe those ground rules couldn’t wait.

“Would it be alright if Dante came with me?” I asked. The question giving the Colonel a clear lay of the land, so to speak.

The Colonel paused, both eyebrows shooting upward. “Is that the way the wind is blowin’?”

I nodded. “It is.”

He studied me for a moment. Let out a slow breath.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t do any harm to have him along.”

“No. I think you’ll appreciate his insights. It’s like getting us both for the price of one.”

The Colonel perked up at that thought.

“Have you considered partnering with any local museums?” I continued.

“I can’t say that I know much about any of that stuff. I’m going to leave that to you professionals.”

We chatted about pleasantries for a few more minutes and then shook hands. The Colonel doing his signature dual-hand-pat thing which lingered far too long.

Sigh. It was going to be an interesting working relationship, but at least he knew where I stood with anything
more
than a business working situation.

I hoped.

The Colonel and I made arrangements to have dinner the following night.

I stopped by Natalia’s office on my way down to sign some paperwork.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she said as I added my signature to one more confidentiality agreement. “I know the Colonel has been thrilled to add you to our team.”

“Thank you.” I set the pen down. “Is that all?”

“Yes, this will do it.” Natalia gathered the papers together, scanning through them. “So, have you seen Dante D’Angelo lately?” The question was anything but casual.

A pause.

“He’s waiting for me in the car.”

Natalia’s head snapped up, eyes meeting mine.

“I see.” Her tone indicating that, indeed, she did.

She smiled, nice and strained and catty. As polite as could be.

We chatted for a few minutes and I made another appointment with her, as we needed to hash out a plan for working together.

That
was going to be fun. I was hoping once she acclimated to Dante being with me, she would lighten up and see me more as a friend than competition.

A girl could dream.

“Oh . . . I think this is yours,” Natalia said as I turned to leave.

I stared at her hand.

Or, rather, the lipstick tube in her palm.

“You left it here last week sometime.” She noticed my hesitation. “The Colonel picked it up for you and asked me to make sure you got it back.”

I took it gingerly from her. “Thanks.”

I smiled, forced, on my way out the door, tapping the lipstick tube against my thigh.

My favorite PH lipstick, green before you put it on, perfect when worn under lemon berry lipgloss.

I had a routine. Part house make-up, part purse make-up.

I was about a hundred percent positive I had never taken the lipstick to the Colonel’s. This lipstick stayed with my house make-up kit. It never ended up in my purse. At least, not intentionally. I most certainly hadn’t taken it
out
of my purse.

Had it really been the Colonel who had ‘found’ it and given it to Natalia? Or was she going rogue? Was this part of some convoluted plot to come between me and Dante?

And why steal my lipstick and nothing else? That was just . . . weird.

And why, why, why couldn’t things stay normal with the Colonel and his people for longer than just a few hours?

Thirty-One

Dante

I
had talked Claire off the cliff by the time we pulled into the dirt field that masqueraded as a parking lot below the Certosa. The enormous medieval walls of the monastery rose sharply in front of us. Looming and imposing. The rain still lingered.

“There is no good reason for Natalia to have had my lipstick. That’s all I’m saying.”