I smile at the memory and realize that I’m once again gripping my pillow. I release it, tossing it to the other side of the bed. I flex my fingers and as I do I see that there is blood beneath my fingernails.
I cringe, the familiar horror lodged in my chest, surrounding my heart. I numbly rise from bed and walk quietly into my bathroom, scrubbing my hands as vigorously as I can. I’m surprised I don’t take the skin from the bone, but it remains firmly attached to my hand. It wouldn’t matter to me either way at this point.
I stare into the mirror and like always, I don’t like what I see. I saw my reflection in Evangeline’s horrified stare. She saw me for what I am. I don’t give a fuck if it was a dream. She can see through me.
I look away and dry my hands, then slide down the tiled wall until I am resting against the cool stone. I lay my head back and close my eyes. I’m very weary. Not tired, but weary. And there is a difference.
But as I sit with my eyes closed, her face passes through my mind yet again. Her smile flashes in my memory and I suddenly find myself wanting to meet with her again, even though I shouldn’t.
I know where she lives. I could swing by unannounced and bring her a bottle of wine as a welcome to Malta gift. I could check to see if she has had any more uninvited spider guests. I could… do nothing.
I can’t endanger her in such a way.
Suddenly, my reality crushes upon me in a way that I haven’t felt in years. I have long since reconciled myself with my life. But now, tonight, it seems too great a burden to bear.
And try as I might not to think of her, I fall asleep sprawled on the bathroom floor thinking of her gray-green eyes.
Chapter Five
Eva
I decide to take the bus into town. I’m not sure why, but I know that if I don’t expose myself to people from the very beginning, I might be inclined to become a hermit in my little shore-side cottage. And the entire reason I am here is to finish up my research, an endeavor that will involve people.
On the trip to town, I sit next to an older woman and as we chat, I compile my list of her traits in my head. Beaten down by life, tired, negative.
I decide that I don’t like her energy. She’s very jaded and worn-out, and I know that nothing in this life will make her happy. I have already decided that I won’t be following up with her by the time she gets off at the next stop. By this time, I also realize that I don’t much like the bus. There are babies crying, people coughing and an overwhelming stench of body odor. I fight the urge to pull my shirt up over my nose.
I feel like a witch, but I haven’t eaten anything for breakfast and the smell is threatening to turn my stomach. I’m headed to the market to buy supplies for my kitchen, but I’m going to have to eat something first. So when the bus reaches the downtown area, I disembark and hunt for a café.
It doesn’t take long to find since there’s practically one on every corner.
I duck into one, a quaint little coffee shop with little bistro tables clustered on the sidewalk, and stand in line to order a coffee and a Danish. I never feel quite human until I’ve had a cup of coffee in the morning and so while I stand in line, I tide myself over by inhaling the rich aroma of the freshly ground beans.
As I wait, I hear a couple of women murmuring behind me in the line. They sound surprised and interested in something. And I accidently pick out the words “Luca Minaldi” in their conversation. This immediately snags my attention and I turn, only to find them watching the sidewalk. I follow their stares and find Luca himself standing outside.
My breath catches for a moment.
After my imaginary romantic interlude with him, I dreamed about him for most of the night. So it seems strange and a little startling to find myself staring at him in person for the second time in as many days. He’s standing in the morning sun, looking chic and rich and sophisticated in black slacks and a gray striped dress shirt, open at the neck. He’s every bit as beautiful as he was in my head last night. I don’t know what he is doing here now, but he appears to be waiting for something. Or maybe someone.
I can’t decide what to do. Should I approach him? Thank him once again for killing the spider? Thank him for his ‘participation’ last night? I silently laugh at that one, imagining the look that would result on his face from that conversation. I am surprised by how much I’d like to talk with him again.
As I’m pondering how to go about it, he turns and his dark, dark eyes meet mine.
His head is slightly ducked as he looks at me from under his bangs and his face is expressionless, almost hard. But his eyes….they are smoldering like nothing I’ve ever seen, like he knows something intimate about me, like he knows what I’m thinking.
Like he knows what I was thinking last night.
My heart takes off like helicopter blades. My lips part and I can’t decide whether to smile or call out, but then he turns away. And he’s gone.
I pay for my coffee and hurry to the door, but by this time, he is long gone, swallowed by the crowds that are milling about on the sidewalks. I have no idea where he went but it is obvious that he didn’t want to stop and talk to me, regardless of what I saw in his eyes.
I don’t know what I did to offend him and I try not to allow my feelings to become ruffled because I don’t think I did anything at all. He seemed fine when he left my house yesterday. Perhaps he’s just having a bad day.
I decide to sit at a little table rather than become jostled through the crowds, which would likely result in spilled coffee. So, I sit and try to forget about Luca Minaldi snubbing me. I try and forget about the burning expression in his eyes. I try to forget about my own traitorous and naughty thoughts about him. It’s difficult, but I focus and eventually, I am distracted by watching the people around me.
And I remember why I love Malta.
The people are so happy here, so laid-back and carefree. They have a true southern European attitude, one that repels stress and embraces life. I love it. It is one of the reasons why I have such great memories of being here when I was a child. Even as a kid, I felt the absence of worry and stress here in this beautiful place.
I sip at my coffee, which is delicious. It is strong and perfect, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. I rifle through my little notebook, the one that I carry everywhere to make notes about people’s personalities. I’m not in the mood to speak with random strangers today but it must be done. So I sigh and get up and start introducing myself to these happy Europeans.
It doesn’t end up being as difficult as I’d thought it would be.
I end up with a couple of offers for coffee with potential new friends and a couple of requests for my phone number from men, along with several pages of notes about these very same people. I need to return home and transcribe my notes into typewritten pages but first I have to navigate the market. I don’t cook but I still need to eat.
I wind my way through the streets, hunting for a market. I don’t see one.
So, I stop and ask a kind looking elderly woman. She’s very friendly, but I quickly realize that she doesn’t understand English. Her frail-looking husband doesn’t either. I am saved by a kind younger man who sees me struggling to understand.
“Miss, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he tells me in perfect English with a charming Maltese accent. His blue eyes sparkle and I can’t help but notice that he is handsome. “Do you need directions to the market?”
I nod gratefully.
“I do. Thank you so much. I’m afraid I’m a little turned around. I don’t know where to go to hail a taxi.”
The stranger laughs and he doesn’t seem so strange now. Something about him immediately feels familiar and friendly and he puts me at ease.
“You won’t need a taxi,” he tells me. “Once you reach the heart of the city, which is where we are now, you can walk anywhere you need to go.”
Ah. That must be why I remembered it being so.
“Come, “he tells me. “My name is Adrian and I will j
ust show you the way.”
“I’m Eva Talbot,” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”
“Adrian Leopoldo,” he answers. “You are most welcome. It is a pleasure meeting you.” He is charming and friendly and we chat the entire way to the market and I decide that it is a pleasure to meet him. I can certainly use a friend here. And the fact that he is handsome is certainly not a detriment.
“Do you live here in town?” I ask him as we approach the busy marketplace. He shakes his head.
“No, I live outside of town. You?”
I shake my head. “No. I live outside of town, too.”
Adrian grins. “Well, that’s a coincidence. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other outside of town sometime.” I can’t help but gravitate towards his grin. He’s impossibly cheerful and I find that I quite like it.
Open.
Honest.
Cheerful.
I make my silent list of his personality traits. I’m fairly certain that I’m spot on with him.
“Eva?”
Adrian is looking at me and I realize that he’s probably said my name more than once.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I was thinking about something else.”
“It’s okay,” he smiles. “I was just wondering if you’d like to have dinner tonight? You’re new here and far too beautiful to sit in your house alone.”
He’s flirting. It occurs to me in a rush and I don’t mind it at all. He’s handsome and funny and nice. Why would I mind?
“Of course. And how very kind of you to think about my welfare,” I tell him with a smile. “I found this charming little bistro on the beach last night. Marianne’s. Do you know it?”
He nods. “Of course. Everyone knows Marianne. Shall I pick you up at 7:00?”
I smile again. “It’s not very far from my house. I can meet you there if you prefer.”
But Adrian is already shaking his head.
“Haven’t you heard? A young woman was killed last night, not too far from Marianne’s. She is the second one in a month. The polizia haven’t determined if it is foul play or a wild animal of some sort. Either way, it’s best that you not wander around after dark by yourself, Eva.”
My gaze is frozen to his as I remember the shrill scream that I had heard last night on the beach. Could that have been the girl? If so, I was mere yards from her as she was killed. That seems impossible. But then, as I remember the spooky feeling in the air on my way home, I shiver.
“A wild animal?” I ask quietly, in horror. “What kind of wild animal does Malta have that could kill a person?”
Adrian is subdued. “Apparently, both girls had injuries that were indicative of a wolf attack, although Malta doesn’t have indigenous wolves. A few years back, a handful of wolves escaped from a zoo. It is speculated that they have bred and their pack has grown. There are stories of farmers who have lost cows to these wolves. So we know that they are still out there.”
“Rogue wolves?” I am horrified at the notion but it is slightly intriguing too. I always find myself rooting for the underdog. And wolves that were contained in a zoo and then escape to find a life of freedom are certainly underdogs. But are they killers?
“I don’t know,” Adrian answers. “It seems far-fetched to me. From what I’ve always heard, wolves don’t attack humans unless they are cornered. But what do I know? I’m not a wild-life expert. But they say that both of the girls had their throats ripped out which is apparently what a wolf will do. It’s horrifying. So, in the meantime, until they figure this out, you should keep your doors locked and don’t travel by yourself after dark. Okay?”
I nod.
“And I’ll be around to pick you up at 7:00,” he confirms.
I nod again, then tell him where my cottage is and he waves and is off. I find myself looking forward to our little date tonight, which is slightly surprising since I’ve been utterly fascinated with Luca Minaldi ever since I laid eyes upon him yesterday and Adrian is a far cry from Luca.
But as I walk through the aisles of the busy open air market, I put Luca out of my mind. He clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’ll make a point to arrange a follow-up meeting with him later for research reasons, but only for that. I just need to see if he is as intriguing as I previously thought. And if my evaluation of his personality is correct.
But even now, if I’m honest, the mere thought of meeting with him again is exciting. His dark good looks are a night and day difference from Adrian’s cheerful demeanor. And that dark thread in Luca, the darkness that I see passing over his face… it draws me in. And I know that my research is not the reason that I want to see him again.
Chapter Six
Luca
I stare out the window of the car, idly watching the green landscape blur past.
“Do you want to go straight home?”
Adrian is looking at me in the rear-view mirror and I nod.
“Yes, please.”
I return my attention to the outdoors, to the farms and wildlife and beaches that fly past us; the stone and sand and greenery. Adrian always drives too quickly when he chauffeurs for me but I don’t mind. I’m a fast driver myself and I’m distracted today anyway.
I seldom allow myself to become bothered by things like emotions and sentiment. I can’t. Not if I want to remain sane, if that’s what I am. And I suppose that notion is debatable. But regardless, whether I am sane or not, I cannot become wrapped up in worrying about the reactions of those around me.
But the look on Evangeline’s face as I turned away in the street… it bothers me. It’s nagging at me. I wanted nothing more than to approach her, to draw her to me like she drew me to her last night in my dream. But I can’t do that. And I have no way of telling her so without sounding like a deranged lunatic. I can just hear that conversation right now.
I’m sorry, Dr. Talbot, I’d really like to get to know you better, maybe even fuck you, but I’m a monster and can’t get near you.
Yes. I can see where that would go over well. And why have I been reduced to feeling such base instincts around this woman? I can’t seem to control my thoughts.
But it doesn’t look like she’s faring any better.
For a psychiatrist, Evangeline Talbot isn’t good at concealing her feelings. She wears them on her face for the whole world to see. I recognized that trait in her yesterday. And today, I could see that she wanted to talk to me, she wants to get to know me better. I can tell that she feels the same attraction for me that I feel for her. I can’t explain it, but it is certainly there. The electricity between us is almost a tangible thing. It is that strong.
In fact, it has almost taken on a life of its own.
“Luca, are you alright?”
Adrian interrupts my thoughts and as I glance at him, I find his forehead is wrinkled with concern. I smile. He has known me since we were boys and his family has worked for mine for generations. He certainly knows me well.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just distracted. What are your plans for the day?”
Adrian turns the wheel fluidly as he guides the Mercedes along the winding coastal road. He drives with ease, just like he does everything else. Everything is easy for him. People, love, life. I’ve been envious of that more times than I can count.
“Unless you need me for something else, I am planning on servicing your Jag this morning, then I am helping Tegan repair a broken stall in the stables this afternoon. If you don’t think you’ll have a late night tonight, I have plans to keep.”
“And miles to go before you sleep?” I smile as I recite a line from a favorite poem. Adrian shakes his head and laughs. He has never been an academic, so he probably has no idea who I am quoting. “Robert Frost,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes.
To be fair, Adrian has never needed to be academic. His charm got him through school and when his charm couldn’t accomplish something, I tutored him. He always knew that his plan in life was to work for my family, like his father before him. He is ne
ver serious and usually has plans in town on the weekends. It is nothing new. He loves the bustle and life of the city. I do not.
“That’s fine,” I tell him absently, answering his question. “I don’t intend to have a late night.”
Adrian noses the car through the massive iron gates leading to Chessarae and up the long manicured drive. The difference as we pass onto the property is immediate. It is quiet here, as though the property itself recognizes my need for serenity. I know it is a silly thought, but it is entertaining to believe that the land itself recognizes something within me, a need for peace and solitude.
“Will you be visiting your mother this morning?”
Adrian asks this seriously as the car draws to a stop and I open my door. I grit my teeth. It’s Friday again. Already.
I nod curtly and he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to, you know,” he tells me. “I don’t know anyone else in their right mind who would. It’s not like she would know the difference anyway.”
“I would,” I tell him. And I leave him with the car as I turn and make my way into the house.
As I walk through the doors, an instant feeling of reverence passes through my body, as it always does when I return home. This home, this mansion, is a thousand years old. It was built by the Knights of Malta back when they first occupied the country, when their strength was at its peak. The interior, of course, has been redecorated many times throughout the years, but the exterior has remained the same. Heavy stone blocks create a formidable presence. It is ancient and permanent.
And it is mine.
I wind my way through the house and push through the heavy mahogany doors to my study. Each door is carved with the dignified crest of the Knights. Although my family has never belonged to the order, we have left their imprint on Chessarae in homage to their rich history. It gives the house character.
I walk straight to the bar that sits behind my desk. If I am visiting my mother today, as I always do on Fridays, I will require sustenance. My particular brand of sustenance comes in the form of forty-year old Scotch. I pour a glass, neat. I down it in one gulp. I savor the familiar burn in my mouth and then pour another.
The Minaldi Legacy Page 4