Gaining Visibility (18 page)

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the chaos, and Julia said a prayer of thanks she was with Vitale, who not only understood the non-system, but also commanded enough awe that people moved out of his way.

The amount of attention they garnered as a couple wasn't lost on her either. Yesterday, she was invisible. Today, everyone noticed her . . . or rather
them.
Some people actually did double takes from her, to Vitale, and back to her, or vice versa. Overt reactions ran the gamut from obvious envy to disapproval to appreciation.

She'd grown used to invisibility, so the new-found attention pushed her beyond her comfort zone, but today she chose not to care and muted her internal voice. Only four days of her fantasy with Vitale remained, and she intended to milk the time for all it was worth.

The ferry ride to Riomaggiore, the southernmost village of the Cinque Terre, took only a few minutes. Vitale and Julia and half of the ferry passengers disembarked there.

“It's going to be crowded,” she said, noting how the mass moved like a herd of cattle in the direction of the ticket booth.

Vitale struck a statuesque pose and pointed at a staircase leading up a cliff. “She is the most popular of all the trail. Via dell'Amore.” He sighed dramatically and covered his heart with his hand. “The Path of the Love.” When Julia rolled her eyes, he laughed. “You do not do the thing as the other women, Julietta.”

She tugged him to the side to wait for the crowd to get in front of them. “I'm not other women, Vitale. I'm just me.”

Although the climb took longer with her toe than it would have normally, it was more than worth the effort. The view from the top left her breathless. The wide trail edged along the center of a cliff, and below, nothing but beach and colorful fishing boats and sparkling blue water. Above her lay the almost straight-up hillside, dotted with cedar trees and wildflowers. The noonday sun rode high in a cloudless sky while the cooling breeze brought scents of woody herbs and a touch of moisture from the sea.

The walking was easy—much easier than she imagined. Within fifteen minutes, they reached the small covered hut that marked the halfway point. Vitale indicated the wooden bench with its carved back of two lovers kissing. “We take the photo.”

He set the timer on his camera and placed it on the stand. When it started to beep, he made a lunge for the seat by Julia, wrapping his arms around her quickly and snuggling his cheek against hers just as the shutter snapped.

They were both laughing hard, and the picture turned out so cute, she made him promise to e-mail her a copy. They took several more with his camera and with hers. For some, they kissed; for others, they embraced. In one, he dragged her onto his lap at the last instant. All were priceless memories.

She would be able to bank them against the inevitable future times that wouldn't be so pleasant.

* * *

“Woohoo!” Julia pumped her fist into the air as the second village came into view. “I made it!”

“I walk this trail the many times.” Vitale shook his head and grinned. “But she is the much fun with Julietta.”

The short hike brought them into Manarola, where they sauntered around the village for a half hour before catching the train to Corniglia. From there, it was on to Vernazza.

By midafternoon, both of them were ready for a break from the stuffy confines of the crowded trains. Vernazza offered a nice selection of restaurants and snack shops, so they chose to have lunch there before going on to Monterosso.

Julia eyed the sandwiches and pastries as they strolled through a street market filled with vendors hawking a vast array of delectables. The aromas changed with every step, morphing from subtle garlic to pungent rosemary and finishing with toasty vanilla. Her taste buds moved into action, making her mouth water in anticipation. “What are you hungry for, Vitale?”

With his perfected rakish timing, he leaned into her and brushed his lips along the rim of her ear, his voice low. “I hunger for the Julietta.”

Did he seriously think he still needed to use those lines with her? She leaned away and shot him a sidelong glance. “Really? 'Cause I was thinking in terms of pizza.”

Her answer jarred a laugh from him. “Then we have the pizza now, and I have the Julietta later.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back the grin.

While Vitale went to get the pizza, Julia watched the crowd for a while and then used the opportunity to put in a call to Hettie. Relief darted through her when she heard the perky voice on the receiving end rather than yesterday's desolate tone.

“
Buon giorno,
Hettie. It's Julia.”

“Bon Jovi, yourself. I've been going through the telephone book, trying to figure out which tattoo artist to use, and I'm about to flip a coin between Twisted Sister and Angel Eyes. I mean, Angel Eyes sounds like she'd be more gentle. . . .”

Sheesh!
Not just perky. Way too much caffeine this morning. Julia made a mental note to talk to the staff about switching her mother-in-law to decaf.

“Course, I could bypass all this trouble if you'd out-and-out tell me you've already won the damn bet.”

“Well, tattoo house calls
are
pretty expensive,” Julia relented.

“Knew it, knew it, knew it! I thought so last time, but something in your voice told me maybe it didn't go so well. This morning you sound different. Hold on. I need another sip of coffee.”

Julia heard the soft thud of the phone being laid down while Hettie took another slurp; then the shuffle and the voice returned. “Okay. I'm back.”

“Do you want me to call back after you've finished your coffee?” Having only one useful hand made it difficult for her mother-in-law to handle two things at once.

“Not on your life. I want to hear all about this guy you're falling for.”

Falling for?
Julia's breath caught on the phrase. “I'm . . . I'm hardly falling for him. I recognize a line when I hear it. Vitale and I, um”—she cleared her throat—“we're just having a good time together.”

“That so? When you say his name, it's got a certain dreamy quality about it. You used to sound the same way when you would call Frank ‘Franklin.' ”

It wasn't fair for Frank to even be in the same thoughts with Vitale today. There was no comparison between the two men, so she redirected this conversation. “I sound different because I'm finally getting to hike the Cinque Terre. Although, truthfully, ‘hike' might be pushing it. I got to walk between the first two towns, but we're taking the train the rest of the way.”

“How did you walk the distance between two towns with a broken toe?”

“It wasn't far. We took it slow, and I had Vitale to hold on to.”

“I'll bet you did.” Hettie laughed. “Does he have a fine handle?”

Julia gave a self-conscious laugh and pointedly ignored the question. “We've had a glorious day. Vitale speaks English well and is so easy to talk to. He's interesting . . .” A sheet of wax paper with four large wedges of pizza appeared in front of her along with a bottle of Pellegrino water. “And . . . and here he is now with lunch.” How long had he been standing there?

“And you won't talk flippantly about him, which tells me you're not considering him a one-night stand. Hoo-ey! Sounds like you're falling for him, my dear.”

Julia cringed at the words and at the thought that Vitale might've heard them. “I have to go now, Hettie. I don't want my pizza to get cold.”

“Yeah, you really should eat it up while it's hot.”

The parting shot wasn't lost on Julia. “I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.” She hurried the words as she smiled at Vitale and shook her head. “That Hettie.”

He winked and took a gigantic bite from one of the slices.

The toes on Julia's good foot curled as she watched him devour the food. His teeth gripped and tore the crust, and his tongue swept out to capture the sticky cheese from his lips. She'd known him less than a week. And he was fourteen years her junior. Love didn't happen that way. She took a bite of pizza and watched his lips curve into a smile, his gaze warm and inviting.

A delightful twinge tickled the nape of her neck at the thought of what would happen once they got home.

She couldn't be falling in love, but without a doubt, she was hungry for the man.

* * *

After lunch they took the train on to Monterosso, then a boat back to Porto Venere where they caught the ferry back to Lerici and picked up some fresh fish to grill for supper.

While it marinated, and with her
Happy
playlist as accompaniment, they shared a glass of wine in the courtyard and talked about the perfect day they'd shared.

Julia secretly hoped the rest of the week could be like this, but her heart sank when she learned Vitale had a wall-repair job that would take the next two days.

She smiled to camouflage her disappointment.

Vitale saw through the subterfuge, of course. He took her hand and kissed her fingers before reaching deep into his pocket. “For the memory of the day you hike the Cinque Terre.” He handed her a small box.

Inside, a sterling silver flip-flop hung from a chain. The symbolism gave her a chuckle, but the thoughtful gesture twanged a bittersweet note that vibrated in her chest. All of this—this house, this day . . . this man—all of it would be a memory soon.

Much too soon.

“And,” he continued as he clasped the chain around her neck, “I hope you have the memory of Vitale, also, each time you wear.” His fingers moved from her neck into her hair. His thumbs settled in front of her ears while his fingers cupped behind, tilting her face up. He smiled, but his eyes held a hint of something she couldn't read.

“Thank you so much.” She fingered the ornament hanging at her throat. “I'll cherish this forever, but I won't need it to remember you or this day, Vitale.”

On cue, Matchbox Twenty's “Overjoyed” played in the background.

His kiss closed in on her, fast and furious, but she'd been primed since lunch and was ready. They left a trail of clothing to the bedroom where the sex had an air of urgency about it, both of them aware time was growing short. They wrestled and rolled about the bed in a raucous dance, bodies pounding together with a force of heightened desire and need.

She screamed his name as she climaxed, becoming aware of his warmth inside her a few seconds later. Afterward, they lay exhausted in each other's arms, panting and sweaty.

She finally got her breath under control enough to speak. “I need a shower.”

Vitale nodded. “I need the shower also.”

She kissed the end of his nose and extricated herself from his embrace. “I called it first.” She hurried to the bathroom and jumped into the shower, anxious to rid herself of the grime from the day's travels.

Toweling off, she noticed Vitale was no longer in the bed. She hung the towel on the rack and stepped into the bedroom.

Vitale's angry shout, followed by a string of Italian expletives, echoed from the living room.

C
HAPTER
16

J
ulia flung on a tee and some shorts and hustled toward the next room. The cause of Vitale's eruption wasn't clear, as she'd heard no other voices.

When he came into view, he was running one hand through his hair, the other doubled into a tight fist that pounded the air. He swung around to meet her. The dark scowl on his face brought her up short.

“What's wrong?” she asked, breathless despite the quickened pace of her heartbeat.

He pointed to the computer, mumbling words she didn't understand, but the angry tone was unmistakable.

The screen held an e-mail, official and business in appearance. She could decipher “Dear Mr. de Luca,” “sorry,” and “thank you.” From his reaction, it was obviously bad news, but in regard to what?

She gave an apologetic shrug. “I don't know what it says.”

His eyes darted to the screen and back to her, his hand massaging the back of his neck. “From the gallery at Firenze. They do not want the pieces. They say the work, she is, too, um”—his hand made circles in the air as if to wind the word out—“too
commerciale.
”

Julia focused on the sound of the word. “Too commercial?”

“
Sì.
Too commercial.” He pronounced the word carefully.

Julia pressed her palm against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating out its frustration. “I'm so sorry, Vitale. I know how much you wanted this.”

He moved away, pacing and spewing anger and frustration in batches of phrases and gestures.

She sat on the couch and patted beside her. “Want to sit down and talk about it?”

“No,” he grumbled. “I need to make the movement.”

Trying to calm him seemed pointless, and besides, he needed the release. She well remembered needing someone to vent to after her cancer diagnosis. Frank accused her of not staying strong and positive, but she'd soon learned that built-up steam had the same effect on people and pressure cookers alike. She'd let Vitale continue as long as he needed.

A glass of wine might be good for him, and she certainly could use one. She kept her movements slow enough to maneuver Vitale toward the kitchen. Once there, she motioned for him to sit while she opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.

When he made eye contact with her, she breathed long, relaxing breaths, which worked for her, but he never caught on to the idea.

What
did
work was the wine. He continued his tirade, broken more and more often by occasional sips, as she rummaged through the refrigerator, creating an antipasti platter of cheese wedges, hunks of sausage, thick slices of crusty bread, olive tapenade, and pickles while the grill heated.

By the time they moved to the patio, his words were spoken in a moderated tone until, at last, they stopped altogether. He popped an olive into his mouth. “Julietta, you are the good listener.”

She raised her glass toward him. “Listening to someone who's angry is a lot easier when you know they aren't angry with you—and you can't understand a word they're saying.”

His mouth drew up on one side. “Would you like the translation?”

She shook her raised palm. “I don't understand the words, but I'm fluent in tone and body language. No translation necessary. You're angry and frustrated—and rightly so—and you think your parents will be disappointed in you.”

“You understand this from the language of hands?”

“No, the parent part you told me when we were talking Sunday night.”

The mirth faded from his expression again as he took a deep, somber breath. “Julietta, if I must spend the rest of the life breaking the rocks, I do not use the hammer to break them.” He tapped his temple. “I use the head.”

“Have you considered an online business?” She threw out the suggestion that had been hovering in the back of her mind since he'd first told her his dreams for the future. Nibbling a bite of sausage, she watched his reaction.

A deep V formed between his brows. “I do not know how to make the sell on the Internet. I see the many thing on the computer, but I do not have the knowledge to do.”

“Neither did Camille and I at first, but it's easy. Really. Find someone to design you a Web site, and display photographs of your pieces with a write-up about each one, something that describes it . . .” He listened, intent on her every word, eyes hooded in doubt.

She described the steps she and Camille went through when they decided to go with a Web site portfolio. “In fact, if you're interested in selling to the US—and I think you should be very interested in that—I have lots of contacts that could help get this up and running. The most time-consuming parts would be working out the ordering and shipping details and getting photographs of everything, but you already have those you sent to the gallery.” The muscle in his jaw tightened at the mention. She hurried on, excited by the plan forming in her mind, something she could do to help him out the way he had helped her.

She had four more days. He would be gone for two. “I can spend the next two days taking photographs, making measurements, writing descriptions. This is my business, Vitale. It's what I do. I know what customers like and what dealers want.”

He shook his head. “You are the guest. I do not want you to work.”

“I would love to do it.” The urge to touch him was strong, and she tiptoed her fingers up his arm. “It would make me feel like I had a part in your success.”

His hand covered hers. “Do you think I can be the success?”

Julia watched the conflicting emotions flash in his eyes. Hope and doubt, fear and excitement, and something she couldn't name that shot straight through her heart, then fell into orbit around it. “I know you can.” Her voice was a tight whisper squeezing its way around the knot that formed in her throat the instant he touched her hand. “Just fix your eyes on the goal.”

“Feex the eye?” He shook his head in obvious confusion. “The eye, she see well.”

She smiled, but she didn't laugh at her overuse of the word. This conversation meant too much to him. “What I mean is don't let anything—or anyone—stop you from going after something you want. Let it become a part of you. See it with your heart, and I'm sure you'll be a success.”

He leaned forward, motioning with his free hand for her to do the same. She leaned in until their foreheads touched. His fingers crept from the back of her neck into her hair. Their breaths mingled. “You make me sure of it also,” he whispered, just before he captured her mouth with his and stopped her breath completely. He tasted of wine and olives—sweet and salty and more than appetizing.

He finished the kiss with a slow sweep of his tongue across her lips, then leaned back, stretching out his long legs under the table, totally at ease. And while she was glad to have a calming effect on him, it hardly seemed fair that her heart was now the one beating wildly. With one kiss, he'd transferred all
his
excess energy into
her
system. “Augh! You really have to stop kissing me like that,” she scolded. “Those unexpected ones.”

The V appeared between his eyebrows. “Why is this?”

“Because.” She waved a slice of bread his direction before spreading it with tapenade. “It turns me inside out. I'm not sure my heart can stand the assault.”

He smiled smugly. “The heart, she is strong. I feel the beat very hard when we make the love. She can survive the kisses, I think.” His hard gaze aimed straight into her eyes. “And I do not want to stop.”

His words stroked her ego, soothed her like a caress. He didn't want to stop. She didn't want him to stop. The best of both worlds, even if the worlds seemed to be governed by laws of nature she didn't fully grasp. “Okay, then,” she said, tearing a bite loose. The coarse, flavorful bread required slow chewing. She used the time to redirect her thoughts. “Ahem”—she cleared her throat—“where were we? We'll need something to use as a backdrop to put behind the objects so they'll show up nicely in the photographs. Something soft would be best.”

Her memory roamed around the studio, trying to find an appropriate backdrop, but all she visualized were drab tarpaulins. “Do you have any satin sheets?” His surprised expression rendered a giggle from her. “Not to use on the bed. To drape behind in the pictures.”

“
Sì,
I have.” He gave a sheepish grin as he got up and took the fish off the grill.

“What color?” she prodded, rather enjoying seeing him teetering on the edge of embarrassment.

“
Viola
.” He slid a piece of fish onto her plate and another onto his before he sat back down.

“Vee-o-la?” she repeated the sounds, translating them in her mind. “Violet? As in purple? You sleep on purple satin sheets, Your Highness?”

His face turned deep crimson beneath the bronze while his eyes shifted away from her. “Only the one time . . . and I did not sleep.”

She snorted. “Of course you didn't.” Now she wished she'd let it go as an image of Vitale and Francesca wound up in violet satin sheets plastered itself to her mind's eye.

He read her mind. “I did not have the sex either.”

That
tidbit erased the image and pulled her upright. “Okay, now you've got me curious.” She refilled their glasses and gushed at the delicious flavor of the combined fish, lemon, and thyme. But she wasn't about to let the subject drop. “C'mon. Tell me what happened.”

“I slide off.”

Julia sat her glass down, thankful she hadn't taken a drink. “You slid off?”

“
Sì.
I jump on the bed and slide off the other side.” His look dared her to laugh.

She'd always been a sucker for a dare. She tried to stifle the urge and get by with only a light giggle. But the more she held back, the more vivid the image in her brain became. Vitale naked. Not funny. Hot. Vitale naked, jumping on bed. Playful and fun and hot. Vitale naked, jumping on bed, and momentum taking him off the other side. Not hot. Hilarious. And not just ordinary hilarious. Side-splitting, pee-in-pants, tears-streaming hilarious. The pressure was too much. She had to let it out, and when she did, she couldn't stop. She laughed. Loud.

Her eyes were too teary to see clearly, but Vitale's laugh grew louder and louder until it matched the volume of her own. Then surpassed it.

God, it felt wonderful to be laughing. To be alive. She loved the way her chest heaved, lungs gasping for air. Loved the way this man made her feel. About life. About herself.

About everything.

Coming here . . . staying with him . . . feeling sensual again. Better for her ego than hiking the Cinque Terre. Mission accomplished.

“Julietta?”

Vitale's voice broke through her thoughts. She wiped her eyes and allowed a long sigh to bring her breathing back to normal. “Yes, Vitale?”

“I like to be here with you.”

She drew the words in on a sip of wine and let them roll over and around her tongue, savoring the sweet taste of sexual chemistry. “I like being here with you, too.” She licked her lips.

Words had never tasted so delicious.

Or so dangerous.