She watched the oars dip and stroke, cutting precisely through the river’s surface. And what about Nick? He seemed in need of emotional fixing up, but she was tired of being the fixer. Besides, she wasn’t good at it—probably, Lia mused, because she longed for some support and stability for herself.
She didn’t need someone who would finish her sentences, but she wanted a relationship of ease and contentment. An oasis from the world, not a microcosm of all its problems.
He would be devoted to her about the timing of children and the resulting family issues, but he’d be an active partner in everything else. They’d share their dreams without embarrassment, and do everything in their power to help each other realize them.
They would take lazy trips to the coast and walk around the old city every night before dinner, holding hands and catching up gently, intently.
That didn’t seem so much to ask, so why did it feel so impossible to achieve? These men all seemed ready to commit to anything in the early days, the wooing stage, only to forget it all and do as they pleased when they had you locked down. And they’d laugh at you if you questioned them about it.
What did she know about all men, though? Antonio had been pretty much it. Was he representative of the species? Judging by what she’d seen and heard from friends, she was afraid he might be.
So why would Nick be any different? If anything, he would be more desperate to go along with anything she said. As a result, he would be even more resentful than most once he snared her. She could not cope with male cruelty any longer.
Yet something about Nick inspired hope within her. He seemed genuinely thoughtful and caring. Her father liked him, and that had to count for something as well.
If she wasn’t going through all of this agita with Antonio, if she didn’t know what a romantic fool Nick was, she suspected she would give him every chance to prove her wrong about men.
Lia closed her eyes, willing the spirit of her mother to advise her with the soft breath of Verona wind in her ear. When she looked up a few moments later, she realized the rowing crew had long since passed her by.
The club appeared deserted. The lights were off in the outer office, but Antonio rapped hard on the glass door anyway.
Just as he was about to turn away, a well-built brunette emerged from the conference room. She wore a Renaissance costume that nicely displayed her assets, but she looked as irritated as Antonio felt.
As she approached the door and got a better look at him, her expression softened into a smile, and she favored him with a boldly appraising look.
Nothing like the demure, distant Lia. Antonio liked this one, and cocked an eyebrow to go along with his half smile as she opened the door.
“Antonio,” he said, extending his hand jauntily.
“Fortunata,” she replied, giving him a handshake that felt more like a hot caress.
“It’s a pleasure.”
“What’s a pleasure?” she asked.
Antonio laughed. “Lots of things, I’d imagine. Starting with meeting you.”
Fortunata’s smile broadened into a mischievous grin. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked.
Antonio paused. He hadn’t thought the exchange through. As the seconds ticked by, the woman’s smile began to fade, revealing a hint of hardness that he recognized as the expectation of an imminent double cross.
“Actually, I was looking for Lia Cattaneo,” he murmured.
Her smile disappeared so quickly that Antonio wondered if he might have imagined it in the first place.
“I’m her husband,” he continued. No use pulling punches now.
“Oh?” she asked, exhaling sharply as she yanked the wig from her head to unleash a cascade of damp red locks. “I’m so happy for you. But I have no idea where she is.”
“I’ll try her apartment again,” Antonio said as Fortunata turned away. “I really need to talk with her about our divorce.”
Fortunata wheeled back around. The smile had reappeared, but it was more feral this time.
“In that case,” she said, “I hope to see you again. Soon.”
With Fortunata’s phone number in his pocket, Antonio felt even more virile and in control than usual as he made his way back up the stairs to Lia’s place.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Antonio showed up at the apartment with a lovely spray of wildflowers just before 1 p.m. Lia realized she needn’t have worried about returning late from her walk; her layabout, soon-to-be-ex-husband was never on time.
When she opened the door, Antonio let loose a wolf whistle that sent the cat racing down the stairway handrail. “Riva will never be the same,” he said as he marked her with his eyes, hungrily taking in the long cream summer dress that revealed hints of her form where the morning light filtered through the fabric. She was glad she’d remembered her slip.
But even though his appreciation felt distastefully aggressive and pre-planned, she sensed he was trying to strike a light tone. And he still cut a dashing figure, thick black hair hanging rakishly over his heavy-lidded brown eyes, a day’s worth of bad-boy stubble and, as always, the beat-up leather jacket that gave off such a manly scent. When he trained those eyes on her he could still pierce right through her defenses, and though he barely topped her in height, his broad shoulders and powerful arms made him seem taller somehow. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, and then quickly reminded herself: One day to freedom.
Antonio took her elbow and eased her past him on the landing. “Ladies first,” he said, and she could picture him bobbing his head to the undulations of her walk as she descended the stairs. He was still so classy.
But then he held open the passenger door of his sparkling clean Fiat—she’d never seen him behind the wheel of a vehicle that wasn’t coated with dust and strewn with litter—and she felt herself relaxing. Antonio Valerio might not have turned over a new leaf, but he was on his best behavior and clearly had gone out of his way to make the experience as pleasant as possible for her. As Lia slid into the seat, she saw a manila folder in the back and realized she was now one signature away from severing all legal ties to this man, which meant she’d never have to see him again. Thank God they hadn’t had children.
“Lira for your thoughts,” Antonio said as they neared Verona’s northern outskirts.
“Shouldn’t that be a euro?” she asked.
“Nah, I still appreciate the old ways. Like a man and his wife out for a weekend drive.”
“And a mistress on the side?” she asked, instinctively pushing back against his idyllic construction.
“We were separated, Lia,” came his flat reply, the first sign of the old anger surfacing.
“We still are, Antonio,” she whispered.
He smacked the steering wheel with an open hand and she had to catch herself from touching her cheek in response.
“Damn it, Lia,” he said, teeth clenched. “Just give me one nice day. That’s all. One nice day.”
She nodded curtly, eyes straight ahead, refusing to accept the blame, yet hoping a noncommittal gesture might pull the conversation out of this unexpected tailspin. Perhaps wanting to pull off the same trick, Antonio turned on the radio and found a station playing opera.
Thus enveloped in Puccini, they retreated into an uneasy truce as Antonio pushed the car hard into the countryside, giving Lia time to chew over the situation with Nick some more. At least it was better than rehashing her marriage, she thought.
But what to make of the American romantic? He was undeniably handsome, although in a softer, less macho way than Antonio. Also unlike her husband, Nick seemed to be a kind man, thoughtful, a listener. She knew they’d both felt an instant attraction to each other, which was thrilling. And yet, after the heat died down, would he just go loping after his next fixation like a puppy?
How rash must his judgment be to flit halfway around the globe to meet a stranger? And then there was the vague threat of suicide in his first note to Giulietta. That suggested an unbal
anced mind. Her father said Nick would be leaving in a week anyway. She probably wouldn’t see him again, so why was she trying so hard to solve the puzzle and see where she might fit into his life?
Lake Garda came into view, but Lia didn’t feel the usual getting-away-from-it-all peacefulness when she studied its placid surface and thought of the resort town and the nearby olive groves. Today, she had the sensation of hurtling into dark, uncharted depths.
“Still as beautiful as the day we first came up here,” Antonio remarked.
Lia knew she should have gone along with his glib attempt to patch the rift between them. Instead, she spoke from her heart.
“Is there a lake in the world that has never drowned a man?” she asked.
They were silent again all the way to Riva.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Nick had once read about a place in the Mojave where the airlines placed their surplus jets in dry-dock, first draining them of fluids and then wrapping them in plastic so they could be returned quickly to service when needed. He felt like one of those planes this morning, except the maintenance men had kicked in his windows and pissed in the cockpit and left all his cabin lights on, sucking the battery dry as the sands began to howl along his spine.
He turned over and checked his travel alarm clock: nearly 10 a.m. Time to get ready for the festival’s first day. This year’s Juliet would be performing balcony scenes twice daily, at 11 and 6, all week. It seemed silly to miss the opening show to wallow in his growing despair.
After a brief, chilly shower, Nick threw on a polo shirt and jeans and downed three ultra-strong shots of espresso at the hotel counter. That would keep him awake and buzzing until lunch, he thought as he stepped into the tourist throng and allowed it to surge him along to Casa di Giulietta, where he found the small square already packed.
Soon, Juliet stepped onto the stone balcony and a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. Three young couples clambered onto the base of the Juliet statue to get a better look, and the yeasty smell of fried dough wafted over the square from the nearby food carts.
From his terrible vantage point at the back of the crowd, it took Nick a minute to figure out that this Juliet was none other than Fortunata in a green brocade dress and big black wig. So she was an actress after all. That explained a lot.
She turned out to be a pretty good Juliet, too. She played her as a combination of longing, lovesick child and rueful woman wise beyond her years. The hammy young Romeo was no match for her, and when he stammered over his soliloquy, Fortunata began using her line readings to subtly mock him, delighting the crowd by raising a well-timed eyebrow as he entreated her. It was a deliciously cruel performance, perfect for this boisterous public theater.
After the brief show, much of the throng milled out into the surrounding streets and squares to take in the rest of the festival and burn through some euros at the craft stalls. Nick didn’t have to wait long at the building’s side entrance for a crew member to emerge for a smoke break. The young man even held the door open for him.
Once inside, Nick retraced the route Salvatore had taken him on the day before. He found Fortunata changing into workout togs next to the Zeffirelli bed.
“You made a believer out of me,” he said.
“So, my little scaredy cat returns,” Fortunata replied as she zipped up a pink sweatshirt. “I’m glad you liked this performance better than last night’s.”
“Last night was impressive, too. It just wasn’t what I expected.”
Fortunata sat at a makeshift makeup table and regarded Nick coolly in the mirror as she touched up her eyeliner.
“I thought we had gotten all the… foreplay out of the way in our letters,” she said. “A man who comes all this way to meet a woman sight unseen, he is a man with strong needs, no? The fact that you turned out to be so handsome sent me over the edge. I figured good looks would not be in the cards from such a lonely heart. But how was I to know you would turn out to be afraid of women?”
“I’m sorry I bruised your pride, Fortunata. But really, it wasn’t fear that drove me out of your apartment.”
She struck a pose. “Perhaps then you do not like my looks?”
“No, I do. You are a tasty morsel.” He chuckled. “Well, more like a meal.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But if you are not scared or turned off, what then?”
“You just don’t seem like the Juliet who wrote those letters.”
“That is another form of acting to me, Nick.”
“I realize that now. But it threw me off. And now I feel like a fool.”
Fortunata stepped toward him and put her outstretched hands on his shoulders. “Tell you what, Nick. We will start again, take it a little slower this time. You know the real me now. It is different than you thought—it’s never quite like how you imagined it—but maybe you like it just as well in the end? While you decide, I can get to know the real you, and we will see how it goes. What do you think?”
“After the way I walked out on you last night, that’s very generous of you.”
“I am a generous girl, Nick. Now maybe you take me to lunch and show me if you are a generous boy.”
She leaned in and gave him a short, salty kiss. It tasted real. The least he could do was buy her lunch.
Chapter Forty
Salvatore was too furious with Fortunata to attend her opening performance. As the old man sat on his bench next to the Adige, he only hoped she had done a better job playing Giulietta for the tourists than she had in her private production with Nick. He was about to take out his notebook and pen to draft some response letters when he heard a familiar voice.
“I thought I might find you here,” Serafina said. She took a seat and placed a hand on his right knee. “So much for letting Nick down easy, eh?”
“I’m sorry I got you involved in this,” Salvatore said.
The psychologist waved him off. “You missed quite a star turn this morning,” she said. “With her other obvious assets, Fortunata might even make it in Hollywood if she can get her hooks into Nick.”
The old man shook his head. “I know Nick, he’s smarter than that.”
“Don’t be so sure, Salvatore. When I was leaving Casa di Giulietta, I spotted him sneaking up the back stair. That’s why I wanted to find you right away.”
“What do we do now, Serafina?”
“The important thing is that he find out the truth directly from you. Leave a message at his hotel asking him to stop by the club offices tomorrow morning. You can break the news to him in the conference room. I’ll be waiting outside if you need me.”
“He will hate me,” Salvatore said.
“Probably so. But the important question is, How will this make him feel about himself? If he displays suicidal tendencies again, we must be prepared to call in medical assistance.”
“Do you think it will come to that?”
“I doubt it, but you should ask Viola for some help finding the right words, just to be sure.”
Chapter Forty-one
Things really started to go downhill in Riva when Antonio stopped at the little inn where they’d spent their honeymoon and pulled an overnight bag out of the boot.
“Oh no,” Lia called after him angrily as he went to check in. “This was never part of the deal.”
Antonio turned and crunched the gravel hard under his boot heels on the way back. “Lia,” he said, “you are still my wife. And if you really want this divorce, you’ll give me a proper sendoff.”
“One nice day, you said.”
“And one passionate night, I forgot to mention.”
“You’re pazzo!”
Antonio pointed down the road. “If you’re going to walk home, you’d better get started now. Who knows what the roads will be like after dark? But I warn you, Lia, if you leave me now, I won’t give you the satisfaction of a divorce. You won’t be able to take a piss break without seeing me. You’ll never get me out of your life.”
Lia pounded
her fists on the dash and slammed herself back against the seat as Antonio greeted the inn’s old proprietors. Yes, they were still alive after all. Nothing changed. Nothing. She was as stupid as she had been the day Antonio slithered into her life. Fine, she thought. If this was the price of freedom, she would shut up and pay it. But while her legs might be open, her eyes would be closed as she dreamed of starting her life anew.
Chapter Forty-two
“At first, everyone in the club thought you might kill yourself,” Fortunata said as she popped a buttered crust of warm bread into her mouth.
“You all talked about me?” Nick asked. “Now I’m embarrassed.”
“Oh, do not worry. Serafina is a psychologist. She thought you probably would not do it.”
He vaguely remembered her from the party. “She psychoanalyzed my letters?”
“This word I am not so sure.”
Nick hung his head. “It doesn’t matter. But I need you to understand something.”
She took his hands in hers and leaned in close. “What is it, Nick?”
“That first letter—I wrote it as a class assignment. That was me acting. I’m a literature student. Well, I was anyway. I just graduated.”
“La litteratura. Congratulations!”
“Thank you. But what I’m saying is, I wrote that letter for a grade, and my professor sent it off to you without me knowing. He said it was the best letter in the class.”
“Mmm, it really was good letter.”
“So you don’t care that any relationship we might build would rest on a foundation of lies?”
“What do you say in America? All is well if it ends well.”
“I guess so. Thank you for being so understanding. At least now you know I never thought about killing myself.”
Fortunata giggled. “Sorry, Nick. It is not funny. It is just that everyone was so worried about that possibility… I might never have agreed to meet you like this otherwise.”
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