The Year of Luminous Love (26 page)

Ciana read the letter twice. Heat slithered up her body, some from embarrassment, some from anxiety. She’d not said a word to her friends yet about Enzo’s request to take her to Portofino. She’d simply proffered the bottle of wine when they’d
asked why he’d shown up at the villa. The letter was undated, so she had no idea as to when he’d written it. Was it simply hospitality? Was it his way of nudging her toward the trip? The room must cost hundreds of dollars per night. Would Enzo be so hospitable? She didn’t like indebtedness, and although he’d said it was a gift, accepting the suite would make her feel obligated to him. She batted around the idea of days with him in his villa, of his total attention, of his hands and lips on her body. She exhaled, stirred by the images.
And why shouldn’t I?
she asked herself. It wasn’t as if she had anyone in her life. Neither was she some silly, starry-eyed schoolgirl. So what if she didn’t love him? He was urbane and attractive. And there was no one back home waiting for her. No one at all.

Arie lived on adrenaline during the week, anticipating her birthday. She spent hours absorbed in visiting Rome’s museums and staring transfixed at the great sculptures, statues, and paintings, each one more stunning than the last. She was especially attracted to the depictions of Madonna and child. She thought them glorious, a woman clutching a beautiful baby, a beatific look on the mother’s face, the child’s face ethereal, seeing beyond the moment and into an unknown future. Arie would stand so long in front of a particular depiction that Ciana and Eden would ask, “Can we move along?” or “I think I’ve memorized this one, Arie. Let’s look at some others.”

She didn’t hold their restlessness against them. They would one day marry, have babies, grow old, and greet grandchildren, but she would never give birth to a child of her own. Even if, by some miracle, she survived this latest setback, all the treatments she’d experienced had closed the door to childbearing. Barrenness, a chemo side effect.
No
. A runny nose with a cold
was a side effect. Barrenness was a sentence. So every Madonna painting made her stop and silently mourn for what would never be.

She insisted on spending a day at the Vatican, a city unto itself, where the greatest artwork of all time was housed. Within the halls of the Pope’s realm was the Sistine Chapel, its ceiling and walls adorned with art of such magnificence that Arie could scarcely breathe in its presence. Benches along the sides of the walls offered a place to sit and contemplate the beauty of Michelangelo’s frescos, commissioned in 1508. The magnitude of the work shook Arie to her core. How could one man have created such a wonder?

“Wow,” Eden whispered softly, for to talk loudly in the chapel seemed a sacrilege. Words had no power here.

Ciana mumbled, “This makes the whole trip worthwhile.”

Moved by their reverence, Arie whispered, “I’m going to be here awhile, so let’s pick a time and place to meet.”

When they had gone, she sat and gazed up at
The Creation of Adam
, located in the foremost area at the top center panel of the chapel, with the finger of God reaching out to bestow life on the first human. She stared until she had a crick in her neck, yet still could not look away. In a desperate moment, she wondered how she might climb to the ceiling’s center and touch her finger to God’s, for surely if he could create Adam, one touch from him could cure her. A tear trickled down her cheek and she whisked it away.

She consoled herself with knowing that in two days, another wonderful thing would come her way. She knew the time had come to tell her friends her plans. It hadn’t been right to keep the secret so long to herself, yet every time she thought of telling them, she’d chickened out. But now they were in Rome and she’d seen Ciana and Eden plotting some
birthday surprise for her that she had to forestall. She’d have to suck it up and tell them tonight.

“What’s up with you?” Eden asked Arie back in the suite before bed that night. “You were all jumpy during dinner.”

Ciana flopped onto the sofa beside Eden, saying, “Eden’s right. You haven’t been yourself today.”

Arie nibbled on the quick of her thumb. “Nothing’s wrong.” Her voice lacked conviction, but she realized this was her opening to confess. “I’ve done something. Something I have to tell you.” Her friends looked bewildered. She squirmed. “I should have told you sooner. But didn’t.”

Eden asked, “You didn’t take one of those paintings off the Pope’s walls, did you?”

Arie shook her head. “Nothing criminal.” She took a deep breath. “I … um … made special plans for my birthday.”

“You did? But so have we.” Ciana sounded disappointed.

“I figured you might have.”

“Spit it out,” Eden said. “The suspense is nerve-racking.”

Arie bounced her gaze between them, her pulse racing with pent-up tension. “I’ve invited Jon Mercer for a visit. And he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Ciana felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
Jon’s coming!
She went cold, then hot; her spine went rigid and she was rendered speechless. Fortunately, Eden spoke up.

“He’s coming to Italy? Tomorrow? And now you’re just mentioning it?”

“I said I was sorry about that part.” Arie’s face reddened.

“How did this come about?”

“You both know I email home once a week.”

“Your
family
.”

“Well, a couple of times, I emailed Jon. To ask about my horse. I told him what a good time we were having. And … and … one time I wrote that I wished he could come visit us—well, me, really, for my birthday. And he said he would.” She grew animated. “I never dreamed he’d actually agree to come. But now that he is …” Her sentence trailed off. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

A knot filled Ciana’s throat. She wanted to see him. She
didn’t want to see him. His last words had been off-putting when he’d made some crack about “Beauchamp money.” She dredged up the anger and vowed to hold it and use it to steel her emotions against him when she saw him.

Eden asked, “How long is he staying?”

“Just three days in Rome.”

“Long way to travel for three days.” Ciana finally spoke. “It’s eight to nine hours each way.”

“I know. But don’t you see? That’s what makes it all the more special.” Arie’s eyes lit up. “There’s nothing in the world I want more than to see him and to be with him on my birthday.”

“What makes this birthday so special?” Eden asked. “We’ll be home for Christmas. Can’t you celebrate then?”

“He’s leaving before we come home.”

“When?” Ciana asked before she could stop it.

“Not exactly sure, but he’s going back to Texas. Says that Pickins has nothing else for him to do.”

Ciana’s heart skipped a beat.
Leaving
. This would be her last chance to see him too. She knew she’d be better off never seeing him again. “Part of coming to Italy was to whoop it up on your birthday.”

Arie looked contrite. Of course, her friends had no way of knowing that she might not see another birthday. She was beginning to feel the effects of her illness—pain in her lower back, in the area near her kidneys. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Coming here, to Italy, is the best present anyone could ever give me. And once Jon’s gone and we go back to the villa, well, things will be just like before. Back to Cortona and our friends there. Back to day trips to other cities. Nothing will change.”

Ciana doubted that, but she couldn’t say it. She needed to
act indifferent about Jon’s arrival. Eden was already eying her curiously. Ciana needed to play this better. She forced a tight smile. “I’m happy for you. Have a good time with him.”

“You’re not mad? I didn’t mean to spoil any plans you two made for my big nineteenth. I really need you to be happy for me. I love Jon with all my heart.” Ciana knew of Arie’s feelings for Jon, but Eden looked befuddled.

“What? Why didn’t I know this?” Eden asked.

“You had enough troubles. And Tony kept you isolated,” Arie said. “And it wasn’t as if Jon acted all that interested.” A smile lit her face. “But now that he’s coming, well, now I have hope that he’s missed me.”

“He must have,” Eden said. “Lot of money for only three days. Why would he spend it if he didn’t care?”

Abruptly, Ciana stood up. “I hate to break up the gabfest, but this girl is going to bed.”

“It’s early,” Eden said, glancing at the ornate golden clock resting atop the fireplace mantel. “Even for you.”

“I’m reading a good book, and I’m close to finishing it.”

“You forgive me for inviting Jon?” Arie asked, unconvinced.

Furious
, Ciana thought. “Course I forgive you,” she said, turning her back to them, afraid her friends might see the truth on her face.

“You aren’t coming with us to the airport?” Arie asked Ciana the next morning when preparing to leave.

“It’s a little car.” Ciana was drinking coffee on the balcony and scanning the Web on her laptop, feigning interest in the pages that flew onto the laptop screen.

“We can squish,” Eden said, who was driving and paying
way too much attention to Ciana’s refusal to go with her and Arie to pick up Jon.

“Don’t wish to squish,” she said with a tight smile. “Go on.”

Once they left, Ciana slammed her laptop shut. She’d hardly slept the night before and her eyes felt like sandpaper. Maybe she wouldn’t care a bit about Jon when she saw him. She had Enzo now. Or she could have Enzo. She should call him, agree to Portofino. She glanced over at the telephone on the antique Italian desk just inside the French doors. She gazed at it for a long time but never went to make the call.