“You have forgiven me, Ani?” Cosimo asked, his voice low, intended for my ears only. “Because I miss your eyes on me. Your hand in mine. Your kisses on my—”
“Cosimo, please,” I muttered. “Not here.” Not anywhere, I didn’t say.
He reached out a long finger and ran it down the length of my thigh, making me twitch. “Later, then. Tonight. After the work is done for the day.”
Oh great. Once again, it looked like Paulo had been right. Cosimo seemed to have gotten the wrong message about me. But I nodded politely, not wanting to make a scene, and didn’t pull away when he reached up to tuck a loose curl back behind my ear.
“You look like a sunflower with your big hat. Like sunshine.” He cupped my cheek briefly, and then rose with the others as they prepared to go back to work. “Until tonight, then, passerota.”
By the time the last of the nets was rolled up for the day and the crates of good olives consolidated, I was feeling my rough night and the hours spent out in the sunshine. My nose was pink in spite of the repeated applications of sunscreen and my back hurt just like Isa had promised it would. But otherwise, I felt exonerated. Franco and Claudia made a point to thank me for my help, insisting I’d kept up with the rest of the women.
When we made it to the top of the driveway, we skirted the house to go in the back door from the terrace. The sun was just setting over the hills in the distance and we were greeted warmly by Margarite, who had a wonderful meal waiting for us. We all washed up quickly, and having discovered my crutches leaning against the foot of my bed, I headed back outside with them, happy to find that using them came a little easier today. We all sat down around the long table outside and ate ravenously of Margarite’s fare.
I wondered with an aching heart what Paulo was doing, whose table he was sharing, and longed to have him here with me instead. I was desperate to know how things had ended last night between him and the two men at the Lazzaro table, and if he would come tomorrow afternoon as he’d planned, to help with the picking. I hoped he’d call me this evening.
Cosimo was behaving like a perfect gentleman, speaking respectfully to me, and refraining from any suggestive overtures. I couldn’t tell if he was just tired, or if he was being careful, knowing that things between us had shifted. But in all honesty, I was too weary to care, and when dinner was over. I thanked my hosts for letting me share the experience of the day, hugged Margarite, who, to my pleasant surprise, had joined us for the meal, and hobbled inside, Isa following on my heels, ever the excellent hostess.
I decided a bath would help ease my stiff muscles before getting into bed. I owed the folks at home an email, and would tackle that afterward. I knew Tish would be just about climbing through the Internet if I didn’t write her about my day with Paulo, but I wasn’t sure what to tell her at this point. I needed to hear from Paulo.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Ani?” Isa asked as she scanned the room.
“If… if Paulo calls, will you please come get me? Even if I’ve fallen asleep. I really would like to talk to him.”
She cocked her head. “Why don’t you call him? Would you like to use my phone?”
I thought about it for only a moment, and then nodded. “Do you mind?”
She laughed good-naturedly and hurried off to dig it out of her purse where she’d left it all day. When she returned, she wore a concerned expression. “Paulo has called three times today, Ani. Twice, there was no message. The last time he asked me to have you call him right away, that it was urgent. I am so sorry I did not check my phone earlier.” She handed it to me, pointing to his number already pulled up on the screen. “That was almost four hours ago.”
I thanked her, my mind spinning out of control. I lowered myself to the edge of the bed and hit the send button. Isa slipped out of the room to give me some privacy.
The phone rang five times, the foreign mee-beep reminding me of The Roadrunner cartoon, before going to Paulo’s voicemail.
I left an apology for not getting back to him sooner, hung up, and tried not to worry. I waited a full five minutes before trying again. Again, it went to voicemail. I didn’t leave another message.
I’d take a shower first, foregoing the bath for the sake of expediency, then try again, as long as Isa didn’t need her phone. But twenty minutes later, the call went to voicemail, too.
Isa poked her head in a few minutes later, her eyes wide with questions.
“He isn’t answering his phone,” I told her.
“You keep it for now, Ani. If you do not hear from him tonight, you can try first thing in the morning. Or maybe you can try Madalina?” I had thought of phoning her already, but I didn’t want to drag her into things prematurely, if at all. If the urgency was simply a result of how things had ended last night, she didn’t need to know about it.
“Isa,” I hesitated only briefly before plowing ahead. “I hate to ask, but did Cosimo tell you what happened last night? Or did your dad?”
“Nothing happened,” she shrugged and crossed her arms against the quickly cooling night. “Papa told each one to go home to bed and they could sort things out on Friday when Paulo came again. Of course, Cosi was still angry, and I am certain Paulo was as well, but I do not think it has anything to do with his reason for calling now. He tried to call you on the house phone as well, leaving two similar messages.”
I was too agitated to fall asleep right away, even as tired as my body was. My mind played out every imaginable scenario that could be labeled urgent. I sent an email to my parents telling them about the day in the groves, about the scenic drive I’d taken with Paulo yesterday, leaving out any of the mushy details, of course. Then I wrote to Tish and gave her the slightly filled out version of it all, only briefly touching on the blossoming romance, and not mentioning the discussion about long distance relationships. Nor did I mention the fact that Cosimo had been up and waiting for us.
At nine o’clock, I tried Paulo’s number one more time. “Paulo, it’s Ani again. I’m worried. Will you call me? Please? It doesn’t matter how late it is.” I sounded as anxious and uncertain as I felt, but I didn’t care. We’d agreed we wanted honesty from each other yesterday, and if he was at all serious about pursuing a relationship with me of any kind, I couldn’t do it any other way. I sat staring at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring, ring, ring.
Instead, there were three taps on my door. “Come in,” I called, expecting Isa, checking to see if I’d heard anything yet.
Cosimo entered the room. He cleaned up nicely, I had to admit. His hair was still damp from a shower, swept back casually from his face, and the long, open-necked linen shirt he wore over black pants, sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, gave him a bit of an artist appeal. As much as he was not the man I wanted to see right now, I wasn’t blind. And he was really, really easy on the eyes.
“Hi, Cosimo.” I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, but my crutches were sprawled on the blanket beside me, so unless he moved them, there wasn’t room for him to sit next to me. He’d have to take my wheelchair or the chair in the corner. Or he could stand. I wasn’t expecting visitors and I wasn’t up for playing games tonight.
“Ani, it is a beautiful night. Will you come sit on the terrace with me for just a short while, or perhaps by the pool?” He must have sensed my wariness, because he stayed standing just inside the open door, thumbs hitched in his pockets, his shirt hem bunched up over his wrists.
I had no desire, whatsoever, to go sit down by the pool, though. Not only because of the memories it evoked from last weekend, but because the night had turned chilly, regardless of how beautiful it was. I should probably just tell him no, but I felt some obligation to at least be courteous to him. The household was still awake, and I supposed the terrace was the most public place to be. It was better than in here, regardless. I was surprised he was showing any discretion after he’d been so free with accessing my room in the past.
“Okay. For a little while. I’m waiting for a
phone call, though. I’ll have to take it if it comes through.” There. That would give me an out if I needed one. I could always fake a call coming through if things got ugly.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Cosimo behaved like the perfect gentleman. He held my sweater while I slid my arms into it, settling it politely over my shoulders without any lingering touches. He ushered me out the door in front of him, and then walked beside me, making small talk as we passed through the empty front room and into the kitchen where Isa and Claudia were sitting together, sharing a cup of tea and talking quietly. They both smiled in greeting, but at Isa’s raised brows, I shook my head.
“Nothing yet. But I have the phone with me.” I patted my sweater pocket with my left hand.
“We are going to sit outside and enjoy the stars for a few minutes. Would you ladies like to join us?” I turned a surprised look to Cosimo, but the question seemed genuine. Both women declined the invitation, though, and I think he must have known they would.
He grabbed two tumblers from the cupboard and a bottle of Chianti from the counter. I think it was the same one I’d shared with Paulo yesterday, the one Claudia had unloaded from our food basket in the wee hours of this morning—was it just this morning? I almost stopped him, not wanting to share any part of that special day with Cosimo. I bit back the words and passed through the French doors he held open for me.
It was a beautiful night. The moon hung low and bulbous, casting an ethereal glow on everything. The lampposts along the path to the pool were on, so between them, the glow of the moon, and the soft light spilling from the kitchen, the terrace was comfortably lit. Cosimo pulled out a chair from the table we’d sat at almost a week ago, and I lowered myself gingerly into it. He brought another one around for me to prop my foot on and I smiled gratefully. It did ache a little today.
Sitting across from me, he deftly poured the wine, filling both glasses almost to the brim. He raised his and I lifted mine politely.
“To a beautiful evening with a bellissima passerotta,” he toasted. I was getting tired of him calling me a bird. “Did you have a good day, Ani?” His voice took on that purring quality that seemed to vibrate against my skin. It had turned me to jelly the first few times, but tonight it made me want to scratch.
“I did.” I would be polite and just ignore any suggestive hints. “I don’t think the weather could have been better, and in spite of the sad state of the olives, it was so nice to see everyone working together and making the best of things. I’m so glad I got to be a part of it today.”
“Yes, Franco instills deep loyalty and positivity in the people he works with.” His tone tweaked a little and I peered at him over the lip of my glass, catching the narrow-eyed look he cast through the kitchen.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I was suddenly curious again about Cosimo’s role in things around here. I knew he contributed financially, but where did he, as a person, as the Lazzaro heir, fit into the big family picture?
He paused for quite some time before answering, tracing the pattern of the mosaic tiles in the tabletop with his fingertips. Finally, he said, “It is a good thing if there was something to be positive about, Ani. But the olive market is not what it once was for Italy. We have much competition from other countries that are able to produce greater amounts for less cost. Their quality is much lower, for certain,” he said with what I could only call partiality, “but people do not appreciate fine things as they should.” He ran his eyes over what he could see of me in a not-so-subtle way. Nope. Not going there, buddy.
“Wow. So the problem is bigger than just the olive fly or the bad weather this year, hm?” But we could talk olives all he wanted. He paused long enough to refill his glass. Mine was still over half full.
“Those of us who have a little cushion will survive, but every year, it gets more difficult.” He sighed, and I could tell this stuff all weighed heavily on him. And in fact, if he was the “cushion” he referred to, I could see why. “It is a beautiful way of life, all of this.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out wide to his sides. “Look around you. There is no other place like this, is there? But beauty alone does not pay the bills or feed the next generation.”
“Right,” I murmured quietly. “So if you could do things differently, what would you do? Are there options? Like tours or a bed and breakfast?” I balked at the idea the minute the words were out of my mouth. The thought of this place teeming with tourists seemed almost sacrilegious. Realistically speaking, though, I’d totally enjoyed the activities of the day and knew there were countless others who would pay good money to experience it, too.
Cosimo made an odd sound between a choke and a laugh, and then ran both hands through his hair, lacing his fingers behind his head. Goodness gracious. Talk about beauty. I almost felt guilty for noticing, especially in light of my concern for Paulo.
“No. No tourist trap here. Something better. Something more focused. We find a way to make all this beauty pay.”
I lowered my brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” I asked, when he didn’t expound.
Cosimo suddenly sat forward, intense. “Look around you, Ani. We are on top of the world here. This is the perfect place for people who want to get away for a while, to recover. Can you see it?” He pointed down the hill in the direction of the mill. “They could keep their mill in service, keep the olive groves, the olive business.” I didn’t miss that he did not include himself in the collective ‘they’ when he referred to the family business. “But wouldn’t this be the ideal place for a retreat facility for my patients? Imagine it. They could come here, be well cared for, heal in private with no one around to take pictures. And they have money, Ani! Money that could easily be enough to support the Lazzaro family even if we never sold another drop of oil.”
“Wow. That does sound like a good idea,” I agreed. And it did make sense, all things considered, but I knew without a doubt where the hang up lay. “Franco won’t have it?”
Cosimo waved an angry hand in the air. “It is not up to Franco to decide.”
Oh. Now I was even more confused. I knew who sat at the head of the Lazzaro table. I’d seen who wielded the authority around here last night when Franco had stepped between the two younger men.
“Claudia will not have it.” His voice was low, harsh, and I knew he didn’t want to be overheard by the women in the kitchen.
How did the saying go? The man may be the head, but the woman is the neck that turns the head? Something like that, anyway.
“Claudia was my father’s right hand in every way, especially after my mother died. She and Franco raised me, did you know?”
“Yes, Isa told me.” He nodded, seemingly relieved, and took a few slow sips of his wine. “Although they were supportive of me pursuing a career in medicine, they cannot understand why I do not feel drawn to the olives.” He rested both forearms on the table, his hands curved around his nearly empty tumbler. “I hate the olive groves, Ani.” Although he still spoke quietly, there was more passion in that statement than in anything else I’d heard since meeting him. “I love olives and olive oil, and I am proud of my sister and Franco and the products they create. But if I never have to pick another Lazzaro olive or work another all-night shift at the frantoio de Lazzaro, I would die a happy man. It is not in my blood. Not even in one drop of my blood.”
I sat back in my own chair and studied him, seeing him in a new light. The kind of pressure he was under to pick up where his father left off, to carry the torch into the next generation was remarkable, especially since he had no desire to do so. I felt terribly sorry for him and his predicament.
“These last few weeks, I have tried to get my sister to see reason, but she will not. I am at my end, Ani.” He reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself another half a glass, then held it out to me. I covered my cup and shook my head. I was now more certain than ever that a difficult family conversation had preceded his late-night sojourn to my room last week, a l
ittle drunk, a lot frustrated, and with no one on his side. I reached out and rested my hand on his forearm.
“I’m sorry, Cosimo. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you.”
My mistake. My mistake. My mistake! I’d let my guard down, let my heart soften, my senses lulled by compassion and sympathy. Cosimo pushed up from his seat, leaned across the table, caught my face in his hands, and kissed me full on the mouth.
I was so startled, that for a moment, I didn’t pull away. I didn’t do anything at all, just sat there like a stone. Then suddenly, I reacted, pushing hard against him and wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. “What are you doing?” I asked, shock making my voice crack.
“Ani, I have been wanting to kiss your mouth all day today.” He was on his feet and skirting the small table to kneel in front of me. I lowered my sore leg gingerly, wishing I’d taken a pain pill, and sat straight in my chair, my knees together in front of me, blocking his attempts to move in close.
“Cosimo, please stop.” He rested his hands on my knees and looked up into my face.
“You are so beautiful. Your lips, your eyes.” He reached out to touch my hair, and I bent my head away. “Ani. Do not pull away from me. You know what it will be like when we make love together.”
I let out a muffled squeak, grabbed the edges of my sweater and pulled them across me, the phone in my pocket bumping against my hip. And suddenly I remembered the phone call from him the other night. “Actually, no, I know nothing of the sort, but I do believe your assistant might have a good idea.” Letting go of my sweater, I gripped the seat of my chair and scooted back a little. “I need to get some sleep, Cosimo. We both do. It’s been a long day and—”
All the Way to Heaven Page 28