To Tuscany with Love (5 page)

Phillip’s eyes shot to Bella, but Stillman stepped between them; he linked his arm with Bella’s, her bare skin warm against his. He winked at her. “Ready to explore?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Grinning, he pulled her with him toward the center of the Campo.

It couldn’t have worked out better for him.

Stillman led Bella into the narrow street directly opposite the spot where they had left the others. He had exaggerated, of course. He remembered Bella checking out scarves and the art print store next to the shop, but he hadn’t a clue as to which street it had been on. In fact, he thought it had been away from one of the piazza’s spoke streets, down an almost hidden alley.

They’d find a scarf, any scrap of fabric that satisfied Bella, and then he’d take the grateful Bella to a dark alley and empty bench; he’d lost count of how many they’d passed this morning.

“I remember it being off one of these spoke streets.” The deep-toned confidence sounded convincing, even to him. He let his hand slip lower to hold Bella’s hand, and he pretended to lead her.

Off the main streets, narrow, cobbled alleys held more shops and restaurants, often with a handful of cloth-covered tables nestled against the building. One alley opened into a mini-piazza, complete with a fountain and park bench. Draped over the sun-drenched seat, a couple about their age groped each other and necked as if they were tucked into the back seat of a car hidden off a country road.

Stillman stopped, surprised they had chosen such an open, sunny spot. He muttered, more to himself than Bella, “What the hell?”

Bella tugged his arm to propel him forward. “They have nowhere else to go. More than likely, they live with their parents and grandparents in one house or apartment.”

Stillman’s groin perked to life. He had to focus on something else or his buddy would announce his thoughts to the world. His eyes roved the buildings, focusing on the architecture—surely a snoozer. He spotted a row of reliefs above them on the stone building: a lion adjacent to the arched doorway, a coat of arms, a martyred saint. “Look,” he pointed at the guardians of the home. “Those are major stud.”

Bella looked at him as if he were loco.

Stillman felt himself go flaccid. He shrugged. “When I’m a doctor, I’ll have money to spare. I want to drive fast cars and own a big house—a mansion with a circle drive and carved reliefs.”

“You’ll be the rich doctor, why not?” Her head tilted back as she studied the medieval art. “You’re from the South. Which do you prefer: animals or humans?” One eyebrow rose at him in a wicked, mocking challenge.

Perfect. He feigned indignation. Stillman leaned his torso backwards, away from her. He let his voice rise. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

He stepped forward, slid one arm behind her lower back and supported the back of her head with his other hand, sweeping the startled girl backwards over his arm in a tango dip. “I prefer ladies. But only foxes, like you, of course.” He pulled Bella upright, rested his palms on her shoulders and dropped his chin as if he were serious, and leaned toward her. Her smell—perspiration and baby powder—filled his nostrils. “You owe me an apology for the animal crack.”

Bella’s lips pecked his. Before Stillman had time to return the kiss, she skipped out of his grasp. She moved farther down the alley and giggled. Raising her voice, she said, “Excuse me. But you do like animals: foxy, lady animals.”

He ran after her, only to have her sprint ahead. He caught up with her in a few feet. Stillman pinned Bella against the wall.

Her shoulders drew away from the wall as her bare arms met the cool stone.

One hand on her shoulder, he pinned her back to the wall. Stillman pressed his other palm flat against the stone, and stepped into her. This time, Bella met his mouth with eager lips. His hand had started to slide from her shoulder to the crook of her neck when she pulled out of the kiss.

“I still want to find that scarf for my mom.”

He wanted to jump her right here and now. His thumb traced circles on her neck. “I like it here.”

She smiled. “It is cooler, in the shade.” Bella slid out from his arms and skipped two steps up the street. “The scarf. My mother, remember?”

He resigned himself to her singular focus. “You’re pretty tight with your mother, aren’t you?”

Bella nodded. “She was a young mom and worked her butt off to take care of me. Her family disowned her when she got pregnant.” Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, as if she could sense the similarity in their mothers’ past. Bella straightened with pride. “Mom put herself through college. She’s a high school teacher. Somehow, she saved up enough to pay for my plane ticket over here. And she took on a second job to pay the rest.” She looked down. “Summer abroad was her idea.”

“Why?”

“She thought if I stayed in the States with all the demonstrations and protests, I’d decide to drop out.”

Bella’s shoulders trembled, as if a sudden chill had raced down her flesh. “But there’s something else, too. I think something is going on with her that she’s not telling me.”

“A boyfriend?”

Bella shook her head. “Mom doesn’t date much. Hardly ever, in fact. She seemed preoccupied when I left. Not sappy ‘I’ve-got-a-new-boyfriend’ preoccupied, more like, you know, distracted.”

They walked in silence to the end of the street. Not looking at Bella, Stillman guided them down another street, one that sloped downhill. After the steep inclines they’d walked this morning, his legs had gotten heavier with each successive hill. Where was that damned shop?

“I appreciate your help. I really do.” Quiet determination marked her words. “I refuse to give up on finding the store. I know there are a ton of other scarf shops, but it’s a matter of principle at this point.”

“What’s my reward for finding this infamous shop?”

Expressionless, she studied his face. “How ’bout something soft and smooth?” Her husky voice hit him below the belt. She flicked her eyebrows up. The tip of her tongue pressed against her upper lip. “Something ... lickable?”

The wanting hit him hard. Stillman stepped back and jutted out his butt, afraid his arousal would scare her off. He nodded. “Let’s go find that shop,” he said, his words throaty with hunger. He wiped his damp palm against the back of his jeans and grabbed her hand. Stillman pulled her behind him. He had just made the best deal of the summer.

They wandered street-to-street; Bella’s frustration with not finding the store became more evident as the afternoon wore on. Stillman dragged her into other stores, but she insisted none had the same selection of scarves.

Hours later, he no longer held her hand. The afternoon’s heat closed in on them in the narrow passageways. They dragged their legs like wooden fence posts, heavy and unyielding after trudging the cobblestone streets.

Stillman attempted a methodical search of the side streets, without luck. Most of the shops had closed for the afternoon.

They rounded the corner of the street where they had started and spotted the twins exiting a building. The girls closed the thick wooden door behind them; they hadn’t seen Stillman and Bella yet. Meghan’s neck was draped with a pink and red scarf. Before Stillman could speak, Bella sprinted ahead to the girls.

Stillman caught up with them. His eyes traveled from the brass plaque on the door to the plate glass window of the neighboring shop. The window showcased large posters advertising an opera performance. Stillman could just make out the corner of the Palio print he remembered, peeking out from behind the posters. He heard Bella laughing with the twins and knew he had no time to waste.

He pulled on the wrought-iron handset. The heavy door, which the shopkeeper closed to keep out the afternoon heat, swung open. A glance inside confirmed his assumption. Stillman bent low and swept one arm toward the entryway in an exaggerated bow. “Your scarf store, I believe.”

“Sure,” Bella said, sauntering into the coolness of the store, “take the credit after Meghan discovers it.”

“I found it, didn’t I?”

He pulled the door closed behind them. “You have to admit, we started on this street.”

The scarves lay on tables just inside the door. Neat rows of fanned color, similar to playing cards spread to show a run in solitaire, covered the tables. A stiff plastic sleeve encased each swirl of color.

Beyond the tables in the narrow shop, leather coats, purses, and belts lined the walls. A small desk occupied the center, and beyond it stood a full-length mirror and tables of handbags. Opposite where they stood, the store opened into a wider, more traveled “spoke” street. They’d passed the store from the other side as well, Stillman realized.

He watched Bella poke among the scarves. Her long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, which were covered enough by her blouse for admittance into the churches, but only just so. Bella’s arms and legs had tanned during the weeks here, burnished to an olive brown.

“This one.” She raised a plastic packet with a red, white, and black swirl scarf. “It’s perfect.”

Back on the street, Bella pressed him to her in a bear hug.

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Stillman loved the smell of her hair, and the way the heat had intensified the natural scent of her body.

She shrugged and smiled. “No matter.”

He dipped his chin. His eyes twinkled at her. “So when do I get to collect my reward? Tonight?”

Her lips parted wider. “No.” She grabbed him by one wrist and tugged. Bella pulled him along, back toward the Campo. “Not later. Now.”

The bright light of the open Campo made him blink to focus. The piazza had filled with people and a buzz of voices. He kept his voice light. “I was hoping for somewhere more private.” His stomach flip-flopped. He couldn’t think.

Without warning, she stopped behind a cluster of people, causing him to crash into her. Stillman’s arms circled her to prevent them both from toppling over. Bella stepped away and spun to face him. She raised her eyebrows.

“What’s your pleasure?” The corners of her eyes squinted with her smile. “Chocolate?
Limone?
” The cluster of people straightened into a queue in front of the gelateria.

Stillman remembered the specifics of her reward offer. He laughed. Regardless of the bait-and-switch, he knew she had thought about it. About sleeping together. And she wanted him. He could feel it. He also had a hunch about Bella. He’d bet she hadn’t given in yet, that she still clung to virginity.

Bella handed him a cone with pale, yellow-white gelato.

Stillman lifted an eyebrow at her and made a show of oh-so-slowly licking the cool, refreshing lemon gelato. Tasty.

They were still enjoying the gelato-filled cones when the rest of their group joined them from across the piazza. The others had waited inside the museum in the base of the tower for over an hour.

Hope peeked inside the glossy red bag draped over Bella’s wrist. “You found a scarf,” Hope said. “It’s beautiful.”

Bella nodded, her pleasure still evident.

Meghan and Karen giggled.

“Did you have much trouble finding the shop?” Meghan’s tone implied that an answer wasn’t expected.

Stillman took a deep breath, aware of how Lee’s and Phillip’s eyes darted to him. He was embarrassed that it took him hours to find the scarf store. His pride would take a bigger hit if Phillip knew he’d spent the day leading Bella aimlessly through the streets instead of necking on a bench. Stillman felt the heat first at his hairline. Phillip laughed. The burn slid around Stillman’s eyes, onto his cheeks, and down his throat. Certain he was torch-red, Stillman turned his back to the growing laughter. He tossed the remainder of his cone into a trashcan. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You earned your reward.” Bella’s suggestive tone implied much more than the truth. The laughter behind them died.

He glanced over at her. Her back to the others now, she winked at him. She nodded her chin at him with one slow motion. She had rescued him.

Stillman put one hand on the small of her back, moved closer to her, and twisted her around to face their friends. His other hand covered hers, which held a cone of gelato. With slow, exacting deliberation, he licked an errant drip on Bella’s cone. Stillman summoned a soft, throaty voice reserved for practiced lines in front of a mirror. “It was the best afternoon of my life.”

Bella smiled, silent. A perfect “ladies don’t tell” response.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stillman saw Phillip grimace.

“I’m starved,” Rune said.

Phillip said, “Maybe we should have an early dinner.”

Hope muttered something about munchies and bought Rune a gelato. She looked over at Phillip and motioned to the array of gelato flavors. Phillip shook his head.

Stillman draped an arm over Bella’s shoulders. Phillip glared. He knew Phillip didn’t give a rat’s ass about dinner or food. No. Phillip was upset about Bella. Stillman smirked. He stood on second base and was poised to steal third. The preacher was gonna love Bella—he always did flirt with the pretty ones in church.

7

South of Atlanta, Georgia

D
ust swirled across the long dirt lane. Hot, humid air pulled the sweat from Stillman’s six-year-old head, frizzing his auburn curls and sending creeks of water from his forehead to his chin. The dirt clung to his cheeks like dew to grass on an early spring morning. He sat on the edge of the wooden front porch, waiting and watching the road for the rolling cloud of dust that signaled a car.