Chapter Two
Cat and Mouse
I stood in front of the full-length oval mirror in my hotel room surveying my ensemble.
I was wearing a dark teal, strapless dress shot liberally with silver. The top fit like a second skin all the way down to my hips then flared out in a cute, flippy, but short, skirt that exposed a whole lot of leg, more than even my sundress. I wore this with a pair of strappy, silver, high-heeled sandals. My hair was swept back at the top and held in a pretty, silver clip at my crown but the sides were sleek and long, the tapered ends curling along my jaw and neck, the rest falling down my back. I had on a pair of earrings that were four dangling silver chains interspersed with teal beads.
It was an awesome outfit.
But really, I was being an idiot.
In Heartmeadow, Indiana I would have no occasion to wear a dress like this. Or the shoes. Or the sundress I’d bought. Or the bronze sandals. Or, really, almost everything I’d purchased on my trip.
I’d flown first class because I could. This meant I could bring two suitcases so I did but there was barely anything in them since I intended to shop profusely, something I had done.
I had just not made smart choices.
Like the entirety of my outfit which I bought that day with Celeste, my new Lake Como bud.
I had spent my first day in Lake Como touring around riding the unbe-freaking-leivable high of breakfast with Sampson Cooper and riding the not as awesome but very close to it high of being in a stunningly beautiful place I’d never thought I’d be.
I’d also spent that day on tenterhooks, expecting Sam to jump out and whisk me away practically every second.
He didn’t.
So, trembling with expectant excitement and again kitted out and made up, I’d wandered down to breakfast only to find him not there. My matchmaking maitre d’ looked more devastated than I was that Sam was not waiting for me nor did he show while I had breakfast and I gave him plenty of opportunity. So much, I was grateful when my waiter brought me another cafetière of coffee I could sip and not look stupid as I waited in vain.
It was at lunch as I sat at a table with an umbrella (though, I chose a seat in the sun not the shade) on the wide sidewalk facing a flower and fountain bedecked square when I met Celeste and her husband Thomas.
They were old enough to be my Mom and Dad’s much younger, cooler and far, far richer sister and brother. Celeste was French but she spoke English and Italian. Thomas was American but he spoke with a slight Australian accent considering the fact that, while growing up, he’d lived there for ten years and they visited his family there regularly. We’d been sat at tables next to each other and my table had no pepper shaker, I’d asked if I could use theirs and there it began, just like with Sam, I’d joined them. However, not like Sam, they invited me and I accepted.
Chatting with Celeste, I didn’t know what people were talking about when it came to French folks. Cooter, being Cooter, hated them. But Celeste was awesome, chatty, friendly all in this droll, sophisticated, cosmopolitan way that was way beyond cool.
Within two minutes of talking with her, I decided I wanted to be her when I grew up.
Fortunately, I kept my cool and, unlike blurting them out bluntly to Sam, I did not share my recent circumstances with Celeste and Thomas but informed them only I was on vacation.
Celeste cottoned on I had no clue when it came to Italian. I also had a feeling Celeste further cottoned onto the fact that I had no clue when it came to a lot of things.
So she’d taken me under her wing.
She taught me “please” was per favore, “yes” was sì, “no” was just no and “table for one, please” was solo tavolo, per favore.
Easy!
Thomas was taking his lunch with his wife but had to get back to work and Celeste invited me to spend the afternoon with her. I accepted. After we wandered and she showed me some sights, she invited me to spend the next day with her. I accepted that too.
After another disappointing breakfast alone, Celeste had swung by my hotel in a sporty convertible, her hair (get this!) covered in a flowy, chiffon scarf and huge sunglasses on her face making her look straight from a movie. She’d whisked me to her favorite spa where we got facials, massages, manicures and pedicures then had our makeup done and our hair styled then off we went to spend the afternoon shopping whereupon, at Celeste’s insistence since everything I tried on she declared effusively was, “Belle, ma chérie!” I spent an enormous amount of money on clothes I’d probably never wear again.
And I was going out to dinner with them that night, all gussied up after spending three fun, relaxing days in Lake Como eating, sightseeing, shopping and spa-ing (or whatever they called it) but, although fun, as he’d promised and I’d hoped, I’d not seen Sampson Cooper.
Therefore I realized that when he said he’d see me around he was being nice. In fact, I realized, he’d only just been being nice throughout our time together.
And I had to admit, it was disappointing, definitely. Still, I met him, he was wonderful, I had a great story to tell and therefore I decided I could live with that.
What I couldn’t live with was making a stupid dent in my somewhat large, unexpected fortune by buying clothes I could not wear to the grocery store in Heartmeadow. I’d even bought a formal gown mainly because it was beyond awesome too. In fact, it was so stunning it was indescribable. I’d never owned anything near the like, never even tried anything on even close. My wedding gown, which I thought was beautiful, wasn’t even as nice as that gown.
So I got caught up in the life, Celeste, my audience, sitting back with her feet crossed at the ankles, knees closed, slim fingers curled around a flute of champagne (yes, champagne, this was how exclusive the shop was, they served champagne while you tried on clothes), her entire face lighting with delight when I’d walked out wearing that gown. The instant I did, she threw out a graceful hand, saying I simply had to have it, that it was made for me and I forgot who I was, where I came from, where I would go when I went home and bought it.
But it was ridiculous. I’d have nowhere to wear it.
Still, I liked the idea of just owning it and I decided that, maybe, on occasion, I’d make myself a fabulous dinner, buy myself a good bottle of champagne, put it on and share my dinner with Memphis pretending I was back in this life, that this was me.
That might be a weird thing to do but I figured it also would be fun.
And there was no one to care so why the heck not?
And Memphis would get into it. Then again, she pretty much liked to do anything just as long as her human was around.
That said, I had to stop, enough was enough.
My cell on the bed rang; I moved from the mirror to it, saw it was Celeste, flipped it open and put it to my ear.
“Hey, Celeste,” I answered.
“Allô, ma chérie, we’re downstairs. Are you ready?”
God, her voice was even awesome.
“I’ll be right down,” I told her.
We rang off; I grabbed my evening bag (an evening bag! Seriously, I was out-of-control) and headed downstairs.
I was dressed to the eights (my gown being definitely to the nines, or even tens) but, upon seeing Celeste, I noted she still totally outclassed me. Even so, when she saw me, she did this cool thing where her head dipped to the side and her hand elegantly swept through the air, a nonverbal indication she thought I looked great.
And, coming from her especially, that felt great.
Jeez, totally, I liked her.
When we greeted, I reminded myself to grab her upper arms and touch cheek to cheek on both cheeks as she always did with me, with shop assistants and her friend Gertrude who we’d run into at the spa. It was really too bad Americans didn’t do that. It wasn’t only chic, it was sweet.
Then she swept me out of the hotel, I did the cheek thing with Thomas at the car and off we went in Thomas’s big burgundy Jaguar to dinner.
Celeste and Thomas lived on Lake Como and had for nearly a year. His business took him everywhere and Celeste had confided in me while shopping that it was likely they’d be moving again soon.
I hoped (but didn’t share this with her) that maybe he’d be sent to Chicago or New York so I could visit, take all my fabulous clothes and shoes and pretend to be awesome like her again.
And also, I hoped this because I liked her.
They took me to an eatery that was off the beaten path but they declared was the best in a fifty mile radius and they would know considering Celeste also confided to me that, though French and enjoying her food (even if, on her slim frame, it didn’t show), she was a terrible cook so they went out all the time.
They were not wrong about the restaurant and I decided this at first glance. It was fabulous. But as we were shown to our table, I became enchanted. It had lots of Christmas lights strung everywhere and tables with small, compact arrangements of cream flowers set in the middle and peach tablecloths draping low that lined a balustrade of a long, stone terrace that faced the lake. The Christmas lights twinkled off the polished crystal and silver on the tables. And, to top that, there was soft music playing from a real live string quartet at the end of the terrace.
It was the most beautiful restaurant I’d ever been to in my life and in the last three and a half weeks, I’d been to some lovely ones.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, walking closely with Celeste who had her hand snug in the crook of my elbow.
“What did I say?” she asked, grinning at me.
“You don’t lie,” I replied, grinning back at her.
“Oh yes I do, ma chérie,” she informed me, lifting her other hand with thumb and forefinger an inch apart then she leaned closer and whispered, “Petites bombards, to Thomas, after shopping.”
My grin became a smile and I noticed Thomas and the maitre d’ had stopped so I looked to him and our table and that was when I saw Sampson Cooper three tables down, sitting facing me and across from him was a brunette. Her back was to me but I could still see she had on a fabulous dress, she had unbelievably beautiful, glossy, long, thick, dark hair and an amazing figure if her shoulders, slim arms and the line of her exposed back were anything to go by.
I stopped breathing again and this time it didn’t feel so good.
Okay.
Shit.
Okay.
Shit!
There it was. I was an idiot. I’d totally misread the situation. Clearly, his supermodel-esque girlfriend slept in or skipped breakfast in order to do pilates or something. And he was just being nice to me.
Shit.
Luckily this time Thomas guided me to the side of the table where I’d have my back to Sam and his woman. Even more fortunately, he did this before Sam saw me.
The maitre d’ held my chair and pushed it in while Thomas moved to do the same with Celeste across from me.
I looked to the lake and my heart restarted but my stomach felt funny and that didn’t feel so good either.
It was late. They ate late here or at least Celeste and Thomas did. They’d picked me up at eight thirty. The sun was beginning to set on the lake and the view was amazing.
I still wanted to cry.
“Kia, is everything all right?” Celeste’s melodious, French-accented voice came at me and I looked to her.
I had to get myself together.
Okay, I was an idiot. Three days ago, I had breakfast with my fantasy man and stupidly thought that I’d see him again. I had not allowed myself to fantasize about what seeing him would mean; I was smart enough not to set myself up for that kind of disappointment. I just looked forward to doing it because he was a nice guy and, in the end when he got me to relax, he was easy to talk to.
But I didn’t think when I’d see him he would be with a beautiful woman.
That sucked.
But, whatever.
Right?
I was in a fabulous dress and fantastic shoes, sitting in a beautiful restaurant next to a world famous lake with people who were worldly yet kind.
And a year ago I was in a rotten marriage with an abusive husband and I’d given up on life because I’d convinced myself there was no way out.
Sam probably barely remembered me, considering how many people he had to meet in his life. He certainly wouldn’t recognize me from the back.
So. Onward.
Onward!
This was my motto since Cooter took a shotgun blast to the head.
Freaking onward.
I smiled at Celeste and whispered, “Better than all right. Thank you so much for bringing me here. I don’t even have to eat and it’s my most favorite restaurant in the world.”
Celeste smiled at me as she reached across the table, took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I squeezed hers back. Then I smiled at Thomas.
Then I took the menu I belatedly noticed the maitre d’ holding out to me.
* * * * *
I was sitting on the balcony of my hotel with a snifter in my hand filled with one piece of ice and a healthy dose of Amaretto.
I’d ordered a double.
Dinner was delicious. The company even better. And Sam hadn’t noticed me.
He also hadn’t left (not that I noticed, unless there was another exit) by the time we left. He would have to walk by our table and he didn’t. I didn’t want to be but I was on edge all night, waiting for him to do it and hoping he didn’t notice me.
But, even though we ate four seriously delicious courses and took our time, he did not walk by our table.
And when we left, I made certain to get up and walk out without looking back. I put everything into doing it casually, appearing natural so Sam wouldn’t read the effort like he’d done at breakfast.
But it didn’t matter if I pulled it off or not. Even if he noticed and recognized me, it was highly likely he wouldn’t care. In fact, he told me himself such behavior would be a relief.
So there I was, having a nightcap, staring at the dark waters and the blinking lights dotting the sides of the lake and doing this because I was really full and would never sleep even if it was way late but also because, even if I was alone on the balcony and no one could see me, I really didn’t want to take my fabulous outfit off yet.
I lifted my snifter and took a sip. I’d always liked Amaretto. My mother drank Amaretto sours everywhere she went. She made desserts with Amaretto in them. Dad had bought her an expensive set of Waterford snifters for Christmas when I was ten years old so she could further enjoy her Amaretto. She was an Amaretto freak. We had a bottle in our house at all times.
This she had given to me. I loved Amaretto too. Though, when Cooter was alive, the bottle I kept in the house I hid because it pissed Cooter off I spent so much on a bottle of liqueur I sipped on a very rare occasion when he wasn’t around. Clearly, he didn’t think me going through a bottle of Amaretto once every year and a half and him going through a case of beer once a week was fair.
On this thought, my eyes welled with tears and I pulled in a deep breath, rethinking my solitude and my double of almond liqueur on top of three glasses of wine at dinner.
This had been happening unexpectedly, mysteriously and with relative frequency since the day after my plane touched down in Paris. I had not shed tear one since Ozzie came to the house and broke the news, I hadn’t even felt my nose sting but since I started my vacation, it seemed to happen all the time.
I had no idea why and I had, until that moment, been so busy I was able to power through it without giving any headspace to wondering why.
But now, alone, sated, a wee bit tipsy, relaxed, my guard was down and my head flooded.
And it flooded with a memory, years ago, of having dinner at Mom and Dad’s house. After dinner, Dad and Cooter had gone into the living room to watch something on TV and Mom and I had done the dishes. When we were finished, we sat down at the dining room table which we were wont to do when Dad and Cooter were lapsing into food comas in front of the TV (Mom was a comfort food cook, as in, that was all she ever made) and it was time to right all the wrongs in the world.
It was just that, that night, Mom had a specific wrong she wanted to right.
At that time, I’d been married to Cooter for a year and a half. Looking back, I couldn’t say Cooter treated me with love and affection in the three years we were together prior to getting hitched, he’d treated me being on his arm like it was his due. But he’d never been cruel. Then, for whatever reason it commenced, Cooter had started to tear me down three months after we got married. This started small, incidences I could easily sweep aside as bad moods or anxiety due to a change of life, marriage, mortgage, needing to grow up fast and hold down a job in order to take care of home and hearth.
But it quickly escalated.
So by that time, I’d had huge chunks torn from me.
And for some bizarre reason, I thought I was hiding it from the world. Even my mother.
I should have known that no way could I hide anything from Essie Rigsby. First, she was a Mom with two kids and had been, at that time, for twenty-three years. Second, she was far from stupid. I’d never been able to pull one over on her.
Not ever.
And that night, when she sat at the foot of our dining room table, her back to the living room and I’d sat at her side, the wall obstructing me from Dad and Cooter’s view, Mom had not delayed.
Her eyes settled on me, they were troubled, I instantly clawed at the tattered edges of the personality that my husband was stripping from me, pulling them close in the hopes of using them to protect me from what I knew was to come but I didn’t succeed before she leaned into me, her hand cupping my cheek and she whispered, “You know, your Dad and I are always there for you.”
Tears filled my yes and I looked away.
Her other hand came up so she was holding me by both cheeks and she made me look at her again.
“Kia,” she kept whispering, “no matter what, no matter where, no matter anything, we’re always there for you.”
“Okay,” I whispered back.
She said nothing more, just stared in my eyes.
I sat across from her and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know why then and I didn’t know why while sitting beside Lake Como drinking my favorite drink which was also my mother’s favorite drink and therefore reminding me of her. Maybe it was pride that was not allowing me to admit I made a huge mistake. Maybe I still had hope that Cooter would show me the glory he’d promised to me. Maybe I was in denial and didn’t want to face what was happening to me.
But I said nothing.
And I never did. Not for seven years. Not one of the times I tried to escape him. I said nothing.
Seven years.
I’d lost seven years and that was on me because help was half a mile away.
A tear slid down my cheek and Lake Como went fuzzy.
“Not even a smile?”
My body jerked as the question came from close in a deep, rough-like-velvet voice tinged with something I didn’t quite get, impatience or annoyance, and I twisted in my wrought iron, comfily padded chair and tilted my head back to see Sam standing right beside me.
In the muted outside lights that lit the balcony but didn’t take from the view, I saw his face shift as he whispered, “Jesus, Kia.”
Oh God.
Shit!
I quickly lifted a hand and dashed it across my cheek, stupidly thinking maybe, even though his eyes were locked on my face, he’d miss it and I casually said, “Hey, Sam.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, great. Just enjoying a nightcap,” I answered and his brows snapped together making him look slightly irritated.
“Are you okay?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” I replied then suddenly he bent at the waist, put one hand into the arm of my chair and his face was three inches from mine.
I sucked in breath at this move and his sudden proximity and pressed into the back of the chair but I didn’t have far to go and only gained an inch before he spoke again.
“Okay is not sittin’ alone, drinkin’ with tears in your eyes,” he stated.
Well, I had to admit, he was right about that.
“Uh…” I mumbled.
“Are you okay?” he repeated, this time gently, his eyes holding mine captive and while they did, they were looking deep.
So deep, I was mesmerized and found myself whispering, “I don’t know.”
“That’s a better answer,” he decreed on a return whisper then moved again, swiftly.
He bent to the side, reaching out a long arm; he tagged a chair and dragged it next to and facing the side of mine. Then he sat in it, leaned forward, put one elbow to his knee but reached out with the other hand, capturing mine and pulling it toward him. Then his other hand shifted and both of his hands held mine at his knees.
He did this so quickly, even when he settled I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Sampson Cooper was holding my hand, sitting next to me and completely focused on me in an intent way that made my entire body feel warm.
“Your man?” he asked.
“What?” I asked back.
“Are you thinkin’ about your husband?”
I shook my head and answered, “No, my parents.”
His hands gave mine a squeeze that felt convulsive before he asked, “Are they okay?”
I nodded. He waited. I didn’t say anything.
His hands gave mine another squeeze, this one a clear prompt.
“It’s a long story,” I said softly and it was. It was also one he would never, ever know.
He held my eyes.
Then he guessed accurately, “You don’t wanna talk about it.”
“No,” I verified his accuracy.
“Right,” he murmured then asked, “You don’t wanna talk about that, you wanna talk about why you sat three tables away from me for three hours tonight and didn’t even smile at me, comin’ or goin’?”
I blinked but my heart started stuttering. I figured this was an improvement, at least it didn’t stop.
Then I asked, “What?”
“Baby, you saw me.”
Well, there it was. I didn’t pull one over on him.
Shit.
“I, uh… didn’t want to disturb you,” I told him.
“Bullshit,” he shot back instantly and I blinked again at the same time my hand jerked in his so his tightened around it.
“Bullshit?” I asked.
“Yeah, Kia, bullshit.”
My shoulders straightened and I didn’t even tell them to do it before my mouth accused, “Well, you didn’t smile or come say hello to me either.”
He stared at me and it occurred to me, even though I didn’t know him, like, at all, that I could sense that he had been being real but now he was getting mad.
Then he stated, “So now we’re playin’ a game.”
My shoulders got straighter and my torso turned more fully to him and I snapped, “I’m not playing a game.”
“Breakfast, totally fuckin’ transparent, fuck me, seriously refreshing and now it’s cat and mouse.” His hands squeezed mine. “Which one am I, Kia?”
Oh my God?
Did he just ask me that?
Seriously?
I yanked my hand from his and turned fully to him, declaring, “Neither, Sam, you were with another woman and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You came by to say hi, I could have introduced you to Luciana, who’s the widow of a buddy of mine.”
My stomach clutched.
Oh man.
Sam kept talking. “She’s beautiful, she’s sweet but she’s also not my type and even if she was, she’s my buddy’s widow so I’d never fuckin’ go there.”
Oh man!
“Sam –” I started.
“So I can decide what I’m gonna do now, I gotta know, you want me to be the cat or the mouse?”
“Neither,” I whispered.
“We done with this bullshit?” he asked practically before I finished my one word reply.
“I… well, uh…” I stammered then told him truthfully but hesitantly since he seemed kind of pissed off and definitely impatient and he was a very big guy so I didn’t want to make him more of either, “we hadn’t really started with the bullshit.”
“Right,” he muttered, still leaned forward, elbows to his knees, eyes on me.
“Right,” I whispered.
He held my eyes.
Then he said, “Good, then I’ll call Luciana in the morning, tell her I’m bringin’ someone to her thing tomorrow night. I’ll come to your room, eight o’clock. Don’t eat, she’s gonna put on a spread. It’s formal. Can you do that?”
I blinked.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Tomorrow, Luciana’s party, formal, I’ll be at your room at eight o’clock. Can you do formal at short notice or should I call her and tell her I can’t come and we’ll go out to dinner?”
Oh my God.
Was he asking me out?
“Are you asking me out?”
The slightly pissed off and impatient look swept clean from his face, his lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah.”
“On a date?”
The last two words rose higher and higher and I was pretty certain my eyes were huge.
He grinned, scooted forward in his chair and said quietly, “Yeah, Kia, on a date but you gotta tell me where we’re goin’. Luciana doesn’t fuck around when it comes to her parties or her clothes. You can’t swing that, let me know and we’ll do something else.”
“I can swing that,” I said instantly and damnably enthusiastically.
That was when he smiled, full on, the white flash of his teeth nearly blinding in the semi-dark and it was better than any smile I’d seen him smile before, in person or not. It was so much better, my entire body got warm again.
Then he murmured, “Transparent.”
“Sorry?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Not surprised you can swing that.”
I didn’t know exactly why he thought that but I didn’t get the chance to ask because he was speaking again.
“I got shit to do early so I gotta hit it. I leave, you gonna be okay?”
At his open concern, I pressed my lips together and felt that all over body warmth start seeping into my soul.
“Yeah, Sam, I’ll be okay.”
His eyes moved over my face.
Then he whispered, “Okay.”
Then, before I could twitch, he was up, squatting over his chair and his mouth was touching mine.
That’s right, Sampson Cooper’s mouth touched mine.
And it felt sweet. Unbelievably sweet.
My head got light and I blinked repeatedly when his head moved back and he was so close, all I could see were his eyes.
“Sleep well and have good dreams, baby,” he said softly.
Then he was gone.