by Amanda Usen
“Come on!” Gia urged, catching Olivia’s hands and pulling her forward. “I know where we’re going.”
Olivia followed her into a stone corridor with crumbling walls and a high ceiling. It was dark and cool in the hallway. Sean took her hand as she began to climb the stone steps, and she was glad she had something to hold on to as they crested the staircase. Her head spun. “Whoa.” A dizzying sea of people stretched left, right, and center, surrounding an elaborate stage.
Gia led them to the left and up another stone stairway. Sound rose around them as they climbed. Olivia noticed that many people were perched on the simple stone steps, miles away from the enormous stage. “How will we be able to hear anything?”
“The acoustics are perfect. We’ll hear every note,” Gia promised.
Her cousin stopped and gestured for them to take their seats. The Germans slid in first, then Sean, Olivia, and Gia. Alessandro took the last seat in their row.
Olivia sat down, glad that her seat was padded. Two hours sitting on a rock would kill her back. “What is this for?” She waved her candle.
Her cousin’s excited smile made her look like a teenager. She held out a lighter and touched it to the wick of Olivia’s candle first, then her own. “Look around us.”
Olivia raised her head and saw that other people were lighting their candles too. As night fell around them, the Arena began to glow with thousands of small candles. The tiny lights made her feel reverent. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Do they do this at every performance?”
Gia nodded. “It’s tradition. Just think, if you’d come next week, you would have missed it. The opera season ends soon, and this is the last performance of Romeo and Juliet. I bet people have come from all over the world to see the show tonight.”
The candles burned quickly, which was good because when the orchestra filed into their seats and the conductor took his place, applause swelled around them and Olivia wanted to clap too.
The conductor raised his hands.
The noise stopped instantly and the silence was as stunning as the sound.
Olivia held her breath. One note, a violin, pierced the air, and a throng of performers poured onto the stage, singing. The words were sung in Italian, but she knew the story. Even if she hadn’t, Juliet’s voice was so full of passion, so pure and clear, it would have been obvious she was singing of love. She glanced over at Gia who was gazing at the stage with moony-eyed rapture. It figured. Her cousin was hopelessly, helplessly romantic.
Despite herself, she was drawn into the performance right up until the moment Romeo killed Tybalt. She tried to hide her disdain but near the end of the play, Sean tugged his fingers out of her tight grip and leaned to whisper, “I’d give a million bucks to know what you are thinking about.”
She spoke through gritted teeth. “How can anyone think this play is romantic? Do you think they sell I hate Romeo T-shirts outside? I want one.”
She heard him chuckle. “He’s young. Passionate. Impetuous.”
“He’s a complete idiot and he betrays her. Romeo and Juliet are better off without each other.”
Sean put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “The costumes are fantastic, the dancers are beautiful, and the orchestra is phenomenal. You are sitting in the largest open-air opera house in the world. Take it for what it’s worth, Olivia. Life is good.”
She shot him a sideways frown beneath a lowered brow. “Not for Juliet.”
“Then be glad you aren’t her.”
“I can do that.” Olivia looked up at him. “You aren’t going to run a sword through someone and get yourself banished, are you?”
“Nope.”
Over his shoulder, the moon rose above the Arena wall. The air grew heavy between them. She reached up to kiss him. His lips were sweet, the moment sweeter. As they kissed, she heard the lovers onstage die, asking God for forgiveness. The music swelled. Her heart beat faster. She wanted to kiss Sean all night. The current of desire that had been running through her since this morning crackled to life. In her imagination, he’d been making love to her all day.
She was ready now. Ready to take her night.
Something sharp jabbed her side and Olivia broke away from Sean, rubbing her ribs where her cousin’s elbow had found its target.
“You two almost made it,” Giovanna observed. “But can you please wait until you get back to the villa to play Romeo and Juliet? Otherwise, I’ll get jealous.”
“Oh, shut up. You’ve had at least two dozen Romeos, cuz.”
“And I see the next one.” Gia’s eyes lit up. “Vincenzo!” she called.
A man standing about ten rows below them turned his head. Gia stood and edged past Alessandro. When she reached the aisle, she caught Olivia’s eye and waved. “Don’t wait up.”
***
Sean watched Gia dance down the stone stairs, surprised to see that Gia’s new Romeo was the man who had been arguing with Alessandro in the market today. Was it his imagination or had the man just shot Alessandro a smug look as he wrapped an arm around Gia?
“Shall we go?” The Germans urged him toward the aisle. Alessandro headed down the stairs. He and Olivia followed, with the Germans in tow, and Sean wondered if Alessandro would stop and talk to the man. He hoped not. He didn’t want anything to delay them. He was looking forward to going back to the villa and disappearing with Olivia until tomorrow morning. He shifted to ease the fit of his pants, then realized the problem wasn’t arousal. He had set his new cell phone on vibrate and it was ringing in his pocket.
It was Russo. Damn it.
“Hello?” The crowd had carried them into the Piazza delle Erbe, and Sean stepped to the side to talk.
“I just got your text. What do you mean think about coming to Italy?”
“Your wife has said she won’t contest the divorce if you agree to a two-week vacation in Italy. It’s worth consideration.”
“Did you give her the papers?”
“Yes.” Sean pictured Mrs. Russo’s devastated expression as she realized her husband had sent him. “But serving the papers is just the first step. She’ll retain an attorney who will file answering papers and then we’ll have to exchange financial information, go through discovery, and take depositions. We’ll have to reach agreements on support, custody, and property, just to name a few. That will take a hell of a lot longer than two weeks. It will also cost more. At least this way, you get a vacation out of it.” Oddly, Sean didn’t feel a bit guilty as he waded into murky ethical territory.
He could almost hear Russo grinding his teeth. “How long will it take if she doesn’t contest?” he asked.
“Best case scenario—two months.” With Mrs. Russo’s agreement, they could claim the marriage was irretrievably damaged and speed through the process.
“I’ll let you know when to expect me.” Russo ended the call.
Sean rejoined the group. “Sorry about that. Duty calls.” He checked the time. It was late, but he suspected Mrs. Russo would want to know her husband was coming to Verona no matter what the hour. “I just need to make one more quick phone call before we go.” It would only get later and he didn’t want to be thinking about work when he got back to the villa.
Alessandro slung an arm around Olivia’s shoulders and steered her toward a busy café. “No problem. We’ll have a drink while we wait.” Sean glared at his back as the Germans hurried to keep up with them.
Sean dug the Hotel Loggia Antica card out of his pocket, wishing just this once he could shrug off responsibility. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Mrs. Russo, but the Villa Farfalla gang was already seated and ordering. The damage was done. He might as well finish the job.
***
Olivia looked away from Sean, pacing back and forth in front of a statue as he talked on his new cell phone, and ey
ed the shot of limoncello Alessandro placed in front of her. “Is it supposed to be bright yellow?” she asked. “It looks atomic.”
“Take a sip,” he urged.
She picked up the glass and sniffed. Next to lavender, lemon zest was her favorite scent and the Limoncello smelled like lemon zest in liquid form. She took an eager sip.
Lemon fire hit her nose, then her throat. “Oh my God,” she croaked. “That’s fabulous.”
“And potent,” Alessandro warned, downing his shot in a gulp.
Her second sip went down smoothly—probably because her throat muscles were paralyzed. The alcohol hit her immediately, making her feel giddy. She would limit herself to one drink and hope the heat in Sean’s kiss had meant what she thought it did. Oh God, what if it didn’t? What if attending to business was his way of letting her down gracefully? Maybe she had imagined the regret in his eyes as he walked away. Maybe it had been relief instead.
Alessandro signaled for another round, and she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt were keeping up with him. “Just water for me,” she said, resisting the urge to drown her doubts in citrus vodka.
When the next round arrived, Alessandro tossed it back and ordered a third.
“Rough day, Chef?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No rougher than the rest of them.”
Olivia nodded. She knew that feeling well. The happy bustle of the café made her feel isolated, especially when the Germans excused themselves and joined a spirited discussion of terroir at the next table, leaving her alone with Alessandro.
“I’m not really a chef, you know.” Alessandro’s low whisper carried across the table.
Had the Limoncello pickled her brain cells already? “Pardon me?”
His grin was full of mischief. “I’m a waiter. I thought I should tell you the truth before the cooking class tomorrow. We don’t want a catastrophe,” he said cheerfully and snagged his new drink right out of the server’s hand. “Salute!” He tipped the glass.
“But what about all that glorious food? The osso buco? The ice cream? That perfect white beef stock?”
“Marco does most of the cooking with ideas I find on the Internet.”
“No way!” Internet recipes were notoriously unreliable, and no one could make food that good with luck. “But you’ve been at Villa Farfalla for almost a year, right? How on earth did you fool my mother for that long?”
“She is so busy, she doesn’t notice who is cooking as long as dinner is ready on time.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He shook his head. “Why would I lie?”
Now that she thought about it, it made sense. She’d never actually seen Alessandro cook anything and Marco had been a huge help to her today. “Why does he help you? Why doesn’t he demand to be the chef?”
Alessandro raised his hand, trying to catch the eye of their server again. “We have an understanding.”
Olivia assumed that meant he was paying him. A zillion questions hit her at once so she started firing them at him. “Who made the lasagna?”
“Me. All fifty pounds of it.”
She chuckled. “Lasagna is like that. It never looks like enough and then the noodles multiply. What about the gnocchi?”
His eyes darkened. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
She sat up straight in her chair and put her hands on her hips, remembering her indignation. “You put me to work chopping herbs that first day!”
He held up his hands. “I didn’t know what else to tell you to do.”
She slumped as she realized she’d had so little faith in herself that she had allowed him to intimidate her. “What about that list you made for Marco? You didn’t have any trouble telling him what to do.”
Alessandro looked sheepish. “That’s easy. He made the list himself. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
That struck a chord. Having run her own kitchen for two years, she knew exactly how hard it was to keep other people busy. The boss had to organize, inspire, and keep everyone moving. That’s probably why she’d been so happy in the kitchen today—she had only been in charge of herself. The cooking class tomorrow would be another matter entirely. A kitchen full of amateurs attempting to cook an untried menu was a recipe for disaster. She winced as she realized those recipes had probably been cribbed off the Internet too. Maybe she should have another drink.
She tilted her head to the side. “Why are you telling me now? Why not keep your secret?”
Alessandro grimaced. “It wouldn’t be a secret for very much longer. You’ve barely left the kitchen since you got here.”
Ironic, since she had come to Verona to escape a kitchen.
He continued, “Plus, I’ve never made bollito misto in my life. Or la peara. Or a cake.”
She groaned and buried her head in her hands. “Tell me Marco has.”
“I hope so. The menu was his idea,” he said.
That was something, at least. She took a deep breath and lifted her head. It was easier than she had expected to make the shift from being the person following directions to being the person giving them. The class was truly her responsibility now. Hers and Marco’s.
Alessandro finally caught the attention of the waitress, but when she arrived with his shot, Olivia said, “He’d like a glass of water, please.” She pointed at the complimentary snack mix on the table. “And eat up, Chef Alessandro. I expect you to be useful tomorrow.”
His glazed eyes met hers. “Are you going to tell your parents?”
She shook her head. “Then I’d never get out of the kitchen.”
“But isn’t that what you want? To cook at Villa Farfalla?” His voice held an accusation and his dark eyes flashed with challenge. “Your mother has talked of nothing else for months. My daughter can cook anything. She wouldn’t burn the sauce. I wish Olivia were here.”
She snorted. “It’s only fair to tell you she’s been saying the same things to me. My new chef is amazing. His pesto is perfetto! I was sick of you before I even got here. Trust me, the last thing I want is your job, but I won’t have you making me feel like an intruder in the kitchen either. You keep doing your thing, and I’ll do mine.”
Alessandro looked wary as he gazed across the table at her. She was fiercely glad he felt threatened by her, even though she had no intention of staying at the villa. God, she couldn’t imagine anything worse than being directly under her mother’s thumb again. “Do we have an understanding?” she asked.
He nodded slowly.
“Good.” She reached across the table and picked up his shot. “Salute,” she said, watching Sean walk toward them.
Chapter 13
Olivia pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. It was time to go. They’d lost enough time already. The look on Sean’s face could only be described as hungry, and he was looking at her.
Mrs. and Mr. Schmidt said goodbye to their new friends, and Sean led the way to the car. She was relieved when he gestured for Alessandro to climb into the back of the vehicle.
The chef laughed. “Nonsense, it will be an adventure if I drive.”
“Your driving is enough of an adventure when you’re sober. Humor me.” Sean held out his hand for the keys.
With a philosophical shrug, Alessandro handed them over and crawled into the car. Olivia sat in front.
“Where can I take you?” Sean asked, when everyone was inside. “I’m happy to pick you up for work in the morning.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” the chef mumbled. “I can get a ride out to the villa tomorrow no problem.”
“What did you do to him?” Sean whispered as Alessandro began to sing something in Italian that had the Germans crying with laughter.
“Don’t blame me. I cut him off at three drinks. Lightweight.”
In between vers
es, Alessandro called out directions to Sean, leading them on a circuitous route through the city streets. Finally, Alessandro called “Alt!” also apparently the punch line to the joke he was telling.
Sean pulled to the curb in front of a small house that looked like it had been divided into apartments. Alessandro got out of the car.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked.
The chef laughed. “Never better.” He leaned in the window to kiss her hand. “Grazie.”
Sean cleared his throat loudly and Alessandro let go of her hand, chuckling.
Sean pulled away from the curb before Alessandro reached the house. The rest of the drive was silent. The Germans seemed to have finally run out of energy, and Olivia was floating in a happy bubble of quiet anticipation.
As soon as they had reached the villa and bid the Germans good night, Sean pressed close behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist. His beard stubble rasped her neck. She turned to face him.
“Olivia, I’m sorry I had to make that call—”
She reached up and pressed her fingers to his lips. “I don’t want to hear any apologies right now.” She felt brave and desirable, and she didn’t want the feeling to disappear again. The words would get in the way.
This was her moment. She knew it even before she took it. Suddenly it was easier to breathe, easier to be. “Do you want me, Sean? Do you want to make love to me tonight? Because if it’s too late or you’re tired or you have work to do, tell me now. Rejection feels like failure, and I’ve had enough of that lately.”
His eyes blazed and his arms tightened around her. “I want you.”
She savored the raw thrill that shot through her as he dropped a kiss on her lips. Her heart began to pound. Heat and gratitude filled her with euphoria. She turned toward the stairs and held one hand back to him. They climbed the stairs hand in hand, not speaking. His thumb played over her knuckles, stroking heat into her body, filling her with melting desire.
She unlocked her door and stepped through, hearing the lock click as Sean shut the door behind them. She turned around. Sean drew her to the bed. His fingers were nimble on the buttons on the front of her dress. “In a hurry to live out your high school fantasies, counselor?”