To Tuscany with Love (28 page)

Bella had fantasied about unleashing her anger on him, but something made her wait. Maybe she was emotionally and physically exhausted from the travel and the anticipation of seeing everyone, especially him. Perhaps it was his insistence on explaining his money-grubbing decision. The thought of listening to his excuses was unbearable.

“I can’t. Not now.” She turned, unlocked her door, and stepped inside.

“Bella, please wait.”

The door swung closed behind her. Its heavy thud echoed in her room.

32

A
t seven the next morning, Bella confronted the copper-plated espresso machine in the parlor adjacent to the courtyard. The machine resembled a small steam engine. No attendant in sight and Bella needed coffee. She climbed onto a wooden chair in order to look down on it. Were beans already inside?

“
Scusi
.” A man’s voice.

Bella’s back jerked straight. Damn. Caught straddling this thing with her butt pointed sky high. Certain of the flush on her cheeks, she turned and climbed down from the chair. It was the young Roman from the previous night. Bella explained in Italian that she wanted an espresso but did not want to trouble anyone.

“I speak English.” He grinned. “But last night—” He moved closer and rested one hand on the chair back next to her. “Last night I wanted to test your Italian.” He stood close enough that she could feel his breath. Bella resisted the urge to insert more space between them and reminded herself that flirting was a national pastime in Italy.

“Why?”

He leaned closer to confide a secret. “Stillman told me you were fluent.” He pulled away, smug and sure of himself.

Two can play. She stepped in closer, though no part of her body touched his. “And what did you decide?”

Laughter tumbled out. “Your Italian is very good.” He extended his right hand. “I’m Giacomo.”

The calluses on Giacomo’s slender hand rubbed against her palm.

Bella took stock of the man, who smiled at her with that Italian “I-could-make-love-to-you-like-you’ve-never-known-before” gaze. He looked in his late thirties and wore no wedding ring. His pale ginger linen shirt and black slacks draped his body with the telltale mark of expensive Italian fabric and construction. Giacomo’s tanned arms, visible with the short-sleeved shirt, showed the sinewy muscles of someone who used his body for physical work.

She remembered feeling tacky during her semester abroad, wearing her peasant blouses and denim skirts. The twenty-year-old Italian girls resembled tiny femmes fatales in pencil skirts that showed the lines of their sexy underwear and clingy, low-cut blouses. Fashion and seduction—it’s what it is all about.

Giacomo waited, not stepping away from her. Bella felt his palpable appraisal of her—her age, her looks, even her smell—and bet his animal instincts could guess she hadn’t slept with a man for years.

Bella blinked, as if she could back him down with the slight movement. “Espresso?”

“But of course.”

While Giacomo drew an espresso for her, she quizzed him about the estate. One espresso led to a second and a light, historical discussion of the property. Giacomo fell into the easy banter of a tour guide. Bella learned of a looped footpath around the property, which Giacomo recommended that she explore.

A blanket of low morning mist clung to the slopes. Cool, moist air lent a shine to Bella’s cheeks as her rubber-bottomed flats met the cobblestone road in front of the palazzo. The world here, an ocean away from Manhattan, felt fresh, not cloyingly claustrophobic like her lonely home had become. Out here, with a wide sky above, she couldn’t wait to venture out.

Bella turned to her right, away from the driveway, and walked to the farthest building. More recently constructed, it must serve as some kind of machine shed, she decided, as it stood two stories high and had a monstrous double wooden door. Bella’s fingers slid down the building’s wall, which was constructed with ancient stones. She admired the attention to detail. Although Giacomo had said it was a new building, meaning built in the last century, it matched the rest of the estate.

Beyond the crest of the hill, an apple tree marked the footpath. It extended in two directions, both of which wound down the hill and disappeared into olive trees. Bella chose left. Delicate pink wild roses marked the path’s edge. This direction led away from Florence, and the morning sun yielded to a landscape vista dotted with hilltop villas, vineyards, and olive groves. Gold, orange, pink, and dusty greens unfolded in a rolling patchwork.

Rosebushes gave way to a crumbled stone retaining wall on her left. She stopped to examine a scooped stone protruding from the wall. Long ago, the bowl had caught the flow of a natural spring. Below the cracked basin, she saw tiny black spiders and their webs. Bella ran her index finger inside the stone spout—dusty, but not overburdened with dirt. She wondered if restoration of the wall, or at least the spring, was underway.

“Good morning, Bella.” Stillman’s voice came from above the retaining wall.

Bella peered up the slope. “Good morning. I can’t see you. Where are you hiding?”

Stillman chuckled. “Not hiding. Merely contemplating the day.”

Bella saw him now. He stood behind a clump of rosebushes. He invited her to join him, pointing out the tiny side path that meandered up the slope. Once she reached him, she saw a small graveled area behind the rosebushes, where Stillman had been sitting on a cast-iron bench.

Smiling, she drew her cashmere sweater closed. A gentle breeze cooled her. “What a lovely spot.”

His arms opened wide, inviting her in for an embrace. “And even better now that you’re here.” He pressed her against him in a warm, but not passionate, embrace. He gestured to the bench and they sat down. He didn’t waste time getting to the conversation she had fretted over. “You know, after you refused to marry me, I was convinced I never wanted to see you again.”

Bella nodded. “I know. I tried everything I could think of to get your assistant to put me in touch with you, but all he’d say was that you’d left the country and couldn’t be reached. The part about not being reachable was obviously a lie. But I got the message—you wanted to avoid me.” She rested one palm on his arm. “I can’t say that I blame you. My situation with David at the time was so ... complicated.”

“Being honest, you were both the inspiration behind this reunion and the primary reason I didn’t want to do it.” Stillman gazed out at the postcard-perfect landscape.

Inspiration?
That held promise. “So what tipped the balance?”

Stillman laughed. “Turning fifty.” He smiled at her. “It’s a time to take stock. Make sure you don’t have regrets.”

Bella nodded. The thought of her approaching birthday had accentuated her loneliness.

David was on another continent, serving as the lone physician for an African town and the surrounding area. Her son had been bitten by the missionary spirit and was thriving, content with the aid he provided to needy people. Last year, at the end of his commitment, she had hoped he’d return to the States. Instead, a foundation gave him a grant to build a clinic and it reenergized him, making it impossible for him to leave.

Without David, and without a partner, lover, or spouse, Bella was alone. She had regrets. Plenty of them. And one was that she had driven Stillman away.

“Thank you,” Bella said. “For the bold, generous gift of this reunion. And for being willing to see me again.” Her heart thumped inside her chest and she felt her face flush.

“Willing, yes. Pleased about it?” He chuckled. “Maybe not.”

Bella rapped him on the arm with her knuckles. “Right. I seem to remember you kissing me last night.”

He laughed. “So I did. I guess that means that I’ve forgiven you for casting me aside.”

Stillman winked. “Or maybe I did it just to infuriate Phillip.”

Bella jumped to her feet. “I could give a rat’s ass about Phillip.” She paced in front of the bench. She stopped and, with her hands on her hips, faced Stillman. She had fallen into a deep well, and a lone rope from above offered a chance for survival.

Fearful of Stillman’s answer, her words came out slow and soft. “Is that the only reason you wanted to see me again? To use me to get back at Phillip?”

On his feet, Stillman grasped her hands. “No. Don’t think that. A few years ago, I didn’t want to see or talk to you because you crushed me. Twice. I like to think I’m not a fool. But that’s how I felt. I’ll not make that mistake again.”

Bella bowed her head. He was right, of course. She had stupidly chosen Phillip over him during that long-ago summer, and then, because she was afraid to tell him the truth about David, she had rejected Stillman a second time.

But it was different now. Not merely because she dreaded entering the last segment of life alone. No. She loved Stillman. She figured that she always had, but thirty years ago, lust and love had swirled together, complicating everything. That one weekend with Phillip had shattered the rest of her life.

No matter how much she wanted Stillman to love her again, Bella couldn’t, and wouldn’t, beg him to take her back. Begging wasn’t in her DNA. She had to win him back. That’s what she would do.

“You’re certainly no fool,” she said. “I’m the one who’s been the fool. But, honestly, when you’re almost fifty, it’s a brand-new ball game, and all bets are off. I say, let’s be friends, good friends. Then you don’t have to worry about being hurt again.”

And if you think I’m going to be content with being only your friend, she thought, you don’t know me.

“So,” she said, holding out her hand to him, “our generous and dashing host, care to join me for some breakfast?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then stood and held her hand. He started walking, but she didn’t move forward. He turned back to look at her. “I thought you mentioned breakfast.”

With a grin, she said, “I’m trying to decide whether we should walk together, another great opportunity for you to shove it in Phillip’s face, or,” she continued, dropping his hand, “race back!” She took off jogging up the side path, betting it would lead back to the palazzo.

His laughter and footsteps followed her up the hill.

Stillman caught up to her at the top of the path. Instead of heading for the front of the palazzo, however, he motioned to a smooth pebble path that skirted the rear of the building.

“In the invitations,” she asked, “why the ‘Regrets are for cowards’?”

“Who could resist that?”

“Good point. So when did you first think of having this reunion?”

“When the preacher died, a couple of years ago. The bitter old man finally checked out. It’s funny how one thinks about old friends when there isn’t a generation standing between you and death.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the preacher.”

“Don’t be. To tell the truth, I was relieved. Lucky bastard died in his sleep one night. He’d preached a hell of a sermon that morning, I was told.”

Bella remembered her feelings when her mother died. “Regardless of circumstance, a person becomes an orphan when their parents are both gone.”

“I’ve felt like an orphan for years. But enough of that.” Stillman lightened the conversation with an exaggerated British accent. “My dear, I brought all of you here to help me celebrate my birthday. I’m devastated you don’t remember that it’s this week.”

“But your birthday’s in July. We spent it together in San Gimignano.“

Stillman’s laughter carried them as they walked through an archway and into a wide, terra-cotta-floored corridor. Stillman stopped before they reached the central garden and courtyard and grabbed her arm. He leaned in toward her and whispered as if he had a secret to share. “I fibbed in San Gimignano. Part of my failed seduction attempt. My birthday’s really this week.”

She giggled. “And why should I believe that it’s this week?”

With a laugh, he wrapped his arm around her waist, propelling her onto a garden path that led to a cluster of round, wrought-iron breakfast tables. “Because if it’s my birthday, I can get you to kiss me again.”

Bella grinned at him. OK, she thought. You want to play kissy-face around Phillip? Fine with me. Somewhere during this flirty week, though, you’ll discover that I won’t reject you this time. And I will get you to love me again.

“Bella, Bella.” Rune’s voice rang out over the background of Andrea Bocelli singing “Immenso.” “I’ve got room here.” He patted his thighs and laughed. “How about a lap dance?”

“You should be so lucky.” Stillman answered for her.

“What’s this about Bella giving lap dances?” Phillip’s dry voice came from behind her. Bella turned to Phillip.

“Do you always sneak up on people?” As he smiled, wrinkles appeared at the corners of Phillip’s eyes.

“I can’t seem to let go of the view of Florence from the outer garden paths. It’s hypnotic.” He crossed by her and extended a rigid hand to Stillman. In a flat voice, he said, “Thank you again for the reunion. Great idea.”

Bella wondered how long Phillip had lived without passion.

Stillman turned to the group by the tables. “I’m going to dig into that plate of meats,” he said, motioning to the salumi, prosciutto, and mortadella, “have a doppio espresso, and I’ll be ready for the day.” Without even looking back, he said, “Bella, have at it, princess, or there won’t be anything left.” He layered thinly sliced meats onto his plate. “Anyone seen Meghan this morning?”