CHAPTER 23
Kate left Enrico in the room and walked down to the lobby, still carrying the tissue box. She wandered around the hotel grounds, crying on and off, not caring who saw her. It was for the best. She couldn’t let him plan a future with her when she had no intention of staying. That wouldn’t be fair.
So why did she feel like such a bitch? Really, Kate? Let’s make a list: Because you lied when you said you didn’t love him? Because you told him the real reason you first slept with him? Because you just had to imply he’d helped you only because you were in his bed?
There were low blows, and then there were low blows. All Enrico had ever done was help her. And love her.
And this was how she repaid him.
He should throw her to the wolves. Hell, he should dump her on Carlo’s doorstep.
But he’d do no such thing. Because Rico was a kind, decent man. Whatever he was keeping from her, could it be so bad? It must be a doozy, or he’d have told her just now, but he’d said nothing. And maybe that was for the best.
She’d been right to end their relationship before they got any more involved. Before she couldn’t bear to leave him.
But if breaking up was the right thing do, why was she so torn? Why did she want to throw herself in his arms and take it all back, every single ugly word?
She swallowed a sob. Some things couldn’t be unsaid. Some things couldn’t be undone. Some things couldn’t be forgiven.
And that’s what she wanted, right? For him to leave her.
Then why had her chest turned into an empty gnawing pit? Why was her stomach threatening to turn inside out?
Why did she feel so damn horrible?
When Kate returned to the room, Enrico told her they were having dinner with his father.
What the hell was he thinking? “You don’t seriously want to introduce me to him now, do you?”
“I need to see him. You need to eat.”
She laughed. “I can call room service.”
“Please humor me.” He raked a hand through his hair, his face pained. “He will be better if you are there.”
The look on his face tore something in her gut. “What do you mean?”
“You will see.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to leave soon. Are you ready?”
“You’re serious.”
He stared at her for a moment before answering. “Yes. Can we go?”
“Let me wash my face. I’ve cried off all my makeup.”
“You do not need it. You never have.”
She almost rolled her eyes. “Do you never stop flirting?”
“I am not flirting with you.” His eyes held hers, not a trace of mirth in them.
Ouch. “Give me a few minutes.” She hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She washed her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell. And she didn’t want to do this. She just wanted to go home. To leave.
To forget.
It took them about twenty minutes to walk to the address his father had given him. The house surprised Enrico. It was well-kept, but small and nondescript. Hardly the place one would expect a man of Rinaldo’s fortune to live in. It was nothing like the grand house he’d bought on the shores of Lake Como. How the mighty had fallen. Will this be me someday?
His heart hammering, he knocked on the door and waited. They’d spoken only briefly on the phone; Rinaldo had shown little enthusiasm for seeing Enrico, but he hadn’t said no either. “Fine,” was all the answer he’d given.
The ghost who shambled to the door bore little resemblance to the hearty man of Enrico’s youth, and he ached anew to see the change in his father. His thick hair was shot through with silver, his handsome face gaunt, his dark eyes nearly expressionless. He looks like the walking dead. It was a horrible thing to see.
After a moment of staring into his father’s lifeless eyes, a hot, hard ball of anger started to burn in his chest. Rinaldo hadn’t lost everyone that day. He still had Enrico. Why wasn’t that worth living for? Why am I not enough?
Rinaldo stared at him for a moment, then he looked from Enrico to Kate. “So you are the cause of all this trouble,” he said to her.
Kate looked up at Rinaldo. Then she cast a doubtful look at Enrico. “Rico, maybe we should go,” she whispered.
They stood there, the three of them frozen for a moment, then his father said, “I suppose we should get this over with.” He motioned them inside and led them into a simple kitchen. Enrico and Kate took seats at a rough-hewn wooden table. A delicious aroma filled the tiny kitchen as Rinaldo opened the oven and pulled out a covered baking dish.
“Baked ziti,” Enrico said.
A trace of a smile appeared on Rinaldo’s face. “Just like Nonna Drina’s.” He set the pan down, then dished out generous portions onto plates. “How is she?”
“The same. She will outlive us all.”
Rinaldo huffed with laughter. “Certainly she will outlive me.”
“Do not say that,” Enrico said, surprised by the catch in his voice. He took the plate Rinaldo handed him. His throat felt so tight he didn’t think he could swallow a bite. Kate touched his hand, and he was grateful for it. Someone here cared about him. Even if she pretended not to.
Rinaldo took the seat at the head of the table, on Enrico’s left. “Well, my son, it is true. My heart is no stronger, and I have had three bypasses. The doctors say I have another year or two. But that is all.”
“Papà, I hate to hear you say that.”
“You should never be afraid of the truth.”
Enrico almost smiled. That was his whole problem, wasn’t it? Not owning up to who he was, what he’d done. Hiding.
“So what brings you here?” Rinaldo glanced at Kate, then back at Enrico. “Certainly it is not merely to show off your latest acquisition.”
He took a breath, steadying himself not to take the bait. “I am here because I wanted to see you. How you were.”
“I’m alive. What more is there to say?”
Plenty. And we never say it. Enrico shoved away the plate in front of him and turned so he was fully facing his father. “Why did all the love in you die with them? Did I never occupy any space in your heart?”
Rinaldo looked startled for a moment, then his face closed up. “You have not lost what I have lost.”
“I lost my mother, my brothers. And like you, I have lost a wife.” He paused. “But my heart has not died like yours.” He reached out blindly, finding Kate’s hand and squeezing it, his eyes not leaving his father’s face.
Rinaldo shook his head. “Maybe had I not suffered it all in one blow, maybe had I not buried two sons….” He looked down at the table, then back at Enrico. “I am sorry, mio figlio. I have nothing left for you. For anyone.”
“Is it because I have disappointed you?” He had to know. “I know I am not Primo, I know I was not your first choice to take over.”
“You avenged them, when I couldn’t. How could I be disappointed in you?” Rinaldo’s eyes watered. “If I had anything left, I would give it to you.”
“You would?”
A tear rolled down his father’s cheek. “How can you doubt it?” He wiped at his face.
Grief welled up in Enrico, and he couldn’t hold back his own tears. “Papà,” he said, choking on the word. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around his father, hugging him hard. He was starting to let go, when Rinaldo’s arms encircled him, pulling him close. Warmth spread through his chest, overpowering his grief.
It was as close as his father had ever come to telling him he loved him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
After a few moments, Rinaldo released him, patting him on the back. “We should eat. My ziti is getting cold.”
Enrico glanced at Kate and saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. He should be embarrassed she’d seen this, but strangely he wasn’t. He wanted her to know everything about him, including this.
They started to eat. “It’s very good,” Kate said.
Rinaldo chuckled. “It is all I know how to make. I should be good at it by now.” He turned to Enrico. “When will you be married?”
Enrico heard Kate’s fork hit her plate, but he didn’t look at her. “Soon, I hope.” She kicked him under the table. It was true. He wouldn’t take it back.
Rinaldo addressed Kate. “I wish you good fortune. You will need it with my son.” He gave her a half smile, his eyes taking on the barest glint.
“You are right about that.” She smiled.
He gave Enrico a fond look. “We Lucchesis have always found trouble. Even in the stillest pond.”
“That might be because you are the most stubborn, pigheaded, self-righteous men on the planet,” Kate said.
Enrico snorted with laughter. His father grinned, then started to laugh. For a moment, he looked like the man Enrico remembered. For a moment, he looked happy. Enrico gave Kate a grateful smile, his heart full of love for her. If only she could wait, he’d make everything right.
Enrico surprised Kate again by still wanting to drive back to the lake. She’d thought he’d want to return by plane, so he wouldn’t have to spend so much time with her. But he’d seemed oddly cheerful when they returned to their room. When she asked him why, he said she would eventually understand.
Neither of them slept much that night. Enrico took the sofa, and Kate found herself feeling alone even though he was in the same room. Several times she stopped herself on the verge of asking him to join her. She’d already led him on once. She couldn’t do it again. And he wasn’t the only one she’d hurt. She hadn’t ever ached like this over a man. Not even Vince.
Enrico only made the ache worse in the morning. He woke her early. She looked up to see him standing next to the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. There was a look on his face she couldn’t read. “What is it?”
He sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand. “I want you to know,” he started, then stopped. “Thank you,” he said. “I did not thank you for last night, with my father.”
“Rico, I didn’t do anything—”
“Yes, you did.”
She started to object again, then stopped. “I’m glad I could help.”
“I love you, Kate. Even if you do leave me, I love you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Kate caught herself before she said the words that rose up in her heart: I love you too. Instead she squeezed his hand. It was best to say nothing.
After breakfast, Enrico took her on a quick spree through several shops in Capri so she’d have enough clothes for the trip up the coast. Kate took little pleasure in the shopping, even though Enrico urged her to get whatever she liked. In the last two stores, Enrico was the one who picked out most of what she bought. When she remarked on it, saying, “I’m surprised you care about this,” he smiled at her for the first time since their fight.
“It is genetic, I suppose. All Italians have it, the idea of la bella figura—always presenting your best face to the world. Looking the best you can afford, preferably better.” He gave her a meaningful look. “But it is more than that. I want you to have the best. I want to give you that. Always.”
She looked down at her feet, now clad in the softest, most buttery heels she’d ever worn. Heels that cost a fortune. “Bribing me won’t change my mind.”
His face darkened. “I speak from the heart, and you accuse me of bribing you.” He took a deep breath, his hands on his hips. “I’m trying to love you, Kate, but you make it damn hard.”
And I’m trying not to love you, she almost said. But you make it damn hard. She swallowed down the words. “I’m sorry. Thanks for everything. You’re very generous.”
“That is not the point. That is not why I am upset.”
She looked up at him. “I can’t give you what you want.”
He shook his head, then waved a hand around them, taking in the whole store. “Are we done? Ready to go?”
She nodded, wishing that she could take it all back, that she could make him smile again. But she couldn’t string either of them along any further. Getting through the next two days was already going to be murder.
Enrico clearly enjoyed driving the silver Maserati convertible. He zoomed along the narrow switchbacks of the highway that wound along the Amalfi coast, a smile touching his lips, and seemed to have forgotten about her sitting next to him. Antonio and Ruggero followed in a black Mercedes.
They spoke little the first day of the trip, though after a time Enrico pointed out various spots and told her some of the history of the region. Kate could see why he’d wanted to make the drive. The rugged coastline and the towns they passed were all quite picturesque. The throaty purr of the car, the wind in her hair, and the salty tang of the Mediterranean almost made her forget why they were hardly speaking.
Still she wondered at his persistence in taking her with him. He could have sent her back on the jet or had her ride with Antonio and Ruggero. But, other than the extended silences between them, he seemed to be acting as if everything were normal.
When they stopped in Spoleto for the night, he’d even insisted on one room for the two of them, but he’d caved at her look and had gotten a suite instead. After dinner, Kate waited for him to knock on the door adjoining their rooms, but he never did until morning, and then it was only to make sure she was ready to leave.
His behavior unsettled her. She’d expected more anger, or more sadness. Not this curious cheerfulness among the silences. Twice she nearly demanded an explanation, but she didn’t want to fight with him. She found herself missing his touch, missing his attentiveness. Missing him. Even though he was right beside her.
The second day, they left the coast in the early afternoon. Enrico soon fell silent, and she sensed a tension in him that grew as they climbed into the foothills of the Alps, drawing closer to the lake. Finally, he turned to her.
“There is something we need to discuss.”
Here it comes. Something she was sure she wasn’t going to want to hear. “Enrico, there’s nothing to discuss. I’ll go to Florence and wait until Fuente gives my passport back. Then I’ll go somewhere else Carlo won’t expect. My parents have money. I can lay low for a while.”
“I do not think that will be necessary.”
“Well, I can’t stay with you forever. Not now.”
“About that,” he said, glancing at her. “I know why you do not trust me. Why you are afraid to admit you love me.”
She stared at him, then recovered enough to say, “I don’t know why you think I love you.”
“I think so because it is true. You need something from me so you can admit it, and it is time I gave it to you.”
“I don’t need anything from you. I—” Kate cried out as a searing pain stabbed her below her right collarbone. She looked down, seeing a dark red blotch spreading over her blouse. She touched it, then looked at Enrico shouting her name as he wheeled to the side of the road. Holding her hand up to show him the blood on her fingers, she was unable to voice the questions in her mind: What was going on? Had she been shot?