The Florence Affair

by Kristy Tate

  He tapped his forehead. “I’m good with spatial estimations. I got you a floral bikini. I knew you’d hate it, but I can’t wait to see you in it.”

  AT THE BEACH, ZANE chased Rose around, but when she proved too hard to catch, he went after Posey, who, due to her bum ankle, was a much easier catch.

  Posey put her arms around Zane’s neck. “I’m not afraid of the water,” she told him, “or you.” But Flora noticed that Posey shivered as the tide splashed her legs.

  His smile broadened. “I can be dangerous.”

  “That’s true,” Flora called out. “Just so you know. He is, for once, telling you the truth.” Although she knew the girls weren’t in any real danger. She was the one who needed to be cautious. She dug her toes into the sand.

  Still, she felt awkward watching the others have fun, so she dove into the water. The cold enveloped her, taking her breath. She pushed through a wave and cut through the water with clean, strong strokes.

  “Hey. Wait for us,” Zane called out.

  Flora treaded water, looked back at the beach, and caught sight of Zane. Rose and Posey hung on him. Flora dove back into the churning surf.

  A hand snagged her ankle. She came up sputtering. Zane grabbed her around the waist and tossed her into the air. Seconds later, she hit the water. Holding her breath as long as she could, she sank to the ocean floor. Beneath the waves, she headed for a pair of hairy legs and tackled the back of a pair of knees.

  Zane collapsed and she cut away from him. He surfaced minutes later, far enough away so that her splash couldn’t reach his face. He looked surprised, and then grinned. He lowered his face into the surf and dashed toward her.

  Rose and Posey splashed their way over.

  “Hey, you guys want to swim out to the island?” Posey asked.

  Zane looked at Flora with a question in his eyes.

  “Swimming doesn’t bother your ankle?” Flora asked.

  Posey grinned. “It actually hurts less in the water.”

  “Then, sure, I guess,” Flora said, knowing the girls were both strong swimmers.

  Flora swam hard and fast, as if she could put all of the Zane memories behind her. The blue-gray water swirled around her, and she pushed through the bubbles. She was dimly aware of the others trailing behind. She thought Zane had passed her, but she wasn’t sure. She swam until her arms and legs tingled with fatigue. Lifting her head from the water, she looked around for the others. She opened her mouth to call out, but a voice stopped her.

  It was Zane, but he sounded...off.

  Flora spun in the water, churning her arms and legs like an eggbeater. She spotted the girls, but didn’t see him. A wave washed over, buried her in the swelling tide, and carried her to him.

  CHAPTER 7

  A shock of pain stung Zane’s leg. It traveled up his leg and settled in his gut. He flailed, trying to see what had happened. A wave washed over him and water filled his nose, eyes, and mouth. He surfaced and spat, but another wave took him down. Nausea rose in his throat as he sank further into the tide.

  Sound grew muted. A jellyfish floated by. His lungs burned. Someone grabbed his arm in a vise-like grip and pulled him to the surface.

  Zane sputtered and spat before sucking in a deep breath. Someone tugged on his arm, towing him. He closed his mouth and eyes as water rushed over him.

  Finally, he found his feet. His legs felt wobbly, but he made it to the shore before sinking onto the sand to examine the track of welts on his thigh.

  “How many times do I have to save you, boy?” Flora asked, collapsing beside him. She lay on her back and stared up at the sun.

  Despite the agonizing pain shooting up his leg and turning his stomach, Zane was still hyperaware of Flora lying beside him, salty and sandy, like she’d been all those summers ago when he’d first fallen in love with her.

  He was still in love with her. The realization was as brutal as the jellyfish sting. He rolled over to gaze at her.

  She pushed herself up onto her elbows and met his gaze.

  “What happened to you?” Rose asked. She stood over them, blocking the sun, and casting a shadow that sent a chill through Zane.

  “Jellyfish,” Zane said in a strangled voice.

  “Oh.” Rose made a face. “You don’t want me to pee on it, do you?”

  “No, thank you,” Zane said.

  “That’s not necessary,” Flora said. After bouncing to her feet, she announced, “I’ll go and see if I can find some vinegar.”

  “Vinegar?” Rose echoed.

  Flora nodded. “We’re in Italy. It should be easy enough to find.”

  Rose and Posey settled on the sand on either side of him as if they were sheepdogs and he was their lone lamb. While they debated on whether or not to enlist the aid of the lifeguard, Zane closed his eyes and fought against the pain.

  He couldn’t decide what bothered him more—the pain ripping through his body, or the knowledge that he wasn’t over Flora and the suspicion that he never would be.

  FLORA RAN TO THE SHOPS lining the beach’s boardwalk and skittered to a stop in front of a café. She spotted twin bottles of oil and vinegar sitting on every table. A few patrons sat at the bistro tables, but she couldn’t see anyone who worked there. After promising herself that she’d return the bottle immediately, she snatched one off the table and jogged back toward the sad threesome huddled near the shore.

  “Ehi!”

  Flora glanced over her shoulder to see a dark man dressed in a wifebeater tee and a low-slung jeans coming after her. She sprinted toward Zane.

  “Arresto!”

  Flora uncorked the vinegar bottle and splashed it on Zane’s leg before the man could catch up with her.

  “Whatever it cost, I’ll pay for it,” Flora called out before the man could tackle her.

  Now that he was next to her, she could see he had large brown eyes, full red lips, and a well-toned build.

  Rose and Posey nearly swooned when he pulled up beside them.

  “Cosa sta succedendo?” he asked.

  Rose rambled off a response.

  The man’s lips twitched as if he were biting off a laugh, and his gaze lingered on Zane’s thigh. He said something else that was equally unintelligible to Flora.

  “He said he wants a hundred dollars for the vinegar,” Rose said.

  “A hundred dollars?” Flora gasped. “That’s outrageous.”

  “But worth it,” Zane said. “I think it helped. It feels better already.”

  “We’re not paying a hundred dollars for his little bottle of vinegar,” Flora said.

  The man said something else.

  “Or he’ll go to the police and have you arrested,” Rose said.

  “That seems fair,” Posey put in. She had large doe-eyes and looked completely smitten. “After all, you did steal it.”

  “For Zane.” Flora waved at Zane.

  The man said something else.

  Rose’s eyebrows shot up. “He says he’ll forgive you and allow you to keep the vinegar if you’ll go out to dinner with him.”

  “What?” Flora asked.

  “Not happening,” Zane said.

  The man said something and gestured at Zane.

  “He wants to know if you two are married.”

  “No,” Flora said.

  “Impegnato?”

  “We were engaged once,” Zane said.

  “You were?” Posey asked.

  “You never told us that!” Rose exclaimed.

  “Yeah, we thought you were a lesbian,” Rose said.

  Zane snorted.

  “Why would you think that?” Flora asked.

  “Because all those men we met were always so interested and you didn’t look at any of them,” Posey said.

  “Mom was okay with it,” Rose said.

  “No one would think any less of you if you were,” Posey said.

  “I would be disappointed.” Zane motioned at the Italian standing beside them with a hopeful expression. “And
he might be, as well.”

  Flora lifted her chin. “Fine. I’ll meet you for dinner tonight.”

  “What?” Zane exploded. “You don’t even know this guy.”

  “But only if we can eat at your café,” Flora said.

  Zane sniffed. “This is not happening.”

  Rose elbowed him. “Why not? I think it’s romantic.”

  Zane snorted again and rubbed at his leg. “You’re not eating dinner with this guy.”

  Flora’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Maybe you should have married her when you had the chance,” Posey told him.

  “I tried!” Zane exploded.

  “That’s not what your dad told me,” Flora said.

  “What did my dad tell you?” Zane asked.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation here in front of the girls,” Flora told him.

  “Fair enough.” Zane pushed to his feet and grimaced.

  “You’re still hurting,” Flora said.

  “Of course I am.” Zane took her elbow and steered her a few feet away.

  The girls and the Italian watched them, and Flora disliked having an audience.

  “Whatever my father said to you, it couldn’t be any worse than what your mom said to him.”

  “I’m not my mom.”

  “And I’m not my dad,” Zane ground out.

  “Can we put all this behind us and forget it ever happened?” Flora asked.

  “Tell me about that night,” Zane insisted.

  “What difference does it make? It was a long time ago.” She turned, motioned for the girls to follow, and stalked away.

  Zane went to get the car and caught up with them at the curb.

  “How are you going to dinner with that guy when you don’t have a car?” Zane settled behind the driver’s seat beside Posey while Rose and Flora climbed into the back.

  “I told him—via Rose—that I would have to take a rain check.”

  Zane took a deep breath and started the car, but Flora could tell he was still annoyed.

  THAT EVENING, AS ZANE sat at the hotel bar nursing a drink while wishing he could somehow orchestrate another Flora encounter, he spotted her crossing the lobby. With her hair tied up in a ponytail, she wore shorts, sneakers, and a T-shirt. Exercise clothes.

  He was wearing jeans, leather loafers, and a white button-down shirt—sitting-at-a-bar-and-sulking clothes. Still, he followed her and caught up with her on the sidewalk. “Flora.”

  His voice startled her and her head jerked in his direction.

  As always, her beauty took his breath. “Where you going?”

  “For a run.” She threw the words over her shoulder and started to jog. The few people on the street made way for her.

  He trotted beside her. “On your own?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Obviously.”

  “Can I join you?” His shoes were stiff and his jeans rubbed against his thighs. He’d have blisters tomorrow in all sorts of uncomfortable places.

  Her amused gaze swept over him. “Are you sure you want to?”

  “I’m sure I don’t want you running out here at night alone.”

  Her lips tightened and she cut him a quick look before heading up the hill that led to the edge of town.

  “Where are we going?” Hesitation touched his voice.

  “Just up to the top.” She stopped and turned, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you scared of the dark?”

  “There might be snakes.”

  “Snakes like the sun.” She started running again. “Are you telling me that you’re not afraid to swim with jellyfish, but you’re afraid of a few sleepy snakes?”

  “Hey, I didn’t know I was swimming with jellyfish. I wouldn’t have gone in if I’d known all the pain I’d have to endure.” His shoes felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. Should he try taking them off? Or would he lose her if he stopped? “What about bad guys and the mafia?”

  “Maybe we can find a chickencoop for you to hang in.” She ran backward, taunting him.

  “I didn’t say I was scared,” he grumbled, following her with long strides.

  But he was, sort of. Not that a few dozen bunnies or a couple of snakes or a random coyote frightened him. What scared him was Flora. And his feelings for her. He followed her to the top of the hill, admiring the view of Flora’s backside more than the star-studded sky, wishing he could touch her, wondering what she would do if he did. The moonlight caressed Flora’s face when she turned to him.

  She pointed to a distant campfire.

  “What is it?” He squinted into the dark at a cluster of vehicles––vans, trailers, pickup trucks––parked in a clearing. Shadows moved through the trees.

  “Gypsies.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “Living,” she replied. They jogged in silence for a moment. “I have a better question.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m jogging.”

  She smirked and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Zane swallowed and tightened his fists. He saw Flora’s direction, and he wasn’t ready to go there. He didn’t know why he couldn’t let Flora walk—or in this case, run—out of his life. It was as if an invisible tether kept him tied to her. He didn’t want to admit this to himself and he most certainly didn’t want to share it with her.

  She’d break his heart. Again.

  He swore under his breath and looked up at the stars. They sparkled down on him but told him nothing. This is where I lose her, a voice in his head whispered. But another voice told him that she had never been his to lose. How can I make her stay? he asked the voices. Stay where? He had no home. He was as much a vagabond as the gypsies in the pickup trucks and vans parked in the clearing. And with all these competing voices, he was beginning to question his sanity. Flora deserved someone sane.

  He trained his attention on the distant ocean—a long strip of unfathomable black stretching to nowhere.

  At the top of the hill, Flora folded her arms, like a barrier, across her chest. “I know you.” He saw her anger mounting with every ticking moment. “This attraction you pretend to feel for me, none of it was ever real, was it? It was all a pretense seven years ago, and it still is today. You think I’m playing hard to get, but I’m not. Stop chasing me and leave me alone.”

  The ice-cold finality of her words froze Zane. “I can’t.”

  Flora chewed on her lower lip before she added, “Why not?”

  “I loved you once.”

  “Then where were you?”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was tied up.”

  “Tied up,” he repeated. “Well, I’m sorry you were too busy to start your life with me.” He grabbed her by both arms and kissed her. Hard.

  At first, she barely moved. She broke away from him and touched her lips with the back of her hand. “You told me you wouldn’t do that again.”

  He closed the distance between them and took her back into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “But I wanted you to know that whatever this is between us is no lie.”

  Lowering his head, his kissed her again. This time, much more tenderly. She leaned into him, responded, and then tore away. He felt cold and lifeless without her pressed against him. This is how it will always be, a voice told him. I’ll be cold and empty without her. Her loss overwhelmed him, even though she stood only inches away. He reached for her and she backed down the hill.

  “I don’t trust you or myself,” she said in a ragged voice, before she turned and ran.

  “I don’t blame you,” he whispered into the dark night. “I don’t trust myself either.”

  ZANE CALLED HIS FATHER as soon as he got back to the hotel. He stood on his balcony watching the cars and people on the streets below scurry and saunter. His thoughts went back to that long-ago night—what should hav
e been his wedding night—that had turned his life upside down.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his dad responded.

  “Seven years ago, the night I was supposed to elope—”

  “How am I supposed to remember something that happened nearly a decade ago?”

  His father had a mind like a steel trap. Nothing ever slipped his mind. Ever.

  Suspicions tingled up and down Zane’s spine. “You told me she came asking for child support.”

  “But there wasn’t a child, was there?” his father said as if this proved his point.

  “So, you do remember...”

  His father harrumphed. “You dodged a bullet, boy.”

  “Did Flora come by, or only her mother?”

  “Both. First the mother, then the girls.”

  “Girls?”

  “There were two.” He paused. “They didn’t take the money I offered them. That surprised me.”

  “What happened?” Zane asked, his throat tight.

  “They all disappeared, including the mom.”

  “And you paid Cass, but not the girls?”

  “That’s right. You were too young to marry, so of course, I did the right thing in doing what I could to prevent the marriage.”

  “You smug idiot,” Zane breathed out. “What did you tell her?”

  “Just that you weren’t ready for marriage. It was the truth!” he bellowed. “Although I may have embellished things.”

  “Embellished things?”

  “I had to dissuade her. Girls like that, they can be persistent.”

  “Girls like what?”

  “You know, young, fanciful, the romantic types that think they’re in love.”

  Incapable of speech, Zane ended the call and let the phone fall to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed with his trembling hands clasped between his knees.

  If she’d loved him, why had she left him standing in the parking lot? He had seen her lying in her bed. But had he? Maybe he’d seen Sicily. If it hadn’t been Flora, then where had she been?

  Bolting from the room, running down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time, he found himself at her door seconds later. He knocked. Then he banged. No one answered. “Flora. Open up. It’s me.” He rested his head against the door.