Sudden Legacy

by Kristy Phillips

  Nonna Vera praised him in Italian, then shepherded him toward the entry to the house. As they passed us she said something approvingly to me in her deep, honeyed voice. I looked to Julien for a translation.

  “She is relieved you didn’t have him circumcised. She has heard it is a common practice in America.”

  That wasn’t what I had been expecting. I shrugged and smiled back at Nonna Vera. “I suppose it’s about fifty-fifty.” I said to Nonna Vera via Julien. I had only ever been up close and personal with the au natural version, and it seemed to work just fine, so I couldn’t see the point in cutting him. I shivered. “I didn’t really see the need. So barbaric.”

  Nonna Vera patted me affectionately yet without a trace of condescension, then continued on into the house, presumably to dress my little urinating exhibitionist.

  Seeing Alex was thus occupied Julien turned to me and offered me his hand as he stood. “Shall we go for a walk?”

  “I’d love to,” I answered, then I turned to Nan with my unasked question.

  “Go,” she said, waving us away. “The child is surrounded by grandparents. We don’t need you!”

  I thanked her with a quick kiss to the cheek and bound down the patio stairs with Julien, excited to explore the grounds and have a little one on one time.

  Julien set the course and I followed him. We meandered out of the formal gardens surrounding the villa and into less manicured meadows with copses of trees bunched here and there, the tall grasses tickling at my calves under my ankle-length skirt. Well, I guess ‘meandered’ is not quite accurate. Julien clearly had a destination in mind.

  We reached the largest of the groves and continued into the shady interior. The mild exertion of the walk coupled with the bright sun shining down on us was warming me, and the shade was welcoming.

  He stopped suddenly at the base of a tree. “Voila,” he said. “Mon refuge.”

  I looked behind him in confusion. He got my attention with a clicking noise usually reserved for horses, and when I looked back at him he bent his hand at the wrist and slowly pointed up. “A clubhouse!”

  “A clubhouse, Chérie?”

  I scrambled for a different word. “A tree fort. That is what I’m looking at, isn’t it? The bottom of a tree house?”

  “It most certainly is. Come, let us break the rule!” He grabbed me and pulled me around to the other side of the tree where wooden steps had been nailed into the trunk to serve as a ladder. Testing his weight on the first three rungs he found them to be solid.

  “What rule?” I asked, following him up the steps. He had reached the top and disappeared into the tree house. He quickly popped his head back into view and offered me his arm for assistance. “Les filles sont interdites,” he breathed. “No girls allowed.”

  The inside of the tree house was surprisingly clean. It boasted a roof and only one small window, which had served to keep all but a light covering of dust and a handful of brown leaves from settling within its walls.

  “No girls allowed, huh?” I said, trying to decipher some of the graffiti that graced the rough walls. Very little of it was in English, but the stick figure drawings were understandable in any language. “You are the first,” he said as I crouched in front of the window and peered out. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves around us and a light floral scent from a climbing vine mingled nicely with the fresh, woodsy smell of the grove.

  Julien’s warm hand slid around the nape of my neck under the fall of my hair and gently kneaded the base of my skull. I relaxed out of my crouch and into a sitting position, enjoying his touch too much to care about getting my skirt dusty. No sooner had I closed my eyes than his lips were on mine in a lethargic, yet insistent kiss.

  Slowly he drew me backwards until I was lying on the floor with my knees bent, my skirt forming a small tent around my legs. His lips left mine and my eyes popped open. Julien was kneeling between my feet and slowly rucking up the hem of my skirt.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Retaliation? For last night.” He was wearing a wicked smile.

  “Retaliation! I thought you liked it!” I half-heartedly tried to dislodge his hand from my ankle. He chuckled at my lazy attempt at freedom.

  “And so I did. Call this repayment then, of a debt owed.” He pushed my skirt to the tops of my knees and moaned in pleasure at discovering my secret lack of underwear.

  “Repayment? That sounds so-” He cut me off.

  “Call it whatever you want Chérie, but I must taste you. Subito.” And that was the end of the conversation, not that I was in any condition to form a coherent sentence once he began his ministrations.

  A while later, as we both lay spent, smudged with dust from the floor and a fine sheen of sweat, I rested my head on Julien’s chest.

  “You’ve a bony chin Chérie.” Julien gently adjusted my head into a position that didn’t cause my chin to gouge his sternum.

  “We look a fright.” That earned me a quick head-bob when he laughed.

  “I suppose we do,” he agreed. “No matter. I’m a king, remember? I am allowed any number of privileges, up to and including ravishing my beloved in a tree house.”

  I giggled sleepily. We got quiet for a moment, both of us following our separate trains of thought, then, “Speaking of being a king, your highness, what did you and Mr. Martin decide on as a plan of action?”

  Julien took a deep breath and let it out slowly while rubbing roughly at his eye sockets. “Martin thinks we should ‘hole up’ here until his men can get a handle on the assassin. As your Pops would say, I’m not much for being shot at, so I quite agree.”

  “Hmmm. And after that? Will you agree to a coronation? Do you know what it all entails?”

  Julien made an indecisive noise. “According to Signore Passarelli it would be much like running a large corporation, which I have been doing rather successfully for the past three and a half years.” Julien shrugged. “As to the rest... The people are of two minds on the subject of an impostor king. Some view the current king - my father’s cousin - as the true leader, while others insist that position belongs to me by way of my father. There are parts of their taxing system that need to be addressed, and a host of other issues.” He let out a sigh of exhaustion. “It’s all rather a lot to think about.”

  I hummed in response and marveled at his ability to take on so much at such a young age, and still keep such a calm, clear head about everything.

  “It’s all so surreal, isn’t it?” I asked.

  He squeezed me tightly against him. “We have each other and we have our health. Everything else can be dealt with as it comes.”

  It was late. I was snuggled under a soft throw blanket in a large wing-backed chair by the fireplace. I watched the flames dance and crackle merrily, enjoying the quiet of the night. I stretched and yawned, my exhausted muscles and bones content in the knowledge that I had nowhere to be and nothing that needed doing.

  Julien sighed, his chair creaking as he shifted his weight. The warm pool of light from the tiny green shaded lamp atop his desk was only strong enough to light a small orb around him, leaving the rest of the room in darkness.

  Here we are, I mused. Each of us incased in our own little bubbles of light.

  Marla’s entrance would have been considered dramatic even if it had been expected. As it was, both Julien and myself were startled by her sudden arrival. I reacted by freezing into a statue, my mouth open the slightest bit in surprise. Julien’s reaction was much more menacing.

  We heard the rapid clicking of her shoes on the marble in the hallway before her lithe body darkened the study door.

  “C’est vrai. less lesse . Es-tu lesse?” Marla rushed to his side as he stood. Her hands ran over his chest, his neck, and down his arms, seemingly searching for damage. He winced slightly as she brushed over his wound. She could feel the bandage under his sleeve.

  He regarded her coldly, answering her in English. “Yes, it’s true. I’ve returned.”

&
nbsp; His use of English must have triggered her to switch to English as well. It certainly wasn’t for my benefit, as she clearly hadn’t noticed me ensconced in my cocoon as I was.

  “Your mother says you have been shot. What is going on Julien? What is all this about?” Her voice didn’t falter, but she began to speak slower as she realized her touch was unwelcome. Julien’s eyes bore into hers, and even from my distance I could see the tendons straining in his neck as he fought for control over his urge to pummel this woman. She had no way of knowing he had figured out her role in keeping Alex’s existence a secret.

  He didn’t waste any time in enlightening her. “I know about my son, Marla. I know what you did.” I couldn’t make out her color in the dim room, but I was sure she had blanched. Her body seemed to sag infinitesimally in defeat. She was not a meek woman. It would be most unlike her to cower or supplicate for forgiveness; even so, I was shocked by her brazen response.

  “There is no need to thank me. I’m only sorry I couldn’t keep it from you longer.”

  “Grazie a voi?” He was completely exasperated. “Thank you?” Marla took a half step back, intimidated by his extreme response.

  “Oui. I did what I did out of selfless generosity. Did you really expect me to let a putain saddle you with a bastard child? Non, mon amour, I could not let her do that!”

  “You will not speak that way about my future wife.” His seething demeanor unsettled her.

  “Julien! Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot fancy yourself in love with that girl.”

  Julien’s response was interrupted by his cellphone. More because he needed a moment to calm down than any actual desire to answer the phone, he glanced at the screen and accepted the call. “Martin? What is it?” He scowled at Marla as he listened to Mr. Martin’s response. Pulling the phone from his ear he put it on speaker. Martin’s voice came out of the phone in the clipped, no-nonsense way I had come to recognize as his business voice.

  “...He claims he arrived with Ms. Barriére.”

  Marla stiffened at Martin’s words. “Savio?” She turned to Julien. “Call off your pit bull Julien. I’ll not have him bullying my companion.”

  As Julien assured Martin the unfortunate Savio was indeed with Marla, I marveled at the realization that I had never known her last name. I also chuckled inwardly at the fact that she had brought a “companion” with her to her former lover’s home. She was all class, that Marla.

  I thought I saw Julien in the study as I passed by on my way to breakfast, but the man in question turned at the sound of my footsteps and I realized I had been mistaken. My mistake was understandable, because this man bore a striking resemblance to Julien in both body stature and coloring. He had been at the bookshelf, studying a display of soapstone figurines.

  “Hello,” I said in greeting, belatedly wondering if he spoke English. “I’m Lara.”

  “Buon giorno Lara. Nice to meet you,” he answered with a friendly smile. “I am Savio”

  I tried not to do a double-take at his smile. It really was uncanny how much he looked like Julien. So this was Marla’s new pet. She certainly had specific taste in men. Compensating much, Marla? I thought, then quickly felt ashamed at my pettiness. As if summoned by my uncharitable thoughts, Marla herself breezed into the study. Seeing Savio and me engaged in conversation she wasted no time in starting her scathing remarks.

  “Don’t bother, Lara,” she said with condescension, “This one isn’t rich.”

  I returned her fake smile. “Good morning, Marla. Still as charming as ever, I see.” Her acidic retort was interrupted by Julien coming down the hall, Alex atop his shoulders and Nan and Pops at his heels. Marla drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him with his son. His wound was healing beautifully, and already he no longer kept it wrapped in gauze. Alex was very impressed with the dramatic slash of stitching across Julien’s bi-cep. It peeked out from beneath the short sleeves of his polo shirt as he raised his arms above his head to steady his passenger.

  I had told Nan all about Marla and her role in duping Julien and me. She was vibrating with excitement as she stood in the entryway, correctly deducing Marla’s identity based on my description. She had a current of energy coursing through her like a terrier facing a Rottweiler. She had no idea she was the smaller animal or that the fight was unfair. Pops recognized Nan’s change immediately. He swooped Alex backwards off Julien’s shoulders and hustled Nan along. “Alrighty. We’ll just go on to breakfast,” he declared, dragging Nan away from the scene in the study.

  “You must be Marla’s companion,” Julien said, offering Savio his hand. “I’m Julien. It is a pleasure to meet you.” I always found it hard not to swoon when Julien used his impeccable manners when it would be completely understandable for him to play the part of the petulant child.

  Savio gave Julien a firm handshake. “I am Savio. The pleasure is all mine. I was about to tell your beautiful wife how lovely I found your home.”

  “She’s not his wife,” snapped Marla.

  Julien ignored her outburst and answered Savio. “Thank you. You are a welcome guest in my home, though I must say, you keep dubious company.”

  My jaw dropped. That was a blatant insult directed toward Marla. Marla folded her arms and puffed out a burst of air. “Yes. How wicked of me to hold your best interests to heart.”

  Julien turned a cold glare on Marla. “What constitutes my best interests are not for you to decide.” He turned back to Savio. “Be wary of this woman, Savio. She is conniving and self-serving and should not be trusted.”

  Savio looked warily from Julien to Marla, and back to Julien again, unsure how to respond.

  “She is admittedly clever.” He turned to Marla again. “I’ve been wanting to ask you how you did it. How did you trick us into believing the other would not take our calls?”

  I caught myself unconsciously leaning forward in an effort to capture her every word. This woman had single-handedly crushed my joy, and like a tongue that couldn’t help but worry a sore tooth, I too wanted to know how she had done it.

  Marla savored the moment. She waited a beat as if contemplating whether or not she would tell us, then she settled herself on a settee and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Like a killer on his deathbed admitting to his murders in order to receive proper credit, she was enjoying a perverse pleasure at sharing her cunning tricks.

  “It was a simple matter of securing a phone number similar to Lara’s, recording her outgoing message, and using it as the outgoing message for the new number.” Marla shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I changed her contact listing in your phone to my new, similar number, and I blocked her real number from your phone so she would get a service message if she tried calling. You never noticed the number change. You never thought twice about it.”

  “Why would he?” I asked. “He’s a sane person. Who would do that?”

  Marla turned her raptor gaze on me. “Someone concerned with his future. Someone that recognized his worth, and the fact that he is far too valuable to be lost to a silly little girl like you.”

  I saw true venomous hatred for me in her eyes. How easy it had been for her to toss us asunder. How little fight either of us put up. I recalled in vivid detail that first text from Julien - no, Marla. It would have been Marla from the start.

  L, I upgraded my phone. My old number no longer works. This is my new number and the best way to reach me. I hope your flight was comfortable. J.

  I frowned at my cell phone screen. The text seemed so curt and impersonal. Not like Julien at all. I scrolled through my missed calls until I found his missed call from the day I gave him my number. I hesitated a fraction of a second, thinking about international charges, then I pressed the call button. It only rang once, then clicked to a message in Italian followed by three shrill beeps. I didn’t speak Italian, but I recognized a disconnected number when I heard one. I clicked back to his text. Maybe he was one of those people that didn’t communicate well through written word. I pecked ou
t a response.

  My flight was fine. I missed you the second I entered the airport. I am counting the days until Thanksgiving. I hope your new phone gets reception at sea! I love you.

  I hit send, and stupidly stared at the screen for a full minute, hoping to get an immediate response. The phone remained lifeless. I sighed and slipped it into my pocket. It would be days before I would get a response, and that response was just as bland and unemotional as the first message had been.

  This phone has limited reception as well.

  The text had come some time during the night. I didn’t bother attempting to figure out what time it was in France. I hit the call button. I sagged in defeat as it went to voicemail, then my heart skittered erratically as Julien’s silky voice greeted me in Italian, then again in French. Finally a short “You have reached Julien Diotallevi, please leave a message at the signal,” in English.

  I was suddenly shy. I didn’t know what to say. I swallowed around my dry, clumsy tongue. “Uh... Julien, hi, it’s me, Lara. I got your text.” I felt very foolish talking into the phone. His texts had made me feel like a bothersome child; a nuisance. I tried for an air of nonchalance. “Give me a call back when you get this.” Panicking, I hung up without saying anything more.

  I returned Marla’s glare full force. She was a cunning bitch; I would give her that. Now that she had explained how she had done it, it seemed a painfully obvious ruse. How stupid we had been. How absurd that we let our tender egos convince us the love we felt from each other was false. She narrowed her eyes at me. They were calculating eyes - the eyes of a predator. Something in my brain clicked into place. In all the excitement I had overlooked a glaringly obvious fact. How had this not occurred to me before? I turned to Julien and spoke in a calm, deep voice.