Peiro blushed under his olive complexion. “It is a term of affection. It means treasure.”
The food was delivered to our table, giving me a reprieve from the gob smacked silence that had descended over me. Peiro had called me tesoro the first time he had seen me, taking the liberty of gifting me, a stranger, with an exquisite term of endearment. But I was nobody’s treasure.
The sound of Dr. Brightman’s calm and resolute voice filled my head: When you meet someone who leaves a mark on your heart and soul, that, my dear Violet, is truly a treasure. You are no doubt treasured by many; it’s time for you to recognize that worth. It was hard to recognize any worth for a woman who willingly filled her body with poison and whored herself out to acquire that said poison. Everyone makes mistakes, Violet. The line that separates those who fall and those who fly is being able to learn from your mistakes. Which will you do, fall or fly? Dr. Brightman of the Hope Built Rehabilitation Facility was a walking, talking recitation of all things prophetic and meaningful. When I had told him he should write a book of quotes, he had proudly produced a small book from his desk, his name easily recognizable on the front cover along with the book’s title: Building Hope’s Foundation—A Quote a Day. I smiled at the memory and at the thought of his book in my suitcase back at the villa.
“Have you any other plans today?” Peiro’s voice disturbed me from my thoughts.
“I’m not one to plan, even on a working day, Peiro. My vacation is blissfully plan free.” Peiro smiled and the gesture seemed to whisk away the air of authority and made him look quite youthful. “Perhaps you might allow me to show you around; I could be your tour guide for the day?” Good common sense screamed stranger danger, but I had never been a woman who listened to good sense, and I was already indulging in an intimate breakfast with the virtual stranger who did hotels, amongst other things.
“My good sense is telling me this is a horror movie in the making,” I quietly grumbled, which only encouraged Peiro’s smile to broaden.
“As much as it would be my pleasure to have you all to myself, I realize that’s not responsible of me. We will stay in public places, around other people. It will give ourselves a better chance to get to know one another.”
I found myself nodding and almost winced at my stupidity. I was that crazy female, the one that screamed when she should have remained quiet, and ran when she should have stayed still.
“Bellisimo, we will make a day of it.” Peiro clapped.
With a little luck I’d still be alive at the end of it.
When Peiro said a day, he meant a whole darn day! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We visited some of Atrani’s most treasured locations. A church built around the tenth century; the gorgeous building was entrenched with so much history you could almost feel it prickle under your skin. I was accosted with thoughts of how much their walls had seen and heard, how many stories they could tell if only they could speak. We did an easy walk to the Torre dello Ziro, a fortress that overlooked Atrani. The building was flanked with strongholds and turrets, the ruins again holding a wealth of history and intrigue. Peiro’s deep voice rumbled with warmth and fondness as he related the story of Joan the Mad, the illegitimate daughter of Henry’s illegitimate son. At the tender age of twelve, she married Alfonso Piccolomini, Duke of Amalfi who left her widowed, the mother of two, and at the reign of an empire that was in financial ruin at the time. The poor woman fell into the arms of her butler, much to the disgrace of the dead husband’s brothers, so they did what any decent brothers-in-law would do; they imprisoned her in Torre dello Ziro. Here, she and her children starved to death, or if you believe more bloodthirsty accounts, they were slaughtered.
“Why is history shrouded with such awful stories,” I sighed.
“Times were different then, a beheading here and little torture there was quite acceptable. I guess we must be thankful we were born in less difficult times. Now our worries are consumed with crashed computers and lost mobile phones.” Peiro chuckled.
“Hey, if I lost my cell phone, I’d be a shell of a woman,” I argued playfully.
“I would like very much to see you again,” Peiro purred as he stopped at the door to my villa. Now he knew where I lived. I guess I was as good as done for. Harry would be so mad at the lack of safety for myself. “But, I will leave that up to you. If you wish to see me again, you can find me at the hotel down by the beach where we met, just ask for me at the front desk.” Peiro didn’t offer a kiss, not even a hug. “Sleep well, Tesoro,” he murmured before walking away.
I pushed open the door to the quiet villa, and once inside, I quietly clicked the door shut and turned to lean against the cool wooden frame. Now that I was alone, I was able to allow my thoughts to quietly settle. Unfortunately, they settled into the familiar melancholy that seemed to sit like a heavy cloud on my shoulders. Being alone in this kind of silence reminded me all too well that Cain was gone, and that I was, in fact, alone. Peiro had a way of making me laugh and a roguish smile that made my heart flutter. Thoughts of Cain were few and far between while I had been in Peiro’s company. My own struggles over the past several months somehow seemed lighter, easier to accept, or perhaps easier to ignore; I wasn’t sure which. For some reason, finding friendship with Peiro also made me feel guilty. I felt like I was betraying Cain, but there was nothing to betray. My mind could easily rationalize that it was an absurd reaction, but my heart demanded my loyalty to the only man I had ever truly cared for. Then there was the underlying perception that a man like Peiro was far too good for a damaged girl like me. He was sophisticated; his designer clothing, careful grooming, and his sturdy confidence exuded wealth. He would never befriend an ex-junkie who had accidentally almost offed herself. The ringing of my cell phone sitting on the kitchen table broke my tumultuous thoughts.
“Damn it, Violet, I’ve been trying to call you all day,” snapped Harry.
“I’m on vacation, Harry, leave me alone.” I sighed as I collapsed into the leather sofa.
“Well, I had to go through someone telling me how you had died several months ago; that kind of shock never leaves a person.” I immediately felt bad for having worried him. “I just wanted to let you know the villa is available for another four weeks now. My sister decided to take the kids to Disneyland instead. Why the fuck she would want to punish herself, I do not know, but, whatever. If you want to stay a little longer, you are more than welcome.”
I had already been in Atrani for three weeks, and I was supposed to be leaving two weeks from tomorrow. I opened my mouth to say I’d keep my current flight and see Harry in two weeks, but something made the words halt. A thought of Peiro flashed through my mind, and the idea of leaving so soon actually made me a little sad. I had only just met him. He meant nothing to me, we barely constituted a friendship, but I thought I might have wanted one with him.
“A little more time would be wonderful, thank you,” I said instead.
“Are you sure? I thought you’d be bored by now. Have you started moving around the furniture yet?” I laughed. Moving furniture was something I did to break the monotony of long periods of time living out of hotels. I glanced at the furniture in the living room that I had, in fact, moved twice now.
“I haven’t touched the furniture,” I lied.
“Fucking liar,” he laughed. “Okay, I’ll change your flight and email you the new details.” Harry paused for a moment, and I could tell whatever he had to say next wasn’t coming easily. “Everything okay?” He finally settled for. I knew he wasn’t asking about the villa or the weather.
“I’m doing okay, Harry,” I quietly confided.
“Great, glad we got that settled. I’ll talk to you later.” He promptly hung up. That was our Harry; a man of many words when it suited him, a man of brisk business the rest of the time.
Two days later, I stood just inside the foyer of a beautiful, exquisite hotel, situated right on the shoreline. Massive archways along the beachside teased with the promise of pristine blue wat
ers just beyond. The marble floor beneath my feet was cool even through my sandals. It wasn’t sticky though, so why I had become rooted to the spot the moment I had stepped inside was beyond me. I was compelled to come here with a sense of urgency. I had a little over three weeks left of my vacation, not nearly enough time to build a friendship with the handsome Italian stranger, but something was tugging at me, commanding I see him again. Now that I was here, I was terrified, and apparently stuck to this spot. Two women from the front desk several feet before me had noticed my entry, and now watched me with undisguised concern and confusion. When one of them reached for a phone, her curious eyes set on me, I panicked. They probably thought I was some crazy nut job westerner, and she was calling security. Obviously unable to go forward, I turned to retreat and ran straight into the wall of a solid chest.
“Oh crap,” I whispered. “So sorry.” Before I had a chance to politely side step and escape, a large, warm hand caught my upper arm.
“Tesoro, please tell me you’ve come for me and not a room,” Peiro purred. I looked up into the stormy dark eyes of the Italian. He was stunning, dressed in an expensive grey suit, his hair brushed off his forehead.
“Yes… I mean, no.” He looked a little confused. Could you blame him? “Yes, I came to see you, but then I thought I might be interrupting you, you might have been working, which quite obviously you are.” My eyes quickly raked over his powerful body hidden behind his powerful suit. “Perhaps we can do this again another day, when you are not so busy.” I quickly suggested.
The corner of Peiro’s mouth lifted into a smile. “You would like to bump into me then try to stammer your way out of spending time with me?”
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “No!” I said, startled. “I meant, maybe we could do something, other than bump into each other, another day.”
He was now brimming with laughter. “I believe you bumped into me, Tesoro.” I opened my mouth to argue and realized my argument was baseless, because I had bumped into him. Peiro chuckled and the wonderful sound fell over me like a warm blanket. He put his hands carefully on my shoulders and turned me around. “Welcome to my hotel,” he whispered in my ear. He tried to nudge me forward, but I had become glued to the ground, again.
“Your hotel?” The words came out like a squeak. Smooth, Violet, I internally berated myself. “You do hotels,” I whispered his words from the first time we had met. “Holy shit, you own hotels!” I squeaked again. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest at my back. He was laughing at me.
“Actually, my family does hotels. My grandfather owns a few, and my brothers and I work for him, taking care of the business. He’s eighty-two now, not a young man, so I do the traveling and make sure everything is running smoothly. Apparently, I have a good rapport with people.”
“Buongiorno, signor Marchiano,” said a hotel valet who walked by us. His smile was friendly as he gave me a polite nod.
“Buongiorno, Filippo.” He went on to speak in Italian with the employee for a few minutes before a gentle hand to my lower back encouraged me to move forward. This time I managed to step further into the hotel.
“Rozalia, I will be unavailable for the rest of the day, would you phone Luciano and tell him I will call later tonight?” The woman behind the counter smiled and nodded, her eyes drifting to me for only a moment before turning to the task at hand. Peiro continued to lead me towards one of the giant archways that led to the beachside of the hotel.
“If you are busy, I don’t mind doing this another time,” I tried to argue.
“I am not busy,” Peiro said with an air of nonchalance. “The hotel is not going anywhere. The calls I need to make are international and are usually conducted at night to allow for different time zones.” We followed steps down into a luxurious poolside area, filled with tropical plants, a long, well stocked bar, which I studiously ignored, and more of those cozy deck chairs.
“What do you call a deck chair in Italian?” I wondered out loud, needing to put this mystery to rest. Peiro gave me an arched brow which clearly meant he had no idea what I was talking about. “These,” I put my hand on the back of one. “In America, we call it a deck chair; it doesn’t sound fancy enough for you Italians, so what do you call these?”
He chuckled as he pushed my shoulders down, forcing me to sit in the chair. “Sedia a sdraio.” God, I loved listening to that. I could sit and listen to the man speak in Italian all day long. I wouldn’t understand a word, but I’d be happy. “Or in English, chaise lounge, or deck chair.”
“Well, it sounds better with an Italian accent,” I murmured.
“I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
I sat under the warm sun, taking in my surroundings. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and the pool was virtually empty. I would imagine most guests would prefer to carry on down the stairs to the immaculate beach below. Even I felt the draw to the natural wonder of the glass like water and warm sand beneath my feet. “Here you go,” said Peiro with that confidence he seemed to wear as easily as his immaculate suit. He handed me an icy glass filled with a red icy liquid. I simply stared at it, my heart suddenly thumping a painful assault in my ears. “Cranberry juice with crushed ice,” Peiro explained, no doubt thinking a woman freaking out over a drink was a tad unusual. “You like?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve never had cranberry juice before.” I took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the rich fruity flavor. When my eyes rolled and I moaned with unbidden fruity desire, Peiro chuckled.
“I take that as a yes.” He sat down on the deck chair opposite me, looking completely at home in the tropical surroundings, while wearing a business suit. “I would go change, but I don’t want to miss spending time with you.” My nervous gaze darted to his, and he smiled, still looking as self-assured as ever. Peiro loosened his tie and my eyes followed his actions that, though quite innocent, suddenly seemed completely erotic. I imagined him carefully peeling away the layers of that suit and wondered what strong, handsome physique would lie beneath. I barely noticed my tongue dash out to wet my hungry lips. When I noticed the pleased look in Peiro’s eyes, I was fairly sure he knew what I was thinking, and somehow I forced my gaze onto the safety of the pool beyond. Only it wasn’t so safe either. My eyes came to rest on a tall, young, athletic man stepping from the pool, water sluicing down his bronzed skin which was in plentiful view as he wore only a tight, red pair of Speedos. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I tried to find somewhere to look that wouldn’t completely mortify me. I felt tongue tied, uncertain, clumsy, and inexperienced all at once. Hell, I felt like a damn lost teenager again. I wasn’t sure if Peiro felt the awkwardness wafting from me, but he gave me a reprieve for which I was grateful for. He carried the conversation, telling me his entire life story without a single hesitation. He was thirty-eight years of age, had divorced two years ago, and had no children. When he had told me his grandfather owned a few hotels, he actually meant several, staggered around the world which included three in the U.S. Peiro was wealthy, obscenely so. While he had been nothing but forthright and honest with his background, I had been like a closed book. I knew it wasn’t fair. This was quickly developing into a one-sided friendship. Dr. Brightman had been quite adamant that the steps towards friendship were paved in truth and honesty. He didn’t suggest I walk around town telling every Tom, Dick, and Harry my past. Mind you, Harry knew it better than most. But small and honest details about my life were required to build the relationships I was sorely lacking. The need to give Peiro something, just a small piece of the real me, sent words I didn’t think I was ready to say to the tip of my tongue. My fingers had attached themselves to the amethyst diamond I constantly wore around my neck, my gaze on the sparkling blue water of the pool. My thoughts were tangled with past, present, and future.
“The man who gifted you something so beautiful must be quite significant in your life,” Peiro quietly noted. I turned to look at him, confused by
his statement. His dark gaze was on my necklace. I managed to release the amethyst and smiled with a small nod.
“What makes you think a man gave it to me?” I wondered.
“Only a man would buy something so exquisite for a woman.” He watched me, no accusation or anger in his eyes, merely a curiosity which I couldn’t blame him for.
“My best friend gave it to me last Christmas,” I explained.
“A stunning amethyst diamond for a stunning girl called Violet, very appropriate.”
I nodded. That’s how Cain was; his gifts were always carefully thought out and always appropriate. Now memories of Cain tumbled into a moment that was supposed to be Cain free.
“We had a falling out shortly after he gave it to me,” I went on to explain, the words spilling out like an overfilled cup.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Surprisingly, Peiro’s eyes held a sincerity I wasn’t used to seeing in my world, especially from virtual strangers. “True friendships are hard to find in this world, to lose one is difficult.”
I nodded in agreement, a tightening in my chest causing my throat to thicken with emotion. “I’ve spent the last six months in a rehabilitation facility for drug addiction,” I suddenly blurted out. Way to go, Violet, of all the snippets of truth and honesty you could give this handsome, strange man, you decided to go with the Mac Daddy of them all. I didn’t want to see Peiro’s reaction to my words, so I put my head down and continued on, “Cain and I had been friends since high school; he plays piano, and I sing. We’re a jazz duet. We do covers mostly, and we’ve made good money and achieved a lot of success in a short amount of time. Cain’s always been there for me, always helped me and cleaned up the messes I made. This time though, he wasn’t there. I hurt him pretty bad, and he left. So, our manager, Harry, got me into a rehab facility. I was there roughly six months. When I got out, I decided I wasn’t quite ready to face reality yet, so that’s why I’m here, on vacation.” Peiro was quiet for such a long time I finally drew on the courage to face him. I glanced nervously across the small gap, expecting to see disgust, pity, loathing. His face was a closed book, his eyes fixed on the pool. I could almost envision him standing, politely excusing himself, and walking away. I would never see him again. Wow, I had completely screwed up another friendship, yet again. Why couldn’t I get this right? I mean, what was so difficult about relationships that the only one I seemed able to maintain was with my manager?
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