This Is Love

by Nana Malone

  “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!”

  She desperately tried turning it off and back on, but each time she got the blue screen. It was broken.

  Aniyah used the banking app on her phone to look up her checking and savings account. What she discovered was pitiful, but it might work, if she were frugal.

  In her room, Aniyah dragged out her suitcase and makeup bag. She grabbed every stylish sundress she could find in her closet. She didn’t realize it then, but later she would remember that she was smiling.

  * * *

  “So let me get this straight. You are on your way to the airport. You’re still going to Italy?” her aunt Donna asked.

  “Yep! Traffic is crazy today. If I don’t get there in the next twenty minutes, there is no way I can make this flight.” Aniyah slammed her hand on the steering wheel when a car cut her off.

  “Slow down. You haven’t called me in over a week. Your cousin and I were on our way to come see you. The wedding planners, the church, you haven’t returned any of their calls. I spoke to Samantha. She had to contact all your guests and tell them the wedding is off. And you lost most of your deposits, honey. Do you even have any money?”

  “Auntie...”

  “Don’t auntie me! You’re being reckless again. Impulsive! Leaving the country? You haven’t healed. And you need to deal with Denton. That is the responsible thing to do.”

  “What I need is to get away from Chicago. From him. And don’t worry, Denton could care less.”

  “What about money? You still haven’t answered me. I know you don’t have much. You emptied your accounts for that wedding. I got your creditors calling here. And you haven’t had an acting job in months.”

  Aniyah sighed. Her aunt was an expert in all the things she hadn’t done or didn’t have. She was really killing her mood. “I will be gone for seven days. I have enough money. The resort is all paid for, including meals. I have enough to get me through it. Don’t worry, Auntie. I just... I need to do this for me.”

  “Let me put some money in your account,” her aunt said.

  “No!” Aniyah said. “You have done enough. I’m tired of having to call you to fix my problems. I even had Denton fixing my problems. The wedding is off and I’m okay. I’ll go to Italy, soak up some sun and clear my head.”

  “Call me when you land. Promise me!” her aunt said.

  “I promise! Love you. Ciao!”

  Aniyah drove up into the park-and-pay at the airport. It would be nine dollars a day. She chewed on her bottom lip. She had lied to her aunt. She had about three hundred dollars to her name. She would have to set aside sixty-three dollars for her return. That made a dent in her limited funds. Seven days in Italy with $240? What did that translate to in euros? Could she really pull this off? She parked. It would be so easy to call her aunt and ask her for another loan. It would be even more responsible to stay home and deal with the financial fallout of her canceled wedding. However, Aniyah never liked life when it was easy or responsible. She wanted adventure. She wanted Italy.

  Chapter 3

  Niccolo Montenegro walked the line of his employees. His tanned olive-brown skin and well-groomed appearance was a stark contrast to the grief-stricken man who had left them a year ago. Niccolo had changed and he was determined to let them all know it.

  His hands were clasped behind his back. His seafront hotel had once been the most popular along the Italian Riviera and had catered to the affluent. But a year and half after he left its care to his aunt and cousin, the fortune his family had acquired over fifty years had nearly been depleted. He’d had to return. This was supposed to be the salvation of his dead wife’s dream while he was away tending to his bitterness over his loss. He was a fool to have turned his company over to them. He was a coward for leaving. And with only three days left before the festival. He was desperate to find a way to save them all. If something didn’t change for all of them quickly, he’d have to close the doors.

  “I trusted you. And look at this place. Look at it! Patetico!” he said. He picked up a paper heart sprinkled in confetti from the reception desk. He tossed it to the floor and dusted his hands. “I’m back now. No more freebies, no more handouts. We have three days left until the festival, and we will turn a profit this year.”

  The employees exchanged looks, and only a few nodded in agreement. Niccolo had seen the books. The place was at half capacity. They were in the red. Nothing short of a miracle from Saint Valentino himself could save them. After Mya died two years ago he’d tried to keep their dream alive. Grief, however, was like an anvil hung from his neck. Even the smallest attempt to move away from the pain required so much physical and emotional strength he collapsed over and over under the weight of it. And this place, with all its beauty, celebrations of love and happiness, had strangled the life out of him. He’d had no choice but to run away. The isolation made the empty grief and despair harden his heart, yet he’d healed. If it weren’t for his aunt calling and explaining the state of their affairs, he might never have returned.

  “Niccolo,” Zia Gabriella said.

  “I’m not done!” he silenced her. “All-inclusive? Zia? You and Elaina made Mi Amore all-inclusive? Dannazione! If you are going to take away every opportunity to turn a profit, then the cost to stay here must compensate! And what have you done to bring in more couples? Several hotels have all kinds of parties and festivities? You decorate with a few hearts and glitter and offer free alcohol? That’s it!”

  The assistant manager and event coordinator of the Mi Amore was Elaina, his third cousin. And she was nine months pregnant. She stood at the center of the employee gathering with her eyes lowered in shame and her hands resting on her belly. Yelling at his elderly aunt and pregnant cousin made him feel like an ass. He had all but turned the business over to them after Mya’s death. He could not believe the dire financial state they faced in just a year.

  Elaina’s gaze lifted, and he could see tears on her cheeks. Full of exasperation, Niccolo threw his hands up in defeat and stormed away. He was only a step into his office when his aunt Gabriella charged in after him. She slammed the door behind her.

  “Basta!” his aunt shouted. “Niccolo, how dare you treat them that way? Elaina? Have you lost all of your senses?”

  “Has she? We are in debt because—”

  “Because of you!” His aunt pointed a finger at him. “You left us. You disappeared when we were all grieving the death of Mya. We did the best we could to keep this place from sinking into debt, but we’ve missed her, too. Now you return and it is our fault you’re so unhappy?”

  “None of this is about my happiness,” he countered. “This is a business, Zia!”

  “None of this is about the business. It’s about your grief. I see it in you, Niccolo. Sure, you look fancy in that suit and with that tan, but I see it in you! If you can’t let your misery go, then you should leave. I’d rather see Mi Amore close its doors than become bitterly unsavable like you!”

  The words hit him hard. Before he could counter, she stormed out of the office. Niccolo sat on his desk. He sucked in a deep breath to calm his temper. Mya was good at teaching him balance. She’d been the one that grounded him. He’d become a better man because of her. Now who would he be without her?

  Images of her and their life together became the focus of his memory. He saw her rushing through the office looking for some forgotten token she wanted to bestow on a guest. He’d have to pull her from a task by both arms to steal a kiss.

  The price of recalling the sweetness of his wife’s lips beneath his own was another punch to his gut, along with the memory of watching her die in his arms. Niccolo put his face in his hands.

  Someone screamed.

  Niccolo stood. It was a woman’s scream. And it was followed by another and then another...

  * * *

  The driv
er spoke little English, but during the drive along the coastal highways out of Genoa to Liguria he made sure to point out some of the most beautiful scenery. Aniyah soaked in everything, from the sun to the architecture of buildings and gardens that had to be centuries old. And to her delight, Camogli was near the sea, where the water sparkled a deep turquoise blue. She used her cell phone to record some of it and snapped a few pictures of the yellow, pink and blue flowers blooming on the sides of the road. And then they traveled along a narrow one-way street between tall buildings and up steep inclines. She could see into the stores. A few local people even smiled at her. Aniyah smiled in return.

  “We are here,” the driver said.

  She leaned forward and looked out to a gated villa covered in wild vines and decorated with red, white and green ribbons.

  “Oh, wow! Is this it?” she asked.

  “Si, signora, benvenuto in Camogli!” The driver welcomed her to Camogli before he got of the little box-shaped cab and walked on his short thick legs to the gate. He pulled one open and then another before returning. They drove up to the tall wooden abbey doors. Aniyah didn’t bother to wait for him to open her door. She was quickly out the car, soaking in every detail.

  “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe how serene this place is,” she said. “How old is it?”

  “I think, aye, it’s old. Eh? Two hundred? Yes, two hundred years.”

  “Wow?” she gasped.

  “Salvatore Montenegro built it with his brothers.”

  “That’s so cool.” Aniyah snapped a few more pics and then sent them to her aunt to make sure Donna knew she would be okay.

  The driver walked over to the back of the car and removed her luggage.

  “Even the air tastes sweet.” Aniyah chuckled. She turned her face up toward the sun and inhaled deeply with her eyes closed. She spun around in a circle with her arms extended. Two weeks of tears and misery, a ten-hour flight to paradise, and she felt renewed. Then another cold gust of wind hit her and she covered her arms. It dawned on her that she never checked the weather. She just assumed she was going to the tropics. Those passing her were covered in jackets and long pants. It was February and freezing in Chicago. But in typical Aniyah style she left every coat she owned at home. She shook her head and smiled.

  When she stopped she locked eyes with a couple who had stopped to stare at her. The young blonde woman smiled and her tall companion winked. Aniyah nodded to the couple. They walked off hand in hand behind a troupe following a person who looked to be their guide.

  “Guests?” she asked the driver.

  He dragged her luggage over to her.

  “Si, signora, you are in the Golfo Paradiso, a lover’s paradise,” he said.

  The resort was exclusive to couples only. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen this one over the less expensive ones. The people expected to pick up newlyweds. The lies she told had started at the airport when the driver had asked about her husband. It dawned on her that the deception would have to continue for the duration of the stay. She’d have to keep to herself and not draw any attention to her circumstances.

  “Andiamo,” the driver huffed. He lifted both suitcases and waddled toward the abbey doors.

  Aniyah was quick to follow. She glanced back once more at the couples leaving for their tour. It would be Valentine’s Day soon. God help her.

  When she entered the resort, a woman screamed. It scared the hell out of her. The few people gathered in the front of the establishment all froze. A young woman with long raven hair, doubled over holding a very swollen pregnant belly. An older woman shouted the name Niccolo while two younger men half carried, half dragged the pregnant woman to the sofa. Aniyah’s driver dropped her luggage and went after them to offer help.

  “Niccolo!” another person shouted, and the woman continued to scream through her tears.

  A man appeared. Her gaze froze on his broad shoulders and beautifully proportioned masculine form as he walked over to those shouting and pacing around the pregnant woman. He was tall, dressed in dark slacks and a hunter green shirt that had sleeves rolled up to the bend of his elbows. She didn’t see his face, but his presence calmed everyone. The man knelt next to the woman, who was now panting as if she were about to deliver. He whispered something in her ear as he rubbed her belly with care. The woman smiled and appeared to relax, just a little.

  “Scusimi, signora!” A woman grabbed her arm.

  “Ah? Yes?” Aniyah answered.

  “Are you a dottore? Are you?” the woman asked.

  “Me? No. I, uh, went to nursing school for six weeks but dropped out because...”

  “Nurse! Aye! Infermiera! Infermiera!”

  “Wait, what? What are you saying? No, no, no, infermiera...” Aniyah protested.

  The woman dragged her over to the small gathering of people.

  “Niccolo, she’s a nurse,” the woman said in Italian, which Aniyah couldn’t understand.

  He glanced up at her. His ruggedly handsome face was vaguely familiar. She’d met many actors and models in her line of work. All of them had certain characteristics a director looked for, a look that would capture a girl’s interest in a print ad or a thirty-second commercial. This man had that look. His face was bronzed by many days in the wind and sun. He had thick, curly jet-black hair cut short with long sideburns. And his eyes were dark brown swirls of beauty ringed in long dark lashes. His lips were perfect in symmetry under a thin mustache that connected to a trimmed goatee. And he was probably the same age as Denton, in his early thirties.

  The moment their eyes met, she felt her heart flutter. If they were in a scene, the director would’ve yelled “cut” over her stupefied staring. Jeesh, do they make all the men in Italy this way? And then he spoke with a deeper accent than the woman holding her arm so tight it felt like she had pincers instead of hands.

  * * *

  The woman before Niccolo stopped his heart. He had to blink twice to clear his vision. For a moment, a brief one, he thought his beloved had returned to him from the dead. He nearly spoke her name: Mya.

  But the petite black woman before him in fancy red shoes and a white sundress had thick curly hair, and wore bright red lipstick, which Mya never did. Still, she was his dead wife in every other way. Her slender waist, fine hips and shapely thighs with toned legs were nothing compared to the perfect bosom he looked past to connect with her dark brown eyes.

  “Are you a nurse?” he heard himself ask in Italian. He repeated the question in English. Because he knew she was not from his world. Just as Mya had not been.

  Her glossy, plump red lips parted and her white teeth sparkled beneath. She glanced to his cousin Elaina, and when she looked at him once more a surge of curious desire stirred in his gut. What if she spoke and her voice was like Mya’s? What then? Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Could reincarnation happen in a matter of two years? No, it was crazy to think it. But damn it, something was going on. Where had she come from?

  Elaina screamed again. He snapped out of his own stupor and returned his attention to his sweet cousin. She was suffering. He stroked her round tummy and whispered in her ear.

  “Forgive me, Elaina. I am so sorry for arguing. Don’t worry. We will protect the baby.” He leaned in and kissed Elaina’s tearstained cheek.

  “The medics are coming for her. But the festival may delay them. What should we do, Niccolo?” Margareta asked.

  He swept his cousin up in his arms. “Andiamo!”

  * * *

  One look into his eyes and she was rendered deaf, dumb and mute. The only other man that had that effect on her was Denton. And this man was nothing like her ex-fiancé.

  The older woman grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Aniyah could do nothing but follow. So this was Niccolo. He carried the weeping pregnant woman in his arms as a savior would. He
was strong. He walked with his back erect, his stride long and confident. The man with the dreamy eyes and sexy name would help the pregnant woman, she was certain. But what the hell was she doing being dragged into the rescue?

  He placed the woman down on a bed. The room was quaint. It had a bed and dresser and French doors that led to a balcony. The cool-colored walls and the lazy swipes of the ceiling fan gave a soothing calmness that everyone needed.

  An older woman removed the weeping woman’s panties while others put pillows behind her back. Niccolo gave instructions in his native language to the people entering and leaving the room, bringing in the things that he needed.

  “Qual è il tuo nome?” he asked. Aniyah shrugged her shoulders to indicate she didn’t understand him.

  “Your name, signora?” Niccolo asked. “What is your name?”

  “Ah, I’m, um, Aniyah,” she stammered.

  “I’m going to need your help, Aniyah. Wash your hands, per favore.”

  “I’m not a nurse,” she said.

  “You are now,” he assured her. “I’ll do the work. You keep my family back so I can get the baby.”

  “Your family? Are all of them your family?” Aniyah counted at least thirteen additional people in the room.

  Niccolo chuckled. “Most of them, yes.”

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

  He gave a half smile. “I am now.”

  “But shouldn’t we take her to a hospital, get a real doctor?”

  “The nearest ospedale is thirty-two kilometers away. She won’t make it. Please, signora, help Niccolo,” said the older woman in the room.

  It suddenly dawned on Aniyah that they were going to deliver the baby there. No way in hell was she ready for that. It was one of the main reasons she’d dropped out of nursing school. The sight of blood made her faint. She turned to leave when another woman rushed in with more towels. They were all speaking Italian. No. They were shouting in Italian. Their collective voices were so loud she could barely hear Niccolo’s direction. She couldn’t understand anyone.