Gregory’s eyes squint hard as if he’s just felt a jolt of pain. He begins stroking my hair.
“You have no idea how much I want you, Pia.”
“Show me.”
“I really care about you a lot.”
I stroke his cheek and say, “I care about you a lot, too.”
“I just want our first time to be special.”
“You’ve already made this night so special with your hard work in preparing a romantic dinner. No one has ever done that for me.”
“Pia, I have another confession to make. I don’t just care about you. I’m falling in love with you. I understand if it’s too soon for you. And I’m not expecting you to say—”
“I’m in love with you.”
“You are?”
“Crazy in love.” I laugh.
And it’s true. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. Sure, I had my teen crushes and what I thought was first love in high school, but I see now those were just infatuations. I was more in love with the idea of having a boyfriend rather than being in love with the person I was with. No wonder my relationships didn’t last long. I really wasn’t into the guys I dated. And I could tell they mainly liked me because of my looks. It didn’t go deeper.
With Gregory, it’s completely different. I care about his welfare. I want him to reach his dreams as an artist just as much as I want to succeed as a journalist. His tenderness makes me love him all the more. And I can tell he genuinely cares about me—everything about me, not just what he sees on the outside.
Reaching over, I kiss him tenderly. Gregory returns the kiss just as softly. I begin unbuttoning my blouse. Leaning back from the kiss, I arch my back, giving Gregory an ample view of me in my bra. The thought enters my mind that once it comes off he’s going to see I’m not as big as this push-up bra makes me out to be. But I don’t care. I feel so safe with Gregory. I know what we have is more than just our physical attraction.
Gregory stretches out so that he’s now lying over me. He kisses the nape of my neck and I moan softly, encouraging him to keep going.
I begin fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until one flies off and hits the hardwood floor, rolling away. Unable to wait until the shirt is completely unbuttoned, I slide my hands across his chest, feeling the smooth contours of his skin and the firmness of his muscles.
Gregory sits back and in one quick motion pulls his shirt over his head. He begins undoing his belt, but I push his hands out of the way and unfasten it. He kicks his jeans off and then stretches over me as he plants kisses from my cleavage down to my navel. I’m so completely lost in the sensations he’s setting off that I don’t even notice he’s unbuttoned my jeans until I feel him sliding them down my hips. Then, with one swoop, he lifts me up in his arms, carrying me to his bedroom upstairs. As we make love, Gregory repeatedly stares into my eyes and whispers, “I love you, Pia. I’ll always love you.”
After we make love we lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, taking in the enormity of what transpired moments before. My head rests on Gregory’s chest and my left arm is draped over his abdomen. Gregory strokes my hair and every so often he bends down to kiss my head.
“I’d better get going.” Sighing deeply, I sit up and reach for my bra, which somehow made its way around the bed’s foot post.
“Wait. Don’t go yet.” Gregory reaches for my arm, pulling me back toward him.
“My aunt is going to get worried if I don’t get home soon.”
“If it makes you feel better, call her and let her know you’ll be late.”
The thought of calling Zia isn’t appealing. But I also don’t want her to worry. I feel like Cinderella, who must race to her coach by the stroke of midnight. Instead of my coach turning into a pumpkin, Zia might lock me out. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t help feeling that once she hears my voice on the phone, she’ll know I just had sex with Gregory. I care a lot about what Zia thinks, and I don’t want to disrespect her. She’s been nothing but kind and loving toward me, and she’s allowing me to stay with her for the summer—rent free. Although I am in my twenties, and I’m sure my mother must suspect I’m no longer a virgin, we don’t discuss the matter. My mother and Zia are from another generation, and I’m sure they’d like to believe I will remain a virgin until I get married.
“Okay, I’ll call her.”
“Great! You do that, and I’ll be right back.”
Gregory jumps out of bed. I watch him as he runs out of the room. He’s so incredibly sexy. Part of me just wants to make love to him again, but I know if that happens I’ll definitely get home late.
Zia doesn’t seem to care that I’ll be home later. She thanks me for being considerate by calling and tells me she’s going to bed. Relieved, I hang up just as Gregory returns with a few paintbrushes, a palette, and a small wire basket that contains a few small cans of paint.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to paint you.”
“Oh no, you’re not—and especially not naked!” I start getting dressed, but Gregory rushes over to me, grabbing my hands just as I’m trying to fasten my bra. I look up at him, and his eyes twinkle as he slowly pushes the bra off my shoulders. My heart starts to throb. I want him again so badly, but instead of kissing me, Gregory leads me back to the bed, holding my hand.
“You’re so beautiful. I want to capture you exactly as you are right now. Don’t be self-conscious about your body. It’s perfect.”
“Thank you, but this just feels so . . . so revealing.” I can feel the color rising in my cheeks. Part of me is tempted to let Gregory paint me in the nude. There’s something alluring about it, and I’m flattered that he even wants to.
“No one has to see the portrait. It could just be for you and me.”
“Okay. I guess it’s all right. But promise me that no one else will ever see it.”
“I promise.” Gregory seals the oath with a kiss, which I try to prolong, but he’s more intent on painting me.
“Let me get my canvas. Don’t move!” He points his index finger sternly at me before he runs out again.
When he returns, he gives me instructions to lean fully back on the bed so that I’m turned on my left side as I was earlier, with just part of the sheet covering my torso so that my breasts are completely exposed. My head is resting on the pillow. Gregory adjusts my body a little so I’m closer to the edge of the bed. He pulls out my right calf so that the sheet lightly drapes over it. My toes peek out. He then takes my hair and lets it fall over my right shoulder. My right arm is bent at the elbow and my hand rests on my hip.
“There! That’s exactly how you were. Don’t move. Just relax and forget that I’m even here.”
“Maybe if you threw a shirt on that would be easier.” I give Gregory my most sultry look, still hoping he’ll change his mind and make love to me a second time. He blows a kiss my way, but starts working. He’s focused on painting my body first since he doesn’t notice I’m staring at his face. His eyes are off somewhere far away as he feverishly brushes strokes onto his canvas. I’m fascinated watching him. Painting is his passion. It’s obvious. I’m glad I gave in. My earlier anxiety has vanished along with my modesty.
I awake an hour later to Gregory softly calling my name.
“Pia, it’s time to go home.” Gregory picks up my clothes from the floor and hands them to me. I notice the canvas is gone.
“Weren’t you painting me or was that just a dream?”
“No, it was real all right.” Gregory laughs. “I put everything back in my studio.”
“Did you finish it?”
“Half of it.”
“I want to see.”
“Not until it’s finished.”
“So will I have to pose for you again?”
“No, I’ve got it all up here.” Gregory points to his head.
“What’s the big deal if I see it unfinished?”
“Trust me. You looked like a goddess. But I have a rule that no one, not even
tempting sirens like you, sees my paintings until they’re completed. Don’t take it personally, Pia. It’s just the way I work.”
“Oh. Okay. But you are going to show it to me once you’re done?”
“Of course!” Gregory walks over and kisses me. “Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much?”
“Erica used to tell me that all the time. But she was the only one.”
“Sounds like she knew you the best.”
“She did.” My voice sounds very sad.
Gregory lifts my chin. “You don’t have to feel alone anymore. You’ve got me, and in time, I’m going to know you just as well as your sister did. I know I can’t replace her, and I would never try, but again, I want to be here for you. Remember that.”
I nod my head. We hug, and I whisper in Gregory’s ear, “So far, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me here in New York.”
“You mean I beat scoring an interview with Francesca Donata?”
I punch Gregory’s back lightly and laugh. “I’m not even dignifying that with an answer.”
“We’d better go before Antoniella shows up and shoots me.”
As we leave Gregory’s house, I think about how happy I am. But I also can’t help thinking, What’s going to happen at the end of the summer when it’s time for me to go back home to California?
16
Francesca
There is that tapping again. Disgraziati! Doesn’t anyone sleep in this godforsaken city! If it is not one noise, it is another. Though I have now been in Astoria for over a month, I am still not accustomed to all of the sounds.
“Ping! Ping! Ping!”
There it is again. At first, I thought it was rain or perhaps hail. But the taps are too light to be hail. Finally forcing myself to wake up from a deep slumber, I sit up in my bed, lifting my eye mask.
“Ping! Ping!”
Pulling the covers off me, I get out of bed and walk over to my window. There is a man standing outside, looking up at my window. I back away suddenly as he throws another pebble.
I am about to go call Edgardo, thinking it is either a deranged stalker or one of the paparazzi. But I take another look before I leave. My eyes widen.
“Rocco?” I whisper aloud to myself.
Drawing the blinds up, I lift the window.
“What are you doing?” I ask him sternly.
“I am sorry, Signorina Donata. I hope I did not wake you.”
“Of course you woke me. It is midnight.”
“I’m sorry, but I have a surprise for you.”
Immediately, jewelry comes to mind, but I do not see him holding any of his trademark gift boxes.
“Well, it will have to wait until a decent hour. I am going back to sleep, Mr. Vecchio.”
I begin lowering my window when Rocco calls out in a much louder voice, “Please, please, signorina! Just hear what my surprise is.”
Pursing my lips together, I cannot deny I am tempted. So far all of this man’s surprises have been absolutely delightful—but of course, they were all jewels. After our last visit, I sent him a card thanking him for his most recent gifts. I almost apologized for being abrupt with him, but in the end, I could not bring myself to do it even though I knew I had ruined my chances of seeing him again. As I have said before, it is very difficult for me to apologize even when I know I am in the wrong. The man is persistent, I must say. Many men would have let their egos prevent them from ever contacting me a second time after being treated so callously.
Leaning forward so that my head is outside the window, I whisper to Rocco, “Hurry up! And keep your voice down. I do not want to alert the paparazzi out front.”
Rocco nods his head. Cupping his hands around the sides of his mouth, he says in a low voice, “I want to take you out on a date right now.”
“Right now?” My voice rings out loudly.
“Sshhh!”
“You are absolutely out of your mind, Mr. Vecchio!” I laugh, but I cannot help but be delighted at his impetuousness.
“I am sorry I did not give you a warning, but I like to surprise you.”
“Si, si. I have noticed that.” I am smiling.
“I can sneak you out so that the paparazzi won’t see us.”
“And how do you intend to carry out this grand plan?” I cross my arms in front of my chest and suddenly realize that I forgot to put on my robe. Rocco must be reading my thoughts because his gaze drops to my cleavage, which is on full display in the low-cut satin slip I am wearing. I still like to wear slips, which I have owned since they were more in vogue in the seventies. But I only wear them to bed now as nightgowns instead of undergarments. I cannot help but feel slightly titillated that Rocco is staring at my cleavage. Removing my arms from my chest, I lean forward out the window, but this time, I thrust my chest well out, letting my breasts spill dangerously. Rocco swallows hard, but does not stop staring. After a good long minute, his eyes finally travel to my face. A slight smile curls at the corners of his lips. I return the smile. Rocco’s smile deepens, and in that moment, I know he realizes what I am doing.
“I am still waiting for your answer, Mr. Vecchio.”
“Of course. Of course.” With much effort, Rocco relays his plans for sneaking me out of Giuliana’s house. He keeps stammering and cannot help stealing glances at my décolletage. I have not changed my position, loving the torture I am causing Rocco.
“I brought a rope ladder, which you can climb down from your bedroom window. It is one of those rope ladders that hikers use so you don’t have to worry. It is very secure. My car is parked in the neighbor’s driveway. We will climb over the fence that separates your sister’s yard from her neighbor’s. My Lexus has tinted windows so none of the paparazzi will see you as we drive by. Besides, they probably won’t think to look twice since the car will be coming out of the neighbor’s driveway.”
Rocco looks quite pleased with himself, and I have to admit, I am also impressed by his careful planning.
“And where will we go? Or is that a surprise as well?”
“Naturally. Trust me. That is all I am asking of you, Francesca—I mean, Signorina Donata.”
He has me. I am completely intrigued. The thought of escaping for a night is just too tempting. I cannot take being cooped up any longer in this house. Refraining from showing Rocco my eagerness, I wait a few seconds before responding.
“I guess I can come out. But I must be back by three a.m.”
“Can we say four a.m.? I am afraid it will be hard for me to get you back by three a.m. where we are going, and if we want to relax and enjoy ourselves a little before we return.”
Hmmm. It has been well over a decade, maybe longer, since I was out until four in the morning. I like this man’s style more and more.
“Okay. But no later than four a.m. Let me change.”
“Make sure to wear flats. I don’t want you slipping on the rope ladder. I don’t suppose a star like you owns a pair of tennis shoes? That would be safest. You can change into your dress shoes once we’re in my car.”
“Of course I own tennis shoes. I am not always dressed like a Barbie doll.” I roll my eyes. Rocco’s face flushes. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I will be ready.”
Rocco nods his head. “Take your time.” Somehow I do not think he really means that. I can see the anxiety written all over his face. He is not completely confident he can pull this off. I still respect him for trying. If the paparazzi catch us, then so be it. I am more worried about Edgardo finding out. He will have my head on a platter if he learns I sneaked out of the house with no security. Too bad! I am not getting any younger, and I want to have some much needed fun.
I pull out of my armoire a slinky pair of black pants that hug my figure. You might think I am too old to wear tight pants, but these make me look alluring and not cheap. Deciding to wear all black lest any of the paparazzi or the neighbors decide to try and peer into the driveway, I slip over my head a sleeveless cotton knit top. Not bothering with socks, I
throw on a pair of running shoes, which I bought five years ago and have never worn. I do not know what I was thinking. Just the thought of running and sweating so much turns me off. I throw into an oversized Gucci handbag a pair of Chanel patent-leather flats. This is the most casual you will ever see Francesca Donata. I rarely wear jeans and even when I do, they are always paired off with a fancy blouse and shoes.
I only put on a little bit of makeup—the essentials: concealer, powder, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There is no time to elaborately make up my eyes the way I normally do with eye shadow. Hmmm. I think I look younger without the eye shadow I usually wear. Maybe I should start going without it? Running a brush through my hair, I say a quick prayer to God, thanking Him for letting my tendrils behave. I hurry over to the window when I remember I have forgotten my perfume. Returning to my dresser, I spray two pumps of Prada L’Eau Ambrée. I am about to flick off the switch to the bedroom when I think better of it. No one will dare disturb me or check up on me if they notice the light on beneath my door.
I walk over to the window and see Rocco is waiting with the rope ladder in his hands.
“I was beginning to think you changed your mind and weren’t going to tell me.” Rocco smiles.
“You are getting to know me well quite quickly,” I say.
“I’m going to throw the ladder up to you. You’ll see two hooks. Secure them to the window ledge.”
I nod my head and wave my hands, indicating for him to hurry up. He throws the ladder but not high enough the first time. It skims past my fingers as I try to catch it.
“You throw like a schoolgirl!”
“You never saw me play football when I was younger. I always made the pass.”
To prove his point, he grabs the rope with one hand and thrusts it with what looks like all of his strength. This time, the rope reaches the desired height, and I have no trouble catching it. I shake out the rope, uncoiling it as Rocco grabs the ends that are dangling. Fastening the hooks onto the window ledge, I feel better seeing that they sink into the wood quite securely. And the rope looks thick and durable.
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