Champagne Deception (12 page)

Running inside with the bag and
double locking the door behind her, Coretta grabbed her cell phone to call Lorenzo.  His phone predictably went into voicemail as he was probably leading a Saturday afternoon seminar.  Frantically, she spoke into the receiver.

“Lorenzo, I’m really scared.  Everything has been fine since you left---until now.  The doorbell just rang.  No one was there but there was a package at the doorstep.  It’s a bag with pieces of wood that someone painted in black!  Please call me back as soon as you get this message.”

Trembling down to her toes and numb to the splintering pain in her finger, Coretta set the phone on the coffee table.  She curled up in a ball on the sofa and stared at the phone, trying to send telepathic signals to Lorenzo in Napoli:
Call me, Lorenzo.  Call me.

A ring interrupted her scattered thoughts, but it was not the cell phone ring she was hoping for.  It was the doorbell.  Yet again.  On an ordinary day, Coretta would have joked that Lorenzo’s villa was becoming like Grand Central Station.  But this was no ordinary day.  This day, like
so many of the days that had preceded it in Milan, was extraordinarily unnerving.

She tip-toed over to the door, folding her arms around her body in a protective stance.  A glance through the peephole revealed the arrogant face of Declan Wainwright.  Immediately, Coretta was suspicious.  Had he been the one to deposit that bag of wood chips a few minutes ago? 
No, it couldn’t have been him.  That he would come back so soon after pulling such a prank was preposterous.  Maybe the fact that Declan was at the door right now could actually rule him
out
as a suspect.  Coretta wasn’t sure of anything inside this new jumble of events except for the fact that she was not going to answer the door.

She returned to the sofa and
resumed her psychic communication with the silent cell phone.  The doorbell chimed a second and a third time, but she merely scowled, refusing to open the door.  Even if Declan weren’t the perpetrator of these pranks, he had still engaged in a bitter shouting match with Lorenzo, and she didn’t trust the Brit at all.

Exhaling deeply, she listened as Declan’s footsteps retreated and his car’s engine fired up.  With trembling fingers, she retrieved the notepad, determined to continue with the gallery planning.  Such a da
rk cloud had been cast over her lifelong dream, but she wouldn’t allow it to get any darker by succumbing to fear.

As she scribbled down some ideas for appetizers
to serve at the opening gala, her phone lit up and rang on the coffee table.  Rushing to grab the phone, she sighed in relief to see Lorenzo’s number on the screen.

He began talking as soon as she picked up.  “Coretta, are you okay?  I just heard your message.  Did you call the police?”

“No, I didn’t have a chance yet.  I don’t know what’s going on, Lorenzo.  But a few minutes after the wood chips were delivered, Declan showed up at the door.”

“You didn’t let him in, did you?” He asked sharply.

“No! He rang a few times and then drove away.”

“So maybe it’s that bastard Declan who’s responsible for all this!” Lorenzo said coldly.

“I don’t think so.  Why would he ring the doorbell after leaving a creepy package?  It doesn’t make sense,” she argued, almost fully convinced now that Declan was not the culprit.  He might have a professional rivalry with Lorenzo, but it didn’t go beyond that.  She still believed Angelo was the one who was terrorizing them, but after all the times Lorenzo had dismissed that notion, she didn’t bring it up again.

“I’m coming home tonight,” Lorenzo announced quietly.

Coretta perked up and asked hopefully, “You are?”

“Yes, someone else can cover the rest of these seminars for me.  I’ve done my job this week.  Let someone else take over next week.  I’ll be there tonight.  Don’t leave the house until I get there, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t,” she assured.  “And I’ll call the police as soon as we hang up.”

“Good.  Call me if anything else happens.  Call me right away!” Lorenzo instructed.

“I will.  See you tonight.”

As they disconnected the call, Coretta dialed the police.  A female dispatcher answered the phone, making Coretta hopeful that she would be more sympathetic to her plight.

“Good afternoon, I’m calling from the home of Lorenzo Fiatti.  I would like to report a threatening incident.”

“Another one?” the dispatcher asked.  “I see here the house is already under police surveillance.”

“Yes, another one.  Someone left a bag of black painted wood chips at the doorstep a few minutes ago.”

“And?” the dispatcher prompted, munching on some sort of crunchy snack.

Frustrated, Coretta said shrilly, “AND the incident needs to be investigated!”

The woman chuckled.  “I’m afraid we cannot investigate an incident like this.  Unless there was some sort of threatening message posted with the bag?”

“No, I didn’t see any message,” Coretta replied, feeling defeated.

“Then this is not a crime.  It’s an odd occurrence to be sure, but it doesn’t warrant police investigation.  Call us back if anything criminal takes place.” The dispatcher clicked the phone.

Anything criminal?  Like if me or Lorenzo winds up dead?!
Coretta thought hysterically.  Why wouldn’t anyone take these matters seriously?  Massaging her throbbing temples, she curled up again on the sofa, tossing the notepad aside and closing her eyes.

Chapter Eleven

The next sound Coretta heard was the turning of a key in the front door lock.  She instantly shot up on the couch, relieved a moment later when Lorenzo had the good sense to announce himself.

“Coretta, it’s me.  I’m home,” he called, walking through the door.

Immediately, he went to her on the sofa and gathered her in his arms.  The comforting feel of his steely body made her realize how she had missed him.
Preparations for the gallery had just been a distraction.  She buried her face in his neck as he rocked her against him.

“You’re shaking,” he observed with concern.  “You’ve been very frightened.”

“I wasn’t until today!  I thought all the terrorizing had stopped until this afternoon,” she said as pent-up tears of fright dripped from her eyes.

He lay a butterfly kiss on each of her teardrops, telling her with his tenderness how much he had missed her when they were apart.  Nestled in his arms, Coretta felt as though they had been a couple for the past ten years rather than two virtual strangers living on separate continents.  The level of comfort in his embrace was an intoxicating déjà vu
sensation.  Silently, she wondered if she had always been in love with him.  Maybe it wasn’t just an infatuation or puppy love back in college but the genuine love born out of mutual respect and friendship.

Her heartbeat escalated as he poised his lips above her own for a reunion kiss that obliterated all her stress and fear.  She moved closer to him, sitting on his lap and pressing against him urgently with her lips and body.

“I can’t believe how much I missed you,” he muttered urgently.

I’ve been missing you all my life
, she thought.  “I missed you too,” was all she said as he reignited the kiss with a volatile spark.

Somehow, her dress had been unbuttoned and she lay topless in his arms while eagerly helping him disrobe. 
His mouth traveled an odyssey around her body from her breasts to belly and inner thighs, each kiss more heated than the last, each breath more ragged.  He stood impatiently to remove the rest of his clothing before quickly sitting down again on the couch so she could slide bestride him.

Swimming to the surface of reality countless minutes later, they leaned against one another in exhaustion.  They had worked up a vigorous sweat on this balmy spring evening in the cozy living room, and Coretta desired to wash with her lover.

Reading her mind as a droplet of her sweat spilled onto his bare chest, he suggested, “Should we go upstairs and get refreshed in the Jacuzzi tub?”

“That sounds heavenly,” she murmured before stiffening and catching herself.  “But the Jacuzzi
upstairs is in the guest suite!  We can’t go in there with the window barely patched up.  Lorenzo, we need to get to the bottom of everything that’s been happening---“

He placed two fingers over her lips and hushed her.  “Coretta, let’s just enjoy being together tonight.  Forget about our problems.  Forget about everything.  Come with me upstairs.”

He lifted her effortlessly off his lap and set her gently on her feet.  She swayed for a moment, weak from their impassioned interlude.  He supported her as they walked slowly up the stairs and into the guest suite that was drafty from the broken window.  She hesitated at the door, but he was insistent.

“You’re safe here with me.  And we won’t be anywhere near that window.  The tub is in a separate chamber,” he reassured her as he strode into the washroom and turned on the water jets.

Coretta stood naked and timid as the tub filled with soothing warm water.  From behind, Lorenzo clasped her waist and kissed her shoulder with a mischievous flicker of his tongue.  He was so sensual, so attentive, so patient…such a dream come true.  Why was it that their love had to be unfolding amidst an ongoing nightmare with no end in sight?  Lorenzo felt her body become wooden under his touch.  He let go of her waist and stepped into the tub that brimmed with frothy water.

“Come inside.  You’ll feel more relaxed,” he coaxed, offering his hand.

She accepted his hand and glided into the tub, reclining next to him and laying her head against his.  He was right.  The bubbles and the warmth had a natural calming effect, wrapping her in a cocoon.  She took a deep breath and sank deeper into the tub, giggling as the pressure of the water jets tickled her.

“That’s better.  That’s a sound I want to hear.  Your laughter,” he sighed against her ear.

Yes, my laughter and not the doorbell, not footsteps, not a rock crashing through the window, not
---she cut off her own train of thought, determined not to let fear triumph over the happiness she felt next to Lorenzo.  She watched curiously as he moved his arm from under the water and reached for a remote control on the edge of the tub.  One press of a button and the melody of an Italian love song was floating through the air.

“This is perfect,” she whispered happily.

“Almost.  All we need is a bottle of champagne.  Should I go get one?” He asked.

“No!” She said hastily.  “Stay right here with me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” he chuckled, leaning in for another kiss.

One soft ballad drifted into another and another…and another until Coretta was sure her skin would turn into prune peel.  Still, she made no effort to leave the hot tub or Lorenzo’s hotter embrace.  Finally, though, he stirred and admitted, “I’m starving.  Should we get dressed and go out to dinner?”

The notion of getting dressed and leaving the villa to sit in a loud, smoky restaurant was thoroughly unacceptable to Coretta.  She was hungry too but wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening at home. 
Home
.  No, that was not the word for it.  She was still a guest in this house, but it really did feel like home.  Shaking her head as though trying to remove water from her ears, she refused to overcomplicate the moment with questions about their relationship.  Instead, she suggested spontaneously, “How about if someone actually uses your kitchen?”

“And not to
burn a bag of microwave popcorn for movie night?” He joked along with her.

“Exactly.  How about if someone actually cooks in there?
  From scratch with fresh ingredients and everything?”

“Well, who are we talking about here?  If it’
s an amazing American woman with hot Greek blood and the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, well, then, I would say yes!”

She blushed at his excessive flattery and replied with a self-conscious smile, “I guess that would be me.”

“It’s absolutely you,” he affirmed ardently.  “What are you going to cook for me,
carissima
?”

His little darling
.  She loved the trilled ‘r’ and melodious sound of the endearment
carissima
coming from Lorenzo’s lips.  Never mind that there was nothing ‘little’ about her, she was happy to be his darling.  Teasingly, she said, “It depends on what you have in your refrigerator.”

He laughed and started to drain the tub as they rose and wrapped themselves in fluffy towels.  Coretta made a beeline for his bedroom where her suitcase was and retrieved a robe as
goose bumps formed on her flesh.

“Meet me in the kitchen,” he called good-naturedly from the hallway.

Towel drying her hair and slipping into a pair of warm booty socks, she followed him downstairs and smirked as he opened the refrigerator door.  Fully expecting to see nothing but Signora Butterball’s leftovers in the kitchen, she was pleasantly surprised with the contents of his fridge.  The produce drawers were full of raw vegetables and herbs like sweet basil.  A variety of cheeses was stocked on the bottom shelf, and a few bottles of olives looked enticing for a salad.