The Affair: Week 8 (3 page)

His hand cupped the back of her head.

“I never knew,” he replied gruffly, a far-off look in his eyes. “Until now.”

Emma’s eyes sprung wide. She hid her face in his chest, hoping he hadn’t noticed her flash of hope at his words or the pulse that had begun to throb at her throat.

“Emma?” he said quietly, his fingers massaging her scalp.

“Yes?”

“When we return to the States . . . I don’t want any more of this talk about the weeks and the days. Do you understand?” he asked, his fingers stilling.

“Yes,” she whispered against his chest, although in truth, his statement had brought up a dozen questions, all of which made her wildly anxious—but also intimidated—to hear his answer.

Emma said good-bye to Mrs. Denis that night. When tears sprung to her eyes as they hugged, Mrs. Denis noticed.

“There’s no need for that,” she soothed, smoothing Emma’s hair fondly. “You make Vanni happier than I’ve ever seen him, even when he was a boy. We’ll see one another again.”

Emma nodded, but perhaps Mrs. Denis noticed the brittleness of Emma’s smile, because her expression fell. These days and nights with Vanni had been heaven-sent and poignant. Although wild, desperate hope had sprung into her breast out there on the beach when he’d insisted he wanted more than their total time of eight weeks together, he’d never returned her admission of caring. He certainly never suggested that their affair was anything beyond the sexual variety.

He’d certainly never spoken the word
love
, as Emma had, and that absence was beginning to haunt her. Would he ever be capable of anything more than an affair—a sweet, sublime one, yes, but a sexual affair at heart nonetheless?

It was only a matter of time before these days became hellish memories because he was no longer in her life. She was beginning to regret saying yes to an indefinite extension of their affair. At least doubt would slink in when she wasn’t in his immediate presence. When he was there next to her, stroking her, touching her, making love to her with every glance, Emma felt woefully incapable of saying no to him even for an additional second.

Yet she also knew perfectly well every additional moment would just tear at her spirit more.

The rude intrusion of reality onto their happiness came earlier than she’d expected, however, during their last night at La Mer. It was still dark out when Emma was awakened by the sound of a phone ringing. She blinked, disoriented, her eyelids heavy with sleep. If she had to guess, she’d have said she and Vanni just drifted off to sleep an hour or two ago. Vanni didn’t turn on a light, but she sensed him leave the bed. Was there a house phone in here? She’d never noticed one, but that wasn’t a cell phone that had been ringing so jarringly.

“Hello?” she heard Vanni say, his voice rough, but alert. “Yes,” he said, and she sensed the tension in his tone. She sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up over her bare breasts. She started getting worried in the silence that followed. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked. Her concern escalating, Emma rose from the bed, turned on the light in the bathroom and retrieved a robe. “Well, that’s something. And it’s definitely out? Any idea of the damage yet . . . Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, please call Sheldon and Devitis and inform them, and of course the insurance company. We’ll cease any operations until we can better assess the damage and determine whether it’s safe or not. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“That was the night security officer at the Montand plant in Antibes,” Vanni said, walking toward her in the dim bedroom. “There’s been a fire.”

“Is everyone all right?”

Vanni nodded, but looked worried. “Yes, there was no crew on duty except for night security, and they’re fine. But it looks as if the damage might be extensive to the property and equipment.”

“Should I get ready and come with you?” Emma asked.

She saw him squinting at the bedside clock. “No. Two of my vice presidents will be meeting there to assess the damage. Besides, it’ll be dawn soon. Marco will be here in a few hours to take us to the airport.”

“We can call him and postpone.”

Vanni shook his head, distracted. “He has the flight scheduled with the airport, and you have work tomorrow. I’ll ask him to try to delay it for an hour or two and try to catch up with you at the airport.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said.

“I will,” he stepped forward and kissed her, his hand cupping her head. “With everyone safe, it’s just a matter of figuring out what needs to be done to get operations up as quickly as possible,” he said against her lips. “You just go with Marco, and I’ll tell you about it later.”

She nodded, looking up at his shadowed face. He touched her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

He kissed her once more on the mouth and entered the bathroom to shower.

* * *

She had a strange prescience as she waited on the plane later that morning that she wasn’t going to see him anytime soon. Sure enough, her phone rang at a little after ten o’clock and she saw it was Vanni.

“Hi,” she said, staring out the window of the luxurious private plane. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Vanni admitted. “The insurance adjustor won’t be here for an hour still, and the fire inspector is still trying to figure out the cause and assess any structural damage. We’re also trying to figure out what parts we need to order to get things up and running as soon as possible. Marco can’t stretch things out any longer with the tower. I told him to go ahead and take off and get you home. I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry about the fire.”

“Crap happens,” he said grimly.

Emma smiled sadly. “I guess our little jaunt into paradise is at an end.”

“Our time together isn’t done just because of an accidental fire. Call me as soon as you reach Chicago?”

She assured him she would. He was right. There was every reason to anticipate more hours in his arms and by his side in the days and nights to come. They had time left.

Still, she hated the idea of flying away from that golden, azure coastline where she’d known paradise with him.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, she was leaving a patient’s house in Lake Forest, when she saw that Vanni had called. They had spoken both when she’d gotten home and last night, when Vanni had wearily told her he would be returning to Kenilworth most likely this evening. Before she even got into her car, she eagerly listened to the message, her heart jumping when she heard he planned to land tonight.

“Can you meet me at the Breakers at seven?” he asked. “I don’t know how much I’ll be good for, but I’ll try to sleep on the plane. Maybe I’ll get a second wind,” he added more quietly, and it’d almost been like he was there, speaking the words to her intimately, his words gruff and warm in her ear, his aquamarine eyes gleaming a promise.

She walked on air the rest of the day, having to take pains to tone down her euphoric mood while in the somber atmospheres of her patients’ homes. On the way to her apartment, she stopped at the grocery store and splurged on an expensive bottle of champagne to commemorate Vanni’s homecoming. It was expensive for
her.
She was sure he had much more expensive, premium bottles of the stuff at the Breakers, but Emma wanted to give him something she’d purchased.

Amanda wasn’t home when she returned to the apartment at five thirty, so she left a note not to expect her back tonight. She carefully got ready, packing a few items so that she could go straight to work from Vanni’s tomorrow morning. She donned a sundress that showed off the light gold tan she’d received in the French Riviera. At a few minutes before seven she arrived at the Breakers, her heart pounding with excitement.

All was silent in the massive garage when she entered. As she passed the large, elaborate kitchen, she noticed it was empty. An idea struck her. She looked around in for an ice bucket, opening several cupboards, but didn’t find one. She’d just put the champagne in the refrigerator and come back for it after it’d chilled.

“You certainly know how to make yourself at home.”

She paused with her hand inside the open refrigerator. Mrs. Shaw stood in the entryway of the kitchen, wearing a chic, dark blue pantsuit and scarf and looking at Emma with a cold, furious expression. She clutched some papers in her hand, as if the sound of Emma moving around in the kitchen had interrupted her while she did some filing. Emma set down the champagne in the refrigerator and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, she faced Vanni’s aunt.

“Vanni asked me to meet him here. Has he arrived yet?”

“He called a moment ago to say he was delayed.”

“For how long?” Emma asked, concerned. Instead of answering her, Mrs. Shaw’s thin lips clamped tight. “Is he still arriving tonight, just later than his scheduled time, or is he still in France?” Emma prodded, irritated by the housekeeper’s surly uncooperativeness.

“He won’t be home tonight,” Mrs. Shaw said. She stepped over the threshold of the kitchen as if crossing some invisible line. Inexplicably, the hairs on Emma’s forearms stood on end.

“I understand that Vanni has become quite taken with you. From something Niki told Dean after the race, I’m getting the impression Vanni has told you all about his life up to now . . . things he’s never opened up about to another woman.”

Emma lifted her chin, sensing a storm brewing but unable to guess the direction it would take.

“And now you’ve been to La Mer
,
” Mrs. Shaw said, lifting her upper lip slightly when she said the last words.

“Yes. It was beautiful there. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Of
course
you haven’t.”

Emma blinked at the undiluted acid in the other woman’s tone. Her sense of trepidation increased as Mrs. Shaw began to slowly walk in an arc around her. She couldn’t help but think of a predator circling. Warily, she turned, keeping Vera Shaw in her sights.

“Michael—Vanni’s father—loved La Mer. So did I. Laurel didn’t
get
it like
we
did,” Mrs. Shaw said quietly, referring—Emma knew—to Laurel Montand, Vanni’s mother. Vera’s pale blue eyes glittered like fractured glass. “Michael appreciated my love for his ancestral home. Of course Adrian and Vanni loved it, too. Now
you’ve
been there as well. Dean and Michelle insinuated that you and Vanni were supremely happy together there. That’s why I left, so I wouldn’t have to witness you in a place that was so special to Michael and me. You should congratulate yourself. For a nurse, you’ve been flying high. But despite what you may think,” she said with a contemptuous glance at the refrigerator, “despite Cristina’s favoritism toward you and Vanni’s infatuation, you are far from
belonging
in a place like this. You will never belong in Vanni’s world.”

Emma exhaled with effort, finding it difficult to breathe in the woman’s presence. What had freed her hatred? It wasn’t as if Emma hadn’t felt it before, but Vera Shaw had kept it carefully contained.

Not anymore.

She turned again and faced the unpleasant woman full on. “What do you have against me, Vera?”

Vera didn’t try to disguise her snarl this time. Emma knew why she was infuriated. Calling her “Vera” had been a subtle way of putting them on equal footing. The New Horizon nurses had been instructed to address her as Mrs. Shaw. Vera came to a halt in her circling prowl.

“I know your type. I recognized you
right
away. Sweet, pretty little martyr. Sure enough, you immediately caught Vanni’s attention. Men can be so predictable when it comes to lust. Michael was drawn to the type, just like Vanni is. That’s why Michael asked my sister to marry him. He needed a saint to watch out for the boys. Oh, he wanted Laurel, but he wanted a lot of women. Michael had many
types.
Don’t kid yourself that this thing with Vanni will last. The appeal of the saint is very short-lived when it comes to the appetites of a Montand.”

Emma arched her brows in a show of patient contempt, but the skin of her forearms had roughened even more. Vera was seriously unbalanced. “You seem confused. Maybe you should rest. First off, I’m no saint. Secondly, Vanni and his father are two
very
different men. And lastly, Michael didn’t ask
Laurel
to marry him in order to watch out for the boys. He asked
Cristina
to do that.”

“That’s what you think,” Vera spat, her eyes alight with malice. The prickling on Emma’s forearms transferred to her spine.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked with forced calmness.

“Michael pulled a switch, that’s what I mean,” Vera said, looking madly pleased by her enigmatic statement. Emma remained silent, not wanting to stir the pot. Still, Vera bizarrely seemed unable to resist releasing the venom of her secret.

“No one knew, save Cristina, Michael, Laurel, the doctor . . . and
me,
of course. I knew because Laurel confessed it to me before she died. She wanted me to take over, looking out for Vanni and Adrian in her place. Mothering Michael’s sons.
I
was the only one who could do it. Certainly that slut Cristina wasn’t up for the job.”

Emma had gone very still now. The tingling in her body had amplified, feeling like ice-cold water dripping down her spine. “What are you talking about, Vera?” The woman really
was
delusional, despite what Michelle had said. Emma knew firsthand from Vanni that he endured Vera because of her relationship with Laurel, but he hardly considered her as a substitute mother. His attitude to Vera Shaw was at best respectful, at worst forbearing and vaguely impatient.

“I’m talking about the truth,” Vera said, shrugging. “It was Cristina who was Vanni and Adrian’s real mother.”

“What?” Emma asked, disbelief making her voice sound hollow.

“Michael got Cristina pregnant when they met in Italy. But of course, Cristina was too selfish to ever settle down. She was furious at Michael for getting her pregnant, worried about what motherhood would do to her figure and her social status. Cristina Carboni, glamorous socialite who used to run fast and furious with that movie star sister of hers and their elite crowd of golden people; Cristina Carboni, who settled for no man: forced into motherhood, her wings clipped for good, tied to just one man? Never,” Vera said scathingly. “She flat-out refused Michael when he proposed after she became pregnant with Adrian and Vanni.”

“You’re crazy,” Emma whispered.

“No,” Vera said triumphantly. “I’m telling you the
truth
,”
she stated, punching the air with the hand that clutched the pieces of paper for emphasis. “When Cristina refused to marry Michael, he was able to convince her to give him the children. It wasn’t hard.
She
didn’t want them. He tucked her away in a resort in the Adirondacks while she was pregnant. When Cristina continued to refuse to marry him, he grew desperate. He caught sight of my sister while he was in New York. It was pure chance . . . pure
luck
on my sister’s part. She was the administrative assistant to one of Michael’s business associates, and Michael imagined himself smitten. It could have been me. It
should
have been me.” Vera straightened her spine and lifted her chin in a bizarre gesture of imagined self-importance. “I was always the stronger sister, much more suited to be Michael Montand’s wife and mother of his children. But no . . . Michael wanted a pale little saint. And so he married my sister, who was biddable enough . . .
weak
enough to agree to have him, even once she learned about the children. Of course Michael forgot about her once they were married. He took up with Cristina again. He took up with any number of women. But none of them meant anything to him.”