The Weekend Wife

by Beth Ciotta

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  Silence. Then, “Aren’t you going to ask me about Ben? If news of their affair—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” At least that’s something. I honestly no longer care if Ben’s boinking Missy. I don’t care if they’re making tabloid headlines as the new Bennifer of the moment. Or BenMiss. Whatever.

  What bothers me most right now is my own personal mindset. The fact that I’m depressed about the lack of attention, even negative attention, is forcing me to look at myself in a new light.

  And I don’t like what I see.

  “Meg?”

  I toss the washcloth and crank up the shower. “Thank you for being straight with me, Liza. I have some thinking to do.”

  “Are you at least making progress with your friend’s dilemma?”

  I never provided Liza with details regarding this weekend and I’m not ready to do so now. “It’s a work in progress.”

  “Well, at least you’re not alone.”

  I ponder that notion as we hang up, and I strip off my clothes and step under the steaming water.

  I don’t want to dive into a full-blown relationship with Nick just because I need someone to make me feel special. And I’m not ready to cast off my artistic passion in favor of a nine-to-five.

  That said, Nick was right. There’s more to life than fame. The question is: What is my more?

  Chapter 34

  I COULDN’T WASH away my anxiety, but at least I feel refreshed and better armed to face the day.

  Trying my best to zen, I towel dry my hair, slather my body with vanilla lotion, then pull on a thong and tee. Contemplating career options, I leave the bathroom and see Nick sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, staring at his phone.

  He looks like he left the room in a hurry this morning. His clothes are rumpled and his hair’s a tousled mess. He glances up and my heart kicks.

  In this instant, magic overrides misery. All the fluttery and fantastic and downright confusing feelings prompted by bone-deep, soul searing infatuation shimmy and sparkle through my blood. There’s no denying I’m in love. At least not to myself.

  “Have you been on-line this morning?” he asks.

  “Just e-mails and texts.”

  “Missy tweeted about her new show.”

  I raise a brow. “You follow Missy?”

  “Just watching your back. I know you’re concerned about her taking a swipe at you.”

  “Spoke to my agent a few minutes ago. According to Liza, I had nothing to worry about.”

  We fall silent and I’m suddenly conscious of my half-dressed state. Nick’s gaze caresses my exposed thighs and I feel another kick. Only this one’s between my legs.

  “So how’s your morning going?” I ask as I close the distance between us.

  He tosses his phone and catches my gaze. “Shitty.”

  “Same here.”

  I’m playing with fire and that’s somehow empowering. Good to know I haven’t completely lost my edge. “If you can detach emotionally,” I say while raking my fingers through his hair, “I can make you feel better.”

  “Yeah?” he challenges. “And what about you?”

  “Trust me,” I say as I straddle his lap. “I’ll get my thrills.”

  Giving me a primal look instead of the look of love, he drags his tee-shirt over his head. “Have at it, babe.”

  Chapter 35

  NICK’S NOT THE only one who had to detach. I shut down my brain and locked up my heart in order to enjoy a purely physical, fast and dirty lay. The hardest thing was keeping the noise level under wraps. Enough of my noggin was firing to know Sylvia was probably awake and puttering about.

  Naked and sweaty, we moved the party to the shower for the explosive finale.

  My heart’s firing like a piston as I ride a euphoric high. “Feel better?” I ask after nipping Nick’s shoulder.

  His breathing is ragged and I swear his hands are braced on the tiles to keep his legs from folding. “I feel used,” he says. Then he smiles. “You’re a hellcat, woman.”

  Pleasantly full of myself, I smile back. “I know my day improved. Thanks.”

  Determined to keep things light, I quickly soap and rinse. “Look at these pruned fingers! Two showers in thirty minutes? That’s a record for me. Meet you downstairs.” Then I slip into the bedroom and pull on cargos and a tee.

  Seconds later, I’m following my nose. The mouthwatering scents of brewed java and baked sweets beckon me toward the kitchen. I spy a cappuccino maker on the stove, a plate of cookies on the table, and Sylvia pulling a tray of pastries from the oven.

  “Buongiorno,” I say.

  Sylvia straightens and turns and once again I’m charmed by her quirky fashion. Instead of one lone braid down her back, this morning she plaited her white hair into two pigtails then coiled them at the nape of her neck. Her flouncy yellow dress falls mid-shin and her footwear consists of white anklets and blue sneakers. Factor in those retro professor glasses and she looks like a scholarly version of a senior Lolita.

  “Buongiorno, Megan,” she says with a smile. “Hungry?”

  “I am now. Are those homemade cherry tarts?”

  “If you like them, I’ll share the recipe.”

  “I’m not much of a baker.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  My smile falters knowing there won’t be time for that. Nick and I are flying out in the morning. I feel conflicted about leaving Sylvia behind. I feel bad knowing she’ll be lonely.

  “Sylvia,” I say as I help her distribute the pastries to a plate. “Nick and I are flying home tomorrow. That hasn’t changed.”

  “But you’ll be back,” she says. “You like it here, Megan. I can tell. You’re a Tuscan at heart.”

  “I don’t know about that, but yes, I do love the region.”

  “You saw how Nick enjoyed exploring Cetona and how much fun he had performing with those musicians. And now tonight we’re having dinner with neighbors, an American couple near your age. I sense a great friendship in the future.” She pats my hand, then places slices of apple cake alongside the cherry tarts. “Everything’s coming together, dear.”

  I’m astounded by her cheery confidence. Considering Nick’s continued reluctance to accept this house, not to mention our sham of a marriage, I’m compelled to rain on Sylvia’s optimism. “Nick’s awfully attached to his life in the States. And seriously? I’m not sure living here would be conducive to my career.”

  “Nonsense. You expose the world to vacation destinations and various cultures. Of course Tuscany is conducive. This farmhouse is merely a new home base.”

  Once again, I note the warmth and charm of Sylvia’s home as we carry trays of assorted sweets into the dining room. I could be happy living in Casa di Gioia. I think. Except…Nick and I aren’t really married! We’re not even a bona fide couple. And even though love’s at play, I’m petrified to go all in.

  It would be far too easy to immerse myself in the exhilarating physical and emotional effects of new love rather than coming to terms with my life crisis. Reality’s a bitch, but I’m a tough and resilient woman. So what if I can’t pick up where I left off with Epic Adventures? Surely I can find another path to channel my passion and experience.

  The spotlight doesn’t define you.

  I repeat Nick’s notion like a mantra as I help Sylvia arrange the table.

  The key to moving on, I tell myself, is letting go.

  If only Sylvia and Nick would do the same.

  Chapter 36

  I WATCH SYLVIA and Nick dance around their rift during a day consisting of sightseeing, shopping, and eating local fare. I’ve never known two people more opposed to confrontation.

  Except maybe me.

  I haven’t asked Nick about the phone call that set off his shitty morning. If I pry, I’ll be offering myself as a confidant on top of a lover. It’d be one step too close to committed partner. I’ve been a self-sufficient, independent wo
man for most of my adult life. What happens to me when it’s suddenly we?

  By the time we join the Quests for dinner, my nerves are frayed and I’m desperate for a diversion.

  Jim and Elsie are lovely and their sprawling villa—albeit in disrepair—is charming. Joined by their happy dog, they give us a grand tour of the budding resort. Nick and I nod a lot and comment occasionally. Sylvia is brimming with ideas regarding the interior decorating of the three separate guest houses.

  “If everything goes according to plan,” Jim says.

  “Like that ever happens,” Elsie says with a cute snort.

  “We’ll officially open our doors for business come fall.”

  “A boutique resort that offers gourmet dinners and tastings featuring wine from our own vineyard,” Elsie says as they lead us to the private garden of the main villa.

  “As it happens,” Jim says, “I have a few of bottles of private stock, compliments of the previous owner.”

  Shortly, we’re sitting around a table enjoying full-bodied chianti and a sampling of Elsie’s delicious antipasto. Tilly’s sprawled next to Sylvia’s chair and Jim’s as attentive to Elsie as Nick is to me.

  Great food. Great drink. Great company.

  The day mellows with another glorious sunset and I relax into the moment. Maybe Sylvia’s right. Maybe I’m Tuscan at heart because, at this moment, I feel very much at home.

  “Our biggest challenge,” Jim says, “is the competition. Tuscany is brimming with resorts.”

  “Competition’s a bear,” I snap, then wave my hand. “Sorry. Touchy subject. Anyway, what you need is a hook. Something that sets you apart from your rivals.”

  “Like a special experience,” Nick suggests.

  “That’s one option,” I say, impressed by his savvy. “And get some good publicity. Maybe you could score a write up in a travel magazine.”

  Elsie’s face lights up and she waggles her brows. “Or a feature on a travel show?”

  “That would be a perk, for sure,” I say as my cheeks heat. “And I’d be happy to pitch you to my producer, except I’m no longer with the show.”

  Sylvia frowns. “When Nick said you were on hiatus, I thought he meant in between seasons. I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Darn it,” Jim adds. “Sorry to hear it, too. You were great.”

  Nick squeezes my hand. “Yes, she was.”

  “She’ll be great again,” Sylvia proclaims. “Megan’s working on a new project.”

  Elsie smiles. “Can you tell us about it?”

  I laugh. “Sure. As soon as I figure out what it is.”

  “What about some advice, then?” Jim asks as he pours more wine. “Given your travels and experience, can you recommend anything specific to heighten our appeal with tourists?”

  I flash on Sylvia’s olive groves and the woman’s reluctance to ask neighbors for help during the next harvest. “That was Frank’s baby.”

  I perk up in my seat. “I do have a thought, actually. This is seasonal but…why not offer the villa’s guests the additional adventure of participating in an olive harvest? A traditional experience—olive picking—with a trip after to the local mill where they can see the workings of olive oil pressing and taste the end result.”

  “Sounds great,” Elsie says, “but we’re all about vineyards and grapes. Believe it or not, we don’t have olive trees.”

  Jim smiles and winks at me as if catching my drift. “Sylvia does. And her grove is within walking distance. What do you think?” he asks her. “We get to offer our guests a native experience. You get your olives picked and pressed for free.”

  And as a bonus, she’ll have the visitors and social interaction she’s been missing.

  “Sounds like a win-win,” she says with a smile. “And how’s this for that publicity angle? What if…what if Megan films a documentary highlighting the renovation of the resort and the subsequent wine tastings and olive harvest? The exposure will entice more guests to the region so local businesses will benefit as well. And as a perk, Nick can score the soundtrack!”

  The Quests erupt with unbridled enthusiasm. Even Tilly is excited, barking and prancing around the table. Between Sylvia, Jim, and Elsie I can’t get a word in, but that’s okay. I’m thinking.

  Nick, well, he’s sort of brooding. I can’t blame him. Sylvia’s subtle manipulation—appealing to his musicianship to root him here—puts him on the spot. Hell, she put me on the spot, too, but I can’t squash my own unexpected excitement at the prospect of a creating a documentary with Nick. Working together on an artistic project while exploring our romance?

  Is this my more?

  Chapter 37

  BY THE TIME we leave the Quests, the only thing settled is the inclusion of the farm’s harvest and olive oil tastings in the resort’s fall package.

  Although I’m vastly intrigued with the idea of filming a documentary, I soon realized the extent of Nick’s unease. Aside from whatever responsibilities are tying him to Philadelphia, there’s the matter of our faux marriage. The deception certainly complicates matters, so like Nick, I backed off. But that’s not to say I don’t want to take on the project.

  “I know it’s awkward,” I whisper as we return to the farmhouse, “but let’s fess up and get it over with.”

  There’s nothing quiet about Nick’s response. “If you’re set on filming that documentary, Meg, go for it. But I’m not leaving the States.”

  Sylvia wedges herself between us. “But you’re married. You should be with your wife.”

  I can’t take it. I blow. “For the love of God, we’re not married!”

  If expressions can be trusted, Sylvia is shocked and Nick is pissed.

  Well, too bad. I’m over the pretense. The lies and avoidance. Someone’s gotta step up and I guess it’s me.

  I take a deep breath and squeeze Sylvia’s hand. “Nick told you he was married so you wouldn’t worry. He wanted to make a dying woman happy.”

  “I’m not dying. Who said I’m dying?”

  “You did!” Nick palms his forehead. “On the phone. You said your dying wish was for me to come to Italy with my wife.”

  “I was referring to my bucket list. Seeing you in love and happy like I was with Frank…Having a chance to right our relationship before I cross through the pearly gates…” She gawks at us. “You thought I was dying?”

  “Yesterday,” I say to her, “you told me your days are numbered.”

  “At eighty-two, my days are numbered. I could kick the bucket any day in any variety of ways, but I’m not gravely ill. Not at this moment, anyway.”

  Nick shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “So you’re not married?” Sylvia asks. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed. But you are in love. I may be old, but there’s nothing wrong with these eyes and ears. You can still live here and work together and, maybe down the line—”

  “Dammit, Gram. How can I get it through your head? I’m not moving to Italy. I can’t accept this house. I have responsibilities in Philly”

  “You’re only renting,” I snap, “and you can play your music anywhere, Nick. What the hell is so important in the States?”

  He swears under his breath and says, “Two little boys.”

  Chapter 38

  MY HEART POUNDS in my chest, roars in my ears.

  Sylvia looks at me like, “How can you not know this?”

  I feel like a fool because I’m wondering the same.

  “Let’s sit down,” Nick says.

  He lowers himself into an armchair while Sylvia and I settle on the sofa.

  The air is dense with the fragrance of lilacs and a sense of a big-ass maelstrom.

  “You have two sons?” I finally choke out.

  “Technically, they’re my little brothers, although I’m working to change that.”

  The constant and intense texting. The frustrated phone call. I sit rigid, dreading yet yearning details.

  Sylvia scrunches her brow. “I don’t understand
.”

  She’s not alone.

  “A year and a half ago,” Nick starts, “I joined a Big Brother program. My intent was to provide children facing adversity with positive influence. My relationship with Caleb and Dash, four- and five-year-old brothers, intensified over time. They’re shy and developmentally delayed and their single parent home was troubled. Their mother had drug issues. Three months ago, she overdosed, leaving them homeless.”

  “What about their birth father?” I ask.

  “They have two separate fathers. Neither is willing or able to take the boys in,” Nick says. “They ended up with an adoption agency. Since it’s preferable to place the siblings together, they’re considered special needs children. Add to that their development issues and the fact that they’re biracial, they could be waiting a long time for the right family.”

  “Those kids matter to me,” Nick rushes on, “and they’re crazy about me. I thought long and hard about it, then consulted and hired a top-notch lawyer. Caleb and Dash belong with me. Instead of just fostering, I went straight for adoption.”

  “Doesn’t the agency or whoever care that you’re not married?” Sylvia asks.

  “My status as a single male makes adoption harder, but not impossible. I’ve already aced three home studies and a background search. I was this close to having the boys placed with me, then this morning…but there was more red tape and I’m not giving up.” He pins Sylvia with a hard look. “I’m not deserting those boys.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Oh, I believe that Nick’s the kind of big-hearted person who’d adopt a couple of special needs kids. But why didn’t he clue me in on something so huge?

  I stuff my anger, saving it for later. One battle at a time. And since Sylvia’s not defending herself, I grudgingly step up.

  “Sylvia didn’t desert you,” I say to Nick. “Not like you think. Your grandmother sacrificed her relationship with you in order to give your mom a chance at a relationship with you. You told me yourself you worshipped Sylvia. Valerie didn’t stand a shot with her in the picture. It broke her heart, but your grandmother did what she did for the right reasons and then things went wonky. But that doesn’t mean they can’t come back together.”