The children raced past in a rowdy, noisy group. Andrea was heading toward her to see what was wrong. She turned away from him and stumbled into the garden. A shutter had come loose in the wind, and it banged against the side of the house.
Her anger consumed her, no longer directed just at Ren but at herself. Her orange dress burned like acid against her skin. She wanted to tear it off, to grow her hair smooth again, to scrub the makeup from her face. She wanted her calmness back, her control, her certainty about the order of life—everything that had been snatched away from her three nights ago when she’d read those letters and prayed by the fire.
The canopy snapped like a sail in a storm. The children shrieked, boys against girls, racing too close to the posts. They darted past the table where the statue stood. She stared at it, a solitary female figure holding the power of life.
EMBRACE . . .
The word hit her like an assault, no longer the quiet whisper from her prayers by the fire that night, the whisper she hadn’t quite been able to hear. This was a shout.
EMBRACE . . .
She gazed at the statue. She didn’t want to embrace. She wanted to destroy. Her old life. Her old self. But she was too afraid of what lay on the other side.
Ren started to come toward her from across the garden, concern etched on his face. The racing boys catcalled; the girls squealed. Isabel made her way across the path toward the statue.
EMBRACE . . .
There was more. She knew it. The voice had more to tell her.
EMBRACE THE . . .
Anna cried out, ordering the swarming children to stay away from the canopy. But her warning came too late. The boy in the lead stumbled and crashed into the corner post.
EMBRACE THE . . .
“Isabel, watch out!” Ren shouted.
The canopy wobbled.
“Isabel!”
The voice roared in her head, and joy surged through her.
EMBRACE THE CHAOS!
She grabbed the statue from beneath the falling canopy and ran.
24
Isabel’s orderly world had split open, and she rushed into the heart of it. The voice snapped at her heels, rang in her head. Embrace the chaos!
She raced around the side of the house, the glorious statue clutched to her chest. She wanted to fly, but she had no wings, no plane, not even her Panda. All she had was . . .
Ren’s Maserati.
She ran toward it. The top was down, and on this day of chaos she saw keys dangling from the ignition where Giancarlo had left them. She skidded to a stop next to it, kissed the statue, tossed it into the passenger’s seat. Then she lifted her skirt and climbed over the door.
The powerful engine roared to life as she twisted the key in the ignition.
“Isabel!”
Cars blocked her on three sides. She wrenched the wheel, stepped on the accelerator, and shot across the lawn.
“Isabel!”
If this had been one of his films, Ren could have swung up onto a balcony, then dropped into the car as she drove beneath. But this was real life, and she had all the power.
She kept the car on the grass, racing between the rows of shrubbery toward the road. Branches lashed the sides, and turf flew. A limb took off the outside mirror as she shot between the cypresses to reach the drive. The tires spit gravel. She shifted gears, and the Maserati fishtailed as she turned out onto the road, leaving them all behind on her way to the mountaintop.
EMBRACE THE CHAOS. The wind tore at her hair. She glanced over at the statue next to her and laughed.
A wooden sign splintered against her fender as she took the first turn. On her next she destroyed an abandoned henhouse. The dark clouds swirled lower in the sky. She remembered the way to the castle ruins from the day she and Ren had driven there to spy, but she overshot the road she was looking for and had to make a U-turn through someone’s vineyard. When she found the right road, the deep ruts jarred the car. She pushed hard as she climbed. For a while the Maserati lurched along, then bottomed out just before she reached the top. She turned off the engine, grabbed the statue, and jumped out.
As she hit the trail, her sandals slipped on the stones. The wind blew stronger at the higher elevation, but the trees protected her from the worst of it. She gripped the statue tighter and kept climbing.
When she reached the end of the trail, she stepped out into the clearing. A gust caught her, and she stumbled but didn’t fall. Ahead of her the ruins loomed against the stormy sky, and the dark clouds swirled so close overhead she wanted to sink her fingers into them.
She bent into the wind and made her way through the crumbling archways and fallen watchtowers to the wall at the very edge. She clutched the stones with one hand, the statue with the other, and climbed on top. Fighting the gusts, she rose to her feet.
A sense of ecstasy gripped her. Wind ripped at her skirt, clouds boiled above her, the world lay at her feet below. Finally she understood what had escaped her before. She had never thought too small. No, she had thought too big and lost sight of everything she wanted her life to be about. Now she knew what she had to do.
With her face turned to the sky, she surrendered to the mystery of life. The mess, the uproar, the glorious turmoil. Bracing her feet, she lifted the statue high above her head and offered herself to the gods of chaos.
The confusion after the canopy’s collapse had slowed Ren down, and Isabel was already climbing into his Maserati by the time he reached the front of the villa. Bernardo had been on his heels, but since he wasn’t on duty, he was driving his own Renault instead of the town’s police car. They threw themselves inside and set off after her.
It hadn’t taken Ren long to figure out where she was heading, but the Renault was no match for his Maserati. When they finally reached the base of the trail, he was in a cold sweat.
He managed to convince Bernardo to stay with the cars and went after her himself, racing from the mouth of the trail out into the castle’s ruins. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw her in the distance. She stood on top of the crumbling wall, silhouetted against a sea of furious clouds. The wind battered her body, and the jagged hem of her dress flew around her like orange flames. Her face was turned to the heavens, and she had both arms raised, the statue held aloft in one hand.
In the distance a bolt of lightning split the sky, but from where he was standing it seemed to come from her fingertips. She was a female Moses receiving God’s second set of Commandments.
He could no longer remember a single one of his well-reasoned arguments for walking away from her. She was a gift—a gift he nearly hadn’t found the guts to claim. Now, as he watched her standing fearless against the elements, her power stole his breath. Cutting her out of his life would be like surrendering his soul. She was everything to him—his friend, his lover, his conscience, his passion. She was the answer to all the prayers he’d never had enough sense to pray. And if he wasn’t as perfect for her as he wanted to be, she’d just have to work harder to improve him.
He watched as another bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips. Drops of rain began to pelt him, and the wind cut through his shirt. He began to run. Over the aged stones. Across the graves of the ancients. Across time itself to become part of her tempest.
He pulled himself up next to her on the wall. The wind was making too much noise for her to hear his approach, but only mortals were caught unprepared, and she didn’t jump when she realized she was no longer alone. She simply lowered her arms and turned to him.
He yearned to touch her, to calm those furious wisps of hair that flew about her head, to draw her into his arms and kiss her and love her, but something had changed forever, and his blood ran cold at the thought that it might be her love for him.
Another bolt of lightning shattered the skies. She had no concern for her safety, but he did, and he pulled the statue from her stiff fingers. He began to toss it to the ground where it could no longer serve as a lightning rod. Instead, he found himsel
f staring at it in his hand, feeling its power vibrating through him. She wasn’t the only one who could make a covenant, he understood. It was time for him to make one of his own, a covenant that went against every male instinct he possessed.
He turned as she had, faced outward, and lifted the statue back to the sky. First she belonged to God—he understood that. Next she belonged to herself, no doubt about that. Only afterward did she belong to him. This was the nature of the woman he’d fallen in love with. So be it.
He lowered the statue and turned back to her. She watched him, but her expression was unreadable. He didn’t know what to do. He had vast experience with mortal women, but goddesses were another matter, and he’d angered this particular deity beyond reason.
Her dress whipped the legs of his trousers, and the raindrops had turned into angry warheads. A terrible frenzy gripped him. Touching her would be the biggest risk of his life, but no power on earth could hold him back. If he didn’t act, he would lose her forever.
Before his courage deserted him, he pulled her hard against him. She didn’t turn to ash as he’d feared. Instead, she met his kiss with a punishing fire. Peace and love, he somehow understood, were currently the province of her tamer sisters. This goddess was driven by conquest, and her sharp teeth sank into his bottom lip. He’d never felt so close to death or life. With the wind and rain raging around them, he used his strength to pull her down from the wall and set her against the stones.
She could have resisted, she could have fought him—he expected her to—but she didn’t. Her fingers pulled at his clothes. He was the mortal she’d chosen to service her.
He pushed her skirt to her waist and ripped away her panties. The part of him that could still think wondered at the fate of one who tried to claim a goddess, but he no longer had a choice. Not even the threat of death could hold him back.
The stones bit into his arms and the backs of her legs, but she opened her thighs for him anyway. She was wet. Wet and fierce beneath his fingers. He spread her legs wider, and then he drove deep.
She tilted her face to the rain as he worked inside her. He kissed her neck, the column of her throat. She set her legs around his hips and drew his power deeper, using him as he was using her.
They struggled together, climbed together. The storm lashed their bodies, urged on by the ghosts of the ancients who themselves had once made love within these walls. I love you, he shouted, but he kept the words inside his head, because they were too small to express the immensity of what he felt.
She gripped him tighter and whispered against his hair: “Chaos.”
He waited until the very end, the last moment before they lost themselves, that sliver of time that separated them from eternity. Then he closed his hand around the statue and pulled it hard against her side.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, and they flung themselves into the fury of the storm.
She didn’t speak afterward. They moved away from the wall into the shelter of the trees. He straightened his clothes. They began walking through the ruins toward the trail. Not touching.
“The rain stopped.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. He had the statue in his hands.
“I thought too big,” she finally said.
“Did you, now?” He had no idea what she was talking about. He swallowed the lump in his throat. If he didn’t get this right the first time, there was no guarantee of a retake. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t respond—didn’t even look at him. It was too little too late, exactly what he’d feared.
They made their way down the trail accompanied by the steady drip of rainwater from the trees. At the end Ren saw Bernardo standing by the Maserati. He’d gotten it out of the ruts, and he came forward, looking unhappy but determined. “Signora Favor, I regret to tell to you that you are under arrest.”
“Surely that’s not necessary,” Ren said.
“She has damaged property.”
“Hardly anything,” he pointed out. “I’ll take care of it.”
“But how do you take care of the lives she has endangered with her reckless driving?”
“This is Italy,” he said. “Everybody drives recklessly.”
But Bernardo knew his duty. “I do not make the laws. Signora, if you would come with me.”
If this had been a film, she would have clung to Ren’s arm, quivering in fear, but this was Isabel, and she merely nodded. “Of course.”
“Isabel—”
She slid into the backseat of Bernardo’s Renault without acknowledging Ren. He stood alone and watched them disappear.
He gazed at his Maserati. The side mirror was gone, the fender dented, a scrape marred the black paint on one side, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except the knowledge that he was the one who had pushed her to such dangerous recklessness.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He probably shouldn’t have bribed Bernardo with the promise of a top-of-the-line computer for the police station if he arrested her, but what else could he do to make sure she didn’t get away before he’d had a chance to set things right? With his heart in his throat, he made his way to the car.
The only light in the cell came from a flickering fluorescent fixture set inside a wire cage. It was past nine o’clock, and Isabel hadn’t seen anyone since shortly after her arrival, when Harry had appeared with some dry clothes that Tracy had gathered up. She heard footsteps approaching, and she looked up to see the door swing open.
Ren came in. His presence filled the small cell. Even here he managed to take center stage. She didn’t try to read his expression. He was an actor, and he could show whatever emotion he wanted.
The door closed behind him, and the lock clicked. “I’ve been frantic,” he said.
He didn’t look frantic. He looked purposeful but tense. She set aside the pad of paper she’d propped on her knees, the one she’d made Bernardo give her. “That must be why it took you three hours to get here.”
“I had to make some phone calls.”
“Well, that explains it.”
He came closer and studied her, looking uneasy. “That insanity on top of the mountain . . . It got a little rough up there. Are you all right?”
“I’m pretty tough. Why, did I hurt you?”
His lips thinned. Smile or grimace, she wasn’t sure which. He slipped a hand in his pocket, then immediately withdrew it. “What did you mean when you said you thought too big?”
She knew her place in the world now, and there was no reason not to explain. “My life. I’ve always told people to think big, but I finally realized that sometimes we can think too big.” She moved to sit on the edge of the cot.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I thought so big that I lost sight of what I want my life to be about.”
“Your life is about helping people,” he said fiercely. “You’ve never for a single moment lost sight of that.”
“It was the scope.” She curled her hands in her lap. “I don’t need to fill auditoriums. I don’t need a brownstone near Central Park or a closetful of designer clothes. In the end, all that suffocated me. My career, my possessions—all of them stole the gift of time from me, and I lost my vision.”
“Now you have it back.” It was a statement, not a question. He understood that something important had changed inside her.
“I have it back.” She’d gotten more satisfaction helping Tracy and Harry than she’d gotten from her last lecture at Carnegie Hall. She didn’t want to be a guru to the masses anymore. “I’m opening a small counseling practice. No place fancy—a working-class neighborhood. If people can’t pay, that’s all right. If they can, so much the better. I’ll be living simply.”
His eyes narrowed with his hit man’s gaze. “I’m afraid I have some news that’s going to put a crimp in those simple plans.”
She’d embraced the concept of chaos, and she waited to hear what he had to say.
He moved close en
ough to loom over her, something she now found more interesting than threatening. “You managed to piss everybody off when you stole the statue.”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“Nobody knew that, and now the locals want to lock you up for the next ten years.”
“Ten years?”
“More or less. I thought about talking to the American embassy, but that seemed risky.”
“You could mention how much money I gave the IRS this year.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring up your criminal past.” He rested a shoulder against the graffiti-covered wall, looking more confident than when he’d arrived. “If you were an Italian citizen, you probably wouldn’t have been arrested, but the fact that you’re a foreigner makes it more complicated.”
“It sounds like I might need a lawyer.”
“Lawyers tend to confuse things in Italy.”
“I’m supposed to stay in jail?”
“Not if we follow my plan. It’s a little drastic, but I have every reason to believe it should get you out fairly quickly.”
“Yet I find myself curiously reluctant to hear what it is.”
“I have dual citizenship. You know that my mother was Italian, but I don’t know if I told you I was born in Italy.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“She was at a house party in Rome when I was born. I’m an Italian citizen, and I’m afraid that means we’ll have to get married.”
That brought her up off the bed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve spoken to the local officials, and in their own way they let it be known that they wouldn’t keep you in jail if you were the wife of a citizen. And since you’re pregnant anyway . . .”
“I’m not pregnant.”
He regarded her steadily from beneath those angled eyebrows. “Apparently you’ve forgotten what we were doing a few hours ago and exactly where that statue was when we were doing it.”
“You don’t believe in the statue.”
Breathing Room Page 33