Heaven and Hell (5 page)

But before I could fake tears, his deep,
rough-like-velvet voice came back at me.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up at him and again there was
intensity, this was curious, cautious but also still warm.

So my mouth whispered for me, “Yeah.”

“What happened to the arch-nemesis?”

“She got clocked with the butt of her
hubby’s shotgun,” I answered, leaving out the fact that she was now
awaiting trial for plotting my murder. I’d already instituted a
major overshare. I didn’t need to make the same mistake again.

“Off easy,” he murmured.

“Kind of,” I said softly. “She’s the town
pariah, no one liked her much before but they openly don’t like her
now and we live in a small town so you feel that kind of dislike in
a small town, you know?”

“Not really,” he replied. “I’ve never fucked
another man’s wife, setting him on a murdering rampage or even
fucked another man’s wife and not setting that man on a murdering
rampage so I have no fuckin’ clue.”

At his honest, blunt and weirdly somewhat
harsh words, he became real to me, like any normal person, not a
famous ex-football star national hero who had a past filled with
doing dangerous things and suddenly I relaxed, not completely but a
little, enough to smile before I recommended, “Well, my advice is,
don’t.”

He smiled back and said, “Good advice.”

“And also,” I kept going, “I think in Lake
Como surrounded by swanky rich people, you’re not allowed to drop
the f-bomb or probably the s-bomb for that matter.”

He lifted his coffee cup and before taking a
sip, his eyes on me over the rim, he asked, “You read that
somewhere?”

“Uh… no,” I answered.

He sipped, dropped the cup and noted, “So,
it’s not a law.”

“I wouldn’t know. Maybe.”

“If it is, then you wouldn’t be able to do
it in Italian. Since I don’t know Italian, I think I’m good.”

“Well if you’re wrong and they arrest you, I
promise to post bond,” I assured him.

He grinned. “Good to know you’ve got my
back.”

I shrugged. “We Americans have to look out
for each other.”

His grin got bigger and he murmured,
“Right.”

It was then our food was served. There were
some flourishes whilst the waiter served it which made Sampson
Cooper catch my eyes, his smiling. When they did, I felt my mouth
twitch and my heart flutter that I was sharing an in-joke with
Sampson Freaking Cooper.

The waiter moved away, Sam picked up his
cutlery and so did I.

He tucked in.

I wondered if I could watch him consuming
food across a table from me without having an orgasm.

And it was then I decided to come clean.

“I know you, you know,” I whispered and his
eyes went from his plate to me.

Then, to my shock, my delight, my horror and
totally messing with my peace of mind and understanding of the
world, he whispered back, “Baby, for ten minutes you made me
invisible. Women who know who I am do one of three things, they get
in my space, they do anything they can to get my attention but do
it pretending badly that they don’t know I exist or I flat out
cease to exist. I know you know who I am.”

“I wasn’t being rude,” I quickly told
him.

“I get that,” he replied just as quickly.
“For you, it’s about bein’ shy but for me, it gives me privacy and
I don’t get that much. It also allows me to be the one to make the
play. And in my life, serious as shit, Kia, that’s rare and it’s
really, fucking valued.”

That was when I panicked and assured him,
“Well, I wasn’t making some whacked out play either.”

He put his fork on his plate, reached across
the table and took my hand.

My heart stopped again.

He squeezed my hand and looked in my
eyes.

Then he whispered, “Relax, Kia, and just
enjoy breakfast.”

“Okay,” I whispered back, it was breathy but
at least I didn’t wheeze.

He let me go and focused back on his
food.

It took some effort, and not a small amount
of it, but I did too.

And there it was on my plate, proof an
omelette was an omelet the world over.

Thus commenced me eating breakfast with
Sampson Cooper and I didn’t think I could relax but I didn’t take
into account how much he wanted me to.

So for the next forty-five minutes, we ate,
we sipped coffee, we sometimes looked out the windows at the beauty
of the lake but mostly we looked at each other and Sam asked me
questions that weren’t invasive or taxing, mostly about what I was
doing in Lake Como and how long I was staying. So I told him about
my vacation which started in Paris and would end in two weeks at a
beach on Crete. And, with his guiding questions, I went into some
detail that was probably embarrassingly enthusiastic about what’d
I’d done, what I’d seen and what I was looking forward to doing and
seeing.

For his part, when I asked, he told me
vaguely he was in Italy “on business”, he didn’t elucidate and I
didn’t pry.

And when we were done, the last drops of
coffee consumed, our plates long since whisked away, Sam Cooper
stood and rounded the table, like the gentleman he was, helping me
out of my chair.

No man had ever done this for me either and
it was considerate and attentive in a way I liked a lot and it
settled in my soul too.

Then he walked me through the dining room,
the tips his long fingers barely touching the small of my back to
guide me through the room, another chivalrous gesture that also
felt like something else, something I didn’t quite get.

Outside the dining room, in the lobby with
its beautiful tiled floors and sweeping staircase, his fingers
moved to my elbow, curling around and he stopped me then he turned
to stand in front of me, a foot away.

I tipped my head back to look up at him.

It was over, I survived. I had breakfast
with Sampson Cooper; I enjoyed it and the knowledge that he was
truly in real life what he was in my fantasy life, a decent, good,
kind man as well as a gentleman also settled in my soul. Looking up
at him, I memorized our morning like I’d been memorizing many of
the gifts I’d received the last three weeks but this one I burned
deep in my brain in the hopes of never forgetting even a
second.

“I need to go,” he told me, his fingers
still curled on my elbow.

“Okay,” I replied and smiled. “Maybe I’ll
see you around.”

Then my breath caught as his fingers on my
elbow tightened and pulled me slightly toward him. I went forward
three inches as he bent from his height of what I knew was six foot
three and, in a barely-there touch, he swept his lips against my
cheek.

I closed my eyes and experienced the
beautiful tingle.

Then in my ear, he whispered, “You’ll see me
around.”

My heart stopped again and his fingers gave
me a squeeze then let me go. He straightened, smiled in my eyes and
then he was gone.

And, staring across the foyer that no longer
held the tall, built, powerful body of Sampson Cooper it belatedly
hit me that he’d said,
it also allows me to be the one to make
the play.

That was when my heart stopped beating.

Again.

Cat and Mouse

I stood in front of the full-length oval
mirror in my hotel room surveying my ensemble.

I was wearing a dark teal, strapless dress
shot liberally with silver. The top fit like a second skin all the
way down to my hips then flared out in a cute, flippy, but short,
skirt that exposed a whole lot of leg, more than even my sundress.
I wore this with a pair of strappy, silver, high-heeled sandals. My
hair was swept back at the top and held in a pretty, silver clip at
my crown but the sides were sleek and long, the tapered ends
curling along my jaw and neck, the rest falling down my back. I had
on a pair of earrings that were four dangling silver chains
interspersed with teal beads.

It was an awesome outfit.

But really, I was being an idiot.

In Heartmeadow, Indiana I would have no
occasion to wear a dress like this. Or the shoes. Or the sundress
I’d bought. Or the bronze sandals. Or, really, almost everything
I’d purchased on my trip.

I’d flown first class because I could. This
meant I could bring two suitcases so I did but there was barely
anything in them since I intended to shop profusely, something I
had done.

I had just not made smart choices.

Like the entirety of my outfit which I
bought that day with Celeste, my new Lake Como bud.

I had spent my first day in Lake Como
touring around riding the unbe-freaking-leivable high of breakfast
with Sampson Cooper and riding the not as awesome but very close to
it high of being in a stunningly beautiful place I’d never thought
I’d be.

I’d also spent that day on tenterhooks,
expecting Sam to jump out and whisk me away practically every
second.

He didn’t.

So, trembling with expectant excitement and
again kitted out and made up, I’d wandered down to breakfast only
to find him not there. My matchmaking maitre d’ looked more
devastated than I was that Sam was not waiting for me nor did he
show while I had breakfast and I gave him plenty of opportunity. So
much, I was grateful when my waiter brought me another cafetière of
coffee I could sip and not look stupid as I waited in vain.

It was at lunch as I sat at a table with an
umbrella (though, I chose a seat in the sun not the shade) on the
wide sidewalk facing a flower and fountain bedecked square when I
met Celeste and her husband Thomas.

They were old enough to be my Mom and Dad’s
much younger, cooler and far, far richer sister and brother.
Celeste was French but she spoke English and Italian. Thomas was
American but he spoke with a slight Australian accent considering
the fact that, while growing up, he’d lived there for ten years and
they visited his family there regularly. We’d been sat at tables
next to each other and my table had no pepper shaker, I’d asked if
I could use theirs and there it began, just like with Sam, I’d
joined them. However, not like Sam, they invited me and I
accepted.

Chatting with Celeste, I didn’t know what
people were talking about when it came to French folks. Cooter,
being Cooter, hated them. But Celeste was awesome, chatty, friendly
all in this droll, sophisticated, cosmopolitan way that was way
beyond cool.

Within two minutes of talking with her, I
decided I wanted to be her when I grew up.

Fortunately, I kept my cool and, unlike
blurting them out bluntly to Sam, I did not share my recent
circumstances with Celeste and Thomas but informed them only I was
on vacation.

Celeste cottoned on I had no clue when it
came to Italian. I also had a feeling Celeste further cottoned onto
the fact that I had no clue when it came to a lot of things.

So she’d taken me under her wing.

She taught me “please” was
per
favore
, “yes” was
sì,
“no” was just
no
and “table
for one, please” was
solo tavolo, per favore.

Easy!

Thomas was taking his lunch with his wife
but had to get back to work and Celeste invited me to spend the
afternoon with her. I accepted. After we wandered and she showed me
some sights, she invited me to spend the next day with her. I
accepted that too.

After another disappointing breakfast alone,
Celeste had swung by my hotel in a sporty convertible, her hair
(get this!) covered in a flowy, chiffon scarf and huge sunglasses
on her face making her look straight from a movie. She’d whisked me
to her favorite spa where we got facials, massages, manicures and
pedicures then had our makeup done and our hair styled then off we
went to spend the afternoon shopping whereupon, at Celeste’s
insistence since everything I tried on she declared effusively was,
“
Belle, ma chérie!
” I spent an enormous amount of money on
clothes I’d probably never wear again.

And I was going out to dinner with them that
night, all gussied up after spending three fun, relaxing days in
Lake Como eating, sightseeing, shopping and spa-ing (or whatever
they called it) but, although fun, as he’d promised and I’d hoped,
I’d not seen Sampson Cooper.

Therefore I realized that when he said he’d
see me around he was being nice. In fact, I realized, he’d only
just been being nice throughout our time together.

And I had to admit, it was disappointing,
definitely. Still, I met him, he was wonderful, I had a great story
to tell and therefore I decided I could live with that.

What I couldn’t live with was making a
stupid dent in my somewhat large, unexpected fortune by buying
clothes I could not wear to the grocery store in Heartmeadow. I’d
even bought a formal gown mainly because it was beyond awesome too.
In fact, it was so stunning it was indescribable. I’d never owned
anything near the like, never even tried anything on even close. My
wedding gown, which I thought was beautiful, wasn’t even as nice as
that gown.

So I got caught up in the life, Celeste, my
audience, sitting back with her feet crossed at the ankles, knees
closed, slim fingers curled around a flute of champagne (yes,
champagne, this was how exclusive the shop was, they served
champagne while you tried on clothes), her entire face lighting
with delight when I’d walked out wearing that gown. The instant I
did, she threw out a graceful hand, saying I simply
had to
have
it
, that it was
made for me
and I forgot who
I was, where I came from, where I would go when I went home and
bought it.

But it was ridiculous. I’d have nowhere to
wear it.

Still, I liked the idea of just owning it
and I decided that, maybe, on occasion, I’d make myself a fabulous
dinner, buy myself a good bottle of champagne, put it on and share
my dinner with Memphis pretending I was back in this life, that
this was me.