Gaining Visibility (15 page)

Julia took the opportunity to move around the yard, away from the man who had her heart racing again. The flower beds formed an arc around the yard, and each bed had its own color theme. Pink. Blue. Orange. Yellow. Red. “It's like standing in the middle of a rainbow,” she observed. “So she has your artistic talent as well. Her medium of choice happens to be flowers.”

“Yes, I think so.” Vitale sidled against her. He didn't try to kiss her on the mouth again, choosing instead to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

Her hand shook, and she pulled it away.

“You do not wash the hand either?” Raised eyebrows punctuated his sarcastic tone.

“I'm still just a little shaky from last night.” The truth relaxed her, and she gave him a weak, but genuine smile. “It had been a long time.”

The eyebrows dropped to their normal position, softening his face. “
Capisco
. But you remember what to do very well, I think.” He reached to stroke her face, but seemed to think better of it, and then he waved toward the studio. “I must choose the pieces for the gallery this morning, and I have something that will take the hour, so do not hurry to make the breakfast.”

“Perfect. That'll give me time for a shower first.” She turned and hurried toward the house before he could suggest joining her.

C
HAPTER
13

E
ach bite of breakfast was torture. A massive wad of dread filled Julia's throat and refused to allow anything but the smallest particles by. Nonetheless, her stomach felt full, twisted into the tight knot such as it was.

While she was cooking, she'd convinced herself that a one-night stand was something Vitale was used to, being the well-known cad he was, and he would think nothing of her decision to leave. Would, in fact, probably be glad to see her go.

But his “something to do” in the studio turned out to be a project made specifically for her, and when she called him in for breakfast, he'd presented her with a beautiful cane he'd fashioned out of a thin table leg. He'd attached a carved handle that fit her hand perfectly and had painted the entire thing a lovely shade of cotton-candy pink with a delicate green vine twisting around it.

The surprise and his thoughtfulness had her fumbling throughout breakfast for conversation until a more appropriate time for her announcement presented itself.

Vitale had never eaten Southern-style biscuits and gravy, so watching his first bite and the accompanying dreamy eye roll was worth all the trouble. The polenta didn't taste exactly like grits, but with enough butter, salt, and pepper, served as a suitable substitute. The scrambled eggs and pan-fried pancetta had been a cinch.

Despite her best efforts to enjoy the food and these last moments together, the pressure built to the point where she was going to spew something. Be it words or food, something had to give.

She set her fork down and flattened her palms on the table for stability. “Vitale, I'm going to find another place to stay. Today.”

He placed his coffee cup on the table too delicately, as if holding himself in check. His eyes grew dark, speaking the words before they left his lips. “Why, Julietta?”

“The sex . . . it complicates things. I know we're adults, and it shouldn't matter, but it does. At least for me it does.” That sounded old-fashioned, but maybe that was a good thing. He might view her as a prude, although after last night's performance, that hardly seemed likely. “I just think it would be better if I didn't stay here.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling.

He didn't say anything, but his look spoke volumes. She averted her eyes and focused on a blemish in the marble flooring. “Last night, I thought it was what I wanted, but I was wrong.” Surely, he read the lie in her voice, which sounded obvious to her own ears. Last night was exactly what she wanted . . . way too much.

He gave a derisive snort. “You thought you desire me, but you are mistaken? I am sorry to be not what you want.”

“No.” She made fleeting contact with his penetrating eyes. Hurt. Anger. Disbelief. Probably a myriad of other emotions she didn't want to see. She gazed at the sunflowers swaying in the breeze outside the door. “It's not you. It's me. I thought I was ready for this, but I'm not.”

“You have the man in the Keen-tuck-kee, yes?”

His words drew her back in. God love him, he was trying so hard to understand. He brushed his fingers down the back of his hair, exasperation etched in the lines on his face.

“No, there's no one in my life, but I still have to go.”

Too late, she realized she should've said yes. Being rejected for another man might not happen to him often, but that song was probably at least in his repertoire. To be rejected for no good reason would be as foreign to him as invisibility.

“There is no other place.” He pronounced each word carefully as if he feared she wouldn't understand him. “I tell you this and tell you this. You do not believe.” He set off on a long tirade in Italian, well aware, she was sure, that she couldn't understand a word of any of it. But anger gave his voice a jagged edge and turned the volume up a notch, causing her own emotion to breach the wall.

“Don't go being all temperamental with me!” The magnitude of her voice startled her. Why was she yelling? That wasn't like her. Except, right then, it damn well
felt
like her. She pushed her decibel level higher. “
You
started all this seduction stuff with your ‘I kees when I want.' So, okay, you did, and I let you, and you got what you wanted.” She poked her herself in the chest. “And so did I! Let's leave it at that.”

He stood up and leaned across the table, meeting her loudness and raising it. “I do not have you to stay with me only to have the sex with you.”

His phrasing, the stress on the word
only,
shook the ground beneath her, throwing her off balance. “I—um.” She cleared her throat, but the frustration she'd opened herself up to stayed lodged between her heart and her mouth. She lowered her voice to almost an undertone. “Whatever. I only know that I can't stay here. Can't sleep with you anymore.”

“You stay here.” He lowered his voice, too, but his words rang out sharp and distinct, like he had shaped them with his chisel in a granite tablet. “I do not touch you again.”

A movement outside the open door caught Julia's eye. To her horror, Adrianna stood there slack-jawed with her arms—and no doubt her ears—filled to brimming.

Vitale stormed out the door and past his sister without a word. A few seconds later, the sound of his Benelli faded away.

“I am sorry.” Adrianna drew her shoulders toward her ears as she stepped hesitantly into the kitchen. “I did not know—”

“It's okay. Don't worry about it.” The flush ran through Julia's ribcage into her face, but the heat did nothing to loosen the knotted muscles. “Come on in. Let me just go to the bathroom.”

She went into the bedroom and closed the door, needing a few minutes alone.

Could that have gone any worse?
she asked her reflection as she splashed cold water on her face. The redness in her cheeks abated, but sadness that her time with Vitale had ended like this and anger at herself for ever letting it begin scraped her insides raw.

She wished she could leave that very instant, but she would have to find a place to go to, and then she'd have to pack. And Vitale's sister was waiting.

By the time she talked herself into going back out and facing Adrianna, the young woman had everything assembled and laid out on the table on the patio.

“Do you have a color chosen?” Adrianna asked, steering conversation clear of the obvious.

Julia's enthusiasm for the project had drained away, but Adrianna had gone to so much trouble for her, she didn't want to back out. “I'll put my head in your hands, and go with whatever you think is best.” She so hoped that choice wouldn't include any pinks or blues.

“I like this one.” Adrianna showed her a box that pictured a woman with chestnut-colored hair. “I think it would be very nice with the skin. And maybe add the highlights, yes?”

“Different,” Julia answered dully. “All I care about is that it's different.”

Adrianna mixed the solutions and began applying the ammonia-infused concoction to Julia's hair. “Vitale did not look very happy when he left,” she said at last.

She'd offered an opening, and Julia drew a hesitant breath, debating how much to share. If she was going to approach Adrianna for help with finding a new place to stay, it made sense to be up-front about the reason why. “No, he wasn't. He's angry because I told him I need to find somewhere else to stay. It's just not working, my staying here.”

“He tell you of Luciana?”

“Yes,” Julia answered. “She sounds like a lovely person,” she added, not wanting Adrianna to think there was a jealousy problem with Vitale's wife going on here.

“After Luciana die, Vitale try very hard to not allow the hurt to touch the people he care for. I think because he cannot stop the hurt of Luciana.”

“He's a fixer, all right.” Julia had witnessed that firsthand.

“
Che?
”

“He fixes. Tries to make everything right. Make everything perfect.”

“
Sì.
Too much he do this. Life is not the perfect. This is why he love the art. He feex it as he
see
the perfect.”

Adrianna was a very insightful young woman. But the insight into Vitale's character only made Julia more sure than ever she needed to leave. One look at her breasts, and she'd become one of the artist's projects. “So . . . do you have any ideas where I might find a room?”

“That will be difficult. The tours are in Lerici for the two weeks.” The young woman's lips pursed exactly the way Vitale's did when he concentrated.

Julia dropped her eyes, trying not to think about his lips or remember how they felt on hers . . . and everywhere else. “That's what he keeps telling me, so maybe I'll need to move to another town. I'll start looking when we finish here.”

“Oh.” Adrianna's tone flattened.

In the few days she'd been in Italy, Julia had learned all conversation was animated, and the lack of inflection in Adrianna's voice twanged a “mother chord” in her heart. She saw tears brimming in her eyes. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” She used the exact words and voice she would've used with Melissa.

A couple of tears ran down Adrianna's cheeks, and she sniffed. “I have the lump in my breast.”

Julia opened her eyes in feigned surprise. “You do?”

“Yes.” Adrianna nodded and covered Julia's head with a plastic shower cap. Methodically, she peeled off the plastic gloves. “After hearing of your cancer, I call the doctor yesterday. He want to see me today.”

Julia reached out and took the trembling hand in both of hers. “You did the right thing.”

“Yes, but I want to not worry anyone, so I did not tell Antonio or Mama or my sister.”

Julia grasped the request, though it hadn't been delivered. “Would you like for me to go with you to the doctor?” Thinking about Adrianna all alone and receiving what might be bad news was unnerving. They were hardly more than strangers, but even a stranger would be better than no one.

Adrianna sat down hard in the other chair, tears flowing freely now. “Would you do that?” Her hold on Julia's hand tightened. “I would be so grateful. I know now that I am afraid to go alone in case . . . in case . . .”

She didn't have to finish. Julia felt the weight of the unspoken words on her shoulders and in the pit of her stomach. She patted the hand that clutched hers. “In case you need someone to celebrate with afterward.”

Adrianna brushed the tears away with her free hand. “Yes, in case of that.” She gave a weak smile.

“I'd be glad to go with you, Adrianna.” Maybe celebrating her recovery wasn't her only purpose on this trip. Though she didn't share the idea with her young companion.

* * *

The doctor's office turned out to be on the same block as a travel agent. When Adrianna's turn was called, Julia gave her a hug and hustled out of the office to ask about any vacant rooms in the area. The beautiful cane from Vitale made it easier to get around than the day before when she roamed around alone.

But Vitale's arm worked better than any cane. The thought squeezed her stomach, and she squeezed the handle.

Determined not to think about never touching him again, she stopped to give Hettie a call. The window boxes on the storefronts were filled with flowers in vibrant hues, and despite the dreariness she felt, she tried to match their cheer with her voice as she dialed the number.

“Hello?” The voice sounded so old and tired, an alarm went off in Julia's head.

“Hettie? It's Julia. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. But a good, steamy story about an Italian stud-muffin would make me better.”

That was more like it. Julia switched her brain out of alarm mode. “Stud-muffin?” She laughed. “Wherever did you learn such a word?”

“That's how a couple of the nurses refer to the new administrator. Joe Proctor. You remember him?” The taunt in Hettie's voice hinted that she remembered well their introduction.

“I remember.” Julia massaged the bridge of her nose between two fingers, still embarrassed by the memory. “You didn't really introduce us, though. You only wanted to introduce him to my nipples, if I recall.”

“So you finally did it with the Italian, didn't you?”

Hettie's mercurial changes in topic always kept Julia on her toes. She suspected it was to catch her off guard. “A true Southern lady would never kiss and tell. You know that.”
And I sure as hell don't want to talk about it now.

“Which means you did because, if you didn't, there wouldn't be anything to tell after the kissing, so spill it, sister. Give an old woman something that will help her get her rocks off.”

“Hettie! What have you been reading? Or watching?”

“Don't change the subject. Damn it! I played penny ante poker last night for two hours. That should count as physical therapy for today.”

“Wha—?”

Muffled voices in the background. Okay, so the last part of Hettie's dialogue had been directed at someone—probably the physical therapist—who'd come into her room. Then she was back. “Make it quick, Julia. Make an old woman happy before they take her away.”

“Nope, I'll just let you use that runaway imagination of yours.”

Hettie's sardonic chuckle drifted over the line. “Eh, it's probably better that way anyway. I'll bet it was a quickie.”

Voices were saying to Hettie that she had to hang up. Julia gave an exasperated sigh. “Good-bye, Hettie. I'll talk to you later.”