Her Italian Millionaire (10 page)

“I don't want anything, except to be left alone,” she said, standing tall and reaching for the handle of her suitcase. “I know you meant well, but I came to Italy to be on my own. Yes, maybe I caused a scene, and I got lost, and had a little too much to drink, but I didn't break any laws and I didn't need to be rescued. And I plan to return your handkerchiefs to you as soon as I wash them. No, I don't speak Italian yet, but I'm learning. The only way I can learn is to practice. And I will find my way around by myself. So,
molto grazie
, Marco, and
arrivederci
.”

With her chin in the air, Anne Marie stalked off without a backward glance. She didn't dare look back or it would spoil the effect altogether. She didn't hear footsteps behind her as she dragged her suitcase behind her out of the empty cafe and down the quiet street, so probably he'd gotten the message. Probably he was still sitting at the cafe, watching her walk away, surprised and pissed off by her angry words and her ungrateful attitude. And wondering how on earth she planned to return his handkerchiefs if she was never going to see him again.

 Probably he thought he was irresistible and he’d never been turned down before. Probably he thought of her as some helpless tourist eager to hop into bed and have an affair with an Italian man. If not Giovanni, then Marco. Or both. Well, she wasn't. Yes, he made shivers go up her spine when he touched her and he made her knees buckle and her head spin when he kissed her. Or had she dreamed that kiss? All that could be due to the wine she'd drunk last night. Yes, she had responded in ways that scared her half out of her wits, making her feel shaky all over, empty and unfulfilled, like a sex-starved cat in heat, instead of a forty-something librarian whose recent sexual experiences had been all vicarious.

Of course there were logical explanations for these strange sensations. Jet lag, culture shock and sensory overload. If only she could remember what really happened last night. Some parts were dream-like, like the kiss, and some were a blank. She resolved to stop drinking wine in the company of strange men. Now, Giovanni was a different story. He was not a stranger, he was an old friend she could drink wine with and feel safe. She knew he was not a gigolo. She knew he wouldn't take advantage of her.

But it wasn't Giovanni whose body had been pressed against hers outside that apartment building last night. It was Marco's. What if someone had seen them? Maybe someone did. Her dreams had been filled with erotic longings, disturbing sensations, and lust and passion right out of an X-rated movie.

 She'd been up at dawn planning her escape to Paestum without Marco. Unfortunately, nothing was open at dawn. She'd sat here at the beach on her suitcase for an hour waiting for a cafe to open. Then she'd barely gotten her coffee when he'd arrived.

Why? What did he want with her? This was the third time he'd shown up like this - in the hotel lobby, in the restaurant and now here in the cafe. He never asked her for money, so that wasn't it. He hadn't ravished her last night, so it wasn't that. He was after something or someone, but what or who?

She had her coffee and now she wanted to find an Internet cafe so she could check her messages. Despite her brave words back there at the cafe, she was experiencing a wave of homesickness that made her long for something familiar, a familiar voice or a kind word. She knew it was silly to be nostalgic when she'd only been away for a few days, but she was. She found a small shop with Internet access on a side street, paid the small fee for fifteen minutes and settled herself and her suitcase in front of a computer.

Her pulse raced when she saw she had an e-mail message from her son. What if Tim was sick? What if he needed her? Yes, he was eighteen and a freshman in college and fiercely independent, but still...

“Mom. Hope you're having a great trip. It is so cool you are getting a chance to do all those things you always wanted but never could. Live it up, mom.
La vida loca
and all that. You won't believe what happened here. Or have you already heard? You know the wedding was yesterday. Or it was supposed to be yesterday. There we were in the church. I was standing next to Dad at the altar. You remember he asked me to be his best man, which I didn't want to do, but you said it was okay, you understood. I was nervous, it being my first wedding and wearing my first tux and feeling weird about my own dad getting married to someone who, well you know, and then the music started and she...”

That was all there was. Anne Marie sat staring at the screen. Where was the rest of the message? She clicked the mouse. She restarted the computer. Nothing happened. She went back to the counter and spoke to the woman in charge, who shrugged. It wasn't her fault if the American had only gotten half a message, was it?

“Why don't you ask the sender to repeat the message?” the clerk suggested in English.

Anne Marie went back to the computer and wrote Tim a message, asking, him to re-send the message trying not to sound desperate for news of her ex-husband. Still she wondered, what could have happened at the wedding? She scrolled down to a message from Evie. Maybe she'd tell her what happened.

“Hi Anne Marie.

I tried to call you last night at your hotel. What happened in Rome? My cousin went to meet you at the airport but she couldn't find you.”

Anne Marie felt a stab of guilt. They'd changed her flight at the last minute in San Francisco and she'd forgotten to call Evie and tell her. She'd been in such a rush to see Giovanni, she'd forgotten everything, the cousin, the chocolates, everything but Giovanni.

“Misty can hardly wait to see you. I've told her all about you and she wants to meet you when you get to Rome. I'll give you her number and you can call her. Of course she's dying to get her hands on the candy too, but anyway WHO was the man who answered the phone in your room last night? It wasn't Giovanni, at least he said he wasn't. I can't believe you had a strange man in your room after midnight and where were you, by the way? I want to tell you about the wedding, but I haven't got time to do it justice. Believe me, the whole town is talking. It's a good thing you weren't here. Call me. I have so much to tell you. Have you seen Giovanni? Have you met someone else?

XOX

Evie”

Anne Marie banged her forehead lightly against the screen in frustration. What had happened at the wedding? None of her other messages even mentioned it; they were all written before it happened. She signed off and continued to sit there staring at the screen, her mind in turmoil until the clerk came by and told her she owed another few euros which reminded her she'd forgotten to settle the check before she left the cafe, and now she owed Marco for the dinner, the fortune teller, the wine and also the coffee. If she thought he was some kind of an opportunist, what must he think of her?

It didn't matter. She'd figure out a way to repay him without ever seeing him again, because she sincerely hoped she'd seen the last of him.

He was waiting outside the cafe in his car, the top down and the radio playing music. He tossed his cigarette to the ground, got out and opened the door, then reached for her suitcase.

“Get in,” he said.

She told herself to say good-bye to this oh-so-charming and oh-so-full of himself Italian and be on her way. “No thanks,” she said. “I'm just going to the bus station.”

“Fine, I'll take you,” he said. “It's too far to walk with this suitcase.” Before she could protest, he'd picked up her bag and put it in the trunk of his small sports car.

Feeling weak with apprehension and the lack of breakfast, she didn't argue. What harm could it do to accept a ride to the bus station?

“What's wrong?” he said, slanting a glance in her direction. “Bad news from home via the Internet?”

“No,” she said. “At least I don't think so. I got a message from my son, or rather half a message.”

His forehead creased in a frown. “He's all right, yes?”

“Oh, yes, it's just...nothing.” She turned to face him. “Did you answer the phone in my room last night?”

He shot her a swift look. “Why?” he said.

“Because my friend Evie back home in California wants to know who was in my room late last night. Why didn't you wake me up when she called?”

“You didn't tell me to and neither did she. Besides, I didn't have the heart to do it,” Marco said. “You looked so peaceful while you slept. Was it urgent?”

She shook her heard wearily. “It wasn't urgent, but now she wonders who you were. I don't know how to explain you.”

“You aren't the only one,” he muttered.

Marco's cell phone rang and he spoke for a few minutes, taking his hand off the wheel to wave his arm in the air. When he hung up, he turned to Anne Marie.

“I hope you don't mind. I have to stop a moment at the house of my grandmother. It's on the way. She needs help moving something heavy to her garden. It should only take a moment.”

What could she say? Ignore your grandmother when she needs you? What could she do, make a flying leap from the front seat onto the sidewalk? And what about her suitcase? It weighed a ton. Besides, her head hurt, her stomach lurched at every curve in the road and she was beginning to notice that Marco had a habit of parrying her questions and never giving her a straight answer.

It didn't help her stomach to have him swerve around corners, so many corners it seemed they were driving in circles. Her body swayed into his, her shoulder rubbed against the hard muscles of his upper arm. She pulled back and noticed Marco was staring into the rear-view mirror. She turned her head to look behind them.

“Don't do that,” he said and put his hand firmly on her shoulder.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just keep your head down.”

“Why?” she asked, tugging at her skirt that had ridden above her knees.

His impassive gaze drifted down to her legs. “Why do you ask so many questions?” he said. “Just do what I tell you.” He pressed his foot on the gas pedal. She slid down in her seat and the car leaped forward, throwing her backward into the tight-fitting bucket seat. She thought it must be the kind of sports car Tim talked about that could go from zero to sixty in six point two seconds. She wished she could appreciate the performance, but all the breath was sucked out of her lungs.

They went around a few more corners on two wheels before coming to an abrupt stop and this time Anne Marie flew forward against the tightened seat belt. When the car stopped, Marco made no move to get out of the car. He sat there without stirring, still staring into the mirror. The sun flickered down through the leaves of the olive tree on the side of the road. Anne Marie noticed how it made shadows on the flat planes of his face. She hadn't noticed before that his nose looked like it had been broken and mended crookedly. She wanted to ask about it but it was none of her business so she just sat there staring at his profile and noticing how the tight lines around his mouth slowly relaxed. He didn't speak. Slowly he turned his head and looked behind them.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“I thought someone was following us,” he said, taking a cigarette from his pocket.

“Who would want to follow you?” she asked.

“I might ask you the same question,” he said. “Who would want to follow you?”.

“Do you know you have a habit of answering a question with a question?” she asked.

“Do I?” he asked. He held up a match, glanced at her, read disapproval in her eyes, then put the cigarette back in his pocket.

“Where are we?” she said, looking to the right and the left. They were parked in front of a small stone house with a vegetable garden in front. Then she knew. It was the same house where she'd been caught pilfering tomatoes last night and where she'd imagined herself living another life.