Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (5 page)

“You look like a kid. I couldn’t believe it last night when you said you were over thirty.”

Finally
! “Thanks, yes, I’ll be thirty-two in March.”

“And not married?”

“No,” she said indignantly. “But neither are you and you are how old?”

“I haven’t said.”

“I know, but how old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty-four in May. But it’s different for men.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Have you heard from the vet?” Best to change the topic, she told herself, than embark on a never-ending argument about double standards.

“For once you don’t want to fight with me,” he smiled.

“No, I don’t. How is Pinot? Have you heard anything yet?”

“The bad news is that he will have to have his front right leg amputated. The good news is that he can live well like that, provided he is cared for safely indoors, and the even better news is that the staff at the hospital say he is much less of a street cat than we realized. He is friendlier now that he has been fed and given some flea treatments and is feeling more trusting.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I am saying that he needn’t be euthanized. I know that you were against that and I only thought it was an option when I believed he was a very feral cat who could never live indoors.”

“We have to find a home for him, though. I can take him, of course, and I will if needs be, but it would be better to find someone in Rome. I mean, if he comes to Canada with me he’ll have to learn to speak English, just for starters, though, of course, there is a big Italian community in Toronto.”

Sandro laughed. “For a moment I thought you were serious. You can really be quite funny when you aren’t being difficult.”

“Well, thank you, I think. But I wasn’t fully kidding. I mean, he would have to learn English in Canada.”

“Yes, well, in fact, that won’t be a problem. We don’t have to find a home for him. I have been informed that one of the young veterinary technicians at the animal hospital has already fallen in love with him and is determined to adopt him and take him into her home once his surgery has been successfully completed. I can’t think of a better match, for she will know all the proper care he might need as a cat with a disability. And of course, he will have to be neutered, as well.” Sandro winced and put his hand protectively between his legs as he said the word.

Sigrid laughed. “It’s not you being neutered!”
And what a tragedy that would be.

“Well, I know, but I feel for him.”

“Believe me when I tell you, it’s better for him to be neutered, for myriad reasons.”

“
Certo
. My father will be happy to hear this outcome—he was worried about the little fellow yesterday. And the Totti family will be happy to pick up the cost of the surgeries and recovery time in the hospital for Pinot.”

Sigrid gasped. She had gotten so carried away the night before she hadn’t even realized that Sandro’s father might have been right down the hall the whole time. “Your father? Is he here? Does he know that I’m here?”

“No, no, don’t worry. He went to Tuscany late yesterday afternoon. We are alone here. Now, can I get you some breakfast? Would you like to take a shower? I don’t mean to rush you but I have some meetings starting in about an hour.” It was a lie. He had no meetings, at least not that morning.

Sigrid felt a figurative jackboot in the gut. Any woman who had been single long enough could recognize what was happening. Something had changed. Sandro wanted her out of there and he wanted her out of there fast. No post-sex cuddling or cooing and billing. He was distancing himself, drawing lines. It was the apparently inevitable “Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me” moment.

“No, no breakfast. That’s fine. And I’ll shower at home, if you’ll just let me get dressed.” She said the latter modestly, as though they hadn’t spent the night together, as though he hadn’t seen her naked, been inside of her.

“Don’t be silly. You can at least shower here.”

“You seem keen for me to go, so I’ll be going.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I just don’t want to overstay my welcome. I think I already have. Thank you so much for helping with Pinot and covering the veterinary costs,” she said curtly.

“I am sorry if you are upset, but you are an adult. And you are not twenty anymore. You surely do not have foolish fantasies about what happened last night? I mean, judging from your willingness to stay, this cannot have been your first one-night stand.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back, to un-ring the bell.

“How dare you?”

Sigrid put her coffee cup down, though she was sorely tempted to send it flying in Sandro’s general direction, hot contents and all. She didn’t, hearing her mother’s voice admonishing her to be a lady. “No matter how you feel, honey, keep in mind how you want someone to remember you.” Grrrr, she thought. Easy for mom to say. She never had to be single in the new millennium. And yet, one thing Sigrid was seeing more and more clearly as she got older was that her mother was often—if not always—right. What a depressing thought.

Quickly, she gathered up her clothes and got dressed, taking a last quick look around the room to make sure she would not have reason or temptation to come back to this place.

“
Cara mia
, please. Let us be adult about this.”

“Don’t call me
cara
and especially not
cara mia
. I am not your dear. In fact, don’t call me anything ever again. I am not into one-night stands and I am not old, either.”

“I never said you were, but after last night you can’t blame me for thinking that casual sex was…”

“Casual sex was what? Something I do on a regular basis? No, it isn’t. But it is obviously something
you
do on a regular basis. I guess we both made a big mistake. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go get Guido and leave and never come back again.”

Sandro followed her down the stairs to the restaurant, unable to stop staring at her shapely backside and legs.
That’s a shame. She is lovely
. But he thought about Flavia and reminded himself that he would never get pulled in again.

“Stop following me,” she protested.

“I think you are overreacting. We can be friends, perhaps.”

“Friends?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, for she had heard almost identical drivel from Doug. “Friends don’t talk to each other the way you spoke to me. And anyway, where did you men get this dopey idea that people who have had sex with each other can just go back to being friends? It’s ridiculous! It is worse than ridiculous, it is nonsensical!”

“What is ‘dopey’?”

“This is really not the time for an English lesson but ‘dopey’ means ‘stupid,’ ‘foolish,’ ‘moronic.’ It means ‘
che stupido
!’”

Sigrid struggled with the door to the patio, not knowing how to unlock it. She heard Sandro let out a slight laugh.

“I’m glad you find this situation funny.”

“Your great exit is being ruined.”

“What great exit?”

“The great exit you women always stage, hoping a man will chase after you, realizing he was wrong.”

“It was me who was wrong,” she said, her voice measured. “Please open the door.”

“Fine. Drive carefully. The roads are still wet and there’s Monday morning rush hour traffic in Rome and…”

Before he could finish, Sigrid bolted out the door. Guido la Vespa was waiting, but there was another problem. The gate from the patio to the laneway behind the restaurant was locked, as it had been the night before and Sigrid turned back and saw Sandro was still watching her but not with his usual smirk and look of confidence. If she didn’t know better she would have thought he was upset.

“What are you staring at?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just thought you might need help with the patio door. I mean, it’s a bit complicated.” He took a step forward, looking serious and even sad.

“I don’t need any help from you,” she said, calmly. She was going to be damned if she asked for his help, she thought.
I would sooner drive right through the damn door than ask for his help
. Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary, as she figured out the latch on her own and sped off toward her B&B.

Sandro stood and watched her leave. He listened to the Vespa’s roar and imagined Sigrid winding through the streets of Rome. He told himself over and over that this was a good thing, and that any involvement with a woman was the last thing he needed.

“I won’t see her again,” he said to no one in particular as he began getting the restaurant ready for the lunchtime customers.

* * * *

“Damn, damn and double damn,” said Sigrid to no one in particular as she drove away.

She did not go straight back to the B&B. She was too upset. She decided to ride around Rome and try and clear her head, calm down. It was such a beautiful city, one she had visited as a tourist on a couple of occasions, but not one where she had ever had a chance to spend more than a week or so. She had dreamed of coming here with Doug, during the three years they were together. In fact, they had talked about coming here on their honeymoon, after the wedding that was supposed to have taken place in October, the weekend of Canadian Thanksgiving. In fact, they had done more than talk. They had purchased tickets and booked a fancy hotel.

Four days before that wedding, Sigrid decided to surprise Doug at the downtown Toronto law office where he worked as a junior partner.

“Good afternoon, Sigrid,” chirped Rachel, the firm’s receptionist, as Sigrid stepped off the elevator and into the firm’s offices. The offices took up the entire twenty-seventh floor of a sparkling, glass-windowed downtown Toronto high-rise.

Rachel was a sweet, multi-tasking genius who kept track of every paper and person who went in and out of the offices, who never seemed to sweat and who was, Sigrid was sure, as smart as any top-flight lawyer. It was Sigrid who had insisted on inviting her to the wedding. Doug had balked, saying that having “just a receptionist” at the wedding wouldn’t look good to the senior partners. Sigrid dismissed the comment in the moment, thinking he was just letting ambition and wedding-planning anxieties get the better of him, rather than showing his true character, such as it was, and put her foot down. Rachel would be invited.

“Hey Rachel, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Busy getting ready for the long weekend and your wedding, of course! You must be insanely busy.”

“Sure am. Just came from a dress-fitting up in Chinatown with Mei.” Doug had wanted Sigrid to get her dress at Vera Wang in Toronto’s swanky Yorkville district, but Sigrid had been taking her tailoring to the same Chinese woman, Mei Chang, for years and loved her work. She commissioned Mei to make a simple, elegant wedding gown and she had more than excelled at the task.

“Wonderful. I can’t wait to see what Mei has created.”

“All I’ll say is who needs Vera Wang when you’ve got Mei Chang? My wedding dress is sufficiently warm for Canadian autumn, sufficiently gorgeous for a wedding and sufficiently sexy to get Doug excited for the honeymoon.

Rachel laughed. “That’s the important part. Is he expecting you?”

“No, I just thought I’d surprise him. Is he busy?”

“No, I think you can just pop in. He’s got Anna in there. Do you know her? She’s a lawyer who works for the Ontario government. She’s been helping us get up to date on some changes in financial regulations, corporate tax laws, things like that.”

Anna? “No, I don’t know her.”

“Well, I’m sure you can just stick your head in the door and he’ll be thrilled to make time for you. Talking about taxes is never anyone’s idea of fun. And they’ve been in there a while. He needs a coffee break.”

“Great, thanks.”

Sigrid knocked on the door of Doug’s office and opened it without waiting for a response. Now, as she weaved Guido la Vespa through Rome’s beauty, she was glad—in spite of what had just transpired with Sandro—she hadn’t waited. But back in October, she kicked herself over and over again, torturing herself and re-living the terrible moment, wishing she had never found out, telling herself that ignorance would have indeed been bliss.

For when she opened the door, she saw Doug and, she presumed, Anna, making out on the couch.
They were
making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers
. Doug’s tie was off, his shirt un-tucked, hair all mussed. And it was a safe bet that Anna didn’t wander around her government office without her shirt on and with her skirt hiked up to her backside, revealing her sexy thong underwear and garters. But then, perhaps she did. Everyone knew government jobs were cushy.

The two of them were in full lip-lock when Sigrid walked in, though they came unlocked pretty quickly.

“Who’s this?” asked Anna, all dark-haired and short and curvy, Sigrid’s opposite.

Sigrid couldn’t form words. Her whole life she had been told she had a sharp tongue, but this time she couldn’t find words.

Doug had the nerve to say, “Honey, it’s not what you think!”

She ran from the office, past Rachel, who asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” was all Sigrid managed, before taking the stairs down to the twenty-sixth floor. She was afraid if she waited at the law office, Doug would catch up with her. Once outside, she remembered that old admonition that if you snooped or barged in somewhere, you were bound to find something you wished you hadn’t. But that couldn’t change what she had seen.

The ensuing confrontation—when Doug tracked her down that evening—had not resulted in some logical explanation, which had been her fervent wish. It had not resulted in him explaining that it was an elaborate practical joke or that Anna had collapsed and he was giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or even that he truly, truly loved Sigrid and had been weak and wanted forgiveness. On the contrary, he said that he was bored with their relationship, afraid of marriage and that he and Anna had been spending a lot of time together due to work and that he found her exciting, a sea change from the afternoon’s “it’s not what you think.”