by C. L. Donley
Whatever phase of his life in which this had once worked for him was clearly over.
He told himself this would be the last time. But it seemed last time was the last time.
“The night is young, signore,” Eloise replied.
“It is, and I’m sorry,” he insisted. “You will be compensated for your trouble.”
“No need,” Eloise hastily got up and commenced dressing, her jovial mood all but disappeared. She seemed more than a little annoyed. Dario sighed as he pulled up his pants.
Pull yourself together, he said to himself. If he wanted Lark, he simply needed a game plan. She couldn’t run from the past forever. Eventually, she would tire.
As Eloise was seeing herself out, Dario could see from his chair overlooking the adjacent Parisian apartment buildings that Lark was standing just outside, her right hand still in the air and poised to rap on his door.
“Sorry, I’ll come back later!” Lark said in a raised voice, her eyes averted.
“No need,” Dario projected from his chair across the room, “she was just leaving.”
Lark backed into the hallway as the beautiful French woman emerged, her bouncy blonde hair somewhat disheveled and adjusting her big feet into her heels. A string of French curses could be heard under her breath as she passed by, eyeing Lark the entire way. Lark just stared back at her as if she were possessed.
“Something you need, Miss Chambers?”
“Pardon me, signore. I tried your cell and the room phone—”
“I know. It’s fine.”
“It’s just that Signore Di Rossi told me that you needed my…”
Lark suddenly stopped, her hand still gesturing in mid air.
“Actually, there is something I need, sir. Now that you mention it.”
Dario sat up in his chair.
“I need to know why you insist on your… women coming here. When there are other hotels you could…” Lark’s words turned rotten in her mouth.
She sounded like a silly girl who thought the world revolved around her. And she knew it, as she spoke.
“My women?”
“Si.”
“Allora, Miss Chambers. I may have been more open than I usually would be about this… aspect of my life because you saw something that you shouldn’t have, and I felt the need to clarify. You then made it a point to set parameters on our relationship, which I have agreed to. So now I must remind you that you are here to accompany us, not to approve of my personal decisions.”
“Of course, signore.”
Dario recognized Lark’s short tone. And she hadn’t moved.
He sighed.
“But…” he urged her to continue.
“I simply don’t understand why you insist on flaunting your… sexual exploits in front of me.”
Dario cocked his head as his brow furrowed.
“It bothers you, Allodola?”
“Of course it bothers me! It bothers me as it would bother anyone in my position.”
“So it does not bother you especially.”
“No.”
“Ah. Va bene, I will be more… careful in the future. For your sake. But I imagine since you will only be with us two more days, this will not be a problem for long. If ever again.”
His words unexpectedly pierced her. Had he not ever planned to hire her again? See her again?
She, of course, could be mature and ask. But, if she had such maturity, perhaps her life would be a different one. Her dreams un-haunted.
“Honestly, you’re a bit… old to be engaging in such things. It’s concerning,” she chose instead to say.
“Is that so,” he said.
“Si. You’re a grown man. A widower, with a son that’s practically an adult. What does he think of how his father—”
“My son has no idea about what I do with my personal life, and it will stay that way,” he said, meeting her eyes.
“Do you think your son is an idiot?”
Dario squirmed under Lark’s unexpected interrogation.
“No, I think my son knows that I am a broken man still grieving the loss of his mother and he would be correct!”
“Or you are using the memory of his mother as a crutch—”
In a flash, Dario was on his feet standing directly in front of her, threateningly.
Lark certainly didn’t recognize this side of him, she distantly realized as her heart increased in speed with every inch he drew close to her.
She didn’t think he would hurt her, but in case he would, she was ready. She’d faced worse than him already in her young age. His eyes blazed as they met hers but she didn’t flinch.
“I do not want to hear you make mention of his mother ever again, Miss Chambers. Capisce?”
“Si, signore,” Lark bit back embarrassment.
“You have greatly overstepped your bounds. I do not know what manner of conversations you and my father may have had, but you have not had them with me. Do not speak of my wife again.”
“I apologize,” Lark matched his gaze, a flicker of defiance in them.
“Do you have something else to say, Miss Chambers?”
“No, signore.”
“No? You have simply lost respect for me is that it? I am no longer worth the discussion?”
“Your words. Not mine.”
“What choice do I have, Allodola? Hm? I do not want these women. I only want one woman. But she is… a ghost. She floated away like a dream and now I cannot have her.”
“Mi dispiace, signore,” Lark conceded, trying to catch her breath, “I cannot imagine what it’s like, the loss of a spouse.”
Dario sighed, he sat back down in his chair, deflated. Lark stood stock still and didn’t speak further. She stared at the floor, pretending to be awaiting further instruction.
“You interrupted me, Miss Chambers, what is it?”
“Oh— uh… I….” she almost said, “it doesn’t matter.” But she couldn’t lie.
“Come back when you can remember.”
“Thank you, signore.”
Lark walked calmly out of the room in a fog, teary-eyed, shrinking every second she thought of how horribly the last five minutes of her life had just gone. Perhaps their Russian spy antics had indeed gone to her head. Not even at the U.N. had she behaved in such an unprofessional manner with a superior. The way she’d made a fool of herself, and insulted the memory of her boss’s wife in the process.
It was a good thing there were only two days left. They didn’t need her. She was pretty sure she could manage never being in the same room with Dario again for the next two days without being too obvious.
She got off on the wrong floor three times before she finally made it back to her room. She instantly locked the door, shed all her clothes and drew the hottest bath she could. There she soaked underneath the tall open window, the faint sounds of Parisian traffic many floors beneath her.
She sighed a long sigh, enveloped by steam and absent-mindedly applying a sponge to her shoulders and choking back tears. She couldn’t wait for this job to be over.
A gorgeous bath in a gorgeous hotel and all she could think about was him. And his hurt feelings. What about hers? Not that there was much that still hurt her. But for some reason, the way he fiercely defended the mere utterance of his wife in conversation hurt so much that her body ached, tense from shock.
Lark had begun to create an idealized version of her. She didn’t know what she looked like, but she must’ve been Italian and beautiful. Rich. Smiling. Never quarreling. Did they have servants?
She tried to tell herself that her “honest talk” disaster was a good thing. It was an eye-opener. None of this was real. They were in no way equals, in no way the same. Lark was of no use to a man like Dario, beyond a good lay. Being around him was like being in a dream. Being wanted by him was the same. But he was tethered to his work. If his wife was still alive today, she would likely be at home and miserable. He couldn’t be free if he wanted to. It’s not as though he could
travel, backpack across Europe with her. If he couldn’t go, it meant she would be the one to have to stop. And she couldn’t conceive of doing such a thing.
Not even for love.
Eleven
Chapter 11
Finally, they were on the tarmac at the Paris airport early Monday morning. Another overcast spring day. They would be in Italy in four hours.
Dario had gotten used to having Lark a few steps behind him, her gentle alto his international mouthpiece.
They’d found a rhythm. He grew to anticipate the chain of understanding that moved from his mouth and out of hers to his clients. She’d gone from the occassional request for him to repeat himself to none at all. She’d learned him well enough to anticipate him, his business well enough to convey his vision.
Every few seconds his brain would remind him that she was leaving. And every few seconds his heart rose and fell.
“I’m officially impressed, Miss Chambers,” Dario said as they boarded.
“With what?”
“You have managed to dress yourself sufficiently for three weeks out of that picnic basket with a handle you carry with you.”
Lark laughed. “It has a few new pieces now, thanks to you,” she said, taking a plush seat next to him on the private aircraft.
Dario had gone back and purchased the two dresses he saw at Dolce & Gabanna. He delivered them to her room as part of a ‘thank you’ gift bag he and his father had put together. ‘I couldn’t help myself’ the note read. A tacky sentiment no doubt made tackier by the spat they’d had in his room two nights before.
“My father insists on a farewell lunch for you when we return,” Dario said.
“That sounds lovely. May I pick the restaurant?”
“I didn’t ask, but I don’t think so.”
Lark laughed, “I’m going to miss him, I think. And you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I feel I should apologize, signore.”
“For what?”
“For the other evening. For overstepping my bounds.”
“Never mind about that.”
“I hope it won’t affect what you report back to the agency.”
“I would do no such thing. You’re a consummate professional, Miss Chambers. Considering our… brief dalliance, beforehand. You have handled yourself well. You have nothing to fear.”
“Good. Of course I’m also concerned about… our relationship.”
“Relationship?”
“Yes. We’ve built a mutual respect over the last few weeks, I believe. One that I wouldn’t want to put in jeopardy.”
“Easy, Miss Chambers. You are making me blush,” he teased her for her tepid speech. She smiled.
“I just mean… I remember how nervous I was when this all began. Nervous wasn’t the word for it, really. And now that I’ve finally earned back the respect that I… threw away, I’d hate to lose it again because of foolish words.”
“Do you trust me, Allodola?”
The question took her aback.
“I… well, my trust is unusually hard to come by, signore.”
“I know. Which is why I ask.”
“I suppose I do. I suppose you earned that.”
“Good. Then trust what I am telling you. You never lost my respect, Allodolah. Ever. It has only ever grown.”
“Thank you, signore.”
The engine roared over their conversation and the plane lumbered down the runway as they waited to take off.
“Can I ask you something? About that night?” Lark asked.
Dario perked up, but only on the inside. “Of course.”
“What made you come back? To our table.”
“I wanted to meet you.”
“You wanted to ‘meet’ me?”
“Certo. I never thought I would see you again if I didn’t. I didn’t know what would happen that night.”
“Which is why you had protection?”
“Miss Chambers, if I haven’t shown you by now that I always like to have a plan, then I do not know what else to say,” Dario replied. Lark’s shoulders shook with laughter.
Lark reached for the zipper on her bag, retreating to her headphones one last time. She hesitated before fitting them into her ears.
“I don’t think I ever got a chance to say thank you. For… that weekend,” she was cryptic in her description of their lovemaking.
“You did.”
“I did?”
“Si. I remember. In fact, I have not heard you miss a single opportunity to say thank you. For anything. It is one of the things I love about you.”
Lark was silent while the engines roared over their conversation. Dario stayed pre-occupied with his newspaper as he spoke, trying to distract from the strength of his affection for her. It seemed to work. The plane tipped them back into their seats as it climbed into the air. Finally, she looked at him until he was compelled to look over and their eyes met again.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, in response to his compliment. He gave her a grin.
* * *
The farewell lunch was catered and took place in the courtyard at Di Rossi headquarters, the main office out of which the senior Mr. Di Rossi worked. Dario too had an office there, a bit smaller but with a beautiful lobby that contained a baby grand piano left wanting use.
The entire office was invited to lunch, though few of them had ever even met Lark. Signore Di Rossi went on and on in elaborate exaggeration about their international wheelings and dealings, though he hadn’t been present for many of the meetings. When he regaled the tale about meeting the Russian mafia boss, Dario didn’t bother to correct him, which made it hilarious.
After two hours, the luncheon still showed no signs of stopping. Lark fished for her phone out of her bag.
“Signora Chambers, you need to leave, no?” Signore Di Rossi asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Signora, e stato un grande piacere,” he said making a grand gesture with his hands.
“Likewise, Signore Di Rossi.”
“Buon fortuna, piccolina. Roberto, escort Miss Chambers to wherever she asks.”
The two of them left the courtyard and went back inside, stopping just outside his office, in the interior hallway that led out to the busy receptionist area.
“You will be going straight to the airport?”
“Essentially. I like to get there early to beat the American tourists,” she said. He smiled.
“Surely we paid you well enough to splurge on a first class ticket.”
“Molto bene,” she complimented him, referring to his use of the word “splurge.”
“It’s only a few hours, signore. Once I land, I won’t be so frugal,” Lark continued.
“Smart,” he said smiling.
“So, I guess… this is goodbye,” Lark sighed.
“For now. Hopefully not forever,” Dario said.
“Of course.”
“I will be sending your agency a glowing recommendation.”
“I appreciate that, signore.”
“We will leave your brief career in espionage between us, d’accord?”
“Perfectly fine with me, signore,” she smiled.
“Dario, please,” he corrected her one last time.
“Va bene. It was a pleasure working with you, Dario Di Rossi,” she said as she shook his hand, “I imagine I’ll never have another assignment like this one.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Lark Chambers.”
Lark stopped in her tracks, staring, their hands still connected. Absent-mindedly all handshaking slowed to a halt.
His eyes locked onto hers like a tractor beam. The look from that wild night, the one he now only distantly recalled, was back in her eye, full force.
“Che cosa? Allodola?” he furrowed his brow.
She swallowed, looking away as if fighting off a spell, wrenching her hand from his.
“Lark. Please, don’t shut me out. Tell me.”
Her eyelids fluttere
d closed, her chest noticeably heaved. She backed away a bit, frozen as if scared, eyeing some random spot in front of her, eyeing anything but him.
He looked at her intently, searching his mind, his heart beating wildly.
What the hell was happening right now?
She obviously wasn’t leaving, but what was keeping her there?
When he realized what it was, what he’d done, he shuddered in anticipation.
And he also wanted to kick himself for not doing it sooner.
“Lark,” he said again, slowly closing in on her frozen position against the wall in the hallway, her posture stiff as if he were some jungle predator not to disturb. He ran a solitary finger down her cheek and softly spoke, careful to sound truly curious, rather than boastful.
“Do you like hearing your name out of my mouth, cara mia?”
Her eyes met his again, a calm glow in them like a leftover campfire. His finger continued to blaze a trail across her skin, from her jaw, down her neck. Without warning, he put his mouth everywhere his finger had been, and she moaned, rather loudly.
The low buzz of commotion near the receptionist’s desk conspicuously stopped.
Someone definitely heard that. I can be loud, when I fuck, she’d told him.
He couldn’t believe this was real. How could this be real?
Hastily, he pulled her by the arm inside the doorway of his office and closed the door, leaning her up against it.
He turned the key that was resting in the lock. They could hear the sound of their own ragged breath in the soft quiet.
“Now it’s your turn,” he panted. “I want to hear you say mine.”
“Dario?” she said in a breathy rasp.
He shook his head, “Not that one. The one my family calls me.”
“Robert?” she said.
Now it was his turn to stop in his tracks.
Only family called him Roberto. His wife had. He’d braced his ears to hear it again. From a woman. But she had used the American pronunciation.
Absolutely no one called him Robert.
No one except Lark.
He scoffed a bit as he smiled, his heart hopelessly melted. He took hold of her face in both his big hands and kissed her, furiously, each one quenching a long-held thirst, each one demanding another.