“Valet?” I call.
A young man in a suit trots in my direction. “Si, signora.”
I hand him my ticket. “My car please.”
He takes my ticket. “I’ll be right back.”
I take a calming breath and look across the large lot and the expansive grounds leading to the ocean. I admire the reflection of the rising moon over the water. I’m sure tonight would’ve been perfect if I hadn’t torn my dress. The universe must be telling me something; whatever it is, I do not know.
A horn beeps and I look at the driveway. My car is coming. I’m this close to escaping. The valet gets out, holds my door open for me, and just before I slide into the seat, someone shouts my name. I turn quickly to see who it is.
GIANFRANCO GUARDI
It’s 8:40 p.m. I stand in front of the mirror, take a breath, and close my eyes, anticipating the night. I remember the last time I was with Liza and dancing—the feeling of her hips brushing against mine. My nostrils open, recalling her warm, intoxicating scent. I open my eyes and take one last look at myself. I put on a gray classic cut suit, something like a James Bond / Daniel Craig look. It feels right.
I grab fragrance from the countertop, unbutton my collar, and dab some around my neck. I take the keys from the key hanger next to my closet, go outside to get into the red Ferrari, and go.
The view along my drive across the countryside is magnificent. The moon is bright and makes the landscape glisten. It’s inspiring. It isn’t all that uncommon for me to stop when inspired and make a drawing or paint. However, tonight as I drive, my mind continually is bombarded by thoughts of Liza.
When I arrive, it’s nine thirty. I stop in front of il colosseo di mare and a valet takes my car. I hope Liza has already arrived.
Mask in hand, I hurry up the stairs, continually scanning the faces of the people who are standing about, smoking, talking and drinking. I get inside and stop. There are a lot more people in here than I'd thought. It’s not going to be easy to find Liza. I loosen my collar, put on my mask, and start down the main floor.
I look at every woman I pass, searching for the eyes I have been thinking about for the last three weeks. I make it through the main room without any luck. I know there are two rooms off to the side and also a patio area. I try those also, then I circle back around and find myself where I started. By chance, I catch a glimpse of Juanita. She’s near the stage, standing with other beautiful six-foot tall women. Perhaps she has seen Liza tonight.
I slice through the crowd, and as soon as I am close, Juanita and I make eye contact.
She lifts her arm high. “Gianfranco, darling!”
We hug when I reach her, and she kisses me on the cheek.
“How are you tonight?” Juanita says.
I kiss her back. “I’m well. And you?”
“You know,” she says with a smile. “A little here, a little there. Life is but a dream.”
My attention snaps toward a woman who brushes past us. “Have you seen Liza?” I say impatiently.
She points toward the exit. “Yes for a moment, I did, but she ran outside.”
I step back. “What was she wearing?”
“Um… yes, a yellow dress.”
I dart for the door. When I get outside, I freeze, scanning the overly large grounds and parking area as fast as I can. I catch a glimpse of a woman in yellow some distance off, moving away from the venue. If I get her attention, I’ll be able to reach her.
“Liza,” I holler at the top of my lungs.
Everyone around me stops. I feel as if I’m in slow motion. She doesn’t alter her course, so I chase after her. I unbutton my blazer and bellow again while running down the stairs.
“Scusami, scusami,” I spit repeatedly while passing those who have become observers.
When I reach the sidewalk, I can’t see her anymore.
“Gianfranco,” a pleasant voice says from my side.
I look, and there’s a silver Mercedes with the driver’s door open, and Liza is standing beside it as though she’s gotten out to see what sort of madman is calling her name.
“Liza,” I say, just beginning to breathe again. “You made it?”
“I did.”
I walk to her side. “Are you leaving?”
Her face turns down. “I am.”
“What is it? Is everything okay?”
She heaves a deep sigh. “Not really.” Then she turns bashfully, exposing the tear in her dress. “I had a wardrobe malfunction.”
I look down at her beautiful flesh exposed between the material. “I see. I can fix that?”
“You can?”
I pitch the valet my keys. “Bring me my car.”
14
I'd taken my ticket back from the valet, and now we’re in the parking lot at Gianfranco’s car. I smile bashfully. “Well, what do you have in mind?”
“Let me take a closer look. Will you?” He steps in my direction.
I timidly turn my hip toward him. He bends and looks at my leg, brushing his hand across my dress to expose the extent of its split.
“Here,” he says with his index finger circling in the air. “Turn into the light.”
I twist my body while my thigh remains his study.
A few seconds later, he stops. “This is not a problem, I think.”
I feel my eyes light up. “That’s good. But what are you going to do?”
He looks at me with that glimmer in his eyes, and again, my body is flushed with warmth and intrigue. “We will make art.”
“What?” I say hesitantly, almost laughing at the same time. “What do you mean?”
He goes to his trunk—or the hood rather—of the Ferrari and pops it open. Gianfranco asks me to take a seat on the passenger’s side while he removes a small case from the trunk. He opens the case in my direction so that I can see an air brusher with several different colors. “And now it’s time to make art.”
I laugh bashfully. “Okay.”
He takes out an alcohol wipe. “May I?”
My heart melts from the care and excitement in his puppy-dog eyes. “I suppose.”
He reaches around the back of my right knee, turning my leg ever so slightly to the side. My body shudders from his soft, firm touch. I can feel that he has strong hands. I relax, allowing him to guide me into position before I feel the cold alcohol-soaked cloth rub across my flesh. Tingling sensations run up and down my leg while he presses gently into my thigh.
“It is okay?” His deep green eyes peer up at me from the level of my waist.
I nod slowly, then look around. For anybody passing by, this has to look like some sort of prime-time entertainment.
He lifts my skirt almost to the top of my thigh while maintaining eye contact with me. My heart beats a mile a minute. I’m hot with anticipation and never dreamed I’d be in the parking lot having my thigh painted by a super-sexy artist.
Gianfranco grabs his small air brusher, flips a switch, and lightly brushes strokes of yellow paint across my leg. The sensation feels like a mildly chilled breath blowing slowly up and down my leg. I watch him methodically move the wand, concentrating deeply.
He leans back to observe his work before reconnecting with my eyes. I smile, which he returns.
He switches colors and begins again. Each of the light, methodical strokes splashes tiny dollops of paint across my leg and sends chills farther up my thigh and into my body. For several more minutes, I enjoy his artful brushing. By now, the tingling sensation has penetrated my entire being. Then he flips a switch and turns off the machine.
I swallow as the intensity drains from my skin.
He stays where he is, looking at what he has done. “I think it will be good, no?”
I look down and slowly fold my dress down to its original length. “It’s perfect.”
When he stands, still holding the gun, his face is remarkably close to mine.
“Grazie,” he says, blowing his warm breath against my lips.
I gulp,
nearly choked by desire. “Um, no, thank you.”
Finally he cracks a tiny smile. “I will put everything away.” He backs up, still staring into my eyes.
I feel my chest rising and falling.
Gianfranco puts the equipment back in the trunk and returns to stand in front of me. This moment is so wonderfully awkward.
I break eye contact to look at my feet. “So should we go back inside?
He grunts thoughtfully. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
I look at my mask and twist the stem between my fingers. “But then what will I do with this?”
“If you like, I can put it in my car.”
I look up to gaze into his eyes, then out at the moon over the ocean. What a perfectly wonderful night it is. With all the loud music coming from the colosseum, why would we want to go back there?
I hand over my mask to Gianfranco. “Then let’s walk.”
His smile brightens his face. He takes my mask and sets it on the front seat. After he closes the door, he holds out his hand, and I take it. Our connected hands swing gently as we head for the shore.
15
We reach the edge of the sand, and I take off my shoes.
“Let me carry them,” Gianfranco says.
Never in my life has a man offered to do something so minor as carry my shoes. After a brief hesitation, I give him my heels. Gianfranco wiggles his eyebrows, takes my hand, and we trot across the sand.
The air skidding off the water is lukewarm.
“I’ve always considered the Mediterranean Sea the friendliest in the world,” I say, drinking in the moment.
“Oh, really? Why is that?” Gianfranco asks.
I use my hands as visual aids. “It’s encircled by three continents, which makes the sea so tranquil. It’s like a big blue swimming pool.” I drop my head and sigh. Did I just say big blue swimming pool? That sounded so uninspiring.
“And all are welcome in this big blue swimming pool,” he says.
When I look at him, he’s beaming. I feel myself light up too. “Yes.”
By the time we make it to the shoreline, his hand that I’m holding is extra damp. It would be great if we could throw more caution to the wind and tumble onto the wet sand, kissing and groping each other. My mind paints fantasies of that as I look at him.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he asks.
“Huh?” I sound jittery.
He lifts our entangled hands. “You squeezed tighter.”
I drop my face bashfully. “Oh.”
Jeez, I feel as if I’m back in high school. I’m a modern, sophisticated woman. Can’t I find anything interesting to say?
“So how do you like living in Italy?” Gianfranco asks.
“Very much. I mean, I like it very much.” Damn nerves. “Italy, I mean.”
He chuckles. I want to roll my shoulders to loosen them, but I’m overly aware of how silly I might look doing that. Actually, I want to take a big ol’ deep breath and start over with my answer.
“Let’s see… you like Luigi’s Bakery. What else?”
I work hard to steady my breathing. “Well… I love the water, and I take my son as much as possible. I love strolling down the sidewalks on Via Niccolo Putignani and… oh, this may sound touristy, but I love the Castellana Grotte, the caves.”
“You like caves?” he asks enthusiastically.
“Love them.”
“Do you swim?”
My smile stretches wider from just thinking about soaking in the great blue waters. “Yes, especially the coastal beaches.”
“I have a house in Salento. It is near the sea. You are welcome as my guest. Always.”
I clear my throat. “Grazie. I would like that.”
“Me too.”
I grin at the sand, finally feeling more relaxed. “So you don’t live in that castle all by yourself all year round then?”
He rubs the back of my hand and it feels divine. “I do live in the house all year round.”
“Does it ever get lonely?” Shit, I want to kick myself for asking that. He may think I’m insinuating that I want to move right on in. Or, worse yet, I’m getting too nosy about his personal life and trying to figure out if he’s really involved with anyone else.
“Never, and then all the time.”
My skin flushes. I want to say something, but it’s against the rules. To hell with the rules—I’m done following those. “But that’s an oxymoron.”
“Life is so much an oxymoron and hundreds of contradictions.”
I gaze off at the sparkling sea. “Don’t I know it.”
“How so?”
I didn’t mean for him to hear that. I sigh. “I don’t want to dump on you tonight.”
“Please do dump on me.” His stride maintains a steadying confidence.
My eyes have adjusted to the moonlight that makes his bright face a captivating sight. I relish the beauty: his, the sky, the night, the beach—all of it. He’s so open, such a far cry from John or even Salvatore.
I shrug. “I don’t know.” My pace slows. “Before I married my husband, I thought he was one way, but he turned out to be another way.”
“You thought he was good, but he is not good?” His pace slows to mine. I can feel the warmth of his gaze.
I snort. “There’s probably not a good bone in his body.”
“Everyone has at least one good bone.”
I scoff and look at him. “Not John.”
He stares at me as though he’s looking for an explanation, and for some reason, I feel comfortable enough to share.
“Oh, where do I start?” I say.
“How about the beginning?” He smiles crisply.
So I do. I start from the beginning. I tell him how I met John during my first year of college but didn’t start dating him until my third year.
“Now that I think about it, he only started giving me attention after my father came to talk to our business class during my junior year. John was so impressed by him or his money.” I shake my head. “If I’m honest with myself, I knew then he wasn’t really that interested in me. Regardless, eventually we dated. And…” I drop my face, unable to conceal my anguish and pain.
“It is fine. There is no need to continue.”
I look at him. “No, but I want to. It feels kind of good just to get it out there.”
Gianfranco smiles encouragingly and bows his head, signaling me to continue.
“The first year we were a couple, five different women told me he was cheating with them. But he would always buy me an expensive gift and tell me that no girl could equal the woman I was. Then he would convince me they were lying because they were jealous of our relationship.”
“That is horrible. He is not a good man.”
I turn my empty gaze toward the ocean. My soul feels as if it’s free falling through the empty parts of my insides. Only the warmth emanating from Gianfranco’s hand warms my core.
“I should’ve known better.” I sigh. “I did know better. I was just deluding myself.”
Gianfranco guides me into his embrace. Our eyes lock, and the sweet smell of his breath makes my head spin.
“Please do not blame yourself. You are a tender woman. You are beautiful and full of life. You had no need to distrust a man who claimed to be true. Your heart is not made of steel—it is only flesh, and for that, you must forgive your heart.”
I can hardly breathe. Am I still on earth? A beeping sound blares deep in the background. Perhaps the wind is carrying the noise. I ignore it, remaining focused on our moment.
“Your watch?” Gianfranco says. “It is beeping.”
“Huh?” I blink myself back to reality and lift my wrist. “Oh.” I turn off my alarm.
He wiggles an eyebrow. “You set an alarm?”
“I have to go.” I’m staring into his green eyes again. He looks lost for words. “Um, I have to take my son to the beach in the morning, and I don’t want to be too tired.”
His expression relax
es, yet I can tell his thoughts are churning. “How about we go together?”
I open and close my mouth.
“Unless you don’t want me to,” he says.
“Um, no. I mean, I would love to spend the day with you at the beach. Who knows, Aiden might like it too,” I say, smiling.
“Allora,” he declares. “It is a date. Well… a date before a big date.”
I’m beaming. I can feel it all over my face. Our lips are like two magnets slowly being drawn together. When finally they touch, his warm tongue fills my head with euphoria. A slow-moving electric current swirls through my insides. I can hardly hear the ocean dancing under the moon or the songs from the party. His arms have me in a tight embrace, and I am enjoying the sweetness of his mouth.
He drops his face as though he has to force his mouth away from mine. “There.”
“There,” I barely say, my knees trembling.
“I will walk you to the valet.”
All I can do is nod as I take deep breaths to calm the desire in my body. Gianfranco puts his arm around my waist and keeps me close as we move back toward the colosseum. The endorphins within me are so strong that it’s difficult to walk a straight path. I think he has the same problem because his hip keeps bumping into me. I look at my painted skin. Who would’ve thought our time together tonight would be so brief, so unique, so frightening, and yet so fully satisfying.
16
I pack towels, a beach blanket, sunscreen, Aiden’s toys, and some snacks. Just before leaving, I get a call from Nolan, who tells me that John’s trial has started. He begs me not to worry and says he’ll keep me updated if anything comes up. I promise not to worry. I’ve already decided not to let John screw with my happiness—not anymore. When I get to the beach, it’s sunny and eighty-two degrees. I pick our spot out of the many I have to choose from—it’s not too busy today, at least not yet—and get everything set up.
After putting sunscreen on Aiden and myself, he’s ready to get into the water.
“Ready, lamby?” I say.
The Artist's Love (Her Perfect Man Contemporary Romance) Page 8