by Nina Singh
Maya followed him to the back room where she’d fallen asleep just a few days ago. He led her to the easel in the center of the room.
A painting. It was in its earliest stages. But she could see clearly what he intended it to be: the view of the Verona countryside from high above. The view they’d watched together in the hot air balloon. The way he’d captured the images, the sunlight as it fell on the countryside, the sheer detail—it was nothing less than breathtaking.
“Oh, Vito. It’s lovely,” she murmured, though the word fell far short.
“You’re the reason it exists. I was up all night working on it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, cara. But to tell you the truth, as much as I enjoyed painting what I have so far, I’d like to put this project aside. For now, anyway.”
“You would? But why?”
“There’s something else I’d like to begin painting. Someone, to be more specific.”
“There is?”
“Yes. You. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to paint a portrait of you.”
Maya bit back her cry of surprise. This was not how she’d expected their final day together to begin. She’d tossed and turned all night; images of Vito and the time they’d shared haunted her dreams if she so much as closed her eyes. It looked like he’d been thinking of her, too. Only in an entirely different way.
She wasn’t sure quite what to make of that.
“You want to paint me?”
He nodded. “Sì.”
“Like one of your French girls?” It was a bad joke, and one he didn’t seem to get.
“I beg your pardon? What French girls?”
“You know, from the movie?”
Vito continued staring at her with a blank look.
“You have to know it. It was a huge blockbuster. In fact, there’s a famous Italian actor who stars in it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t watch too many movies.”
“Never mind.”
“So what do you say, cara? Are you ready to be my subject?”
Maya thought once more about how differently this day was playing out than anything she could have imagined. The man before her seemed to have entered her life only to throw one curveball at her after another. But, like it or not, she had to admit she’d found that part of his charm.
“What do you want me to do?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Maya found herself perched atop a high stool in Vito’s back room.
Even though he stood several feet away and wasn’t so much as touching her, it had to be one of the most intimate experiences she’d ever had with a man. Maya may have been fully clothed, but the way Vito had tousled her hair, the way he’d arranged her flowing skirt to cover only halfway down her thighs and the way he’d pulled her blouse off her shoulder made her feel as if he’d stopped for some reason in the process of undressing his lover. And that’s how she felt. As if she were waiting for her lover.
Vito worked silently, the only sound in the room the steady ticking of the clock hanging on the opposite wall.
After what seemed like an eternity had passed, just when she thought she couldn’t hold the pose a second longer, he set down his brush on the easel’s holding tray.
“We can stop for now. I think I have enough detail to continue on without you having to model.”
Maya sighed with relief and kneaded out the kinks in her various muscles. Who knew so many parts of the body could go stiff and tight all at once? When she felt some of the circulation returning to her limbs, she slowly stood and walked over to where Vito was still stroking a brush over the surface of the canvas.
“What do you think?” he asked her when she’d reached his side.
Maya did a double take when she saw what he’d created. She hardly recognized the woman on the canvas.
It took a moment to form the words. “I’m in awe, Vito. What you’ve created here...”
It was so much more nuanced than the initial sketch he’d drawn of her that first day. Layers of depth that captured her likeness in a way that made her want to become more like the woman he must view her as to be able to paint this portrait.
Maya wasn’t sure how to put what she was feeling into words. “This woman you’ve drawn, she seems so sure of herself. The way she holds her head, the upward tilt of her chin. The steadiness in her eyes. These are all qualities you see in me?”
“Yes,” Vito answered simply. “I think the better question is, how do you not see all that in yourself?”
* * *
Maya hadn’t answered his question. She hadn’t spoken much at all since she’d taken a look at his work. By contrast, whenever he’d created anything with Marina in mind, his wife had made all sorts of suggestions and comments. Marina had had no shortage of opinions on his work, whether she’d inspired the piece or not.
But Maya still wasn’t saying much. She simply stood staring at the easel, openmouthed. He had to acknowledge the potential blow to his artistic pride if she actually disliked the painting.
“Is something the matter, cara?”
Maya nodded slowly, still silent. In fact, her silence was about to drive him crazy.
“What is it, bella?”
“I have a confession to make.” She finally spoke, though in barely more than a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about the way you kissed me the night of the dinner cruise. And how much I’d like you to kiss me again.”
Vito couldn’t stop himself; he was human, after all. He pulled her toward him and indulged himself the way he’d so badly wanted to since he first laid eyes on her.
But this wasn’t the short, light kiss they’d shared the night she was referring to. Vito unleashed all the desire and passion he’d been feeling for her.
She tasted of strawberries and sweet cream. She felt like redemption.
When they finally managed to pull apart, he almost couldn’t bear the separation. Her lips were swollen from his kiss, her eyes cloudy with desire. He reached for her again as she spoke.
“I have another confession.”
“Yes, cara?”
“I’d like more than a kiss, Vito. Much more.”
A ball of fire rocketed through his entire body. There was no way he could deny her. Or himself. Though he knew this was oh, so wrong of him. What he was doing was beyond selfish. Perhaps the most selfish thing he’d ever done. Warning bells rang in his head about taking the next step.
He ignored them and lifted Maya in his arms. She felt right in his embrace. Like she belonged there. She belonged with him. He leaned down to give her another long lingering kiss that stole the breath from them both.
Then he carried her upstairs.
* * *
Maya didn’t have to open her eyes to know that Vito had left the bed. She’d felt his absence, the loss of the warmth of his body next to hers. Her muscles felt languid, spent. In a very good way. She longed to reach for him again, to have him touch and caress her the way he had most of the afternoon.
Where had he gone?
Forcing herself to sit up, she grabbed the sleeveless shirt he’d been wearing when she’d walked in. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered how she’d practically torn it off him earlier. The way his taut skin had felt under her fingers when she’d finally rid him of it. Throwing the shirt on now, she walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen area.
She found Vito at the stove, tossing some pasta into a pot of boiling water. He was shirtless, wearing only a loose pair of gray sweats that shouldn’t have been appealing in the least, but somehow made her fingers itch to touch him.
She wasn’t going to fight the urge.
“I thought you might be hungry. I certainly am.” He didn’t turn around as he said the words. Maya walked up behind him and wound her arms around his waist. H
is spine straightened ever so slightly; the muscles of his stomach and back stiffened under her touch.
Maybe it was simply her imagination. But a nagging voice began sounding in her brain. Then it turned into a loud, ringing alarm. Something was off. Maya released her arms and stepped back.
“I don’t have much to offer for food,” he threw over his shoulder. “Just some packaged pasta. But there’s homemade marinara sauce that Nonna sent back with me after my visit.”
Me. My.
Vito may not have even been aware, but he was using singular terms. Nonna had presented that jar of sauce to both of them when they’d left her home.
It was as if he was mentally erasing her presence in his conversation. Maya’s pulse was racing by the time the pasta was done and they were sitting across from each other at the small circular table.
Suddenly, she didn’t have much of an appetite.
Vito began piercing the pasta with his fork, so far avoiding all eye contact. Maya knew she wasn’t imagining things. She didn’t think she could take it if Vito regretted what had just happened between them.
Only one way to find out.
She waited for him to swallow his latest bite. “We need to talk about what just happened between us, Vito.”
He didn’t bother to stop eating. “I’m not so sure that we do.”
“How can you say that?”
“The fact of the matter is that you’ll be gone after tomorrow, cara. Anything we say to each other will only be empty words. In a few days, we’ll be both be back to our normal lives.”
He sounded so casual, so nonchalant. Maya wanted to literally cover her ears. But she had to try and get through to him. Or she’d never forgive herself. “I’ll be in Europe until the end of the month, Vito. That’s a good amount of time.”
“To do what?”
What kind of a question was that? She blinked up at him. Was he being deliberately obtuse? “To spend more time together. To try and figure out what we might mean to each other.”
“I told you. I have no intention of traveling.”
“Not even with me?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
Each word landed like a sharp spear into her heart. Maya pushed past the hurt and forced her mouth to move. “So that’s it, then? And will it be so easy for you to forget all about me after tomorrow?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“What are you saying, exactly?”
He shrugged. “That I have nothing to give. Nothing to offer.”
“That’s not true. It’s simply the excuse you use to avoid taking any risks.”
“But it is the truth, cara. I’m not capable of falling in love.” He sighed. “I just don’t have it in me.”
“And what if I’ve already fallen in love with you, Vito? What then?” Maya blurted out the words. She had no reason to hide the truth of it now; there was nothing left to lose, after all.
The blood visibly drained from his face. Pushing his plate away, he leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Maya. I can only tell you to try and get past what you think you feel for me. Move ahead with your life as if I don’t exist.”
A brick settled in her throat. She had to fight to get the words out. “How can you ask me to do that? Do you really think I can?”
He remained silent, and it was answer enough.
“So that’s it, then?” she threw out, not bothering to suppress her hurt and anger at his infuriating nonchalance. All the while she was shattering inside. “You’ve made your decision. And you’re basing it all on your grief.”
Something visibly shifted behind his eyes. A hardness appeared in his gaze that had her flinching. But she met his stare dead-on. She wasn’t about to back down now.
“What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” he asked, his tone gritty and tight.
“I think you know.”
“Please indulge me and explain.” His voice held a very clear warning. Maya decided she would ignore it.
“I mean that you’re so invested in grieving for the past that you refuse to see what the future may hold.”
Vito didn’t so much as blink. “I see you’ve decided you can analyze me. Please, tell me more.”
She knew he was goading her, that she shouldn’t take the bait. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Suddenly, she had too much at stake to stop. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t lay it all on the line. For this man, she had to. “You don’t want to move on, Vito. You want to live in the past and examine then reexamine your role in the tragedy that you’ve had to endure. You don’t want to move past it. Because it’s easier to dwell on it. Because you’re scared.”
Vito finally moved. He leaned ever so slightly over the table toward her. “I see. And what about you, cara?”
“What about me?”
“What makes you think you’ve moved on from your past?”
What in the world could he be talking about? He had to see she no longer had any kind of feelings for the man she’d been engaged to. He had to see all her feelings were laser focused on one man and one man alone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. After the afternoon we just shared in your bed, you have to know I’ve moved past my engagement to another man.”
He actually laughed at her. A harsh, mocking sound that echoed off his kitchen ceiling and made her want to shrink away from the noise. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I knew it the first time I kissed you on that galleon. I mean the way you’ve held yourself back your whole life in order to please others.”
Her mouth went dry. He had no business speaking of such things. He didn’t know her life at all. “Others?”
“Your adoptive family.”
“What about them?”
“You’ve spent your life making sure they never regretted taking you in. From your choice of study in college to your career choice to the man you committed yourself to.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t—” But the words died on her lips. The arguments she wanted to make completely escaped her. It was too hard to think, given the hardness and utter derision in Vito’s expression.
“It’s exactly what you did,” Vito spat out. “You’ve spent your life making sure you fit in with your adoptive family, molded yourself into what you thought they wanted. Determined to make yourself worthy of their love and acceptance. And you dare accuse me of living for the past.”
A cry of anguish tore from her throat before she could stop it. There was nothing more to say, no way she could respond to all the things he’d just said to her. So, he saw her as nothing more than a weakling who’d spent her life trying to appease others. He had no idea. He had no right to make such judgments about her.
She’d been made a fool of. Again by a man. Only this time her heart would never recover.
Maya pushed away from the table on shaky legs. She had to leave before she did something stupid like weep or grovel. She couldn’t let him see her do either.
The sooner she got out of there, the sooner she could break down.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BY THE TIME she checked into her hotel in Florence and went up to her room, close to forty-eight hours later, Maya felt as if an entire lifetime had passed since she’d left Vito’s studio. She had a voucher for a late lunch in the hotel restaurant but couldn’t summon the will to eat alone yet again. Though it was something she needed to get used to. She’d be spending the rest of this journey by herself.
He could have come with her. Instead, he’d chosen to watch her walk out of his life.
Dropping her bags in the middle of the floor, she willed herself not to cry again. This felt wrong. Totally wrong. A stunning view of the Florence skyline sat before her through her hotel window. She couldn’t enjoy it. Instead, she yanked the curtains closed and leaned her forehead against the wall.
This felt worse than the first morning she’d arrived in Venice, alone and heartbroken over a man she’d thought she’d been in love with.
How mistaken she’d been.
Now that she found herself really and truly in love with Vito Rameri, Maya realized how empty her feelings toward Matt had been in comparison. Matt had never made her insides quiver; he’d never sent desire pulsing through her whole body with a simple smile. He’d never made her want to weep with abandon at the thought that she might never see him again.
Only one man had ever made her feel that way.
And he’d asked her to leave.
The sob she’d been trying to hold in finally escaped. Vito was right. She had to admit it to herself. She’d spent her whole life making sure she never let her immediate family down. Even her decision to get engaged had been made with thoughts of how it would impact her aunt, uncle and cousins.
Maya grabbed the silly burner phone. Calling up the keypad she dialed a familiar Boston number.
But the call didn’t connect. Instead, a robotic voice came over the speaker telling her something in Italian. Maya tossed the phone aside and dropped down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
She had no idea what to do next. Her cell phone was useless, she was alone in a strange city and her heart was shattered. What was supposed to have been the trip of a lifetime had turned into nothing more than a source of anguish.
She had no one to blame but herself.
Maya allowed herself a good hour to wallow in sadness and self-pity. Then she sat up and grabbed the hotel phone. Pressing the button for the front desk, she waited.
A friendly female voice answered after the second ring. “Buongiorno, Signorina Talbot. How can I assist you?”
“I’d like to make an international call, please.”
Zelda’s familiar voice came on the line after a series of long beeps.
“Maya Papaya!”
The use of the silly nickname her cousins had tagged her with years ago pulled a smile from Maya’s lips. “Hey, Zeezee.”
“About time you called. Good timing, too. Lexie is here with the baby.”