Gaining Visibility (8 page)

“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.

C
HAPTER
6

T
he tour headed south to Tellaro first, giving Julia a different perspective on the town than she'd gotten yesterday from the hike in the hills above, though just as tranquil. The picturesque pink and orange houses set against the vibrant green backdrop made it difficult to imagine anything but perfect harmony behind those walls. No cancer. No infidelity. Nothing but blissfully happy couples living out their days in peaceful perfection. However, the quick stop the captain made at the spot where Percy Bysshe Shelley's boat went down, which led to the poet's drowning, served as a sad reminder of her parents' death in a boating accident on Kentucky Lake.

“Every life has stormy seas,” the captain said.

The poignancy of his statement stung Julia's eyes, and her throat burned with the bitterness of all she'd lost.

Across the gulf to the small islands of Tino and Isola, up to La Spezia, and back down to Lerici, the afternoon flew by as quickly as the Italian coastline. Fingers of the Mediterranean grasped the land deeply in places, holding it still as the world revolved around it. Quaint fishing villages rose and fell like the tide, winking into and out of view. Fishing boats with wizened old men smoking pipes. Yachts with bikini-clad beauties—mostly topless. Blue sky and azure water coming together at some indistinct point Julia wasn't sure even existed. She felt like any moment they would be riding one of the waves into the air, and she wouldn't be surprised in the least.

When the boat returned to shore, she realized it had been hours since she'd thought about her toe—or her life. Out on the sea, Frank, cancer, Melissa's move, Hettie's stroke—everything, at last, dissolved into a blue oblivion.

Relaxed and exhausted from the shiatsu massage of the wind, she returned to her room and fell asleep on a chaise on the balcony, awaking sometime in the middle of the night with a vague worry about where she would be the next night but sure Vitale's word would be good.

She dragged herself to the bed, not waking again until a loud knock startled her. She scurried to the door as fast as her toe would allow.

Vitale.

His eyes raked down her, and he gave a cocky grin. “
Buon giorno,
Julietta.”

Her eyes dropped to see her designer nipples protruding through the thick camisole she'd slept in. Of course, Vitale thought they were greeting him personally. “
Buon giorno,
Vitale.” Although she didn't think her scars would be visible to his casual glance, she stepped self-consciously behind the door and peered around it.

“I have the place for you to stay. Are you ready to go?”

She looked at her watch, astounded to note that it was past ten thirty. What about Italy caused her to sleep so late? She'd been living out of her suitcase since she'd arrived, so there wasn't much to pack. “I can be ready in twenty minutes. Is the place you found far?”

He shook his head and she shut the door, wondering if he was going to continue standing there, but pretty sure there was no way she could breathe enough to move if she asked him in.

She took the quickest shower she'd ever taken, brushed her hair and teeth, and slapped on a minimum of makeup. Moving from one hotel to another didn't require dressing up, so she slipped into a short skirt, tank top, open blouse, and the flip-flops that would unfortunately have to be standard footwear this trip.

As she suspected, when she opened her door twenty-three minutes after answering it the first time, Vitale was still standing there.

He grabbed her suitcases, obviously not even considering using the wheels. “I talk to Mario. He do not charge for your stay here because of the injury.”

“Oh, I don't want him to do that,” Julia protested.

“It is the correct thing to do, and I borrow his car, so we must hurry. It is the Sunday.”

A bright yellow Smart car waited on the road at the front of her hotel. Julia put on her seat belt while Vitale filled the back with her two pieces of luggage.

He got in, taking off so quickly she lost the ability to speak for a minute, able only to clutch the sides of her seat and take in quick breaths through clenched teeth. But when Vitale took the road that led away from town, the threat of impending doom gave her voice back. “I thought you said it wasn't far! Where
is
the room you found?”

He gave a wolfish smile and threw a sidelong glance her way. “
Casa mia
. You will stay with me.”

C
HAPTER
7

“O
h no, you don't.” Julia flung her arm out the window and held on to the door as Vitale swept around a curve. “I am
not
staying with you. Take me back to the hotel. Now.”

Vitale kept his eyes on the road and shrugged. “I cannot do that. We to be late.”

A curve in the opposite direction careened her back to the middle of the car. She came up hard against Vitale's arm. “Late for what?”

“
Il pranzo con la mia famiglia.
”

The words were some from the CDs she'd practiced with, so they were familiar. She just hadn't heard them put together this way. It took a few seconds to translate. “Lunch? With your family?”

He nodded, seeming pleased that she understood. “
Sì
.”

Realizing he wasn't likely a serial killer if he was taking her to Sunday lunch with his family, her heart rate shifted from
panic mode
to
unexpected guest
. “Oh no. I can't impose like that.”

“You like.”

Julia looked down at the skirt riding up on her thighs. “I'm not saying I wouldn't enjoy it. I'm sure they're lovely people, and it's very kind of you, but I'm not dressed for Sunday dinner with anybody's family.” It crossed her mind that her clothes were only an arm's length away. Was there something she could change into? She loosened her grip on the door handle, intending to unzip her luggage and have a look, but a fast curve made her rethink that action. “Is there someplace we can stop and let me change clothes?”

“No, no to change.”

“But . . .” A protest was on her tongue.

“You look beautiful.”

Beautiful?
Of course, the word was merely part of his woman-appeal jargon, but it hung pleasantly in her ear. She sat back and thought the situation over again. Sunday lunch in the home of an Italian family might be fun. The food would probably be amazing, and it would be a great way to practice her Italian. She'd never see these people again, so what difference did it make what she was wearing? She nodded. “Okay. Why not? That is, if you think it will be all right with your family.”

“It will be all right with the family.”

“Then thank you for inviting me. I'm sure I'll enjoy it very much. But after lunch you'll take me back to town, and we'll make calls until I find a room.”

He ignored her comment, but his reaction didn't make her feel ignored. His smug smile said he knew she was there. This was simply a man used to getting his own way. Julia mentally rolled her eyes.

They came around another hairpin curve too fast, and Vitale slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting a car at the back of a long line of stopped ones.

Julia braced a hand against the dashboard and gritted her teeth while the car jostled to a stop. “Where in the hell did you learn—and I use that term loosely—to drive?”

The line started to move, he threw the car back into gear, and Julia latched on to the door for another wild takeoff.

“I do not learn. I just to drive.”

“Well, that explains it.” She could do a better job, but her toe wouldn't let her press on the gas pedal at all. She wished Vitale had a hurt toe that would keep him from pressing it so hard.

He gunned it, and they roared ahead a few more yards. She clenched her jaws and held on, foregoing conversation until they were a safe distance from the car in front of them.

At last, the obstacle, a minivan with a flat tire, managed to pull far enough off the narrow road to allow others by, and traffic picked up to breakneck speed again.

They were headed into the hills.
The hills I should be hiking today.
Patches of purple and yellow wildflowers whipped past her vision. She closed her eyes to keep from getting carsick.
Instead, I'm in the passenger seat with a madman at the wheel, going who-knows-where, up and down hills, around blind curves, with no hope of finding my way back to where I started.

A metaphor for the past couple of years of her life.

Conversation didn't seem like the safest option, but a safe option didn't jump out at her right at the moment, and it might keep her mind off Vitale's driving skills. Or lack thereof. “I don't usually dine at someone's house without taking something. Should we stop and let me pick up a bottle of wine?”
And find a nice, safe donkey to ride back to town.

“No, they have the wine. You are the guest.”

“How many people will be there? Do you have a large family?”

Vitale shook his head. “Not large. Mama, Papà, Maria, Giovanni, Rachele, Paolo, Adrianna, Antonio, Giada, Michele, Celeste, Piero, Lia, Enrico, Orabella, Cesare, Chiara, Elia.”

“Oh, for heaven's sakes. You don't consider that large? I mean, you're talking to an only child who was married to an only child and produced an only child. How many siblings do you have?”

His brows drew together in confusion. “Ceilings? In the house? I never count them. One for each room.”

Julia tried to suppress a giggle. “Not ceilings. Siblings. Brothers and sisters.”

“Seeblings.” He tried out the new word. “Five see-blings. No brothers. Five sisters.”

Aha. That explained a few things. The only boy and five sisters. No wonder he was used to getting his own way. Articles she'd read about Italian culture painted Italian men as quite spoiled by their families. It would be interesting to see if that was actually true in Vitale's case. “Are your sisters older than you? Younger?”

“Three older. Maria, Giada, Celeste. Adrianna and Orabella younger.”

“They are married?”

“
Sì
.”

“All of them?”

“
Sì
.”

“I assume you're not married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Julia pulled the small parcel from her tote. “This is from Rosa at the café in the village. She tells me all the women love Vitale.”

Vitale laughed, and Julia realized it was the first time she'd heard him really laugh. The sound originated from somewhere deep, and it made her feel like she was sharing something intimate with him, warming her from the inside out.

“Rosa, she talk too much, and she think all the world is like Rosa.” He chuckled again and shook his head. “But
sua nonna,
she make biscotto
deliziosa
.”

He started to tear open the parchment package, but that required him to let go of the steering wheel. Julia grabbed the parcel out of his hands. “Here. Let me do that.”

Inside the paper were four pastry pinwheels.

“Eat,” Vitale insisted. “You understand.” He slowed the car and reached over to hold one up to her mouth. She bit into it and the buttery crust seemed to dissolve away, leaving a tangy concoction of apricot and chopped chestnuts.

“Mmmm. Yum.” She closed her eyes and savored the taste. When she opened them, Vitale was watching her with a look that made her feel like
she
was being devoured. She smiled and he laughed again.

“You like biscotto, yes?”

She nodded.

“Eat.” He pushed it toward her mouth. She took another bite and caught the pastry in her hands as it started buckling under the assault.

A crumb hung on her bottom lip, and she slipped her tongue out to catch it just as Vitale's thumb brushed it away. When her tongue grazed him, she quickly sucked it back into her mouth, drawing another smile from him. He responded by stroking his thumb slowly across her lip.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Then he helped himself to a biscotto, shifted in his seat, and lay down on the accelerator again.

They drove in silence for a while, seeming to understand any conversation while eating such a treasure would amount to sacrilege.

Julia's stomach adapted to the lurching of the car, though she concentrated on keeping her eyes glued to the road to aid her backseat driving—on anything that would shift her focus from the flirtation this man inspired. “Your English is good, Vitale.” She broke the silence. “How did you learn?”

She saw his shrug in her peripheral vision.

“I do not learn. I just do.”

“Is that your answer for everything?”

She cast a quick glance his way and caught the hint of a smile.

“Most important thing, person just know.”

They rode again in silence a few minutes.

“Vitale.” She decided to broach the subject again. “I don't want to seem ungrateful. I really do appreciate all you've done for me and your hospitality . . . offering me a place to stay. But I don't think it's a good idea. I mean, for all I know, you could be a serial killer.” She flinched as a tree branch missed her window by mere inches.

“I do not eat the cereal, but I do not kill it. I will get you the cereal if that is what you eat for the breakfast. I am the good host.”

Even his offended look couldn't keep her from smiling at the thought of Vitale plunging a knife into a box of Special K. “I'm not worried about breakfast, and I'm sure you're a very good host.”

He took a long, exasperated breath. “Julietta, there is no room. I try to find, call many places. The tour, she take everything. Do you worry because I am a man?”

“Of course not.” She waved away the absurdity. “I mean, I'm not afraid that anything will happen. But it doesn't look right. It's not proper to stay with a man I hardly know.”

“We will not have the sex. Unless you want it,” he added.

His tone was matter-of-fact, but the mention of the word hurled Julia way over the edge of her comfort zone. “Have sex?” she sputtered. “Who said anything about having sex?”

“Vitale say it.”

“I know who said it . . .”

“But you ask who say it,” he replied flatly.

“It's just an expression. I meant that it hadn't even occurred to me to have sex with you,” she lied, trying not to let her face show that she actually had envisioned it pretty graphically numerous times since first seeing him. “You're too young. How old are you?”

His quick laugh inferred her fears were inconsequential. “Thirty-four. I am a man. You are a woman. And the breasts say—”

“You can't believe my breasts,” she countered, still reeling from the realization that a thirty-four-year-old had obviously thought about having sex with her. “They lie.”

“Breasts no lie. The woman lie.” He brought the car to a grinding halt in front of a house and shot her a triumphant smile.

She opened her mouth to protest again but dropped her next comment, choosing to use the time to gather her wits about her so Vitale's family wouldn't think she'd been thinking about having sex with him.

The quintessential two-story Italian farmhouse surrounded by olive and cedar trees remained tranquil for all of two seconds before someone inside must have noticed their arrival. Then it became a beehive of activity with men, women, and children flying out from every direction shouting, “Vitale! Vitale!”

A young boy of eight or so bolted up first and jerked open the door on Julia's side, brown eyes wide with wonder. His expression faded to exasperation when her toe and the crutch kept her from vacating the area as quickly as he wanted. But once she cleared the path, he dove into the seat, giddy with excitement.

She stepped back out of the way as more and more family members joined the throng, buzzing like bees swarming around their gigantic yellow and black queen.

They talked excitedly, running their hands across the smooth leather interior and sleek exterior curves.

“
Non, non. Non ho comprato l'automobile,
” Vitale protested in response to the rapid-fire questions aimed his way. At last, he quieted the group long enough to point toward Julia.

Seventeen pairs of eyes turned toward her in unison, seeming to see her for the first time. “Julietta,
la mia famiglia
.” He smiled warmly as he came around the car to stand by her, placing a hand at the small of her back. She was sure it wouldn't have happened otherwise, but the touch coming so fast on the heels of his comments about having sex gave her a shameful tingle of excitement. She tried to stop the smile that popped onto her lips.
Oh, this is ridiculous.
Maybe the family would perceive her expression as excitement about sharing lunch with them.

With his customary gesturing, Vitale introduced each person, then apparently proceeded to explain about her toe and the crutch because all the eyes shifted down at the same time, and the surprised expressions softened to sympathy. Or maybe they felt sorry for her obvious fashion faux pas since they were all dressed up.

She tugged on the skirt, trying to cover more leg as her eyes scanned the gorgeous array of people surrounding her. Vitale's sisters were as beautiful as he was handsome—all of them tall and lean, like their father, Piero. Their mother, Angelina, while shorter and stockier, still had a manner about her that let everyone know she ruled the hive. The queen bee personified.

The family members kept their distance until Angelina graciously took Julia's arm. “
Benvenuta,
Julietta,” she said, and gestured toward the house. Then the hive became frenzied again, welcoming the newcomer in English that ranged from stuttered to flawless, but always accompanied by handshakes and hugs.