The Affair: Week 8 (2 page)

Despite her distraction that first time, she did read to him sometimes while they lay together next to the sea. She’d wondered at first if he wouldn’t fall asleep after a while, given the steady cadence of her voice and the hypnotic, rhythmic waves hitting the beach, but when she’d glance aside occasionally, she’d see the aquamarine crescents of his eyes as he stared up at the top of the canopy or out at the sea . . . or at her face.

She set aside the book once and picked up the glass of lemonade Mrs. Denis had sent down with their lunch, taking a sip and setting it down again. “She was a lot more calm than I would have been, meeting a queen,” Emma said, referring to the passage she’d just finished reading in the book where the heroine of the book, a sixteenth-century peasant unaware of her royal roots, had been presented to the monarch of the land.

“You were pretty calm when you met royalty,” Vanni said from where he lay next to her, his own glass of lemonade perched on his taut belly and seeping moisture onto his skin. He was turning even more golden brown and beautiful with each passing day in paradise.

She laughed, and then did a puzzled double take when she saw his serious expression. “When did I meet royalty?” she asked.

He reminded her of the couple she’d met in the racing box—the mustachioed man and the sober, polite woman sitting next to him. She just stared at him. “They were
not
,” she scoffed after a moment.

“Well, granted, he’s several steps away from the crown, but still . . .”

A shiver of amazement mixed with outrage and amusement when she realized he wasn’t kidding. She slapped him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you
tell
me?” she demanded, trying desperately to remember the details of the couple and what she’d said and done. “Did I make a fool of myself?” she demanded anxiously. “Wasn’t I supposed to address them in a certain way?”

“No,” Vanni assured, chuckling. “He’s enough steps away that a formal address isn’t required in non-ceremonial settings.”

“He seemed so nice and . . . normal.”

“I’m sure he thought the same of you,” Vanni said drolly, grinning as he set aside his drink.

“You know what I meant,” she chastised. He reached, pulling her against him. She nestled against his chest and stared out at the wide, sunlit sea.

“Royalty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. They’re just people, like anyone else. You couldn’t pay me to have their jobs, though.” She sighed as his fingers brushed in her hair. “Niki is normal enough, don’t you think? And Cristina? They both belong to offshoots of the same family.”

“Really?” she asked, stunned. She listened while he described the lineage. It all sounded very convoluted and confusing to her. Still, she was glad to hear him speak of Cristina. He hadn’t said her name since that volatile morning out on the dock.

“Vanni?” she asked after a moment, turning her face and kissing his chest.

“Hmmm?” he purred, sounding supremely relaxed.

“I know you didn’t like Cristina. But . . . was she
ever
kind to you and Adrian?”

She held her breath, wondering how he would react to the question. Maybe it was foolish of her, but Emma didn’t abide by the idea of keeping things locked tight inside. The things Vanni had avoided discussing for most of his life had ended up taking their toll on him . . . hurting him.

“To Adrian, she was more frequently kind,” he said at last. “But Adrian was very easy to be kind to. Me . . . not so much. Very rarely, she was kind to me, though. It’d come upon her in fits.”

“Fits?” she asked, lifting her head and looking at him.

He nodded, his fingers falling out of her hair. “It was like she’d see the light one day and want to do better, mothering us, taking care of us . . . noticing us.” His mouth flattened at the last. “It wouldn’t last.”

She just stroked his chest, saying nothing. She wanted to bring up the topic of his guilt for Adrian’s accidental death, but she felt she’d already pushed her luck enough by bringing up the topic of Cristina and not ruining their peace.

* * *

One morning she awoke in bed to find Vanni gone. She showered and dressed in her swimsuit and a tunic and grabbed her book before going downstairs to breakfast. Mrs. Denis directed her to “his workshop,” as she called it, and provided her with a tea tray. Vanni’s workshop turned out to be a garage that, while not as large as the one at the Breakers, was large enough for four cars and a huge table where various car parts and machinery sat. She found Vanni wearing a pair of coveralls, similar to the ones he wore in Chicago, with one hand inside what appeared to be an engine that sat on the table. He’d glanced around when she greeted him, the small smile on his lips telling her he was pleased to see her.

“Don’t stop working on my account,” Emma insisted when he withdrew his wrench and picked up an oil-smudged towel to wipe off. “I’ll just sit here and drink my tea and read.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, and she could tell by the way his gaze drifted back to the engine that he wanted to continue with his task.

“Of course, if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head with certainty. She sat on a stool near the table and poured some tea.

After that, she joined him in his workshop several more times while they were at La Mer. At first, she read while he worked for an hour or so, but once she realized he was quite glad to tell her what he was doing and what his goal was, she forgot the book and just observed him while they talked, learning more about the workings of a car than she’d ever imagined was possible. She recalled what her friend’s father, Mort Forrester, had said about Michael Montand Sr. and Vanni both being brilliant mechanical engineers. She started to understand just the very edges of Vanni’s genius during those visits with him while he worked, and he gave her a rough blueprint for comprehending the advances he’d made in mechanical technology. She respected him even more with that understanding.

She loved him impossibly more.

* * *

Of course days and nights as special as those couldn’t last forever. They planned to fly back to Chicago on Sunday morning, and Emma was due back at work on Monday. As their time together drew to an end, neither of them seemed willing to be apart even for a short time. Vanni asked her what she’d like to do on Saturday, their last day at La Mer, and she replied without hesitation that she wanted to spend it on the beach with him next to the sea.

They made love after eating the delicious afternoon tea Mrs. Denis had prepared for them, and afterward, Emma drifted off to sleep in Vanni’s arms, lulled by the sound of the waves and his strong, steady heartbeat in her ear. When she awoke, it was evening and the sun was beginning to set. She sat up, disoriented because she was alone. For some reason, a prickle of unease went through her as she stared out at the sea and didn’t see a sign of Vanni.

“Vanni?” she called, but there was no answer.

Then she caught sight of him. He was farther out to sea than she’d ever seen him swim, his head appearing small in the shimmering waves. He was going further away still.

“Vanni!” she yelled, panicked for some reason at the sight. She shoved aside her beach cover-up, which had been draped over her while she slept, and stood naked, staring fixedly at the black spot in the sea that was Vanni’s head. For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe.

She exhaled with relief when she realized he’d changed directions and was headed back to shore. When he was just past the anchored raft, he stopped swimming, his head breaking the surface. Her naked skin prickled with awareness, and she knew he stared at her standing there, just inside the pavilion. He resumed swimming with gusto toward the beach. He stood when the water was waist-deep and began walking toward shore, his stride unbroken by the rolling waves. The roughening of her skin and that strange sense of tension mounted. He was naked, the evening sun casting a golden-reddish light onto his skin. Her gazed lowered over him, her breath catching.

He wasn’t only naked, he was fully aroused.

As he drew closer, she saw the glint of fire in his sea-colored eyes as they lowered over her naked body with a hot, possessive look. She just gaped at him in rising wonder. What had happened? Why did he look so fierce?

She didn’t have time to put the question to words, because he was taking her into his arms, pulling her against his body and sweeping down to cover her mouth with his. His heat resonated beneath the cool sheen of water, the degree of it shocking her since he’d just been submerged in the sea. He almost felt feverish. He lifted, her feet coming off the beach, and set her down at the end of the lounger.

“Scoot back and open your thighs,” he said, hovering over her, his face rigid. She hastened back on the lounger, sensing his urgency. He straddled her and came toward her on his hands and knees, the primal vision he made sending a thrill of wariness and anticipation through her. She didn’t know what was happening, but the moment was taut with unspoken, thick emotion.

He stared at her pussy as he approached, a slight snarl shaping his lips. Without any preamble, he fisted the stalk of his cock and arrowed it into her slit. She was still moist from their previous lovemaking, but the abrupt entry still made her wince.

He fell down over her and flexed his hips, driving his cock deeper. She gave a shaky cry. “Let me in, Emma,” he commanded quietly, staring down at her with a scoring stare. She opened her legs wider. Her flesh melted around his hard length at the same moment that he grasped her wrists and pushed them above her head. He began to fuck her with long, hard strokes, holding her stare the whole time, his face tight, his eyes blazing. He was telling her something, screaming the truth, but his mouth remained closed the whole time.

She heard him in the quiet, though; heard his pain and his confusion.

She lifted her hips, driving her pussy along his thrusting cock, absorbing his unrest and anguish, breaking it like a wave that pounded at the beach.

“That’s right,” she whispered heatedly. “Fuck me.”

A convulsion of emotion broke across his face. A groan rattled his throat. He took her harder, lifting his face and wincing in an agony of pleasure. She felt his cock swell in her and jerk viciously. A shout erupted from what seemed like his deepest part. It escalated to a stark howl, the sound causing her neck and forearms to roughen and prickle. She felt him convulse inside her, then the warm rush of his semen as he ejaculated.

He removed his hands from her wrists, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, and sagged, panting raggedly for air.

The heaving of his chest and ribs slowly eased. He made a rough choking sound, and she reached for him, bringing him down against her.

The sound of his ragged breath eased under the rhythmic surf surrounding them. She furrowed her fingers into his thick, damp hair and stroked his back. Eventually, he came up off her and fell onto his back. He reached for her and she rested her cheek on his chest.

“I was married before.”

She went still at his unexpected words.

“I know,” she whispered against his chest.

“How did you know?” he asked, his fingertips feathering down her spine.

She told him about what Mort Forrester had told her, and also mentioned Niki. He didn’t say anything for a moment when she fell silent.

“She was a special girl, but I met her at a time in my life when I was ready to . . . to give it all another try. I was tired of being bitter. After Meredith died, it seemed like all the pain came roaring back, even worse than before,” he said starkly. “I used to swim past the spot where Adrian drowned at the Breakers. I’d swim far out to the lake. When I was here, I’d swim far out to sea. I never told anyone before.”

Her lungs ached, and she realized she was holding her breath.

“I didn’t think of it as wanting to die. It was a kind of compulsion. I just . . . wondered what would happen. I wondered if I went far enough, if I’d be taken, too. I should have been the one who went on that afternoon. Not Adrian.”

“No,” she said steadfastly. “
Neither
of you should have been taken. It was a horrible accident. And you were fortunate to live through it. Blessed. I’m blessed, because you’re here,” she said, kissing his skin. She exhaled shakily when she felt his fingers in her hair.

“You never told me what happened,” he said. “When you died.” His hand opened at her back, and he made a soothing motion. He must have felt her tremble. His hand stilled. “I’m not asking because I’m curious to find out for myself, Emma,” he said wryly. She lifted her head, hungry to see his face. He met her stare calmly. “I’m not suicidal.”

She studied him closely, then nodded, sighing in relief at what she saw in his eyes.

“There was a feeling like floating . . . no, flying,” she said. “I was weightless. Comfortable. In control. But mostly, there was just a
feeling
,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. “A
knowledge
, and I knew even better than I know my own name that all was well . . . and that . . . things were
bigger
and deeper and wider than I’d ever begun to imagine, so big that all my fears were like a drop in the ocean of it.”

“Do you think that’s what Adrian experienced?” he asked quietly. “Because when he was struggling, and I was trying so hard to keep him above the water . . .” He closed his eyes, and his pain was like a knife in her side. “He was
very
afraid.”

“Vanni.”

He opened his eyes slowly.

“When the time came, he wasn’t afraid.
Please
believe me.”

He stared at her face, rapt.

“I’m sure enough for both of us,” she said in a pressured whisper.

His rigid expression broke. He pulled her closer in his arms, and she slid further up his body so that her head nestled in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. She touched her lips to his pulse and closed her eyes at the feeling swelling tight in her chest.

“When you swam out all those times, what made you turn back?” she asked him in a hushed voice after a moment.