by Amanda Usen
Betrayal knocked the breath out of her. “What the hell were you doing with Mrs. Russo?” she gasped, furious.
“Not Mrs. Russo. Her husband. Shhh, my head is killing me.”
He looked like his head was killing him. His face was gray and his eyes were shut tight. His shirt was untucked and he had one fist pressed against his forehead.
Mr. Russo was in Italy now too? She lowered her voice, somewhat mollified. “Why weren’t you in your room when I woke up?” Wincing at the whine in her voice, she quickly asked, “Where did you go?”
“I had to go get Russo. I forgot to tell you. You looked so pretty asleep in my bed. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry,” he mumbled, and rolled over, scrubbing his face into a pillow.
She grabbed his shoulder and hauled him onto his back. “Hold on a minute. I’m not done with you yet. Sit up.” She went into the bathroom and rifled through the drawer, sure she had seen a first aid kit in there. When she found it, she grabbed a pack of ibuprofen and ran a glass of water from the tap.
She returned to the bedroom. Sean was sitting up, but his head had fallen back against the headboard. He groaned when she touched his shoulder. “Here.” She handed him the glass of water and the pills.
“Now, what’s going on with the Russos?” she asked when he had finished drinking.
He groaned again and collapsed sideways in the bed. “Who knows? Mr. Russo wants a divorce and Mrs. Russo will only play nice after her vacation.” His voice was muffled by the pillow. “I can’t imagine how those two stayed married for almost thirty years. Can you keep an eye on them while I get some sleep?”
“Where’s Mr. Russo?” she asked, covering him up with a blanket.
“I gave him my room.”
Sean caught her hand and tried to draw her into bed with him. “Not a chance, pal. I want coffee.” And some time to think about the fact that she had been way too disappointed when she woke up alone for this to be a simple fling for her. “Sleep it off. I’ll watch the Russos.” She pushed his hand away and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Why did she find it so disturbing that Sean had left her in bed to carouse with a client? She had often run into Sean at Johnny’s bar late at night and on weekends, and it was hypocritical to be upset about him facilitating the breakup of a marriage. He was her divorce lawyer, after all. It was his business to break up marriages. Still, it hurt. She wanted to mean more to him than a week of good memories.
Not good. So not good. Apparently she was incapable of having a decent breakdown and having a proper affair. It would be funny if it weren’t so damn tragic. She shoved the kitchen door with more force than necessary and gasped when Mrs. Russo jumped out of the way.
“I was just…I wanted—” Mrs. Russo began.
“I’m sorry!” Olivia exclaimed at the same time. “I know better than to open a door that fast.” She frowned, taking in the other woman’s tear-streaked face.
Mrs. Russo dropped her eyes. She hovered in the doorway, seeming to be uncertain of whether she should stay or flee.
“Can I make you a cappuccino?” Olivia asked. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t function without coffee in the morning. What brings you into the kitchen so early?”
“I wanted coffee too,” Mrs. Russo admitted. “But I can’t work the machine.”
“It’s not as complicated as it looks.” Olivia began assembling the ingredients. The kitchen was empty, so the black car must have been Sean and Mr. Russo returning to the villa. “I hear your husband has arrived.”
Mrs. Russo flinched.
Olivia paused. She set the milk on the counter, unable to ignore Mrs. Russo’s distress any longer. “Listen, I have no idea what is going on with your marriage but is there anything I can do to help?”
Mrs. Russo shook her head. “My husband wants a divorce.”
“And you don’t?”
A sad smile curved the older woman’s lips followed by a melodic sigh. “I want my husband back.”
“Well, he’s here. You must have done something right.”
“Have you ever seen one of those fishing shows on TV? The ones where they catch a huge marlin, and it fights and fights, and by the time it’s on the boat everyone is exhausted and at least one person is bleeding?”
Olivia nodded.
“That’s us. Tony is the fish, but I’m not tired of fighting him yet.”
“So what are you going to do when you catch him? Throw him back, like they do on the fishing shows?”
“I’m not sure. If both of us survive this, I might jump back in the water with him.”
“I never would have thought of that,” Olivia said, taking a deep breath. Was that the answer to her problem too? Did it have to be a fling? The spark of an idea began to glow, but it was too early for heavy planning. She needed caffeine to clear the cobwebs from her head.
Olivia flipped the switch and the nozzle began to steam and hiss. Over its roar, she asked, “Would you like a frittata? I’m in the mood to cook breakfast.”
***
Sean blasted his lingering headache with a hot shower and went down to the kitchen, sure he would find Olivia there. It wasn’t quite lunch time and he hoped to lure her away with another fantasy—a picnic.
Most of the guests were in the game room and the kitchen was quiet. Olivia, Alessandro, Marco, and, strangely, Mrs. Russo were working in the lower kitchen.
“Good morning,” Olivia greeted him with a gleam in her eyes. “How’s your head?”
“Fine.” He glanced at Mrs. Russo. “Has—”
“He’s still hiding.” Mrs. Russo put her hands on her hips. “As well he should be. What was the meaning of sending me a text if he wasn’t planning on coming to the villa? I was up all night waiting for him.”
Sean winced, feeling lucky that he’d managed to get Russo to Villa Farfalla at all. “Sorry about that. He’s—”
“Impossible?” she supplied. “Ornery? A pain in the behind?”
“Still sleeping, I guess,” Sean finished with a bland grin. “I’m sure he’ll be down directly.”
Mrs. Russo snorted and went back to chopping onions. He hoped her red eyes could be attributed to the vegetable and not her husband, but he wouldn’t count on it. “What’s on the schedule?” he asked Olivia. “Any chance we can sneak away for a picnic in the vineyard?” After listening to Russo talk about his wife last night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to witness their reunion.
Olivia frowned, looking around the kitchen. “The guests are going into the village for lunch and a walking tour, but there’s a lot to be done for dinner…”
“Which can all be done after your picnic,” Marco piped up from the stove. “An excellent idea. I’ll pack it myself.”
Olivia looked torn.
“Fantastic.” Sean smiled his thanks at Marco, then turned to Olivia. “Go get changed and meet me on the back patio.” She looked reluctant to leave the kitchen, but she went.
Sean was waiting with a blanket and a basket when she arrived on the patio fifteen minutes later. He’d never seen anyone pull a lunch together as fast as Marco and Alessandro, and he was grateful. He was still annoyed with his client for keeping him out of bed last night. Nothing sounded better than spending the next hour or two stretched out on the soft blanket with her.
They found a little clearing not too far into the woods behind the villa and chose a shady spot on the edge for the blanket. Sean felt the last of his hangover disappear as Olivia smiled at him. He loved seeing her like this, carefree and happy. They lounged in the sun-dappled shade, eating fruit, cheese, and thin sandwiches made on flat bread. Across the clearing, a stream trickled into the deeper part of the forest, providing tranquil background music. She unearthed a packet of cookies with a grin of delight. “Still hungry, are you?” he asked
.
“Nope, just feeling indulgent.” She sank down onto the blanket and stretched. He rolled over and looked down at her, noticing that her forehead no longer showed a hint of the lines she had worn in New York. Her mouth was soft, her jaw relaxed. Her clear green eyes held nothing but drowsy pleasure and contentment. “Why so solemn, counselor?” she asked, curving a hand around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.
He licked a crumb off her lip. “Just thinking about how much I love being here with you.”
She smiled. “I love it too. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed. I’m not sure I ever have.”
He bent to kiss her. “Italy certainly agrees with you.” Her mouth opened sweetly and hot need replaced the sinking feeling in his stomach. How could he ask her to go back to New York with him, back to all the things that had carved lines in her face and filled her eyes with fear and doubt?
She mumbled something against his lips, and he drew back. “What was that, darling?”
Her sigh puffed against his lips. “I wish I didn’t have to make dinner tonight. I’d love to go into town and do some sightseeing. We could stuff ourselves silly, drink until we’re senseless, and…” She trailed off.
“Make love until we pass out?”
She bit her lip and her cheeks got pink, but she nodded.
“So why can’t we? Why do you have to cook dinner? Isn’t that Alessandro’s job?”
“Technically, yes. But he can’t cook.”
“What?”
“While you were talking to Mrs. Russo after the opera, Alessandro confessed he’s really a waiter—he can’t cook at all.”
“Then why did he take a job as a chef?”
“I didn’t ask. I was scrambling to figure out how to handle the cooking class and wondering whether or not we were going to…”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he forgot they’d been having a conversation. When he came up for air, he remembered to ask, “So who has been doing the cooking?”
“Marco.”
“So let Marco cook tonight.”
She laughed.
“I’m serious. Let’s go into town—or to Venice. The villa was doing just fine before you got here.” Except he knew that wasn’t true. Mrs. Marconi had actually almost smiled at him when he had introduced her to Marilyn Russo and explained she wanted to book a two-week stay. And hadn’t Gia told him the villa was having money trouble?
He felt like a traitor for not wanting Olivia to become more firmly entrenched in the everyday operations of the villa, especially when it was clear she was so valuable. The cooking class yesterday had been an enormous success. In fact, he’d overheard the guests asking when the next class was scheduled. He also knew the grape harvest was approaching, and that there was a big party planned for the weekend. That meant Olivia would definitely be needed in the kitchen. He should be glad that she had found happiness here, and yet all he wanted to do was spirit her back to New York where he couldn’t lose her again.
Her hand stroked his back. “I would if I could—”
“But you can’t,” he finished for her.
She shook her head and even though his heart ached, he was proud of her.
He looked down at her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and her hair was spread out on the blanket. “At least we still have a few hours.” And the rest of the week. It wouldn’t be enough, but he wasn’t going to waste a minute of their time together.
***
Olivia sat up and yawned. “What time is it?” She hadn’t meant to drift to sleep but her full stomach, the warm sun, and Sean’s fingers stroking her hair had relaxed her to the point of unconsciousness.
“Two thirty,” he said. “I was going to wake you up at three.”
“Time to get moving,” she said, yawning again. “You’ve been keeping me up too late.”
“Complaining?” he asked. “If I remember correctly, you were the one keeping me up last night.”
Their eyes caught, held. She traced his playful smile with a fingertip and laughed. “A technicality.” She rolled off the blanket and got to her feet, stretching the kinks out of her back and watching Sean repack the basket and fold the thin blanket.
“Thank you for the picnic. It was lovely,” she said. It was also another first for her. The more time she spent with Sean, the more she realized how much her marriage had lacked in the romance department. Her ex-husband had never taken her on a picnic. He’d never held her while she slept and stayed awake to make sure she wasn’t late for work. For once, thoughts like that didn’t make her feel bitter. She wasn’t going to waste her energy being angry with Keith anymore. She would just love Sean instead.
A dull roar filled her ears and she missed the words coming out of his mouth. “What did you say?” she asked.
“I said it was my pleasure.” He took a step toward the path, looking back at her when she didn’t follow. She turned her back, pretending to take one last look around the clearing to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. There was no point in denying it anymore, at least to herself. She loved him.
On some level she had always hoped to rekindle their high school connection. Was that what had prompted her to take her restaurant business to a divorce lawyer? Was that why she had turned to him when her marriage failed? She had certainly jumped at the idea of spending the week with him. She swallowed hard, feeling sick as she remembered Sean hadn’t argued the night she told him she might not return to New York. He hadn’t brought it up since then either. For all she knew, he was enjoying a vacation fling with her. Period.
“Olivia? Are you coming?”
She squared her shoulders and turned around, pasting a smile on her face. A few slow steps brought her back to his side and she took his hand and held it. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too new, too fragile, and possibly all in her imagination. She wasn’t going to be the one to turn this week into something it wasn’t. That would ruin the fantasy for both of them.
“Let’s go,” she said and led the way back to the villa.
When they reached the back patio, Sean followed her into the kitchen. “Hey, chefs, what’s cooking?” she asked Alessandro and Marco, who were peering into a stockpot. They broke apart.
“Minestrone,” Marco said with a wink, grinning back at her. “Then shrimp with grilled polenta.”
“Antipasto?” she asked.
Marco held up a hand and crossed to the cooler. After a moment, he declared, “Cheese. A few perfect vegetables.” His dark eyes lit up. “And I found some fresh white figs in the market today.” He held up a piece of prosciutto and gave her a triumphant grin.
She was still full from their picnic, but the menu sounded perfect. “Sounds great. What can I do?”
“Dolci?” he said hopefully.
She groaned. She was much better at the savory side of the kitchen. Marlene had always handled desserts at Chameleon. She felt a pang of guilt as she remembered she had forgotten to return her call yesterday—and why. She glanced up at the clock. Marlene was just beginning her work day now and probably wouldn’t welcome an interruption. “Dessert, huh? All right.”
Marco pulled a tub of mascarpone out of the cooler. “Tiramisu?”
She shook her head. “Needs to set overnight and unless you have ladyfingers, I’d have to make them.”
He looked so disappointed that she relented. “Fine, I’ll make it for tomorrow. But for tonight, something simple.” What, she had no idea, but she’d figure it out. “Give me something small to do while I think.”
Marco tossed her a bucket of broad beans. She nodded and grabbed a cutting board, showing Sean what to do with the beans. They worked in silence for a minute. “Any of that lavender ice cream left?” she
asked Alessandro.
“About a gallon.”
“Perfect.” She had just enough time to make pastry dough and put together a couple of tarte tatins. They could bake during dinner, and the lavender sorbet would be exquisite, melting over the hot flaky crust and harmonizing with the floral notes in the caramelized apples. “I’m going to need some room on the stove,” she warned the boys.
They shrugged and began consolidating pots and pans. She left Sean with the beans and did a sweep of the kitchen to gather ingredients and consult a cookbook from the shelf on the desk. She quickly tossed the right ratio of flour, salt, and sugar into a bowl and grabbed a pound of butter from the reach-in. She plugged in the food processor next to Sean. A few minutes later, her dough was wrapped and chilling and she was peeling apples.
She could feel Sean’s eyes on her as she worked. She moved faster, showing off a little. She hoped they could find another small task for him to do so he would stay in the kitchen and keep her company.
“Olivia! There you are.”
She turned to see her mother on the stairs. “Ciao, Mamma.”
Her mother caught sight of Sean and frowned.
Olivia smothered a giggle. Her mom would really glower at him if she knew they had spent the day making out on a picnic blanket. “Do you need me for something?” Olivia asked.
Her mother nodded. “I need to talk to you.”
Olivia set her knife down on the cutting board and followed her mother up the stairs. “What’s going on, Mamma?”
Her mother led her through the dish room and into the empty dining room. She stopped next to the table and crossed her arms. “I need you in the kitchen,” she said flatly.
“Didn’t you just find me in the kitchen?” Olivia asked, stung.
“Hours and hours after I started looking for you. We have a lot to do for la Sagra dell’Uva and I can’t afford to hire more kitchen staff because that damn tractor keeps breaking down. And for some reason, our creditors have lowered our limit to a ridiculous level. I need working capital. The only reason I’m making payroll this month is because I bribed the banker with a bottle of La Farfalla.”