The bells of San Gimignano rang softly through the morning rain. The hotel room had grown chilly during the night, and Isabel huddled deeper into the covers, warm and safe, sheltered by the ancient watchtowers and ghosts of the faithful.

Last night had been a pilgrimage for her. She smiled into her pillow and rolled to her back. She’d been in control, out of control, mindless and mindful, and every bit of it had been wonderful. Ren had been an indefatigable lover—no surprise there. The surprise had been that she’d kept up with him.

Now she was alone in the room. With a yawn, she threw her feet over the side and made her way to the bathroom. She found his backpack lying unzipped on the floor beneath her black fringed shawl. Inside she located a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste missing its top. He’d planned ahead, something she always appreciated.

After a quick bath she wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s big towels and looked inside the backpack to see if he’d thought to bring a comb. No comb, but a red lace thong.

He poked his head in the door. “A small token of my affection. As soon as you put it on, I’ll share breakfast with you.”

“It’s not even nine o’clock. You’re up awfully early.”

“Day’s a-wastin’. Things to do.” He smiled at her in a way that indicated exactly what those things might be.

“Leave me alone while I get dressed.”

“And exactly why would you want to do that?”

Ren had never seen anything as cute as Dr. Fifi all rumpled and damp from her bath, curls everywhere, cheeks glowing, nose shiny with freckles. But there wasn’t anything innocent about her curvy body or that bright red thong dangling from her competent little fingers.

Last night had been crazy. She was either ordering him around like a dominatrix or lying limp and pliable in his arms. It had been more fun than he’d ever had with a woman, and he couldn’t wait for the fun to start all over again. “Come here.”

“Oh no you don’t. I’m hungry. What did you bring me?”

“Nothing. Drop that towel.”

She twirled the thong on her finger. “I smell coffee.”

“Your imagination.”

“I don’t think so. Pour. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He shut the door, smiled again, and retrieved the white paper sack containing the coffee and rolls he’d bought. The guy behind the counter had recognized him, which had forced Ren into signing autographs for the man’s relatives, but he’d been feeling too good to mind.

The bathroom door swung open, and he nearly spilled his coffee. She stood framed in the doorway wearing only her black fringed shawl and the lacy red thong he’d bought on impulse yesterday.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

“Even better.”

She smiled, flicked her shoulders, and let the shawl drop.

By the time they got to the coffee, it was stone cold.

 

“I love San Gimignano,” she said as they drove home through the rain. “I could have stayed there forever.”

He hid his smile and turned the windshield wipers up a notch. “You’re going to give me money again, aren’t you?”

“Dude, if anybody’s handing out money for sexual favors, it should be you, because I was pretty darned good. Admit it.”

She looked so happy with herself he didn’t even think of disputing her. “You were world-class.”

“I thought so, too.”

He laughed and wanted to kiss her again, but she lectured when he took his hands off the wheel.

She let one sandal swing from her toes as she crossed her legs. “If you were to give me a number, what would it be?”

“A number?”

“A ranking.”

“You want me to rank you?” Just when he thought she’d lost the ability to surprise him, she hit him in the head with her personal clapper board.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little demeaning?”

“Not if I’m the one asking.”

He was no fool, and he recognized a snake pit when he saw it. “Why do you want this ranking?”

“Not because I’m being competitive—don’t flatter yourself. I just want an idea of my current level of competence from the viewpoint of a recognized authority. How far I’ve come. And—in the interest of self-improvement—how far I have to go.”

“That ‘coming’ part . . .”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay.” He relaxed back into the seat. “I have to be honest. You weren’t number one. Are you all right with that?”

“Go on.”

He took a hairpin turn. “Number one was a highly accomplished French courtesan.”

“Ah, well, a Frenchwoman.”

“Number two spent her formative years in a Middle Eastern harem, and you can hardly expect to compete with that, right?”

“I suppose not. Although I do think—”

“As for number three, that’s iffy. Either a bisexual contortionist for the Cirque du Soleil or a pair of red-haired twins with an interesting fetish. Number four—”

“Just cut to the chase.”

“Fifty-eight.”

“Go ahead. Have your fun.”

“Oh, I am.”

She gave him a cute smirk and wiggled deeper in her seat. “I wasn’t serious anyway. I have way too much confidence in myself to care how you rank me. I just wanted to make you squirm.”

“I don’t seem to be the only one squirming. Maybe you’re feeling a little more insecure than you’re letting on.”

“It’s the thong.” She tugged at it through her skirt. “Truly a garment for desperate women.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“I noticed. You understand, don’t you, that you have to move back to the villa now?”

Just like that, she’d slammed him with the clapper board again. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m prepared to have an affair with you, but I’m not prepared for us to live together.”

“We were living together yesterday.”

“That was before last night.”

“I’m not stumbling back to the villa at five o’clock in the morning.” He punched the accelerator harder than necessary. “And if you think we won’t be sleeping together again, then you must have a short memory.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t stay overnight occasionally. I just said you couldn’t keep living at the farmhouse.”

“A fine distinction.”

“An important one.” Isabel understood the difference, and she suspected he did, too. She touched her bangle. She couldn’t stay centered unless she had plenty of time alone to catch her breath. “Our affair is only about having sex.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot her his killer’s scowl, but she ignored it. “Living together complicates that.”

“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it.”

“When two people live together, they’re making an emotional commitment.”

“Wait a min—”

“Oh, stop looking so horrified. You’re only proving my point. We’re having a short-term physical relationship, with no emotional component. All you’re getting from me is my body. That should be good news.”

His expression grew blacker, something she didn’t understand, since she’d just outlined a perfect relationship from his point of view. He must be balking because she was the one who was laying out the terms. Predictable gender-driven behavior. But she couldn’t take anything for granted when it came to this man, and she plunged on. “Just to make certain we’re clear about this . . . as long as we’re having sex, we’ll both be faithful.”

“Will you stop talking about ‘having sex’? You make it sound like a flu strain. And I don’t need any lectures about fidelity.”

“I’m not lecturing.”

That made him laugh.

“All right,” she conceded. “Maybe I was lecturing. Go ahead. It’s your turn.”

“I get a turn?”

“Of course. I’m certain you have some conditions.”

“Damn right.”

She watched him try to think of a few and resisted the urge to make suggestions.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll move my stuff out as soon as we get back. But if we’re ‘having sex,’ I’m not going home afterward.”

“All right.”

“And if we’re not ‘having sex,’ and I’m forced to spend the night at the villa with those hooligans you foisted on me, then don’t expect me to be in a good mood the next day. If I want to pick a fight, I get to.”

“Fine.” She uncrossed her legs. “But you can’t say ‘shut up.’ ”

“Shut up.”

“One other thing . . .”

“No other thing.”

“Last night you crossed a boundary. And just because I was mistaken about establishing that particular boundary, that doesn’t mean I want you to keep doing it.”

His eyes grew sly. “Tell me which boundary I crossed.”

“You know which boundary.”

“Talk dirty to me. Was it the one where you had your knees locked around—”

“That would be it.”

“Baby, when you’re wrong, you’re wrong.” He gave a diabolic chuckle. “Really wrong. And it has me wondering—”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.”

“How do you even know what I’m going to ask?”

“I’m extremely perceptive. You’re a man, and you’d like a little reciprocity.”

“It’s not a deal breaker. I’m more than happy with the way things are.”

“That’s nice to know.”

“And I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Thank you. I won’t.”

“The only reason I’m even bringing this up is to reassure you. I just wanted you to know that if you ever decided to . . . get adventurous, I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“How could you be anything else?”

“You understand me so well.”

 

The rain kept all of them trapped inside the villa through the morning and into the early afternoon. Harry roamed from one room to another with his cell phone pressed to his ear, avoiding only those rooms Tracy happened to be in. Tracy played Barbies until she wanted to rip the little anorexic bitch’s head off. She tried to keep Jeremy entertained with card games he didn’t want to play. The kids fought, Connor was pulling on his ear, and her ankles had started to swell, which meant that she needed to lay off salt, and what was the point of life without salt? Just thinking about it made her want to lick her way through a bag of potato chips.

She finally got Connor down for a nap, the rain stopped, and the other kids ran outside to play. She was ready to weep with gratitude, except that watching Harry place yet another call on his cell made her upset all over again. She thought about what Isabel had said—the question she was supposed to ask—what three things could she do that would make him happy? What about the things he could do to make her happy? At that moment she hated Isabel Favor nearly as much as she hated Harry.

He made the mistake of walking past her just as she tripped over the case to his laptop that Connor had been dragging around. She picked it up and threw it at him. He didn’t yell, but then Harry never yelled. She was the yeller in the family. He simply ended his call and gave her his disapproving look, the same one he turned on the children when they misbehaved. “I’m sure you had a reason for that.”

“I’m only sorry it wasn’t a chair. It’s been raining like hell all morning, and you haven’t once helped with the kids.”

“I had an emergency conference call. I told you that. I’ve canceled all my meetings and rescheduled two presentations, but I needed to take care of this.”

She knew he was at a critical point in the project, and he’d already stayed around longer than she’d ever dreamed he would. He’d also spent more hours with the kids since he’d arrived than she had, but she hurt too much to care about being fair. She only cared about being right. “I wish I had the luxury of deciding I could pick up the phone anytime I wanted.” When had she turned into such a shrew?

When her husband had stopped loving her.

“Just calm down, will you? For once in your life could you at least pretend to be reasonable?”

Distancing her . . . always distancing her. Pretending her feelings didn’t count just so he wouldn’t have to deal with them. “What’s the point, Harry? Why pretend anything? I’m pregnant again, you can’t stand being around me, you don’t even like me. God, I’m sick of you.”

“Stop being so melodramatic. I’ll get used to having another kid. You blow things out of proportion just because you get bored and want to entertain yourself.”

All he did was belittle her. She couldn’t tolerate another minute of his cool detachment, another second of knowing how little their love meant to him.

“This overreacting is because of your pregnancy,” he said. “Your hormones have made you completely irrational.”

“I wasn’t pregnant a year ago. Was I irrational when we took that trip to Newport and you spent all your time on the phone?”

“That was an emergency.”

“There’s always an emergency!”

“What do you want me to do? Tell me, Tracy. What can I do to make you happy?”

“Just show up!”

His expression was cold and flat. “Try to get control of yourself, will you?”

“So I can turn into a robot like you? No thanks.”

He shook his head. “This is all a waste of time. My staying here. I’m just wasting my time.”

“So leave! It’s what you want to do anyway. Drive away so you don’t have to deal with your fat, hysterical wife.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Go!”

“You’ve got it! As soon as I say good-bye to the kids, I’m out of here.” He kicked aside the laptop case and stalked away.

Tracy dropped into the chair and began to cry. She’d finally done it. She’d finally driven him off for good.

“Tell me, Tracy. What can I do to make you happy?”

For a moment she wondered if Isabel had gotten to him, too. But no, his question had been a whiplash. Still, she wished she’d told him the truth.

Love me, Harry. Just love me like you used to.

 

Harry found his oldest son and youngest daughter in front of the villa. As he pulled Brittany down from one of the statues Jeremy had dared her to climb, he realized he was sweating underneath his shirt. He couldn’t let his children see his despair, and he forced a smile. “Where’s Steffie?”

“Dunno,” Jeremy said.

“Sit down, guys. I have something to tell you.”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Jeremy’s bright blue eyes, exactly the same color as his mother’s, regarded him accusingly. “You’re going back to Zurich, and you and Mom are getting a divorce.”

“We’re not getting a divorce.” But that was the next logical step, and Harry’s chest hurt so much he could barely breathe. “I need to get back to work, that’s all.”

Jeremy looked at him as if Harry had shot out the sun.

“It’s no big deal. Really.” Harry hugged them both and drew them down onto one of the benches, where he said all the right things, except he couldn’t tell them when he’d see them next or whether it would be here or in Zurich. He couldn’t plan, couldn’t think. He hadn’t slept well in months. The past two nights, with the kids curled against him, he’d been able to sleep a little, but it hadn’t been that deep, peaceful state he could fall into when Tracy threw her arms over his chest and his dreams held the sweet, exotic scent of her wild black hair.

“I’ll be seeing you again before you know it.”

“When?” Jeremy had always been more like Tracy than Harry. His oldest son had a tough exterior, but beneath that he was emotional and very sensitive. What would this do to him?

“I’ll call you every day,” Harry said, giving him the best answer he could.

Brittany stuck her thumb in her mouth and kicked off her shoes. “I don’t want you to go.”

Thank God Connor was still asleep. Harry couldn’t have borne the feeling of those trusting little arms wrapped around his neck, those sticky kisses plastering his jaw. All that unconditional love from the son he hadn’t wanted. How could he expect Tracy to forgive him for that when he hadn’t forgiven himself? And the new pregnancy had stirred it all up again.

He knew he’d love this baby once it was born. Damn it, Tracy understood him well enough to know that, too. But he hated the fact that only more children could make her complete. Never just him.

He needed to find Steffie, but he dreaded breaking the news to her. She was a natural worrier like him. While the other children clamored for his attention, she held back, a little pucker of concern on her forehead, as if she weren’t sure she deserved her place with the rest of them. Sometimes she broke his heart. He wished he knew how to toughen her up.

Jeremy started kicking the bench. Brittany pulled on her sundress. He couldn’t think about what he was doing to either of them right now. “Go look for Steffie, will you? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He gave them a reassuring smile and set off for the farmhouse and Tracy’s ex-husband. He should have done this two days ago, but the son of a bitch had been elusive.

 

Ren stood by the farmhouse door and watched Harry Briggs coming toward him. The rain had cooled the air, and Ren had been about to go for a run, but it seemed that would have to wait.

He’d always had a secret admiration for guys like Briggs, mathematical whizzes with high-powered brains and low-key emotions. Men who didn’t have to spend their workday digging into their internal cesspools looking for memories and emotions they could draw on to help them convince an audience they were capable of murder. Or of molesting a child.

Ren pushed the thought aside. He’d simply have to find another way to look at it. This evening he’d sit down with his notebook and get to work.

He met Harry next to Isabel’s Panda. Harry wore a pin-striped shirt, slacks with a knife-edge pleat, and polished loafers, but there was a smudge on his glasses that looked like a tiny thumbprint. Ren slouched like a badass against the side of the Panda just to irritate him. Since Briggs had made Tracy miserable, he didn’t deserve anything better, the cheating bastard.

“I’m going back to Zurich,” Briggs said stonily. “But before I leave, I’m warning you to watch yourself. Tracy’s vulnerable right now, and I don’t want you doing anything to upset her.”

“Why don’t I just leave that up to you?”

The cords in Briggs’s neck tightened. “I mean it, Gage. If you try to manipulate her in any way, you’ll regret it.”

“You’re boring me, Briggs. If you cared so much, you wouldn’t have screwed around on her, now, would you?”

Not even a flicker of guilt crossed his face, which seemed odd for an uptight guy like Briggs. Ren remembered that Isabel had reservations about Tracy’s story, and decided to poke around a little. “Funny, isn’t it, that she came running to me when she started to hurt? And you know what else is funny? I might have been a shitty husband, but I stayed away from other women when we were married.” Pretty much anyway.

Harry began to respond, but whatever he’d been about to say got lost as Jeremy shouted from the top of the hill. “Dad, we’ve looked everywhere, and nobody can find Steffie.”

Harry’s head shot up. “Did anybody check the pool?”

“Mom’s there now. She said to come right away!”

Briggs started to run.

Ren took off after him.