Gaining Visibility (13 page)

She quirked an eyebrow. “And according to Rosa, Vitale loves all the women.”

“It is true.” He opened the door to the studio. “Vitale love all the women . . . but he like only the few.”

* * *

Soft music met Julia's ears when she entered the dark studio. Opera. “You work with music on in the background?”

“Yes, the music, she help me to work better—push the thought away and leave the hand to do.”

Julia closed her eyes and listened for a moment. She didn't know opera and had no idea what the song was, but it was beautiful . . . in a sad sort of way. Quite different from her happy tunes.

The quick pat to her shoulder blade held a note of impatience. She opened her eyes and allowed Vitale's hand on her back to guide her a couple of steps deeper where he flipped on the bright overhead lights.

After a second of blindness while her eyes adjusted, the sight before her wrenched a gasp from her lungs. She was prepared for the high-caliber work she'd already seen evidence of in the house. She wasn't prepared for the volume of it. Sculptures—marble, granite, metals, stone, clay—filled the building. Bronze appeared to be the preferred.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Awe at the vastness of his collection reverberated her voice as she turned to take it all in. “Where do the ideas for all of these come from?”

“I find the inspiration—she is the word, yes?”

Julia nodded.

“I find the inspiration in the many things.” Patting the front pocket of his shorts, he added, “I have the camera with me at all the times.”

Julia moved from piece to piece, extolling his skill as she examined each thoroughly. Some were ultra-modern with the feel of a Picasso painting rendered in 3-D. Curved tubing with sheets of colored metal welded on at interesting angles. “You said you contacted the gallery in Florence.” She followed the curve of copper tubing first with her eyes and then with a finger. The piece begged to be touched. She visualized it in the foyer of the new Langley home she'd been hired to decorate. It would be stunning. “But do you ever sell anything on your own? You have so many pieces, it doesn't seem possible you could've ever gotten rid of anything.”

“
Sì.
I sell the many pieces. The small one. Gena, the owner of the gallery in Lerici? She is the friend. I take her the few thing this morning and every week. She sell many, most to the tourist, and she make the first contact for me with the large gallery in Firenze. Her gallery, she is small and cannot display the many big piece.” He pointed to a grouping of large furniture items. “But I take the bigger piece in the automobile today. She fill up the little space. Sometime I borrow the truck of my papà.”

Wooden dressers and tables with marble tops looked as though they'd been in a vault since the Belle Époque period. Julia ran her hands over the polished curves, admiring the detailed workmanship. . . and the man who created it all. Her business acumen kicked into gear, filling her head with ideas for a catalog or a Web site showcasing his work. “You could make a fortune with your creations.”

“I hope the gallery in Firenze think as Julietta.”

While most of the granite pieces had a distinct Art Deco flavor, the bronze items ran the gamut from classic human figures to whimsical conversation pieces. One portrayed a hand straining to push its way out of a box. The lines were so lifelike, it seemed only a thin membrane kept the hand from popping through.

She regarded it silently for a while, and when she looked up, found Vitale studying her just as intently. His gaze caused her breath to lodge in her throat.

“We—Julietta and Vitale and all the people—must break free of something, yes?”

A flash of panic zipped through her. Was he referring to her cancer? He had no way of knowing about it . . . unless he'd spoken with his sister this morning. With no phone, that seemed unlikely. Besides, he was still flirtatious—seductive, even. She nodded mutely in answer to his question.

“Come.” He held out his hand and she took it. “I show you the something. She is the secret.”

He led her to a corner occupied with a piece covered by a tarpaulin, slim, and about three feet tall.

When he pulled the tarp off, her breath came out in a rush. “Oh, it's Rachele!” There could be no mistaking that. It was indeed Maria's oldest child, lifelike in every way, except that she was frozen in bronze. Her chin tilted up so she looked Julia in the eye, her face captured with a look of sweet mischief. Her arms were behind her back. Julia took a peek behind and saw the chubby little hands held a flower.

The exquisite beauty of the piece loosened an emotion that slammed into Julia's stomach and knocked her guard off its axis. The child's innocence. Vitale's understanding of it. His tender portrayal. This man was capable of reaching in and touching a person's essence . . . her soul.

No, he didn't simply touch it. He wrapped his artist's hands around it and pulled it to the surface for everyone to see.

She blinked back the tears suddenly looming in her eyes, but one escaped and slid down her cheek.

“Julietta, what is wrong?” His finger caught the tear at her chin and followed its path upward.

“It's . . . beautiful. So perfect.” She sniffed and wiped her face with her hands.

“That is the good thing, yes?”

“It-it's . . .” her breath stuttered, “. . . a won-derful thing.”

He chuckled and pulled her into a hug.

With her forehead and nose pressed against him, she breathed in his warm, masculine scent. His fingers splayed across her back, sending tantalizing signals to the nerve endings they touched and tingles to those farther down.

As his hand crept up the back of her neck, into her hair, her defenses fled like a gun-shy hound. He was going to kiss her again, and this time she would kiss him back and let whatever happened happen.

His understanding and appreciation of the human spirit; her need to be understood and appreciated . . . just being here with him opened up her mind in ways she never imagined. Maybe it was time to take a chance she'd never imagined as well.

He pressed against her awkwardly, reaching past her to retrieve something from the shelf behind her.

She opened her eyes to find him holding a photo. Heat rushed to her face at her foolish fantasy, but if he noticed her discomfort, he gave no indication. Her frustration dissipated, however, with one look at the photo. It was Rachele, striking the pose Vitale had captured for perpetuity.

“I feex for Maria,” he was saying when she shifted her focus back to him. She smiled at his use of his new word. “I feex the one of the each child. Rachele, she is the first. She is the oldest.”

Julia imagined how it would feel to receive such a gift of Melissa. “It's magnificent, Vitale. A . . . a treasure.” She searched her vocabulary for a word that would be worthy. “It'll be the most wonderful thing Maria—any of them—will ever receive.” She continued to move her eyes from the photo to the statue, enchanted by the likeness. “How long did it take you?”

“The few month. I work only when I have the time away from the other work.” He sounded apologetic, and hurriedly added, “But I work very fast when I have the time.” He let go of her and threw the tarp back over Rachele. “You have seen all the work. We go to Lerici now if you like.”

When he released his hold, Julia used the time to step away and put some distance between her and this young man who was affecting her way too much. She meandered around a dresser and a lavatory, breathing deeply and clearing her head of the ridiculous thought that had been there a minute ago. “I'd love to go to Lerici,” she answered, “but I need to change clothes first. And I have to call Hettie and Camille, my business partner.”

She couldn't wait to talk to them both. Hettie would chide her good-naturedly for not taking advantage of the situation handed to her, but Camille would be thrilled she might've found a new line from an up-and-coming new artist.

Julia already had an image of the online catalog that would present Vitale's work to the world: Villa de Luca.

C
HAPTER
11

“L
erici feels like a different town than the one I wandered around Saturday.” Julia tried not to sound too negative as the crowd pressed around them on all sides. Having to stay on constant guard to protect her toe from being crushed under some stranger's heel was making her irritable. The consolation was, of course, that Vitale seemed to be on guard also. He kept her hand firmly rooted to the crook of his elbow and held her close to his side.

All in all, not a bad trade-off.

Vitale nodded at her observation. “
Sì.
The noise and the tourist, she make me feel like the pillow is on my face.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “But with no crowd, Julietta would not stay with Vitale, eh?”

Well, there was that. A sheepish grin accompanied her shrug. “That's true.”

“Of course, is true. I say it.”

Being taken as a man of his word was a high priority for the Italian. She'd heard those words, or similar ones, often from him over the last forty-eight hours.

He opened the door of the gallery, which was teeming with people, but took the time to whisper in her ear before they entered. “I prefer the afternoon with Julietta, but I tell Gena I return to the gallery, so I must.”

Julia's irritation melted away at his words.

Vitale waved at an older woman standing in the middle of the room, and she hurried toward them. “Julietta, Gena.” He kept the introduction to a minimum.

The gallery owner's welcome was gracious and hospitable, and Julia suspected Vitale had already filled her in about the broken toe when her gaze dropped to Julia's foot. “Julietta.” She pointed in the direction of the storerooms in the back. “You would prefer to sit. Yes?”

Vitale's quick squeeze to Julia's hand felt like a warning. No doubt, the woman was planning to bombard her with questions as soon as she got her alone in the back. “Thank you for the offer,” Julia answered. “But I prefer to stand for a while.”

With a little huff, Gena made her way over to the cash register to give the young woman who worked there some instruction.

After only a few minutes, it became evident many people were looking, but few were buying, so Julia decided to stir things up a bit. She picked up one of Vitale's sculptures and gushed in a loud voice, “And you're the artist?”

The place came alive then, with Vitale the center of attention. People pressed around him, interested in his sculptures and wanting to talk to him about them.

Some of the women didn't seem to care what they talked about as long as they got to flirt with the hot Italian artist for a while. One Brit was so bold as to flutter her fingertips down his arm as she pointedly asked him about his “techniques.”

Julia rolled her eyes at that one.

Vitale answered the woman by going into great detail with his limited English about glazing techniques. The lesson was even more effective than Julia could've imagined as the woman's eyes did actually appear to glaze over before he finished.

When he flashed Julia a disarming smile, she understood that he knew precisely what he was doing. She also realized that shouldn't surprise her.

When it came to women, Vitale always knew exactly what he was doing. The thought, which started as a warning, ended with a tingle in her lower belly.

Julia could feel his eyes on her as he talked with the customers, and she wandered around, snapping pictures. Eventually, she moved to a safe uncrowded corner, where Vitale sought her out.

“Julietta, I want you to leave.”

Aha! So he wanted rid of her after all?
Must be cramping his style.
Her prior irritation bloomed again until he added, “I worry the person step on the toe.”

His genuine concern threw a hearty bitch slap to her unfair assumption, and she nodded. “I want to see some more of the town, so I'll meet you at the tables down by the water in, say, three hours? Is that long enough?”

“
Sì.
She will be the too long.” He gave her a quick kiss, and she left him then. And while she was glad to be rid of the worry about her toe, she was surprised by the twinge of disappointment that she wouldn't be able to watch him talk with people about the art he held such passion for.

* * *

The day was certainly shaping up to be an interesting one, Julia mused as she put down her spoon.

It wasn't until they got ready to leave the house around noon that she'd actually realized—with more than a little shock and dismay—that the man's only mode of transportation was a motorcycle.

She'd never even
sat
on a motorcycle before. But once she got over her initial fear, she'd found it undeniably invigorating. Sitting straddled on the seat . . . pressed against Vitale with her arms around him . . . skirt hiked up around her thighs, the wind in her hair. Whew! That memory would play in her fantasies for years to come.

All the touching and kissing and even the sweet kiss he'd given her at the gallery had ignited all sorts of not-so-sweet thoughts. So for the last three hours she'd been trying to find
anything
that would redirect her invisible-but-apparently-not-indefatigable libido, but to no avail. She kept asking herself why, if she wasn't looking for romance, she'd picked the most romantic place on earth for her stay?

Shelley and Byron had warned her in their writings, but she'd been smug that her invisibility would have her watching from the sidelines, impervious to the allure. Instead, everything—the pleasantly sweet gelato on her tongue, the fresh scent of the sea, the heat of the sun, couples in various stages of embrace everywhere she looked, all set against a playlist whose backbeat was the thrum of life itself—blended into a sensory-loaded, sensual maelstrom she was incapable of avoiding....

And maybe unwilling to bypass without a sample.

Even her wanderings, which had taken her off the beaten paths to the quiet back streets, had led to heart-pounding adventure when she'd happened on an art alley. Although the studios lining the shady lane showcased mostly wall art, some delightfully whimsical triptychs made her laugh out loud while other floor-to-ceiling photographs from inside caves at sunset held her spellbound. She filled her clutch with business cards and her hands with postcards and brochures—so many, in fact, she had to make a trip to Vitale's motorcycle to drop them into the storage unit.

With only a half hour left before she was to meet Vitale, she'd finally sought out a shady table near the edge of the water, in sight of the gallery. At that point, she'd made a call to Camille to warn her of all the money they were going to spend and to describe the feeding frenzy surrounding Vitale.

Her friend only exacerbated her delicate condition when she said, “Do whatever it takes—bribes, hot sex, whatever. Just get Vitale's line for us.” Fortunately, Camille hadn't picked up on the nervous laugh given in response.

As she waited for Vitale to meet her, Julia caught herself drumming on the table. Restlessness—
that
was her problem. Maybe her body wasn't craving sex as much as it was craving physical activity of
any
kind. For so long she'd been in workout mode, preparing for ten days of hiking tough terrain. Walking, running, weightlifting, aerobics. She needed something that would exhaust her, make her sweat and groan—
grunt! Not groan!
She shoved the dish of gelato out of her reach as a woman with hair cut in a chic, angular bob walked by.

She pulled her ponytail holder loose and ran a hand through her nondescript, shoulder-length, lackluster brown locks. It would be fun to go home with a major change. If anyone noticed, she could say, “
My hair? I had it cut while I was in Italy.
”

The nearby sound caught her attention, and she turned her head to find Vitale with his camera aimed at her.
Snap.
He took another couple of shots before he tucked the camera into his pocket and pulled up a chair beside her. “You look sexy when you put the fingers through the hair.”

“And you don't ever miss a chance, do you?” The question in his eyes asked what that meant, but she didn't want to have to get into that discussion now. “Actually, I was thinking it might be fun to have my hair cut while I'm here.”

His bottom lip drew into a sensuous pucker. “But why? She is beautiful as she is.”

“I've had it this way a long time.” She ran her fingers through the top of her hair and lifted it. “Change would be nice.”

“My sister Adrianna, she cut the hair. Is very good.” He picked up a strand of her hair and curled it around one of his fingers.

Julia's toes on her good foot curled dangerously in response.

As soon as he released it, she tucked the strand behind her ear and stood up. “Oooo, that would be fun. Do you think she would fix mine?”

“Feex? Prepare? Make ready?” He repeated her words from earlier, tilting his head in obvious confusion.

She snorted and shook her head. “Sorry. Used this way, it means ‘repair,' make better. Like you would fix a car that has something wrong with it.”

“Your hair, she has the nothing wrong with it. She does not need to feex.”

“But it'll be fun to do something different. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans,' you know?”

“The town, she is Lerici. Not the Roma.”

“Then, when in Lerici, do as the . . . Lerici-ans?” He laughed at her word, and she could tell he was softening. “Please, Vitale? Will you call her?” She handed him her phone. “And I want to hear about your afternoon, so can we walk for a while? I need some more exercise.”

He arched one eyebrow. “We do not have to walk for the exercise, Julietta.”

When it came to one-liner sexual innuendos, this guy sat on dead-ready. She batted her eyelashes and exaggerated her Southern drawl. “Well, that seems to be the best option on this crowded street with all these people around.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her present state of mind and body vetoed
any
sexual banter. She gave him a brotherly arm punch and pushed her chair in.

Vitale looked perplexed at her sudden burst of energy, but he stood up and offered her his arm, dialing the phone with his other hand.

Julia could hear the enthusiasm in Adrianna's voice when Vitale asked the favor.

“
Domani?
” Vitale swiveled the phone away from his mouth. “She can tomorrow the morning, but not tomorrow the afternoon.” Julia nodded and he went back to his conversation. A few seconds later, he turned to Julia again. “She want to know if you want the color. I tell her no, you already have the pretty color.”

Julia squeezed his arm. “Yes, color would be great. Anything she wants to do.”

He rolled his eyes and reported back to Adrianna, giving a couple of kissing sounds before hanging up. “Tomorrow the morning she come to my house. Not early. After the breakfast.”

“Yay!” Julia waved her phone in the air before dropping it back into her purse. “Thank you so much. Now, tell me all about what happened at the gallery.” She nodded toward the docks and the old fort in the distance, a place she still wanted to explore.

“We sell all the pieces! Gena want more.” The exuberance in Vitale's voice was palpable. “You start the sell when you say I am the artist. Then people, people, people . . .”

His hand closed around hers as he talked, an innocent gesture that today felt uncommonly intimate.

She tried to shift her thoughts to follow what he was saying but found she was more preoccupied than ever with wondering why she was letting such a golden opportunity pass her by.

* * *

Gena had paid Vitale before he left, evidently a handsome sum, and he insisted on taking Julia for a celebratory meal at his favorite trattoria. He seemed to know everyone there, and everyone knew him.

Julia's head whirled at the number of names thrown at her, the array of foods she ate, and the volume of alcohol she drank. Most of all, Vitale's rapt attention made for a heady experience.

His arm hugged the back of her chair when he made introductions, and though she received little attention from those who sat and chatted, it scarcely mattered. She had
his
attention, and knowing that made all the difference.

He held her hand and kissed her fingers after they drank to his success with the premeal
aperitivo.
He fed her bites of spicy sausages and cheese off the antipasti tray, tracing his thumb across her lips in a way that echoed the pressure of that touch down below. His warm hand feathered up and down her arm as they talked over gnocchi de pesto. The scrumptious mixture of pine nuts and fresh basil exploded in her mouth, and a champagne-like effervescence flowed through her veins, heating her from head to toe.

Sharing the main course of succulent steamed mussels, they often touched foreheads or brushed noses when they laughed together. Every contact continued to suck Julia into the sensual vortex that hurled her forward through her insecurities and inhibitions.

By the time he ordered the
limoncello
for
digestivo
after dessert, last night's reticence filled her with regret. She really should've taken him right there on the table.

Luckily, by all appearances, she was going to get the rare opportunity of a second chance.

Not exactly
ignoring
her sense of propriety, but finally simply choosing to throw caution to the wind one time in her life, she excused herself to the ladies' room, removed her panties, and wadded them into her small clutch.