This Is Love

by Nana Malone

  “No. But yesterday... I kissed you. And... I’m sorry. I am not the kind of man to disregard the vows between a man and wife.”

  “I kissed you back. I’m a big girl. No need to worry about me or him. You have been kind. A friend to a lonely girl on holiday. I think it’s safe for us to be friends. Right?”

  He stared at her as if considering the consequences of being friends with a married woman. She nearly opened her mouth to confess that she wasn’t. But something held her back. The only defense she had for the weakness she felt each time he stared into her eyes was the lie she’d told. And it was true—her heart was too wounded to trust her feelings, no matter how new and innocent, for another man.

  “Friends?” he said. He offered her his arm.

  She accepted. “Friends!”

  They walked back up the street and around the corner. To her delight he had returned with the yellow Vespa. The scooter was parked among others.

  “Ah, so you don’t want to go for a walk. Another drive?” she asked.

  “Changed my mind. I think I know the perfect place to show you the love in my village.”

  “Where’s my helmet?” She crossed her arms in defiance.

  “We aren’t going far. No helmet needed,” he said.

  She put her purse and bag of shoes in the hatch and then got on behind him. Her arms again wrapped comfortably around his waist. It was this exact contact that had made things between them so tempting before.

  This time he drove at a moderate speed. There were too many people on the streets to zip around. She spoke into his ear with her chin resting on his shoulder.

  “So...was he a saint?” she asked.

  “Yes. And Valentine’s Day began eight hundred years before the birth of Christ,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. He turned the corner and she had to lean with him.

  “Eight hundred?” she gasped.

  “It was part of ancient Roman culture when the god of purification and fertility was worshipped on February 15.”

  “Wow. Why that date?” she asked. “Why not the fourteenth or sixteenth?”

  “I think I’m being fooled here. Do you know this story?”

  “Sort of, but I like the way you tell it,” she whispered in his ear and squeezed her arms tighter around him.

  He glanced back at her and she tingled inside to be so close to him. He returned his gaze to the street they drove along.

  “The date was chosen because February 15 was the end of the Roman calendar and the beginning of spring,” he said. They arrived again on the side street near the promenade, but they went down to what looked like a pier where plenty of sailboats were docked.

  “So who was St. Valentine?” she asked.

  “The story goes that an emperor believed that single men made better soldiers. The emperor banned marriage for young men who could be fighters in his army. A young priest called Valentine thought that this was wrong. So he defied the emperor and continued to marry young lovers in secret.”

  “Let me guess—that didn’t go over well with the king?” she asked.

  “Emperor, and no, it did not. When Valentine was discovered, the emperor imprisoned him and sentenced him to death,” he said.

  “That’s terrible,” she said.

  Niccolo chuckled. “The story isn’t over. While Valentine was in prison waiting to be executed, he became friends with one of the jailers. The guard had a young daughter who couldn’t see. What Valentine did for the jailer, some, to this day, believe to be a miracle.”

  “What did he do?” she asked, so fully enthralled by the tale she barely noticed he had parked at the pier. They were now facing the dark sea and could see many boats with lanterns attached bobbing on the water.

  “He restored her sight, and the jailer converted to Christianity. The day before he was to be executed, Valentine wrote a letter to the daughter of the jailer. He wished her and her father good health and good fortune. He signed the letter Your Valentine.”

  “Are you serious?” she yelped. “That didn’t happen!”

  “It did. Google it.” Niccolo smiled.

  “I will!” she challenged. She eased off the scooter and he came off next. She pointed at the boats. “What is going on?”

  “Night tours. Couples go out on the water with a guide who rows them close to the shore. So they can see that,” Niccolo glanced back behind him to the village. Aniyah looked back as well. The village was majestic from the pier. Almost every window was lit. The tower houses were almost taller than the cliffs and mountains behind them. They were packed tightly together, and again she loved the soft pastel colors of each.

  She put her hands to her hips. “This is beautiful. It’s the most beautiful place on earth right now.”

  “We aren’t done. Come,” he said. “When your husband arrives, you can surprise him with this gift I give to you tonight, and I will bring you both back here.”

  “Back to what? The pier?”

  Niccolo pointed to a boat that bobbed in the water. It was a small fisherman’s boat fit for no more than four people.

  “You want me to get on that thing? At night?” she asked.

  “I want to show you what St. Valentine sacrificed his life for,” he offered.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. She could swim. But the lie between them made the offer a bit odd.

  “We Italians treat everyone like family. I promise you, Aniyah, you will be safe with me,” he said.

  “Okay, okay, since you promised.” She chuckled.

  Niccolo went to the edge of the pier and pulled the boat in closer with the rope. She watched and waited as he tied the boat closer so they could step on it. She still had her doubts—the thing would probably sink the moment she boarded. He extended his hand. She accepted it and he pulled her closer to him.

  “I suggest you trust me tonight. I will do nothing to disrespect you,” he said into her ear.

  She looked up into his eyes and removed her hand from his. If she’d doubted he flirted with her before, she was certain he was doing so now. He went down and into the boat with ease. It dipped and he swayed, but he stood tall. His hands were extended up for her to join him.

  Aniyah hesitated. The wind was a bit stronger near the sea. It blew up the hem of her sundress.

  “Come on, I got you,” he said.

  She wanted to close her eyes but knew she couldn’t. She decided to accept his offer and take a leap of faith. A man of his word, he took hold of her and brought her over to the boat by her waist as if she weighed nothing. She gasped when the bottoms of her feet landed flat to the wood surface and held onto him when the boat shook violently as if it would topple over. Niccolo gave a deep, throaty chuckle.

  “You’re okay, cara,” he said.

  “Cara? You’ve said that to me several times. What does it mean?” she asked and let go of him.

  “It means...never mind, it’s just a word,” he said and sat.

  She did the same. He reached back and untied the boat. Then he removed the oars latched to the side of it and began to row them away from the pier. He turned them in the water. His back was to the village. She could see everything. The moon was so bright and huge in the sky it shone over them like a spotlight. The waters were calm. It was a perfect night for sailing.

  “I can’t believe how magical it all is. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said.

  “This is the Golfo Paradiso. It is the most beautiful stretch of the coast.”

  “What does it translate to?” she asked.

  * * *

  Aniyah tilted her head and Niccolo witnessed another angle of her beauty. Under the moonlight she looked just like his beloved Mya. The resemblance was so striking he couldn’t stop staring. This was what caused him problems last night. Her beauty and his lonel
iness. He would never kiss another man’s wife. Never! But he had. And he wanted to again. He cleared his throat. “It means Paradise Gulf. It’s what we call the Italian Riviera.”

  “That’s what this is, paradise. Do you come out here often?” she asked.

  “No,” he said softly. He watched her as she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. He had to look away when his gaze slid down her throat to her breasts. They heaved and fell with each intake of breath.

  “What work do you and your husband do?” he asked. Maybe conversation could ease the painful tightness in his chest. And keep him focused.

  “Denton is a chef. I do a little of everything, I suppose,” she replied.

  “Why did Zia Gabriella think you were a nurse?” he asked.

  She laughed. “No. I told them I went to nursing school. I didn’t finish it. I hated blood, the sight, smell of it. So I was kicked out of school for fainting.”

  His brows lifted and his eyes stretched wide.

  “Then I went to cosmetology school. I do my own hair.” She grinned for him.

  He nodded that he liked her hair. Tonight she’d used a flowered barrette to pin up the side of her ’fro. But the rest blew wild and free.

  “I dropped out. I decided to be a singer. Got a few jobs, and then I became an actress.”

  “Wow, you have had a lot of jobs,” he said.

  She frowned. “I’m not a scatterbrain. I know what I want. It just took me longer than most to decide.”

  “Oh, I meant no offense. I think it sounds exciting. Are you still acting?” he said as he rowed them away from the other boats.

  “No. I...well, Denton and I...we decided I would take a break.”

  Every time she mentioned her husband, she became sad, angry or aloof. He wanted to press her on the subject but decided not to.

  “This is so romantic. Do you bring many women out here?” she asked and chuckled.

  He supposed it was a joke, but the question burned at the center of his heart. “I would bring my wife here when we needed to talk. It was special to her.”

  “How did your wife die?” Aniyah asked.

  He didn’t answer. He remained focused on rowing.

  “Niccolo? Is it that painful to discuss?” Aniyah asked cautiously.

  He sighed. He closed his eyes but he couldn’t open his mouth to share the story. No matter how much time had passed, the thought of Mya’s senseless death would forever haunt him.

  “Are you okay?”

  He opened his eyes. Aniyah had sat forward and was staring intently at him. Her closeness made the sweet smell of her perfume tickle his nose over the strong aroma of the sea. He preferred her smell. Again he had to wonder about her absent husband.

  “How did she die?” she asked with concern.

  “She was pregnant. We didn’t know. The baby was in her fallopian tube. It ruptured,” he said.

  “An ectopic pregnancy?” Aniyah asked.

  “We got to the hospital too late. She died in my arms,” he said. Not once since her death had he spoken of how or why she died. Those in his village knew. But he had escaped. Spending many months in France and then in Spain. Never could he share the story with a stranger.

  “I’m sorry, Niccolo. She must have been very special,” Aniyah said.

  “Grazie,” he said. He turned the boat so that they could both look over at the place he had known all his life. “That’s the old harbor over there. You see the tower houses, the colors?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “They were painted that way originally for the fishermen. When out to sea it made it easier for them to find their way home. On the second of May, the town celebrates with another festival. We have large fish fries all over the coast. Villagers from Portofino and Santa Margherita all attend. Everyone in Liguria is here. It’s where I met my wife. She had studied in Rome and came to Liguria in search of work at our museum. But they turned her away. She was in need of work. I needed a hostess. It was love at first sight.”

  “So you and she own Mi Amore?” she asked.

  “Just me and my aunt now. Before we married it was the family hotel. Mya turned it into the lovers’ paradise it became. Her dream was to make every couple feel as loved as she did. It was just who she was. I’ve told you about Mya, now what is the story of you and your husband?”

  Aniyah looked away at the mention of her husband. As she often did.

  “I’m cold.” She shivered.

  “It gets cooler on the water at night. I’ll take you back,” he said.

  When she thanked him and said nothing more, he felt disappointed. The night should not end on disappointment.

  Chapter 6

  The party continued. They arrived to find the guests full of wine and dancing in celebration. She watched for a moment, not wanting the night to end. She loved hearing Niccolo’s stories. And now knowing the way he had lost his beloved, she felt even more drawn to the man. Maybe one day she would have a love story of her own.

  “Good night, Aniyah,” he said.

  “You’re going to bed?” she asked.

  “No.” He smiled. “I have work to do.”

  “At this hour?” She checked her watch.

  “We’ve entered the contest. Tomorrow this place has to be paradise. The judging starts at five. Plenty to do.”

  “Can I help?” she asked. “I didn’t tell you, but I also went to interior design school. Only for a few courses. But I’m really good at decorating.”

  He laughed. “Is there a school you haven’t attended?”

  “Cooking!” She frowned. “I hate to cook!”

  His brows lifted. “Really? Food is the next best thing to sex.” Niccolo laughed. “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded she was. That easy smile of his spread wider. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  He took her hand again. It was just natural for him to do so. They didn’t go through the open doors that led into the lobby of the resort. Instead he took her down another path. It was darker, the bushes weren’t as manicured and a few branches snagged her dress. She hoped it wasn’t ruined. Niccolo arrived at a door and unlocked it. He held it open for her. She peeked inside the darkness.

  “It’s okay. Go in,” he said.

  She braved the door and walked inside. He came in and closed the door behind her. Complete darkness descended over her eyes.

  “Niccolo!” she cried out.

  She heard movement behind her and then the lights above flickered on. Large fluorescent lights as bright as the sun. Blinded, she put her hand to her eyes. She lowered them slowly and looked around. They were in a kitchen. A very homey, small one.

  “Welcome to my second home,” he said.

  “Really?” she asked. What is it with me and men who like to cook? She walked around the kitchen and smiled. “Okay, I’ve seen it,” she said with a shrug.

  “Have a seat. I will prepare you something quick,” he said and went to the sink to wash his hands. She sat down. Denton had done all of the cooking and she had never showed any interest. He’d either deliver a meal to her in bed or call her to the kitchen when he was done. He was very territorial about his kitchen. She rested her face in the side of her hand—bored.

  “So you grew up here? In this place?” she asked.

  “I did. It wasn’t quite like this before. We’ve added to it over the years.”

  He began to pull out all the ingredients he would need. He had everything—green and yellow peppers, eggplants, prosciutto, and blocks of cheese. She watched him dice ingredients.

  “So your husband is a chef?” he asked. “And he never taught you how to cook?”

  “Never wanted to learn,” she said.

  “But food, it’s special when prepared by s
omeone you love,” he told her.

  “Did your wife love to cook?” she asked.

  “We loved to cook and feed each other. Yes,” he said.

  She sighed.

  He tossed the diced vegetables into a pan with olive oil. He sautéed them with a bit of salt and pepper for about a minute then moved them from the pan to a platter and drizzled balsamic vinegar over them. He picked up a meat mallet to pound the carpaccio.

  “Come closer, let me teach you,” he said.

  “No,” she answered.

  “I can teach you and you can prepare dinner for him when he arrives. It would be special for you both if you surprise him—”

  “I said no!” she snapped.

  Niccolo glanced back at her. His brows lowered with concern. He returned his attention to the meat. “Are you and your husband separated?”

  Aniyah put her face in her hands. She was tired of the charade. She was tired of the lies. And most of all she was tired of the comparisons. When Niccolo didn’t say anything further, she lifted her face from her hands. “We aren’t separated. We never married.”

  He turned away from the food and stared at her with concern. She nodded that her confession was true. “A few weeks before the wedding, he called it off. Said he didn’t want me.”

  “I don’t understand. Why?”

  “You don’t understand? What about me!” she shouted. “I was with him for three years. I poured my soul into that relationship. What about me?”

  He walked over to her and Aniyah stood up. “I want to go upstairs. To my room. Thanks, but I need to go.”

  He blocked her from leaving. He lifted her chin with his finger. Her eyes pooled with tears but she could still see his face clearly. “I don’t understand what kind of man could turn away from someone as special as you. That is what I mean, cara,” he said.

  He tilted her head with the push of his finger underneath her chin and his mouth drew closer. She closed her eyes and swallowed. An intense longing took over her before his lips connected with hers. When she parted hers to respond to him and raised her arms to his neck to draw him in, his mouth moved away. The soft kiss was delivered to her nose, and then to the dent between her brows as her frown deepened.