And she felt certain that this meal would go down as her first masterwork. She’d been fueled by a strange mix of emotions, but it turned out to be the perfect recipe for kitchen success. On the one hand, she wondered what might have been with the handsome tourist. On the other, her heart was lifted in anticipation of her last date with Antonio, where she hoped to find some vindication in his apologies, and enough closure to start life afresh. And of course, she wanted to honor her father’s hard work and show the club members she could catch the festive spirit of Giulietta’s birthday.
Lia had felt her own spirit lighten as she’d gone about the pleasant tasks of thumbing through recipes, coming up with her own variations, gathering fresh ingredients, establishing a smooth, playful gastronomic flow between courses, and pairing all of them with just the right wines.
To celebrate Shakespeare’s greatest Verona play, she had set out to marry the best of English and Italian cooking. She started with chunks of Dover sole, lightly breaded and pan fried in olive oil until the crust hit the perfect balance between moist and crisp. These she would serve atop crunchy rosemary potato discs—her bite-sized homage to fish ’n’ chips. From there, guests would move on to a salad of fresh local greens topped with pickled artichoke hearts, fresh crumbles of Guernsey cheese and a slash of blood-red vinaigrette.
For the main course, Lia opted to pair buttery roast Cornish game hen with handmade linguine in a fiery putanesca sauce infused with chunks of hot pork sausage from her favorite butcher shop.
A truly Dickensian bread pudding topped with a sauce of golden raisins and sweet Italian port would round the meal out nicely, she thought as she spritzed herself with an understated vanilla scent and slipped into a red silk party dress that showed off her toned calves and a demure hint of cleavage. She painted on a wet lip gloss the same deep shade as the dress.
Arranging her black ringlets to frame her lightly powdered face, Lia couldn’t help smiling at herself in the mirror. The guest of honor, whoever he was, wouldn’t know what hit him.
Chapter Thirty-four
Nick was petting the big orange cat on the landing when the apartment door opened and he found himself face to face with the chef from Ristorante Roma. If he had conjured her from his most fevered erotic longings, he never could have come up with a visage as devastatingly alluring as the one she presented to him in the brief instant before her smile fell. It was replaced by a look of puzzlement and consternation that only slightly undermined the knockout combination of hair, eyes, lips, dress and perfume that had rocked his pleasure center like a bulls-eye missile strike.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, bringing him all the way back to reality.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Am I early?”
She shook her head in confusion. “Early for what?” she asked. “How did you find me here? Did that waitress gave you my address?”
Nick held out his hands, palms forward, and took a big step back, which, when coupled with the foot-tangling half spin he executed to dodge the now-hissing cat, sent him hurtling headlong down the broad wooden stairs to the next landing.
As he regained his breath, catalogued his pains and checked for broken bones, he heard the woman shriek. She hadn’t seemed crazy when they’d met at the restaurant. And then there she was, racing down the steps as fast as her silk sheath allowed.
He held his hands up again, this time in a defensive cross. “Does Salvatore Cattaneo live here?” he sputtered.
That stopped her. “How do you know my father?” she asked as she took his hands and helped him up.
His shirt was torn at the right elbow, but he was pleased to find himself otherwise intact. Nick tested his brain with a simple leap of logic: “You’re Salvatore’s daughter.”
She covered her mouth with those elegant hands and let out a sharp, embarrassed laugh. “And you’re our guest of honor,” she said slowly. “I’m so sorry. It’s just…”
“Believe me, I was surprised to see you, too,” he said. “Of course, in my case the surprise was a pleasant one.” Nick shot her a bemused, sidelong glance. This time they both laughed.
When their eyes met again, a hush fell over the landing and they appraised each other with almost electric anticipation. She bit her lower lip and reached out to tuck in the flap of fabric hanging at his elbow. He was about to tell her how impossibly beautiful she was when they heard a loud crash from the apartment.
As they hurried up the stairs, the fat orange cat bounded past them, a chunk of fish in his mouth.
“Oh no!” the chef cried when she saw the upturned platter on the floor. Nick helped her pick up the appetizers. But no sooner was that damage contained than a burning smell began to emanate from the oven and she treated him to the same shriek he remembered from the landing.
“Dio bon! Disaster!” she yelled as she pulled out several blackened bird carcasses and dumped them into the sink where she doused the smoke with water.
As he looked around for a way to help, Nick saw a bottle of port open on the counter. He grabbed two glasses from a shelf and poured two generous portions as the chef, back still to him, sobbed over the ruined meal.
“Here, drink this,” he said.
She turned, wiping away tears, and grabbed one of the glasses. But after downing the port in one gulp, she looked in horror at the counter and her shoulders slumped.
“There goes dessert as well,” she said. “We’re down to salad and pasta.”
“That sounds wonderful to me,” Nick said as he sheepishly set his glass next to the bottle.
She looked up at him then, as if shocked by his calm, kind tone. But just as she started to speak, Salvatore arrived with a group of boisterous guests.
Before he turned around to greet them, Nick gave the lovely chef a wink as if to say, Hold that thought; there’ll be plenty of time to talk later.
“I see you’ve met my Lia,” Salvatore said, clapping Nick on the shoulder.
So that’s her name, he thought as the old man introduced the women from the club. They immediately made themselves at home, opening bottles of wine and picking up conversational threads.
“By the way,” Salvatore said as he held up a paper bag, “I found this on the landing.”
Nick smiled and reached out for it. “The limoncello. I set it down to pet the cat and then forgot all about it.”
“Meeting my daughter has been known to have that effect on men,” the old man said with a grin.
“I’m sure.” Nick crumpled the bag and presented the bottle to Lia.
“A violin,” she said. “It’s a lovely gift. Thank you.”
“Actually, the man in the shop said it’s a viola—not that it matters,” Nick added.
Salvatore and his daughter exchanged surprised glances. “It matters more than you think,” the old man said.
“It was my mother’s name,” Lia said. “Viola.”
As the club women began setting the table, Salvatore kissed both of his daughter’s cheeks. “My apologies, cara” he said. “Our meeting ran a bit late.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Last-minute problems with some vendors. But at least we have all arrived with a big appetite.”
Nick glanced over at Lia and saw she was about to cry.
“I was just suggesting that we start with a couple of courses here and then head into the old city for a main dish and dessert,” Nick said. “Verona is so beautiful, I want to take in as much of it as I can.”
The suggestion seemed to confuse and irritate Salvatore. After all, who showed up at a dinner party and suggested skipping the main course? But when he saw his daughter smile, he softened.
“Yes?” he asked her.
“Yes, father, definitely,” Lia said. “I’ll explain later.”
Before the old man could ask more questions, a striking redhead swept through the door like she was taking a stage.
“Fortunata!” Salvatore exclaimed.
“Welcome,” his daughter added with considerably less enthusiasm.
The woman nodded briefly at her hosts before turning a thousand-watt smile on Nick and pulling him into an embrace clouded with floral perfume.
“I am your Juliet,” she whispered into his ear, giving his lobe a nibble as she did.
Chapter Thirty-five
Lia managed to hold her emotions in check through the salad and pasta courses, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at Nick again, especially with Fortunata draping herself over him like a big, fat sofa cover. Her father seemed equally disturbed by the scene, for some reason. The situation made absolutely no sense.
When it was time to hit the town for the rest of the meal, Lia pleaded exhaustion and Salvatore announced he would stay behind to help her clean up and then turn in early so he’d be fresh for the morning’s festival kickoff at Casa di Giulietta.
As the group made its way out, Nick kept trying to catch Lia’s eye, but she wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of a glare. It wasn’t long before Fortunata dragged him out anyway.
“What was that about?” Lia cried as soon as she saw the group emerge into the street. “Who is he?”
“What’s the matter?” her father asked, taking her hands. “Did he harm you?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head as the tears began to flow. She managed to tell him that Nick was the tourist at the restaurant, and explained the dinner disaster.
“Nothing happened,” Lia said. “But it just felt… We clicked. I know we did. I started to get my hopes up. And then he gave me the viola and saved me from the embarrassment of telling everyone I fed the fish to the cat, burned the hens and drank dessert.” She laughed bitterly. “Everything was going so well with him. Until I found out he’s already with that trashy Fortunata. He never even asked me out, but I still feel betrayed.”
Salvatore took his daughter in his arms and held her tight until her ragged breathing subsided and he could feel the heat leaving her cheeks. “This is all my fault,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Lia. I’ve been a fool.”
She stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “How?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Nick had never met Fortunata before she walked through our door,” Salvatore said. “Sit down, cara, and I’ll explain it all to you as best I can.”
“So much for letting him down easy,” Lia said when her father had finished with the story. “She’s playing everyone for a fool. She tricked you into letting her play the role of Nick’s Giulietta, and now what does she think—she’s going to trick him into taking her back to America with him?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Salvatore said with a weary sigh. “She said she wouldn’t ever be alone with him. But she’s made no secret of her ambitions. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, father. You were just trying to be nice to a delusional romantic.” She shuddered. “And to think, I felt there could be something between us. I’m glad to know he’s nuts sooner rather than later.”
“Nick is not crazy, Lia.”
“What would you call flying halfway around the world to meet your fantasy pen pal?”
“It is odd,” Salvatore agreed. “But what about me? I masquerade as Giulietta every day, and you don’t think I’m crazy. Do you?”
She grinned and shook her head.
“Nick and I are a lot alike in some ways,” her father continued, giving her arm a squeeze. “We may let our belief in love cloud our better judgment, but our hearts are in the right place. That’s probably why we hit it off so well in our letters.”
“Wait,” Lia said. “You are his Giulietta? When you told me the story, I just assumed it was one of the women.”
“I was embarrassed to mention that part,” the old man admitted. “That’s one of the reasons it’s all so complicated.”
“I’ll say.” Lia got up and started pacing the room. “A heartsick puppy writes of suicide, falls in love with his pen pal, and then flies out to meet her only to find out she’s… you!”
Salvatore nodded unhappily. “And now Fortunata is taking advantage of the situation.”
Lia stopped and faced her father. “You have to tell him. Tonight. Now. He may be a sap, but he doesn’t deserve Fortunata.”
“How can I?” the old man pleaded. “What if he kills himself from the shock and shame of it all? With Fortunata, he might end up unhappy. But at least he’ll be alive.”
“Well, whatever you do, I wash my hands of it—the festival, the masquerades, everything. I let my guard down for an instant and I ended up with this farce. No, I was right to give up on romance. It’s the death of us all. Just ask your beloved Giulietta.”
With that, Lia stormed into her room and slammed the door. But as her defiant words echoed in her ears, she felt herself overcome with longing and she knew the solitary road she’d chosen for herself would never get any easier.
Chapter Thirty-six
Nick was caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as Fortunata swept him into the evening. This shock-headed force of nature was the woman he’d traveled so far to meet after falling in love with her through their correspondence. Their hearts had spoken directly to each other and found harmony.
And yet, the reality of her was not at all what he’d expected. She was bold and brassy. Funny and attractive in an obvious, well-upholstered way. But she seemed to be all flirtatious surface, with that look-at-me vibe of the actress. He knew it well from Allison and her friends, and it was the last thing he’d expected to find in his Juliet.
But then again, maybe neurotic actresses with outsized personalities were just his type. Was he prepared to accept that? he wondered as he sat in her living room waiting for her to change so they could go out dancing.
Of course, even though Fortunata was spreading it on thick tonight, she might soon display the calm depth of personality that had come through so strongly in her letters. He’d been nervous to meet her; surely, the feeling was mutual. Maybe this was her way of coping with their first meeting—sucking up all her courage and playing it as bold and confident as possible. He’d keep an open mind. After all, they had a week to get to know each other.
But this line of thought merely kept Nick from having to face the thorniest question of all: What about Lia? Forunata’s letters had touched his soul, but meeting Lia had taken his breath away—literally when he’d fallen down the stairs. He’d never in his life felt so instantly close to someone.
Maybe he was psychotic. He had to consider the possibility. A girlfriend breaks up with him, and suddenly he’s falling madly in love with every woman he encounters, Shakespearean characters included. If only Lia and Juliet were the same woman—then he could feel confident in his sanity and do everything in his power to win her heart. But the situation as it existed was just too much. He was about to retreat to his hotel and pack for home and some serious therapy when Fortunata emerged from the bedroom.
The first things he noticed were the thigh-high grey argyle socks with pink and yellow checks. But soon enough his eyes roamed up to take in the transparent black panties and the black mesh top she wore over a lacy half-bra that held her impressive breasts up for inspection, hard, dark nipples blooming from large pink fields.
If there had been a thought bubble over his head, he mused, it would have read, “Gulp!”
Without a word, she circled ever closer until the mix of flowers and talcum powder seemed like the world’s only smell. She tousled his hair like a stripper would and, true to form, pulled his face forward while simultaneously lowering her chest to meet it. Along with the sweet suffocation of flesh came the feeling he should fish some dollar bills out of his pocket.
As her nipples brushed rhythmically against his cheeks, Nick tried to work up something, anything other than the feeling of ennui that kept washing over him. Had he come all this way for a private dance in Fortunata’s VIP room? He knew he was ungrateful to complain—his hormones were urgently telling him so—but that’s how he fe
lt. The only way he could have felt more disappointed was if his Juliet had turned out to be a man.
He managed to squeeze his head out from under Fortunata’s soft mammalian shelf and eased past her gyrating hips to the far end of her black leather couch. She gave him a look usually reserved for naughty puppies, hopped onto the sofa with a little yelp and stretched out on her back, head resting on his lap.
“You like?” she asked, staring up at him with a look of wide-eyed carnality as her breasts fell onto her sides.
He gently took her by the shoulders, moved her into a sitting position and said, “Fortunata, I’m afraid I only love you for your mind.”
Of course, that didn’t stop him from taking one last, appreciative look at those unbelievable stockings on his way out the door.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Antonio arrived at the apartment just after noon, but Lia was nowhere to be found.
“Typical,” he spat.
Maybe she was helping her old man with the festival? He decided to check the club offices before working himself up into a full rage.
Lia lingered on the stone bench along the Adige. She’d never felt her mother’s presence here like her father did, but it comforted her to think she might be watching over this spot. If Antonio was mad at her for being late, well, what else was new? He was always angry with her about something.
She watched a rowing crew glide around the bend toward her small promontory. When they had passed out of sight again, she would will herself to go back to the apartment and face her ex.
Finding Juliet Page 10