CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

 

I skipped breakfast the next morning. I didn’t want to see Rosalia miserable about her brothers’ behavior. I couldn’t handle seeing Thalia and pretending we were friends, even though I remembered her at last. It had come to me halfway through the bike tour yesterday when I was in a fury about Salvatore.

Well, one of the nineteen times, at any rate.

Her father was an investor with my father’s primary charity and sat on the board for most of the banks in Switzerland.

I could not be rude to her.

But I could avoid her.

Not that that was the primary goal. Avoiding Salvatore was.

The rest of the bike tour had been beautiful, just as I’d expected it to be, and I’d stayed close to Val for the entire thing, wanting to forget about the man behind us and wanting to know more about the magic of this place. He kept up a steady pace of stories and information that distracted me almost entirely from anything else.

Almost, because Salvatore inserted himself into the conversations. Always in Italian, of course, unless Val had asked him to translate something for me. And I could hear Salvatore laughing behind me about something or other that Val or I had said. He never made any effort to join us, perfectly content to ride behind at his own leisurely pace. He stayed closer when we rode through town, but I didn’t see him until we got back to the villa.

Even then, he almost completely ignored me.

I wasn’t sure why that bothered me, but it did.

It was a free day, absolutely nothing on the schedule for anyone, so we could do whatever we wanted. What a relief to not be forced to stick to someone else’s schedule.

I’d overheard lots of different plans at dinner, with most of the girls planning on going shopping or laying by the pool. Some of the guests were taking cars down to the beach and spending the whole day there, while others were taking the train to Rome for a futbol game. The Catalanos all opted for the game, being major supporters, and Marco had gone with Rosalia.

Wise man. Maybe he could escort her to the evening’s wine tasting as well. That could go over well if he played his cards right.

The house was fairly quiet now, except for the girls at the pool, and I hadn’t yet seen Thalia or Salvatore, which I was grateful for.

My mother had called this morning, and, as usual, it left me in a sour mood. She wanted me to come with her to another charity event at a hospital, not to take an active part on the board or to represent anything, but in the hopes that I would meet the doctor in charge, who was apparently young, handsome, and from an extremely wealthy family. That all sounded decent enough, until she’d said, “And he doesn’t know anyone, so he wouldn’t care that you’re not popular anymore.”

The conversation had ended fairly quickly after that, thankfully before she could hit her stride with the inquisition.

“Who is at the party?”, “Are you being pleasant and warm?”, “Who have you talked with?”, “Anyone there we can make connections with?”, “Why don’t you just do something, Claire?”, “What have you done wrong now?”

“Why can’t you be more like Olivia?”

I scowled as I scooped up my supplies and went out to the front of the villa. That last question had haunted me from age four, and it only grew more agitating the older I grew. Olivia was not perfection embodied, I knew that all too well. But by comparison with her surly, cold, apparently much-less-attractive sister, she was the epitome of all things.

Settling beneath a group of Cyprus trees, I began a preliminary sketch, framing out the villa itself, fountain and all. It was a gorgeous setting, and with the bustle down to a minimum, I wasn’t likely to be interrupted or distracted. The scene would remain the same, with the rich blue sky above, dotted with stray clouds, and the mid-day sun provided a glistening sheen over the sandstone. It would be stunning in the golden hours before sunset, and I wanted to paint that as well.

Art had always been my retreat. No one knew that; not really. My family knew I had some abilities, but as it was not a constructive use of my time, I’d never been encouraged to do it. If there was something “more productive” to be done, that was what I was supposed to do. Events and calls and studying languages, manners, cultures, or even shopping were all to come before art of any kind.

Unless someone important praised it. Then it was perfectly acceptable.

But they took great pains to ensure that never happened, so after the one and only incident, it was no longer a concern.

I loved the freedom in my art. The ability to interpret what I was seeing into another medium, to create something beautiful out of nothing, to have control over what happened on the canvas or paper, and to embrace the feeling that I could let go of the control, should I choose to. Imperfect art was still art, and no one would criticize it.

And that was a freedom in and of itself.

I stared at my sketch, smiling at the picture that was forming. It was going to be perfect, if I could manage it. I reached into my plein air pochade box to pull out my gouache supplies and tape for the paper I would need to continue when I heard a faint whistling.

Glancing up, I saw Salvatore coming around from the back of the house, his hands in the pockets of his white shorts, the grey V-neck doing nothing to hide the fact that he was very fit and lean. I glowered and muttered under my breath as I went back to my art, wishing very faintly that I’d worn something a little classier than distressed boyfriend jeans and a white tank top.

He looked like an ad for Polo or Ralph Lauren. I looked like a thrift store mannequin.

I pulled my straw hat lower over my brow and pressed closer to the watercolor pad, my toes gripping at the grass nervously as I started working on the fountain.

Please let him pass me. Please don’t let him see.

“Claire!”

Curses.

I looked up and saw him heading in my direction, smiling and pushing his sunglasses into his dark hair. He was scruffier this morning, and it looked way too good on him.

“Hi,” he said, smiling still.

“Hey,” I managed to say, not sounding quite as cold as I meant it.

He took in my supplies, then turned to glance at the house. “That’s a fine prospect for an artist.”

“Pity it’s only me,” I replied, keeping my tone offhand.

“I was going to say it’s perfect that it’s you.”

I went back to my shading of the fountain, letting his words sink in. “You don’t know my artistic skills.”

“No, but I know your passion, and I imagine those correlate fairly well.”

Passion. Yes, I had a passion for art, but he didn’t know that. Was he speaking of passion in my personality, or was this another way to embarrass me about our kiss? Because there had been a lot of passion in that. Too much.

“You don’t do anything unless you are passionate about it,” he went on, coming around to look over my shoulder. “Whether it’s for good or bad. And if you are drawing this villa the way you were drawing everything you could yesterday, the way you do everything, it would be a sight to see.”

I couldn’t pretend his words didn’t please me, but I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere. Salvatore was a man for the ladies, and knew just what to say to get what he wanted.

Sincere or not, it was an observation I liked.

I cleared my throat and went back to my work. “Maybe I’m just passionately terrible at it.”

He laughed in a low tone that made my toes grab for the grass again. “I doubt it,” he said. “Show me.”

I paused again and looked over my shoulder. “It’s not even half done. Won’t look like much yet.”

He gave me a scolding look. “Show me. Please.”

Why I didn’t tell him off, I couldn’t have said. But I heaved a sigh and showed him what I’d done, watching him carefully.

There was no wide-eyed amazement, which I was grateful for, and he looked over the entire drawing carefully, then looked up at the villa for comparison. His expression was completely unreadable, which was maddening, and I waited for his verdict.

“Well?” I snapped, irritated with the delay.

His eyes met mine and seemed warmer than usual in the afternoon light. “It’s very good, Claire. Really. But I think you know that already.”

He was right; I did know. But hearing it, and the complete lack of teasing behind it, made for quite a nice change.

“Thank you,” I told him, smiling and bringing the pad back down to my lap. “The lighting would be better later in the day, but this will do well enough for now.”

“Claire, I…”

I looked back around at him, stunned to see him looking sheepish. “Yes?”

He offered me a hint of a smile. “I need to make up for yesterday. I believe I ruined your afternoon and I wasn’t particularly pleasant.”

“And you were terribly forward,” I added, swallowing. Really, he hadn’t ruined the afternoon. Disturbed it, perhaps…

Now he grinned, though it was brief. “And terribly forward. I wish to make amends. Come, take a walk. I’ll shut up and let you draw in peace, I promise. I’ll only speak when spoken to.”

Normally, I didn’t believe a word Salvatore said. Any woman couldn’t. But I’d never seen Salvatore this way.

Why not, then?

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You promise?”

His eyes danced and he put a hand over his heart. “Vow of silence, my lady.” He bowed, then offered a hand to help me up.

I took it, rolling my eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t we?”

His brow furrowed slightly and he frowned.

“What?”

“I’m trying to decide if you are asking me a question I need to respond to,” he whispered, leaning closer. “I don’t want to break my vow so soon.”

I laughed and slapped at his arm. “Stop that. You don’t have to be in complete silence, just be quiet.”

“As you wish,” he replied, nodding his head and gesturing for me to lead the way.

I picked up my supplies and did so, keeping my pace fairly easy, and he fell in beside me. He didn’t tilt his sunglasses back down, which I found odd, as it was a bright day, but I wasn’t exactly interested enough to ask him about it.

Just curious.

At first, we didn’t talk, which was soothing and comfortable, and I just listened to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling, the creek nearby splashing along… Then I got to wondering what Salvatore was thinking, if he was uncomfortable with the silence, if he thought I was strange for smiling as I walked in nature and silence while I barely smiled at any other time…

I found a break in the trees that gave me a great view of hills and fields, and without asking, I turned to sit against the tree and pulled out my supplies again.

“Good choice,” Salvatore commented, coming to sit against a tree opposite me.

I gave him a warning look. “Talking.”

He clamped down on his lips and held up his hands in surrender, then turned to look out over the landscape.

I stared at him, longer than I should have, wondering what was going on with him. He had never been chatty with me, barely even been friendly. He was the sort of man that smoldered a woman into submission, intentionally kept aloof to increase his mystery, and as far as I knew, the only thing we shared was a taste for the finer things in life.

What had changed?

I shook my head and started to sketch out the details of the land I could see, and before I knew it, I opened my mouth. “Can I ask you a question?”

I didn’t look up, but I could see in my peripheral vision that he turned to look at me. “That depends. Am I allowed to answer?”

I snorted, turning my sketchpad. “Obviously.”

“Then chiedere, per favore.”

I only understood most of what he said, but enough for me to ask anyway. “You said you were bored. Bored with what?”

There was silence in response, and I glanced up. He stared at me almost without blinking. “What?” I asked defensively.

“Are you asking me a personal question?” He didn’t seem to be teasing me, which should have made me feel better, but instead only raised my defenses more.

“Well, if you don’t want to answer, you can just sit there in silence and let me draw,” I muttered, pressing my pencil a little too hard against the paper. I muffled a curse and erased what I could, smudging what I couldn’t.

“Scusi,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to offend. I just…” He sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the tree. “Yes, fatina, I am bored. You know the sort of life I live. Party all the time, women all the time, nothing serious and nothing lasting.”

I nodded, barely paying attention to my sketch, but pretending all the same.

“I don’t know when,” he went on, “but suddenly that all became very monotonous. I have no interest in going to clubs anymore. I don’t want to party or live wildly anymore. I’ve done it all. It’s just… old.”

“And the women?” I asked, giving him a half smile, knowing there had to be something more.

He flashed a too-perfect grin. “Well, I miss them at times.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Of course you do.”

“I haven’t been in a relationship in almost a year.”

My pencil froze against the paper and I looked up at him, half startled. “What do you consider a relationship?” I asked slowly. “I’m familiar with your pattern, and anything resembling what I would consider a relationship, at least from appearances, usually involves you…” I trailed off, wondering if I really should be as blunt as I typically would be.

“Cheating,” he finished for me, nodding. “No need to soften it. I’ve never been faithful to a woman, and that is the truth.” He snorted and shook his head. “And you thought you were the ridiculous one. Look at me.”

This was not what I expected. This was not the Salvatore I knew, and certainly not the one that anyone else knew.

“So your definition of a relationship consists of…” I prodded as gently as I could.

He smiled, though it was weak. “Anything more than a one night stand.”

I gaped at him, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be drawing. “You haven’t had more than a one night stand in almost a year?”

A sharp wince crossed his face. “The tone of your voice is telling me I’m just as pathetic as I thought.”

“When was your last one night stand?” I demanded, enthralled by this complete change in a man I thought I had pegged so perfectly.

“Six months.”

“No…”

“All right, four.”

I tossed my head back and laughed, unable to believe it, and yet I knew that Salvatore wouldn’t admit something like that lightly. He prided himself on his prowess, or had done, at any rate, and the barest hint of anything less than that was flagrantly denied.

“It’s not meant to be funny,” he told me, laughing in spite of his words.

“It’s not funny,” I told him, wiping at my eyes, not sure why I was laughing to the point of tears. “It’s not. But you’re supposed to be this cheating playboy partier, and I’m supposed to be this high-end socialite snob, and we’re both here at this house party with no friends, no relationships, and bored to death with our lives.” I giggled, which I never did, and shook my head. “What happened to us?”

Salvatore grinned at me. “We botched things up with the Royals?”

“Yes, we did,” I agreed with a proud nod. “We royally botched things with the Royals.”

He made a thoughtful face. “That deserves a celebration.” He started to get up, grinning at me.

“Stay!” I barked, holding up a finger. Then I laughed at his scheming look. “Stay right there, I said no kissing.”

He sat back down, shrugging. “I wasn’t going to, but since you went there…”

I rolled my eyes and tossed my eraser at him. “Stop. You can’t scare me now that I know you’ve become a monk.”

“Ma che?” he fairly squawked, catching it easily. “I have done no such thing! I might as well call you a saint.”

“Well, we know that isn’t true.” I held out my hand, and he crawled forward to place the eraser in my open palm. “Seriously, though, why haven’t you been… yourself?”

He sat where he was and looked out over the vista again. “I just haven’t felt like it. I feel as though I need to be doing more than that with my life. But I’ve never done anything else, and so I am feeling a bit stuck.”

That resonated with me in way too many ways. “I know the feeling,” I murmured, returning to my sketch yet again.

“Feeling stuck, Claire?” he asked me, nudging my foot with his.

Now I shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose. It’s… complicated. And not pleasant.” My face heated and I tucked in closer to my work. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned back to see my sketch. “Brava, Claire. Perfecto.”

I held it out and compared the sketch with the actual scene. “Yeah?”

“Si.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. “I know another place you could draw. Very beautiful, very old, lots of ruins, and most importantly, comes with food. It’s your own artistic playground.”

“I didn’t bring money to buy food,” I said sadly, even as my stomach growled.

Salvatore shook his head, still smiling. “Non ti preoccupare. I will buy it for you, as penance.”

Well, if he insisted. “Very well, I accept.” I put my book and pencils back into my bag and slung it over my shoulder, then looked up at him. “Did you come to the party to try and break your streak of no relationships?”

“No,” he replied without emotion as he started back down to the road. “I don’t think I’ll go back to that life. I don’t know why I came. Do you?”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I admitted, walking beside him. “No invitations, no events, nothing to do… It was this or nothing. I was hoping to find something here. What, I don’t know, but something.”

Salvatore suddenly held his arm out to me like a gentleman of old might have done. “Well, my lady, perhaps we can each find something, and discover where our paths will take us.”

I looked at his arm in disbelief, then up into his face. “Are you serious? That was so over the top.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Over what top?”

I snorted and took his arm loosely. “Never mind. Show me this great drawing spot and feed me.”

“I’ll warn you,” he said sternly, his look turning severe. “They will only feed friends of mine. It’s a rule.”

I lifted my shoulder in a shrug. “I can be your friend for a day.”

He seemed to doubt that. “Can you?”

“I think I’ve been your friend for ten minutes,” I reminded him with a superior smile. “Surely a bit longer won’t hurt.”

“The whole day?” he demanded.

“Perhaps.”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” he warned. “I don’t want my heart to break.”

I laughed and nudged him harder than I meant. “That won’t happen. You shouldn’t hope for me to be your friend, I don’t make a very good one. No hearts will break over me, I promise. Besides, you ought to hope this food lives up to your praises. I’m going to expect great things in return for being your friend.”

“Do I get to kiss my friends?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “No.”

He chuckled warmly beside me, and pulled me a little closer. And I let him.

“Io spero,” he murmured, almost in my ear but not quite.

I shivered, but didn’t feel any of the fluttery tingles from before, so I must have been safe. “What does that mean?”

He grinned slowly. “It means you need to learn Italian. Now tell me what your favorite thing to draw is. I want to find it and watch.”