Turn Towards the Sun Book Two: After the Rain (17 page)

“Mmm, that feels good,” I murmur.

Suddenly, I feel the car shift dramatically to the right and Enzo pulls over with a screech.

“Is this what you want, amore? You want to drive me so crazy that I have to stop the car?”

Enzo unfastens his seatbelt and quickly moves towards me. All I can do is giggle as his hands find a place between my legs and his mouth closes over mine.

“My turn to drive you crazy, my love,” he says, flashing a phenomenally gorgeous smile at me.

“It’s working, babe – definitely working,” I speak through heavy breath.

Leaning back, I close my eyes while he devours my body in kisses. A tapping sound on the window startles both of us. Enzo sits up quickly and straightens himself, while I smooth my skirt down. Peering over my husband’s shoulder, I see a police officer standing outside.

Enzo unrolls the window. “Good afternoon, officer.”

“Everything okay here?” The officer peeks in, and I feel my cheeks burn bright red.

“Yes, officer, I’m afraid I had an uncontrollable urge to ravish my new bride.”

The man smiles, replying, “Well, it’s not the safest thing to do on the side of the freeway. Can I see your license and registration please?”

“Certainly.” Enzo hands him the paperwork and shoots me a scolding look.

The officer looks it over, hands it back, and says, “Mr. Milano, congratulations on your wedding.”

Enzo flashes a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Okay, you two, you’re free to go, but I would recommend staying off the road when your whims strike.” He grins.

Enzo smiles again. “Good advice, officer.”

I say nothing and avoid eye contact, while Enzo drives off.

“Did that work out as planned, bella?” he asks, starting to laugh before I can speak.

I straighten my blouse. “Not quite.”

“Well, don’t you fear, I’ll pick up exactly where I left off after lunch.”

“I do hope so.”

We exit and drive down 90th Street to get to Marcello’s. Now, I’m actually starving, both for food and my scrumptious husband.

“Come on, let’s get you fed. You’re going to need your energy later,” Enzo says, winking at me.

We walk inside the restaurant, and are immediately greeted by Marcello and his son, Giacomo.

“Ciao, Enzo.” Marcello approaches and the two men hug briefly.

“Ava, good to see you again,” he adds, kissing me on both cheeks. “The wedding was very beautiful.”

Oh, the wedding. I saw so many people that day that I can barely recall who was there.

“Thank you,” I reply, warmly. “And you, as well.”

“We’re starving, Marcello. What’s the special today?” Enzo asks him.

“Pizza.”

My face lights up. “Yes.”

“What kind do you want, Ava?”

“Margherita.”

“You want a simple Margherita? He has everything you can think of, so why stick to mozzarella and tomatoes?” my husband asks.

“Because it’s the best and I only want the best. That’s why I want you.” I grin, repeating his words he said to me in Florence.

He laughs. “Using my words on me, eh? Very well, signora. Marcello, a Margherita for Ava, and a prosciutto and arugula pizza for me per favore.”

“Yes, sit and have some wine,” Marcello replies.

We take a seat and his son brings a small carafe of red wine to our table.

“Grazie, Giacomo,” Enzo says, pouring each of us a glass. “I must admit, that was a lot of fun. I would very much like to make love to you in my car.”

“You can have me wherever you like, although I think we should avoid run-ins with the law,” I add, giggling.

He laughs. “Yes, that’s the last thing I need in the news. What made you do that?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Desire for you, I guess. I just wanted you. It’s been a rough couple of days and it was the first time I felt sort of carefree, until the cop showed up.” I laugh again.

Enzo nods his head with a huge smile on his face. “I know it’s been challenging, but for me, I know more than ever that you are the right person for me.” He lowers his eyes for a moment. “I also know that our bond is secure. I’ve been so nervous that you would leave. But you didn’t.”

I reach over and rub his hand. “I don’t know why you’ve been worrying about that. I never had any intention of leaving.”

“Pizza,” Giacomo announces as he delivers two steaming hot, incredible-looking pizzas.

“These look just like the ones we had in Firenze,” I remark.

“Yes, but believe it or not, these are better.”

The pizza is so hot that I can barely touch it.

“Patience, amore, or you will burn your mouth.”

“I almost don’t care,” I reply. “I’m so hungry right now.”

“Good. That pleases me. I worry when you don’t eat.”

I separate each slice with my knife and fork, and wait impatiently for a minute before I can dig in. When the pizza cools, I take a slice and fold it the way Enzo showed me in Italy. The first bite is always the best; hot and cheesy with a burst of fresh tomato.

“Do you like it, bella?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful. You’re right – better than Firenze.”

“You should tell Marcello that in Italiano, certo,” Enzo suggests.

“I’m nervous to talk to other people in Italian. I don’t know that much still.”

“You know enough and it will impress him that you can speak some.”

As if on cue, Marcello walks over to our table and pulls up a chair. Sitting down, he folds his arms across his chest. “It’s good, no?”

Enzo looks at me, waiting for me to speak in Italian.

“Molto buona, Marcello,” I say slowly.

“Brava, Ava. You learned Italian?” Marcello smiles and before I can even respond, he launches full speed into his language.

I have no idea what Marcello is talking about, but he is definitely telling me something important. He glances back and forth between me and Enzo as he talks, and reaches over occasionally to touch one of our arms. My husband nods his head and looks back at me, smiling.

“È vero, no?” Marcello asks.

Apparently, it’s a question and he is expecting an answer.

“È vero, Marcello,” Enzo replies.

Marcello switches back to English. “Ava, the best way to learn Italian is to be in Italy. You can learn the pronunciation and experience it the way it is meant.
But when you are here, speak as much as you can.”

“But I can only speak and understand a few words,” I explain.

“Yes, but I will speak to you in Italian, so you will learn more, no?”

I smile. “Yes, okay.” I love Italians.

“Dolce?” Marcello asks.

Ha! I know what that means. “Sì, I want a slice of cake. Torta.”

He smiles at my attempt. “I have a pistachio cake today. Very, very good,” he says, standing up to get the cake.

Enzo is impressed. “So you learned dolce, bella?”

“I asked Lorenzo right away. You know I need my sugar fix. Turns out there isn’t a word in Italian for cupcake.” I laugh.

He rubs his chin for a moment. “I think we could call it a tortina, small cake, no?”

“Ooh, I like that. Tortina.”

“Do you want some coffee too – cappuccino?”

“I can have a cappuccino?”

“Certo, why not?” he asks.

“Well in Italy, everyone acted like I kicked a puppy when I asked for one in the afternoon.” I can still remember the dirty looks from the baristas.

He laughs. “Yes, that is not a good idea in Italia, but we are in America and everything goes here, no?”

“In that case, I’d love a cappuccino,” I say, grinning.

Enzo calls out, “Giacomo, un espresso e un cappuccino
, per favore?”

The young man nods and goes off to make our coffee.

I love being in this environment with my husband – it’s almost like being in Italy itself. “I like it here, Enzo.”

“I’m glad. So do I,” he replies.

Giacomo brings our drinks and Marcello drops off my cake, before having a conversation with Enzo. I assume it is about the now infamous book, based on the sudden frown across my husband’s face. I pick up a few words – libro, meaning book, donna, meaning woman, and incazzato, meaning, oh yeah, pissed off! They’re definitely discussing the book.

I try to act uninterested in their conversation while I dig into the cake, which is amazing. It’s moist and light, and just slightly sweet. Frankly, it is way more appealing to me than another talk about that stupid book.

“It’s not important, no?” Marcello asks, switching back to English.

“Exactly,” Enzo agrees. “Right, Ava?”

“Whatever you say.” Grinning, I scoop up another bite.

Enzo smiles and pays the bill while I finish off my cake and coffee. I’m relieved to find that I’m starting to feel like myself again. Maybe after we watch this interview tonight, we can put all of this behind us and get back to normal. Whatever normal will be for us…

“Andiamo?” Enzo asks, holding his hand out for me to take.

“Yes. Grazie, Marcello.”

“Any time, signora.” Marcello kisses me on both cheeks and then presses my arm. “You are very good for Enzo,” he adds, smiling warmly.

I smile back in return.

“Ciao, Giacomo,” Enzo calls out and he waves from behind the front counter. As we leave the restaurant, he asks me, “What would you like to do now?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I reply.

“How do you feel right now?”

“I feel great, actually. Like I said, I don’t think I was coming down with anything but a guilty conscience. I’m fine now.”

In the car, as we drive to our house, Enzo reaches over and squeezes my hand, saying, “I still feel terrible that you’ve had to go through all of this. And after what happened with that woman…”

I smile back at him. “Let’s just hope all this drama is behind us and we can have a peaceful life.”

“Yes, a peaceful life.”

We pull into the driveway and wait for the garage to open. I notice that Enzo is staring at me.

“You’re doing it again,” I point out.

“Doing what?” he asks.

“Staring at me.”

“You should just get used to that. I’m going to for the rest of our lives,” he replies with a wink. “When are you going to get it in your head just how stunning you are?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t spend time thinking about my looks. As long as you think so, that’s good enough for me.”

Enzo gets out of the car and walks around to my side to open the door. “Humility is one of the many things I love about you. You do know you’re beautiful though, right?”

“I like many things about myself, and you make me feel beautiful, but I don’t stand in the mirror telling myself how pretty I am every day. Do you?”

He laughs. “Oh yes, it’s part of my morning ritual, ‘Enzo, you look so fabulous today’.”

“Yeah, see, it’s pretty vain to focus on your own looks, right?” I reply. “I just do the best I can with what I’ve got. And I’m glad that you like what I got.”

“Indeed, I do.”

I walk to our bedroom to change into something comfy. There’s a chance that Enzo might try to distract me from the interview, but it’s not going to happen. This is one topic that I’ll only let go when I’m good and ready.

He enters the room. “What time is the interview, amore?”

So he is interested. “Six, I believe.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to do some work in the office for a few hours and then I’ll join you for that later, if you still want to watch it.”

“I do. I’m going to unpack some of our things and make some calls.”

Enzo nods. “Have you told your parents about the vacation home yet?”

“Not at all,” I reply. “I need to figure out the best way to do it.”

Leaning against the dresser, he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt while he talks. “Why don’t you tell them that it’s an investment property of mine? In a way, that’s what it is.”

I light up. “That’s a brilliant idea. They’ll feel comfortable with that.”

He walks over and kisses my cheek, before pulling me into his arms. “I love you. You know that?”

“I do know, Enzo. I love you too.”

“I promise to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Really,” I insist. “It’s been a rocky few days, but we can’t expect every day to be perfect. It’s just not realistic. Regardless of the bumps, I’ll be here. Promise.”

His mouth finds mine and envelops me in a passionate kiss. Just as I’m losing myself in it, a sudden wave of nausea rises up and I jerk away. Holding my stomach, I run to the bathroom, with Enzo following.

“You need to go to bed,” he advises, holding back my hair and rubbing my back. “I think you must be ill.”

All I can do is nod in misery while my stomach purges its contents. Standing, I splash my face with cold water and rinse my mouth. Maybe it is more than just my conscience after all. I head for the bed and snuggle under the covers.