Nick shook his head. “You figured refusing to see me might push me over the edge.”
She chuckled again. “It is just a little bit amusing.”
He had to agree. “But you were acting all along? Because after the first letter, those were my true feelings on the page.”
“It was not all an act with me, either. Any actress brings part of herself to every role, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” Nick said. “My last girlfriend was an actress, too.”
Fortunata grinned. “Too? Does that mean I am your girlfriend now?”
It was a ridiculous question prompted by his sloppy phrasing, but she seemed to want an answer. “I do like you, Fortunata,” he started, “and I am attracted to you. But…”
“But what? Is that not enough? The world is crazy place. Who will say we were not meant for each other after all?” She was pressing her thumbs into his palms now and moving a bare foot up and down his left calf.
He went with the moment. He was only human. “I’m not ready for a lifetime commitment,” he said, laughing, “but I am definitely interested in seeing where this goes.”
“Good choice, Nick. Now come with me. I will drop you by my apartment. You can cook dinner while I do my second turn on the balcony. And then we will have all night.”
Chapter Forty-three
As Nick began to prepare the pasta, he imagined Fortunata wowing her fans once again. He certainly felt wowed by the brief, bumping and grinding make out session on the couch. She was about to take things further, until he reminded her she was running late. What Fortunata lacked in technique, she made up for in raw power and energy. After a few months with her, he might need a hip replacement. It didn’t help that he couldn’t keep his mind off Lia the entire time. How had he gotten talked down this dead-end street?
While he waited for the water to boil, Nick did some light snooping. The coffee table was strewn with Italian fashion magazines and celebrity tabloids. Fortunata had shared her dream of modeling and acting in Hollywood during lunch. He wondered if he’d like living in L.A., not that things would likely ever get that far between them. Still, it wasn’t like he had a job or home to go back to. Southern California might be as good a place as any to pick up his life.
He moved on to the bedroom and peeked in her closet. Bold fashions dominated. And there were no everyday undies to be found in the dresser. Apparently Fortunata was one of those women who always wanted to feel beautiful—and perhaps be ready to seize any opportunity for a good time.
After a moment’s hesitation, Nick checked the bedside table. What was a little rifling through the nightstand between not-quite-intimate friends? He just wanted to get a better handle on her personality, he reasoned, maybe find out where this Fortunata intersected with the Juliet he thought he’d connected with through the letters.
Speaking of which, here they were in the drawer, laid atop the standard assortment of erotic accessories—condoms, scarves, flavored lubricant, massage oil, a cute pink vibrator and handcuffs lined with fake fur. No real surprises there, not even a stray nipple clamp. He flipped through the sheaf of correspondence and found they were photocopies. It was odd she hadn’t kept the originals of the letters he’d sent, but maybe they were on file down at the club. He’d have to ask Salvatore how that worked.
Nick dropped the papers when he heard the hiss of water boiling over. After cleaning up the spill and stirring in the linguine, he returned to the bedroom to cover his tracks. But when he reached down to retrieve a letter that had floated under the bed, his fingers brushed up against a small box. He pulled it out and saw that it held Fortunata’s diary, which naturally had a picture of the Hollywood sign glued to the front. He opened the book and then quickly closed it. What was he doing? Besides, he thought, he couldn’t even read Italian. Of course, that meant there’d be no harm done if he thumbed through a few pages, he reasoned. He was curious to see if she’d written anything about him. He’d be able to recognize his name, at least.
But as he turned the pages, Nick recognized something much more significant: Fortunata’s cramped handwriting in the diary looked nothing like the flowing script in the letters from his Juliet.
Chapter Forty-four
As Antonio drove them around to all the old places, Lia at first was determined not to leave the car. But after a while she had to pee, and then she let Antonio buy them cheese, apples, prosciutto, bread and wine for a picnic on the grounds of the tower. Except for having to spend it with a bully, it wasn’t a bad day.
But as the afternoon progressed into evening, she couldn’t work up an appetite at the farmhouse ristorante, even though she remembered the food fondly and it smelled wonderful. The thought of Antonio’s body grinding on top of her nearly took away her desire to live, let alone eat. It was funny how someone so physically attractive could grow absolutely repulsive the more she got to know him.
“At least try the osso bucco,” he whispered harshly. “You don’t want to offend the chef.”
“What do you care about offensiveness?” she asked. “You’ll get what you came for, don’t worry. I hope the day has been ‘nice’ enough for you.”
“We’ll see,” he retorted. “There’s a lot riding on tonight.”
She glared at him as she speared a wet chunk of beef with her fork. If she ate enough, she thought, maybe she’d be sick on him in bed.
The other tactic Lia had hit on during dinner was drinking the wine as fast as he could pour it. They’d gone through two bottles of Chianti and he couldn’t have had more than two glasses. Not that he minded getting her drunk, she thought as he helped her into the small stone cottage that was to be their last matrimonial room. It was as if aggressor and victim had engaged in a conspiracy to take the easiest path to her violation.
And now it was happening, Lia realized as her dress bunched around her ankles and Antonio braced her against him as he lifted her arms and tugged at the slip. When it finally came off, she lurched away from him and barked a shin on the bedpost. Tears stung her eyes, which made her angry. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. Ah, what the hell, she thought, it was just another broken vow.
She watched, seemingly from across the room, as Antonio kissed her wet face and snuffled over her like a dog. He tore her bra strap in his mad dash for the finish line and pawed at her until her nipples betrayed her and hardened. But when he pushed Lia’s panties aside, he found only an arid expanse. He cursed and spat on his fingers, rubbing them between her thighs while she lay there, immobile, holding her breath, hating.
And then, with a violent suddenness—he stopped. With an anguished growl he climbed off of her, yanked his pants over his still-flaccid member and stalked into the night, only to return a minute later with the manila envelope. He sailed it through the air, and the papers scattered in a halo around her. She still hadn’t moved. But her eyes tracked him as he put on his shirt, laced his boots, grabbed the overnight bag and left.
The seconds hung in the air until, finally, the Fiat sputtered to life, and Antonio was gone. Lia finally allowed herself a deep, ragged breath. Once the shudders subsided, she bolted the door, climbed under the covers and drifted into uneasy sleep.
Chapter Forty-five
As soon as Nick dumped the steaming pile of pasta into Fortunata’s sink, he was out of there. Whoever she was, this actress wasn’t his Juliet. He considered storming up to Salvatore’s apartment and demanding answers, but he didn’t want to have that confrontation in front of Lia.
If only he’d listened to his instincts and stayed with her the night of the dinner party, none of this would have happened, Nick thought as he entered his hotel. He was so busy beating himself up, he almost didn’t notice the young woman at the desk flagging him over.
“A message for you, Signore Moore,” she said.
He took the folded slip of yellow paper. The old man wanted to meet at Juliet’s club in the morning. Nick slid a euro coin across the counter and continued to his room. They couldn’
t play him for a fool any longer. Tomorrow he’d get to the bottom of the situation.
But what then? He still had a week left in Verona. Maybe it wasn’t too late to see if he still had a chance with Lia. If she rebuffed him, he’d simply hop in the rental car, drive back to Nice and put this fiasco behind him forever.
Chapter Forty-six
The bells of the ancient cathedral awakened Nick early on Sunday morning. He propped himself up on his elbows, yawned and pushed aside the rough wool blanket. The perfect late-summer weather had given way to clouds portending rain, and he felt a sharp chill in his heel as he padded across the tiled floor to the tiny bathroom.
The lack of truly hot water again shortened his shower routine. The entire trip had been like that, he thought—sped up. There was something about a vacation that slowed old relationships down to a standstill and put new ones on fast-forward, he thought. That was what they meant when they referred to summer romances. You could go from first greeting to the heights of passion over a few drinks, and then spend the rest of the break hip-locked and lip-locked until the looming return to normal life doomed the fantasy. There was rarely a next summer, and almost never a resulting winter, spring and fall.
That was fine for a high school summer, or even a college spring break. But here he was starting his thirties by chasing after the raven-haired beauty he’d met over a vacation meal. It couldn’t end well, could it? he asked himself as he dressed in the warmest outfit he could piece together. First he’d square things with her father, Nick decided, and then he’d find out where he really stood with Lia.
After indulging in a flaky, cream-filled pastry with his Americano, Nick walked through a light sprinkle to the Club di Giulietta offices. When Salvatore answered the door, he looked agitated.
“Are you ill, signore?” Nick asked.
The old man shook his head. “It’s Lia,” he said. “She is missing.”
Nick felt the color drain from his own face. “How?”
“She went out with her husband yesterday—”
“Husband?” Nick interrupted.
Salvatore waved him off. “Estranged husband. She and Antonio have been separated for months.”
“Were they reconciling?”
“Nothing like that. Listen to me, Nick. She went with him to Riva, where they honeymooned. He has been working with my lawyer on the divorce papers. They are ready, and Antonio told her he wanted to take her out for one last meal as a married couple, end things on a friendly note. She told me she would be back last night, but there has been no sign of her. I called Antonio’s house, but no one answers.”
He hated to think it, but Nick could easily see a less-than-nefarious reason for her to still be out. “Salvatore, the end of a relationship is an emotional time,” he said. “People sometimes get together to say goodbye…”
“I hope you are right, Nick. But he treated her so cruelly…”
“He abused her?”
“She would never talk about it in detail, but yes, I think so. A father may not know much, but he can see when his daughter is in pain. She was just coming out of it, too, establishing an independent life.”
“How far away is Riva?”
“Not far,” Salvatore said. “Maybe fifty kilometers. Serafina has a car. I know the name of the inn where they stayed on their honeymoon. Maybe…”
“I’ll go,” Nick said. “My car came with a good map. You should wait at home in case she calls or shows up.”
“You would do that for us?”
“I’m afraid my motives aren’t entirely selfless,” Nick admitted.
“I am still in your debt,” the old man said. “We have much to discuss, Nick, but now you must go.”
Chapter Forty-seven
It was raining so hard that Nick could barely see the sides of the narrow road when he entered Riva. After passing the ruins of a stone tower, he made a wrong turn and ended up down by the lake. Retracing his route, he finally came to the small inn Salvatore had described. He peered through a rain-streaked window into the proprietor’s quarters and saw her hunched over a plate of eggs and toast under the protective gaze of a tiny old woman with white hair pulled into a severe bun.
Nick tapped on the glass and gave Lia a short wave when she looked up. Then he walked to the guest entrance and opened the door to a storm of invective from the old woman. While she harangued him, a stooped pensioner who must have been her husband advanced toward him with a broom handle at a slow-but-menacing pace.
“No!” Lia cried as she started pleading with the couple in her native tongue. When the woman calmed down and the man started using the broom for its intended purpose, Lia turned to Nick and said, “She wanted to know how you could leave me like that. I told her you are not Antonio.”
The old woman nodded. “She say, ‘This one, he is good.’”
Lia smiled and came to him. “You are a good one, aren’t you?” She gave his hands a warm squeeze. “I do not know how you found me, Nick, but I am so happy to see you.”
“Your father was worried and asked me to check on you,” Nick admitted. Taking in her disheveled beauty, the raw mix of vulnerability and relief, his breath caught and he could only think to say, “I was glad to have an excuse to see you.”
Nick drew her in then and she pressed her face into his damp neck, clearly still shaken by her ordeal. He stroked her hair with his right hand, but stopped short when he got to her shoulder and encountered the bump of fabric where she’d tied her torn bra strap together. Lia pulled back stiffly. Catching his concerned look, she shook her head. “He could not go through with it,” she said. “I am all right.”
Nick nodded, felt his facial muscles start to loosen. She closed her eyes, sighing almost inaudibly as he guided her gently back to him and their lips met for an electrifying instant.
But then Lia gave him an embarrassed look and covered her mouth. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” she said through her slender fingers.
“I thought something smelled pretty stanco,” Nick said, breaking into a broad grin.
Lia laughed and patted him on the arm. “Your Italian has not improved,” she whispered.
Chapter Forty-eight
“I’m carrying a torch for you,” Nick said as they drove slowly back to Verona.
Lia laughed. “A flashlight?”
“No, that’s British. My torch is the old kind, the club dipped in kerosene.”
“How sad for you,” she said, gazing out the window.
“Why sad?”
She shifted to look at him. “Carrying that kind of torch is no fun. Your arm gets tired. The flame licks at your face. The smoke gets in your eyes.”
“That’s pretty funny,” he said. The storm clouds looked to be lightening to the east. Maybe they’d get a bit of sunlight before evening.
“Yes?” she asked.
“‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ That’s what they used to call a torch song.”
“Well you can put down your torch, signore,” Lia said quietly. “I can see what is ahead of me just fine, and I’m afraid it does not include you.”
Nick almost veered into the ditch. “But I thought…”
She touched his arm. “I wanted to think so, too. I do not mean to… lead you on, but how can it work? You are very sweet, but you live in America, and you have… emotional troubles. I am torn, but I must protect myself.”
Nick rubbed his left temple in frustration. “Emotional troubles. Did you discuss my letters with your father?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How could an assignment get me into so much trouble?” he asked.
“What?”
Nick slowed down so he could look her in the eye. “I was a literature student when I wrote the first letter. It was an assignment for a Shakespeare seminar.”
“But then why did you send it?”
“I didn’t. My professor mailed it without telling me. He does it every year…”
“For the best letter?”
>
He nodded and Lia smiled like she had after he’d walked into the inn. She was obviously relieved to discover he wasn’t a suicidal nut on top of everything else.
“My father was very moved by that letter—by all of them,” she added.
“He read the others, too?”
“Of course,” Lia said. “I thought you knew by now.”
“Knew what? He asked me to meet him at the club this morning, but he was so worried about you when I got there that we didn’t talk about anything else.”
She pursed her lips. “I told him I had washed my hands of the whole affair, yet somehow it still falls to me…”
“Lia, what is it?”
“My father, Nick—Salvatore is your beloved Juliet.”
Chapter Forty-nine
The rest of the drive was blessedly short. Nick had played the fool before, even in the past few days, but this turn of events had left him feeling like a massive buffoon. Lia was kind enough to leave him to his mortified silence as they made their way through the city to her apartment.
He pulled up in front of the infamous stairway and gave her the best smile he could muster. After she climbed out, Lia leaned back into the door. “I would still love to attend the opera with you,” she said. “I do not have to work tomorrow night, so just let me know…”
“Thanks,” he said, his mood brightening at the prospect of even a pity date. He didn’t want it to end like this.
Just then, Serafina and Fortunata emerged from the stairwell. Both of them looked to be in a cross mood, and they started on their separate ways without saying goodbye. But then they saw Lia and Nick.
Finding Juliet Page 12