Corsica Gate

by Robena Grant

  “Oh, please, it’s Gino and Christina,” Gino said. “You take good care of our girls.”

  “Absolutely. I will let you speak again with your daughter.” Nico took a couple of swift steps backward almost colliding with Dia. She wondered what Carlo thought about him—whether it had been a shock to realize Nico was quite young and handsome. She wondered if there would be questions, and didn’t have to wait too long to find out.

  Susan dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sure I’ll have to go back on to say another goodbye to Angie. But it’s your turn now. Nico and I are going into the lounge to give you some privacy.”

  Dia sat in the chair in front of the computer.

  “Is he there?” Carlo asked.

  “Who?”

  “Nico.”

  “They’ve gone to the lounge. Why?”

  “You didn’t say anything…”

  “About?”

  “Age. Looks. You know the suave European thing he’s got going on.”

  “That’s because he is. European, you know.” She laughed.

  “Well, I’m worried. I didn’t know I’d have someone like that competing for my woman.”

  “Me? You’re kidding, right?”

  There was a long pause. He leaned closer to the screen. “No, but I’m all stirred up.”

  “Tell me about your trip home. How was it? How do you feel?”

  “It was fine. I slept well. But I want to know more about him.”

  Dia bit at her lower lip for a second. “Don’t be jealous. I told you about Mama, and her desire for me to hook up with an Italian. It’s enough to make me run a mile.”

  “What about an American-Italian?” Carlo asked softly.

  “Let’s just say I’m not running.” Dia grinned at him. “I miss you so much. I’d love to go driving down to the docks again. Or snuggle up in a hotel room in Rome, or visit an art gallery.”

  Carlo grinned back. “I lo—” He pulled in a quick breath, and pushed against the chair. His parents were back standing behind him. “I have to stop talking. Angie’s tugging at my pants leg. She wants Susan. Let’s email later. Okay?”

  Dia swallowed hard. Had he been about to say he loved her? He’d had a strange look in his eyes. Her heart pounded loudly. She couldn’t look at him. Did she want that? Part of her yelled, hell yes; the other part warned that things were moving too fast. It was fine for her to have feelings, but if he reciprocated that changed everything.

  “Susan, Angie wants you,” Dia called over her shoulder.

  “Bye, bellisima.” Carlo blew a kiss, and then sat Angie in the chair.

  “Bye, bellisima.” Angie blew a kiss to her uncle.

  Carlo laughed. “Two hours. We’ll email. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Dia blew back a kiss. She couldn’t even say goodbye, she was so choked up. She felt Susan’s presence and slid out of the chair.

  Across the passageway, Nico sat on the couch in the lounge, sipping a glass of red wine. Was it love between him and Susan? Was it love between her and Carlo? It had happened so fast for both couples. She pressed her lips tight. Let the Corsica gate decide. She sat opposite Nico. He was deep in thought, barely acknowledging her arrival.

  After a couple of moments, he seemed to clear his mind and snapped into action. “Vino?” He reached for the bottle.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  They sipped wine, the boat moving gently beneath them. Neither said much. Susan returned and accepted a glass of wine. Overwhelmed with tiredness, Dia said goodnight. It would be good to go to bed early tonight.

  But first she wanted to email Carlo.

  ****

  Carlo returned to his condo after the Skype experience, too tired and too churned up inside to be of any great value to Angie. Besides, his niece had been acting up after having spoken with her mother. It must’ve hit home that her mom wasn’t just in the next room. Grandma had planned all kinds of diversions.

  He turned on the TV, not that he wanted to watch anything.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to the office. He’d intended to, but now he couldn’t concentrate. What the hell had Frank been thinking? Sending Dia and Susan into the arms of a smooth operator like Nico. He pressed his lips together for a moment. Well, he had to admit he didn’t know that about Nico, but he knew how women loved the Italian accent. Being there in the sun, on a yacht, in the Mediterranean, romance was a given.

  A twinge of guilt shimmered around the edge of his thoughts. He’d used his Italian accent on women. He shoved the thought away. That is different.

  What the hell was up with his mother? She didn’t seem bothered by this Nico guy? He needed to do something energetic before emailing Dia. He didn’t want to let her see his anger, jealousy…might as well call it by its name. They’d said two hours. He grabbed his cell phone.

  “Tony. It’s Carlo. Listen, I’m not going in to the office today. Want to work out at the gym, and we can discuss your portfolio over coffee later?”

  “Mama!” Tony yelled.

  Carlo shook his head. Tony hadn’t even bothered to put a hand over the phone’s handset.

  “You okay if I go talk with Nico?”

  “Aiyeeee,” Mrs. Cupertino yelled. “Is a-too much to do.” Then she broke into rapid Italian, and so did Tony. Carlo got the gist of the yelling. If Tony could get the fresh produce barrels out onto the pavement, and if he sliced the deli-meats, he could go for one hour.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen,” Tony said.

  He was as good as his word. Carlo had punched his numbers into the treadmill and was doing a rapid climb when Tony bounded in. He climbed onto the machine next to him. “So, we gonna walk and talk?”

  Carlo shook his head. “Nope. I need to work off some steam.”

  “Anything wrong? Ah, don’t tell me the stocks have dropped.”

  “No. Hell, no.” Carlo lowered the level. He wiped his brow with a small towel. “Just women problems.”

  “Oh. She dump you?”

  “No.” Carlo didn’t look at Tony. He hadn’t been dumped. He’d never talked with Tony about women he dated. But he knew Dia. He knew the family.

  “Need to get it off your chest?”

  Carlo sucked in a breath and went to hit the elevation again. But he thought better of it. He’d worked up a nice sweat. The exercise had done him some good. He took a swig from a water bottle

  Ah, hell. Tony was a sensitive type. Maybe he could shed some light on the problem.

  “It’s like this,” Carlo said. Minutes later he’d explained all his fears as if Tony were his therapist. Not that he had a therapist.

  “You’re jealous, because you’re in love. You’re apart, and you have no control over the situation. You have to trust her. You don’t trust now, it ain’t never gonna be any good.”

  Carlo nodded. That made sense.

  “You tell her you love her?”

  “No. I wanted her to have this trip to figure out what she wanted.” Carlo shrugged. “I knew it might be too soon for her. I went and jumped a plane and followed though.”

  “Yeah. Shocked the hell out of me.” Tony laughed. “You didn’t want her initially.”

  “I know. I told her about that.”

  Tony observed him for a minute. “You did an about-face, and got all romantic. But you didn’t want to scare her off. Then you pursued her. You tell her you love her?”

  “You asked me that already. The answer is still no.”

  “I know she sensed I was jealous. It didn’t seem right to say anything.”

  Tony looked at him like he was the dumbest kid on the block. “So you play the romance card, dummy. You make her want nobody but you.”

  “From here—when she’s over there?”

  Tony shot him a quizzical look. “You straight guys are so damn uptight. Play some games over the phone. Capisce?”

  “Oh.” Carlo wiped his brow again. “Like sexting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re emailing in
about an hour.”

  “Well, there you go then. Problem solved.” Tony hit the elevation on the treadmill and upped the mph. He started to jog, huffing and puffing. After a couple of minutes he glanced over and grinned. “So what are you waiting for? Go home. Shower. Get ready.”

  The television was on CNN. Carlo watched without listening. Tony was right. He’d been too controlled. It was time to loosen up and charm his woman. He’d managed well while they were in Italy together. He’d never been good at games, but he knew one thing that made her melt.

  “You’re right.” He grinned at Tony, slowed the machine, and waited for his heart rate to slow down. “See you later.”

  This would be good. This would be very, very good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dia slept like a baby. She had no idea how relaxing the motion of a yacht could be. Best sleep since she’d arrived in Italy. She stretched, and yawned noisily.

  Or it could have been because of the wonderful conversation she and Carlo had via email. They’d played a game of what they might do at the dock. What they’d wear. What they’d say. It had been both hilarious and touching. She smiled at the memory, never imagining him to have such a playful nature.

  He’d reminded her several times of his keepsake panties. How he’d put them on his pillow so he could look at them as he typed on the laptop. The things he said he could do with his fingers, and his tongue. Dia shivered.

  She rolled onto her back staring at the ceiling, remembering the nights they’d shared in Italy. A tremor of want ran through her body. She’d made him promise he would delete those emails immediately. She’d done the same with his, but only after reading them a couple more times.

  “Are you up, sleepyhead?” Susan rapped on the door and stuck her head into the cabin.

  “Not up.” Dia pushed thoughts of making love to Carlo from her mind.

  Susan was dressed in a crisp white skirt, her slim, tanned legs ending in white walking shoes. Dia raised her eyes from the shoes to take in the navy tank top decorated with a tiny, rhinestone-encrusted yacht between her breasts. A white cardigan tied loosely around her neck completed the outfit.

  Her perfection was enough to shock anyone out of a hot daydream. Dia blinked hard. Susan looked like the cover girl for a magazine called Yachts of the Mediterranean. Her red hair curled softly, her eyes sparkled. Silver-rimmed sunglasses were perched on her head. Large silver hoop earrings dangled from her ears.

  “We’re going ashore for breakfast, and to see the church of Saint-John-Baptiste,” Susan chirped. “Want to come along?”

  “Sure. Give me five minutes. Ah…dress code?”

  “I figured on the cardigan, just in case. You know how some churches are.”

  “Yeah, good idea, but I’d planned on wearing pants. Is that okay?”

  “Fine. No hurry though. Take fifteen minutes if you need to. Nico said we should pack our stuff and bring it up on deck.”

  “Oh? We’re leaving that early?”

  “Yeah. The cleaning people need to strip the linens, and take them to the laundry. Apparently someone is renting the yacht for the week.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, the crew is happy. They get to stay on.”

  Oh. Dia had imagined they’d all come along on the drive to Calvi.

  “That’s why Nico berths the Mirabella here,” Susan said. “So the men get more work.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Dia sat on the side of the bed.

  “Nico said you can shower if you want. They’ll be refilling the fuel and water tanks in port.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I didn’t bother.” Susan shrugged. “When we come back to the yacht, we’ll take the luggage straight up to the car. I figure I’ll shower when…you know…when we get to the villa.”

  “I’m so excited to be going to Calvi. Are you?”

  Susan smiled. “Absolutely.” She chewed at her fingernail. “I hope…I hope Nico’s family likes me…us.”

  “I’m sure they will. They love American visitors.”

  “Of course they do. Okay then.” Susan slapped her hands. Gone was the nervousness, and back had come the chirpiness. “See you in the lounge. Nico is waiting for me. He wants to show me a family album.”

  Oh dear, she had it bad. They hadn’t been in Nico’s company for a full twenty-four hours yet, and already he and Susan acted like a totally smitten couple.

  ****

  The drive to Calvi was wonderful. Dia couldn’t stop taking photos. First there were the cows in the road, and then the pigs. They weren’t even the wild boar that Corsica had in abundance, just regular fat old pigs wandering along like they owned the road.

  “They roam free,” Nico yelled, and then grinned.

  Susan sat in front next to Nico. Dia had the backseat all to herself. The top was down, and the sun and sweet smell of the maquis made her drowsy. Every so often they’d pass a small village where the houses climbed up the hillside. The focus of every village always seemed to be the church.

  Dia leaned forward. “Tell us something about Calvi’s history.”

  Nico turned off the radio. “The citadel is high; it overshadows the town. Protects it. You will like the approach by boat. We will take the motorboat one day for photographs. Behind the citadel are hills and snow-capped mountains.”

  “Even in summer?”

  “Si. Monte Cinto is many metres, ah…8,878 feet. The island was formed by volcanic eruptions.”

  Dia leaned her chin on the back of Susan’s seat.

  “Calvi. The birthplace of Christopher Columbus, and his house—” Nico laughed. “It can be seen…well, the ruins. Nelson destroyed it when he bombarded the French garrison in 1794. It is the famous story. He lost the sight of his right eye in a return of fire.”

  They approached another unspoiled village where goats ambled about, and vineyards clung to the hillsides. “What are those trees?” Dia asked, as they waited for the goats to get off the road.

  “Chestnut trees. Do you ladies wish to stop?’

  “No,” Susan said. “Not for me.”

  “Is there anything we should see here?” Dia asked.

  “No. But maybe I stop to pick up some wine, there is good muscat. The goat cheese and wild boar sausage are excellent.”

  “Sounds great.” The village had stood the test of time; probably it hadn’t changed since the 1400’s. Dia was glad they were stopping. The cobblestoned village square where what resembled a small farmer’s market was in full progress: a splash of vibrant colors, and equally vibrant voices that hawked their wares.

  “You look around. We meet here in fifteen minutes.” Nico parked the car in front of a small, ancient, stone church.

  Dia and Susan climbed out and stretched their legs. Dia turned her face up to the sun for a moment. Susan gazed after Nico, who dashed across the street and into a bright yellow building.

  “Let’s take a walk.” Dia nudged Susan, and soon they strolled past the stands that held a little bit of everything: nuts, fruits and vegetables, and household goods.

  “Look at this.” Susan picked up a small wooden music box.

  It was varnished wood, and hand painted.

  “Angie would love this.” Susan turned the key. It played Ave Maria. She looked over her shoulder. “I wonder if the woman speaks Italian, and if I can make myself understood?”

  “Go for it,” Dia said. “Or we could wait for Nico to help us.”

  “No. He’d only insist on paying.” Susan held the box out to the old woman who sat beaming at them, her head swathed in a black scarf. “Buon giorno. Parlo un poco italiano.”

  The woman nodded. Okay, so either she was being polite, or she understood that Susan’s Italian was limited.

  Susan continued. “Quanto costa?”

  The old woman told her the amount. Dia shook her head. “Wow. It’s like she’s giving it away.”

  Susan handed her the money. “Grazie. Questo é per lei.” She handed the
woman a little extra.

  The old woman bowed her head for a moment, then raised it with a wide, almost toothless smile. Dia wanted to hug her, to drink coffee with her, and talk. But her Italian was only passable. They spoke a mix of Corse, Italian, and French on the island, and maybe a little English. Nico’s generation had been taught English in school.

  Dia took several photographs of the stalls. She wanted to make a purchase, to give a little money back to the town. It wasn’t that she wanted or needed anything, but maybe there’d be something for Frank…or Mama.

  Then she saw it, a scarf in brown and maroon. It would be perfect for Carlo. The color matched his eyes. The scarf was the softest thing Dia had ever felt. She tried to find the words to ask about it when the young woman rubbed the end of the scarf between her fingers.

  “Alpaca,” she said.

  “Grazie.” Dia wondered if they raised alpaca in these parts, or if they imported the wool. She wouldn’t ask. For all she cared it could be goat hair. She held the scarf and examined the pattern. Without a doubt, she wanted it. She handed over her money. The woman wrapped the scarf in brown paper. When Dia turned, she found Nico heading to the car carrying a bag of goodies. Susan hurried toward him, calling out something about her purchase, and waving her arms around like a native Italian.

  Dia looked back at the young woman’s stall.

  Were the host and hostess gifts she’d bought for Nico’s family enough? Something truly American was the best thing. She glanced about the stall, then decided to trust Frank. He had said a silver key ring from Bloomingdale’s would be perfect for Nico. She’d doubted him, but when she’d glanced at Nico’s keys this morning, she’d felt a surge of happiness that Frank had been correct.

  “Let us away.” Nico bounded into the driver’s seat. “I am too much excited to have you meet my family.”

  “Me too,” Susan said.

  Dia hurried to get into the car. She’d barely snapped her seatbelt when the car eased out of the square onto the main mountain road. “Slow down, Andretti,” Dia yelled.

  Nico laughed. The sound whipped up on the wind.

  Ten kilometers out of the town, they began their descent. If Nico and Susan were half as excited as she was, well they must be about to burst out of their skins.