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Irena averted her eyes.
“Come on. Out with it.”
“His name is Vincenzo Antonello. He’s an irreverent bachelor who’s Italian down to the roots of his hair.” Curly, untamed, overly long black hair. “He either walks or drives his used Fiat if he has to go any distance.” Irena smiled at the memory, so different from her life where she had grown up in a world of luxury villas, elegant cars, limo service and helicopters.
“He was assigned to give me and my photographer a tour of the liqueur manufacturing plant in La Spezia where he works. As he was putting me back in his car, he said he liked it that at five foot eight, I was closer to him in height. ‘There’s more to grab hold of.’”
His deep laughter had rumbled out of him along with the words spoken in heavily accented English. Insufferable, arrogant, but with those blue eyes piercing you through black lashes.
“Our whole meeting was absolutely crazy, Deline. The whole time I was there, he spent every waking hour with me. We laughed and ate and walked and talked. I’ve never talked with anyone else so much in my whole life. I don’t think either of us got any sleep.
“We hiked, we played, we strolled. He bought me flowers and little gifts. I was showered with them. He…bewitched me.”
Six feet of proud, hard-muscled male, handsome as the devil he mocked. The antithesis of political correctness.
Irena had grown up cautious.
He was a Catholic, albeit not a good one, he’d admitted with a rakish white smile. She didn’t espouse one particular religion. Irena believed in the emancipated woman who could be powerful in the corporate world.
“He has an opinion on everything and isn’t afraid to express it.”
No worshipper of money, Vincenzo. As long as he made enough at his job, he was happy to let someone else handle the financial nightmare of being a CEO. Irena came from a monied background. Her parents’ very existence was defined by wealth.
“Vincenzo went out of his way to show me his village. Our walks in the hills took all day because he kept pulling me down to kiss me. On my last night there I ended up at his apartment in Riomaggiore. It was very small and simply furnished. He fixed me an Italian meal to die for.
“We drank wine and danced on his veranda until it got dark. When he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom, it seemed entirely natural. I’d stopped thinking because these overwhelming feelings had taken over. Before I flew back to Greece, he said something totally ridiculous to me.”
“What was that?” Deline had been watching and listening, spellbound.
“‘We are opposites in every conceivable way, Signorina Liapis. I think we should get married.’”
“Irena—”
“He shocked me, too. He enjoyed doing it on a regular basis.”
“What did you say to him?”
“From the beginning he knew how things stood with me, that I’d loved Andreas Simonides for a long time and expected to be his wife soon.”
“How did he handle that?”
“He laughed at me. ‘Love? If you two truly loved each other, you would be married by now and not here with me.’”
Irena bowed her head. “I have to tell you, Deline. Those words pierced me because I realized he was speaking the truth. Andreas and I had been drifting. If I’d felt for him what I felt for Vincenzo, I wouldn’t have let my career take precedence over being with him whenever possible.
“Vincenzo kept firing truths at me. ‘What is love, anyway? A word. It can mean anything you want it to mean at the moment. Then again it can mean nothing at all.’
“I asked him if he didn’t believe in it. He shrugged his shoulders and did that Italian thing with his hands and arms. Then he said, “‘I believe in forms of it. Who couldn’t love a child, for instance?’”
“When I told him he was impossible to talk to, he said, ‘Why? Because I don’t conform to your misguided idea of perfection or feed you what you’re used to consuming? Have you ever taken a good look at yourself?’”
Deline shook her head. “I can’t believe he dared.”
“He dared more than that. ‘Ms. Liapis,’ he said. ‘You are like the geese that fly in chevron formation—cool and unflappable, you cruise above the world with your fine-feathered family unit as you were taught to do, careful not to be diverted by other species of birds or natural disasters.’
“‘But I must tell you it would be fascinating to watch what would happen if just once you took a different course and had to wing it on your own.’”
“He didn’t say that!” Deline cried.
“Oh, yes, he did, and his remark stung. When he started to make love to me, I didn’t want him to stop. More than anything in the world I wanted to know his possession. He was a virtual stranger, yet nothing about him seemed strange. Everything we did felt right. It was like I’d met my soul mate.”
In a rare moment of pique Irena had risen to the bait and had done something foolish, if not dangerous, in order to prove he was wrong about her before she flew back to Athens. It had shocked her to the core, considering that from the moment he’d agreed to show her and the photographer around, she’d wanted to take him seriously, but was afraid.
Irena got to her feet. “After my new doctor’s appointment this afternoon, I’m going to go back and tell Vincenzo he was right about everything. My being there will prove that I’ve taken a different course and want to be with him. We have this intense attraction and connection. It will be liberating to be able to admit it. If he meant what he said about getting married, I want it, too.”
“What will you tell him about the baby?”
“The truth. As much as I’ve been told by the doctors. He has the right to know everything, including the fact that Andreas met someone else, too. If he can’t forgive me for going back to break it off with Andreas, then he’s not the man I thought he was.” She bit her lip. “If he wasn’t being serious about marriage, then I’ll have to leave Europe.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Oh, Irena. I’m frightened for you.”
“So am I. I’m terrified”
“Come on, Dino. You can do it.”
“I’m scared, Papa.”
Vincenzo could see the fright in his son’s dark brown eyes. His medium-size six-year-old would only come as far as the edge of the hotel pool, but he wouldn’t jump into his arms. No bribe would entice him. “Then what would you like to do before we leave?”
“I don’t want to leave. I want to live here in Riomaggiore with you.”
When Dino said it in that forlorn little tone, it gutted Vincenzo. “You know you can’t, Dino. Come. We’ll walk down to the beach and watch the boats.”
“Okay,” he demurred sadly.
“Would you like to go for a ride and catch some fish?”
“No. I just want to watch.” Dino claimed he loved the water, but when it came right down to it, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. By now Vincenzo had hoped his son would have overcome some of his fears, but since his ex-wife, Mila, had remarried six months ago and moved to Milan from Florence, they seemed to have grown worse.
“Let’s go!” He levered himself onto the tile. When both of them had slipped on their shirts and sandals, Vincenzo grasped Dino’s hand and they descended the steps beyond the pool area that led down to the sea.
Tomorrow was the last day of his boy’s one week summer vacation with him. Only a little more time left before he had to drive him back to Milan. Then the one weekend a month of visitation would begin again until his week in December. So much time apart from his son was killing him.
Before Mila had moved to Milan, Vincenzo had made that once a month sojourn to Florence where she’d lived with her family and Dino since the divorce. He’d found a small hotel located near the Boboli Gardens where you could look out over Michelangelo’s city. The delightful spot had become a second home to him and Dino.
The hotel he’d picked out in Milan didn’t feel like home to them. Neither did Milan itself, but rules were rules and had been set in concrete. Vincenzo was only given one week in summer and one week in December before the Christmas holiday to be with his son on his terms.
Nothing would change until Dino turned eighteen, unless of course Vincenzo married again. Such an eventuality would upset a small universe of people in more ways than one.
But after letting his father dictate an ill-fated marriage the first time around, he was through with the institution. His only choice was to bide his time until Dino was old enough to plead for a change in the visitation rules. Then Vincenzo would go before a higher court and appeal the decision. Hopefully that day would come years before Dino was considered an adult.
Later, as they walked along the cliffside path of Via Dell’Amore between Riomaggiore and Vernazza, his son cried, “Look, Papa. The sun fell into the sea.”
“Do you think it scares all the fish to see a big light shining under the water?”
That brought the first laugh of the evening to Dino’s lips. “No. You’re funny.”
Vincenzo looked down at his boy. He was the joy of his life. “Are you tired after all our walking? Do you want me to carry you on my shoulders up these steep steps?”
“I don’t think they’re steep.” He trudged up ahead of him, then turned around. “What’s steep?”
Laughter poured out of Vincenzo. “Almost straight up and down.”
“Sometimes I think I’m going to fall over.”
“You keep going up first then. If you start to tumble, I’ll be here to catch you.”
“I won’t fall. Watch!”
His strong legs dashed up the steps to the winding road that led to Vincenzo’s apartment. Dino had straight brown-black hair and brown eyes like his mother’s. His body type, like Vincenzo’s, had been inherited from their Valsecchi line.
Of course Vincenzo thought his boy brilliant like himself, and good-looking like Vincenzo’s mother. The Antonellos had a proud nose and firm jaw. All in all his Dino was perfect.
“I’ll beat you to our house,” he cried before hurrying up the last part of the road to the apartment jutting out from the cliff. From their balcony giving out on the Mediterranean, they’d spent many an hour looking through the telescope at swimmers and boats. When the sky was clear enough, they could pick out the constellations among the stars.
Dino ran around to the front door with Vincenzo not far behind. To his surprise he heard his son say, “Buonasera, signorina.” They had a visitor. Walking around the purple bougainvillea, his heart skipped a beat because he’d spotted the one woman he never expected to see again. His thoughts reeled.
In the fading light her glistening black hair fell like a curtain from a center part to her shoulders covered in a sleeveless lavender top. Standing there on those gorgeous long legs half-hidden in the folds of her white skirt, the impact of Irena Liapis on his senses had never been more potent.
“Buonasera,” she answered with a discernible Greek accent.
“Who are you?” Dino asked, but by then her startled eyes, dark as poppy throats, had come into contact with Vincenzo’s. Since he knew she couldn’t understand Dino’s Italian, he took over, but he had to be careful what he told him. Everything would get back to the boy’s mother.
“This is Irena Spiros from Greece, Dino,” he explained. “She doesn’t speak our language. That means we have to speak English to her.”
“But I don’t know many words.”
“That’s all right. Do the best you can with what you’ve learned. We’ll find out how good your tutor has been.”
“Okay.” Dino turned and shook her hand. “Hello, Ms. Spiros. I am Dino and this is my papa.”
She looked startled to hear her mother’s maiden name used and Vincenzo could tell that she was also shocked to discover he had a son. But she recovered enough from both surprises to smile at him. “Hello, Dino. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m six. How old are you?”
She laughed softly. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“Dino,” Vincenzo whispered in Italian. “You should never ask a woman her age.”
He bit his lip.
“It’s all right,” she said to Dino, having understood without translation. “You’re a very smart, polite boy.” Her eyes lifted to Vincenzo, a question in them, and he saw a glint of something undecipherable; anxiety maybe. He decided to enlighten her.
“When you came to Riomaggiore two months ago, my son was with his mother and stepfather in Milan. I’ve been divorced five years.”
“I see.” She studied him intently. “Dare I tell you he’s adorable and that one day he’ll grow up to be even more handsome than his secretive father?”
Something about her was different. He had yet to discover what it was. “You mean as secretive as the almost Signorina Simonides? According to the newspaper, she hasn’t been available since the CEO himself sailed away with his new American bride.”
He thought she might blush, or at least look away. Instead she said, “Touché.”
Her lack of outrage was as surprising as it was intriguing.
Dino turned to him. “Papa? Can she come in?”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes. She’s nice.”
Agreed. “Then I’ll ask her.” He shot her a glance. “He wants to know if you would like to come in.”
She pondered the invitation for a moment. “Only if it doesn’t interfere with your plans.”
“Signorina Spiros wants to come in,” he whispered to Dino, then moved forward to unlock the door.
Irena went inside but she feared her heart was pounding so loud, Vincenzo could hear it. After spending the last night of her business trip here two months ago, she knew his apartment fairly well. Comfortably furnished with a view of the sea to die for from the balcony, she found it incredibly charming. But something new had been added.
On the kitchen counter was an assembly of little boys’ toys. The kitchen table had half a dozen board games sitting on top, one of matching cards still in progress. In the living room lay a soccer ball in one corner. A small golf club with plastic balls had been left in another corner. She saw a little bicycle propped against the outside railing near the telescope, all signs that a boy lived here.
Vincenzo had a son, but he’d never said a word about him. He came up behind her. His body was close enough she could feel his warmth. “Dino wants to show you his room.”
She walked down the hallway to the door he’d opened for her. When she’d been here before, Vincenzo had indicated it was the guest bedroom, but he’d carried her past the closed door to his own room.
Inside she saw a lot more toys placed around, but what she noticed were framed pictures, some small ones on the bedside table and two large ones on the wall. They showed Dino and his father taken at different times and seasons.
Irena walked over to one of the photos where they were up on the turret of a castle in winter. Father and son were so attractive in their ski gear, she smiled. “I like this one.”
“That is Svizzera.”
“Switzerland?” she clarified. When he nodded she said, “Do you like castles?”
