Catherine turned as pale as a sun-bleached bone, and she grabbed Giacomo's arm for support. "Maeve!"
"Are you … is everything …?" Maeve was obviously not only stunned but uncomfortable. She was turning in the direction from which she had come, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
"I'm fine, dear." Years of practice lying about her emotional state got Catherine through the sentence.
"I'll just go back outside," Maeve said. "I just came in to see if you needed … help," she added, looking embarrassed.
Catherine took Giacomo's hand and tugged him down the stairs with her. He was straightening his tie and smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit when they reached the landing. "Maeve O'Flaherty, this is my dear friend, Giacomo Fontini."
Giacomo gave the woman a short bow and took her hand, giving it a quick kiss. "It is my pleasure to meet you," he said. "Are you related to Ryan?"
Catherine smiled at him, charmed that he'd remembered her daughter-in-law's name.
"Yes," Maeve said. "I'm her au … step-mother," she said, recalling that it was easier to tell strangers her current relationship with the O'Flaherty children.
"Ahh … you're the lovely woman who recently married Ryan's father. His taste is exquisite," he said with a smile.
Catherine mused that his charm was so remarkably attractive because it never sounded forced or false.
Maeve's face lit up and she blushed, yet another victim of the Fontini allure. "Catherine has told me about you, Mr. Fontini. Are you visiting from Italy?"
"Yes, I am," he said, his white teeth glowing against his tanned skin. "And please call me Giacomo. Catherine is probably cross with me, since I didn't tell her I was coming, but she's too polite to admit it."
Catherine squeezed his arm, unable to stop giving him a goofy looking grin. "I'm not angry," she said. "I'm always happy to see you."
"I think we were a little too happy to see each other," he said to Maeve. "I hope we didn't offend you."
"No, not at all!" she said, her voice higher and louder than it needed to be. "I just hadn't seen Catherine in a while and I … I told you this already, didn't I?"
"Let's go outside," Catherine said, relieving her friend from prattling on. "I'm sure Giacomo would like to meet everyone." Ooo … this is going to be fun.
The threesome walked outside, and very few of the guests took notice. Maeve waved to Martin, who walked over to the group. "Martin, this is Catherine's friend, Giacomo Fontini."
"How are you?" Martin asked, shaking the man's hand.
"I am well," Giacomo said. "You are Ryan's father?"
"I am," Martin said, looking puzzled. "Do you know my girl?"
"I've spoken to Giacomo about the girls," Catherine said, wondering how she was going to get through the rest of the evening.
"I'd like to meet her, and Jamie, of course," Giacomo said.
"They're right over there," Catherine said. "See you soon," she added as they started to walk away.
"Who was that?" Martin asked his wife, a scowl forming. "What kind of friend knows about Ryan but has never met Jamie?"
Maeve knew more than she wanted to share, so she tried to give him an evasive answer. "He's a man she knows from Milan," she said. "She usually goes to Italy alone."
"What's he doing here?" Martin asked, still giving the well-dressed man the once-over. "Is he in town on business?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. I didn't interrogate the poor man. Why are you so interested?"
He turned his back on the interloper. "I'm not," he said stiffly. "He just seems out of place." He took a sip of his drink, and Maeve could hear him mutter, "What kind of fellow wears a suit and tie to a pool party?"
Jamie was sitting on the edge of the pool, trying to eat a quick dinner so she could take her turn watching the baby in the pool. Catherine and Giacomo walked up from behind and the younger woman turned when she heard their footsteps on the tile. Her smile froze when she saw Giacomo, recognizing him from a photo her mother had shown her. She put her plate down and stood. Giving her mother a quick look and seeing that she appeared calm, she turned her attention to the remarkably handsome man. Deciding to speak in Italian, she said, "Hello, I'm Jamie. You must be my mother's friend. It's good to meet you, Mr. Fontini."
He answered in English. "I'm very happy to meet you, Jamie. And please call me Giacomo." He gave her a charming smile. "I don't know where you learned Italian, but you have a beautiful accent."
"I was very young," she said. "I really don't remember learning it."
"That is the best time," he said, gazing at her so intently that she felt her personal space being invaded.
As was often the case, Ryan sensed her partner's discomfort and was standing at her side before Jamie knew she'd moved.
"Hi," she said to Giacomo, her smile warm and friendly.
"You must be Ryan," he said, shaking her hand.
"I must be," she agreed. "And you're …?"
"This is my friend from Milan, Giacomo Fontini," Catherine said.
Ryan looked more than a little surprised, and she made no attempt to cover. "Surprise visit?"
"Yes," he said, giving Catherine the intent look he'd just used on Jamie. "I hope it's a good surprise."
Catherine was still holding his arm, and she squeezed it close to her body. "It's always good to see you, Giacomo."
The man bowed slightly to Jamie and Ryan. "It was a pleasure to meet both of you. Your mother speaks of you so often that I feel I know you, Jamie."
She gave him a tense smile and said, "I feel the same. It's good to finally meet you."
"I hope this will be the first of many, many meetings," he said, giving her a luminous smile.
As the couple walked away, Jamie turned towards her partner. "I don't know what he's doing here, but I know he wasn't invited."
Ryan started to speak, but before she could get out a word, Conor was at her side.
"Who's the suit?"
"Friend of Catherine's," Ryan said.
"Foreign?"
"Italian."
"That explains it," he said, nodding.
"Explains what?" Ryan asked.
"Only an Italian would come to a barbeque in a thousand dollar suit and Bruno Magli shoes."
"How do you know what kind of shoes he's wearing?" Jamie asked.
Rolling her eyes, Ryan said, "Don't get him started. He knows more about shoes than Imelda Marcos. He's got a foot fetish."
Jamie squeezed her partner's hand. "Look who's talking."
Before the blush could hit her cheeks, Ryan dove into the pool, popping back up a good twenty feet away.
"She'll never change," Conor said, looking at his sister. "She's harder to corner than a scared cat." His gaze traveled to Catherine. "Is your mom okay? There's something about that guy that doesn't sit right with me."
"Yeah, I think she's fine," Jamie said. "She wasn't expecting him, so that might be what you're picking up on."
"A guy drops in from Italy?" Conor asked, looking more than a little suspicious. "What kinda friend is he?"
"I'm not sure," she said, lying. "I don't know him. He's an art dealer from Milan. Maybe he's here on business."
"He looks like he could play the lead in a movie about a jewel thief," Conor said, studying Giacomo. "There's something too smooth about him. Course, maybe it's the shoes. I'd kill for those babies."
"Just when I think I'm partnered with the quirkiest of the bunch, you surprise me." Jamie put her arm around Conor's waist and escorted him back to the buffet, knowing he'd always help empty the table.
Since it was a Sunday night, and all of the O'Flaherty men had to get up early on Monday, the crowd started to disperse at 9:00. The softball players stuck around for as long as they could, but when no one was left besides Jamie and Ryan, even the players changed clothes and took off.
Marta and Helena were just starting to clean up when Jamie and Ryan sat down near Giacomo and Catherine. "Wonderful party," Ryan said. "
Thanks so much, Catherine."
"It's always a special day for me when your family can visit," the older woman said. "I'm just glad the evening was warm enough for the girls to be able to swim."
"Me, too," Ryan said. "Because Caitlin would have gone in anyway."
"The baby is terribly beautiful," Giacomo said. "It would be a blessing for her to grow up and look like her older cousin."
Ryan gave him a thin smile. She was always cautious about people who complimented her on her looks, and Giacomo made her uncomfortable even without doing so. "Caitlin used to look just like Jamie," she said. "That's when she was a real knockout." She gave her partner a smile, and Jamie took her hand and squeezed it.
"When do you have to leave?" Catherine asked.
Jamie looked at her watch. "I'm on the last flight out. It's at 10:30, so I guess we should get going."
Catherine stood. "Let's go inside and make sure you have everything. I'd hate for you to forget something important."
Relieved, Jamie nodded. "It was good to meet you, Giacomo."
Ryan stood as well, "Same goes for me."
He kissed each of them on both cheeks, then sat back down, giving them a few moments alone with Catherine.
Once they were inside, Jamie turned to her mother. "Was this a surprise?"
"A big one," Catherine said.
"If you want him to go … he's gone," Ryan said, her eyes focused and determined.
Laughing, Catherine touched her arm. "Oh, it's fine that he's here, honey. I just wasn't expecting him. I … I wrote to him and told him I didn't want to see him the next time I went to Milan. Obviously, he …"
"He's got good taste," Ryan finished for her.
Catherine kissed her on the cheek. "You're always good for my ego."
"No bull, Catherine. He'd be crazy to let you get away so easily."
"But if you don't want to see him," Jamie said, searching her mother's eyes, "you shouldn't let him talk you into anything."
"He's not going to overpower me, honey," Catherine said, laughing nervously. She fanned her flushed face. "My God, this is an uncomfortable situation."
"Do you want me to stick around?" Ryan asked. "Jamie can leave her car at the airport and you could give me a ride home tomorrow."
Catherine put both hands on Ryan's biceps and shook her a little. "It's all right. Now you two get going. And don't worry about me."
"But we do worry about you, Mom," Jamie said. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes." Catherine took her daughter and turned her towards the front of the house. "Now get going! You'll miss your flight and have to drive to El Cajon!"
Catherine walked back out to the yard and watched Giacomo as he sat on a lounge chair by the pool. He was a handsome, elegant man who looked at home nearly everywhere. Oddly, he seemed particularly comfortable sitting by the glimmering pool in his expensive suit and polished shoes. He'd made himself a drink, and had just taken a sip when Catherine drew near.
Immediately, he stood, and took her hand to ease her into the chair next to his. He picked up a second glass and offered it to her. "Campari?"
She hadn't had a drink all day, or the day before, but this one looked too inviting to resist. She accepted the tall glass and took a sip, smiling when the sweet/bitter taste of the liquor mixed with the sparkling water to tickle the roof of her mouth. "Thank you."
He sat down, then reached over and took her hand. Giacomo didn't say another word; he just held her hand while they gazed at the patterns the light made on the water. It was a little breezy, but warm, and the water danced and swayed gently with the wind.
Catherine wasn't sure how much time had passed when his low, soft voice broke the stillness. "Are you angry with me?"
Giving his hand a squeeze, she said, "No, of course not. It was rude of me to write to you the way I did, but I was …" She trailed off, not sure if she should say the truth.
"What were you, my treasure?"
She smiled at him, unable to resist the sweet gentleness of his voice. "I was afraid."
His eyes grew wide. "Of me?"
"No, of course not, Giacomo. I could never be afraid of you." Her thumb lightly traced along the back of his hand. "I was afraid to tell you in person, and I didn't want to tell you on the phone. A letter was the best idea I could come up with."
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. He held it there for a moment or two, warming it with his breath. When he spoke, the vapor caressed Catherine's skin. "Why were you afraid to talk to me?"
For another moment, she debated whether to be frank. Finally, she said, "I thought you'd convince me I was making a poor decision."
"You are," he whispered. He moved her hand to his cheek and let her fingers rest there while he reverently kissed her wrist. "A very poor decision. For both of us."
Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she couldn't force herself to take her hand back. His cheek felt so nice. Rough, where his beard grew and soft as a whisper above. "What can I do?" she asked, even though she knew the question was rhetorical.
"Is there someone else?" he asked, slowly peppering her palm with kisses.
"No. No one."
"Have you lost your desire for me?" He slipped her hand into his jacket and she felt his heart beating quickly. "You can feel how you make my poor heart race."
Her mouth was dry, but she managed to say, "No. I still … I …" She sighed, and took her hand away, resting it in her lap. "It's nothing you did, Giacomo. I just need … more."
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the chair so that his feet rested on the ground. "I'll give you more. Whatever you want."
Reaching out to caress his knee, she said, "You can't give me what I want. I want to meet a man who's devoted to me. Only me."
His head dropped in defeat and a few locks of his black hair escaped from his careful grooming and fell across his forehead. Slowly he shook his head. "You are correct. I cannot give you that." He lifted his head and gazed at her for a long time, finally asking, "Is there a man who wants to give this to you?"
"No," she admitted. "But I'm afraid I won't look for him if I have you."
Slowly, his head tilted and the barest of smiles touched his lips. "Because I make you happy?"
Catherine nodded, realizing that her excuse wasn't a very good one when it was held up to the light.
Suddenly, he was sitting on the end of her chaise, holding her legs on his lap. "You make me happy, too. Very, very happy." He spent a few minutes rubbing her legs, straightening the creases in her slacks, adjusting the fabric just so. "Is it wrong to be happy?" he asked, not looking her way while he worked.
Putting her hand atop his, she said, "Of course not. But I want someone who lives here, who I can see often-if not live with. Seeing you once or twice a year isn't enough, Giacomo."
"Then come to Milano more often." He gave her a look that made that seem like the obvious answer.
Catherine blinked, trying to stop herself from being so easily seduced. "I don't want to have to travel to be with a man," she said. "I want him here, and I want him to be devoted to me."
"We all have desires," he said. "Sometimes we only realize parts of those needs. Is a part worth nothing?"
She reached out and clasped both of his hands. "No, of course not. But I'm not ready to give up my desire. And staying involved with you seems like I'm … settling." She cringed, hating how harsh that sounded.
But Giacomo either didn't understand, or he was intentionally pleading ignorance. He shrugged his shoulders and looked puzzled. "Settling? What does this have to do with us?"
"I'm accepting less than I need," she said.
"Yes, yes, I understand that. But don't we do that in every area of our lives? I want to live in Torino. I love the mountains, and skiing excites me more than anything else on earth. But I live in Milano. That's where my wife feels at home. That's where my children have their friends and their grandparents. It's a compromise, no?"
"Yes," she a
greed.
"Does that mean my days in Milano are horrible? Do I wish for a quick death? No. Of course not." He slapped himself on the chest with both of his hands. "I make Milano mine!"
He said it with such fire and conviction that she felt herself inexorably draw closer to him. As soon as he put his hands on her shoulders to pull her close, she pulled away, shivering as she said, "No! I can't, Giacomo. I can't continue to see a married man. I'm doing to your wife exactly what my husband did to me!"
He smiled indulgently and stroked her face. "Catherine, you know my country well, but you have an American mind."
"I know you and your wife have an agreement," Catherine said, "but you've told me that it's an unspoken agreement. My husband probably thought we had an agreement, too."
"No. No. No." He enunciated each word crisply. "We have an …" He squinted, searching his mind for the correct word. "Explicit agreement. She's willing to speak to you on the phone to assure you that she doesn't mind our seeing each other."
"You … you … asked her … about me?"
"Yes!" He looked very proud of himself. "For you alone."
"But Giacomo … why?"
"Because I knew one of your reasons for not seeing me was because of my marriage. I've made sure that isn't a problem."
"You want me to speak with your wife?" Catherine could hardly believe she was saying the words.
"If you want to." He touched Catherine's chin, lifting it so they looked into each other's eyes. "She's not happy with me. Having our private lives private was better for both of us. But I couldn't let you go," he said, his desire flashing in his expressive eyes. "You mean too much to me."
"What do I mean to you?" she asked, stunned by his passion.
"I care for you," he said, his voice growing husky. "You're the perfect woman for me. But I'm married, and I have my children. I can't … I won't hurt my family. But if I could do it over again, you would be the woman I'd choose. If I could touch only one woman … for the rest of my life … you would be that woman."
"Giacomo," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "I had no idea that you felt like that."
He put his hands on her waist but didn't pull her closer. Gazing into her eyes, he whispered, "Can't you feel it when I love you?"
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