In Sickness and in Wealth (4 page)

"It's very beautiful. One of the largest cathedrals in Europe. Light a candle and ask Saint Gerard Majella to watch over you while you're there. He's the patron saint of pregnant women. You'll want his help."

Yes, but did you ask saints of pregnancy to help you lose a pregnancy? A miscarriage would solve so many problems.

J
ustin

I wanted to buy Kay everything, including the world. A good portion of the clothes in it, anyway. I expected her to be thrilled with the adventure of buying a completely new fall wardrobe in one of the fashion capitals of the world. At the most exclusive boutiques. With personal attention and all the privilege of money. If money couldn't buy me love, I was damn well going to use it to bribe some affection from Kay. And turn her into the hottest piece of eye candy in Seattle.

To my surprise, she fought me on the clothes—dresses, skirts, jeans, and blouses in fabrics so soft they were unbelievable. When she eased off and relented even slightly, she tried to sneak flowing, blousy, loose-fitting clothes past me. What the hell? Suddenly she was fiscally conservative? And modest about her body? Where was that partying sorority girl I knew and lusted after in college?

I appreciated her concern for my wallet. She was sensitive about looking like a gold digger. But damn, it made me all too aware that she wasn't my wife, but my employee. And these days, this was mere pocket change to me.

Make me happy. Behave like a real wife and buy the damn clothes, Kay. Run me broke. Give me a chance to bitch with the guys about how much my old lady spends on rags. Give me that fantasy.

And then she saw a "sweet little pair of shoes" in the window of Gucci. Girly squeal! And that was all she wrote. Her mood lightened and the old Kay I knew emerged, laughing and joyous as she bought pair after pair of stilettos, pumps, and platforms. Every brand, from Gucci to Jimmy Choo. She didn't constrain herself to Italian brands. Shoes that gave her a good four to six inches of height and made me think about nothing but sex. Like an addict, she lost all restraint as she moved on to necklaces, gloves, jewelry, and purses.

There was nothing like Italian leather for purses. And nothing like Italian gold for jewelry.

"Only eighteen karat and above for the Italians!" she said with a glint in her eyes. "Look for the 750 mark and we're golden."

I rolled my eyes at her bad pun, happy to see her so happy. Elated to see my plan working. "That was bad, Kay. So bad."

She only kissed me and laughed.

Damiani, Bulgari, and Milan's own Buccellati. We bought it all.

We spent nearly five days in Milan, shopping and meeting with prospective suppliers, budding designers hungry to be showcased on Flashionista and make their name. Kay knew how to handle and flatter them. She modeled their clothes for me.

We ate fabulous Italian food, though Kay tended to pick at hers. And drank no more than a glass of wine a day. "If I eat like the Italians, I'll never fit into my new clothes! How do the Italian women stay so thin?"

At night, she wore the jewelry and the shoes she insisted she had to have now and we fucked like honeymooners. She wanted it hard. Hard.
Harder, Jus!

There was no tenderness in it, just passion and abandon. And lust. Plenty of raw lust.

On our last day in Milan, I took her to the big white Gothic Cathedral of Milan, designed by Leonardo da Vinci. The outside was magnificent. Kay insisted on going in. The inside was disappointing compared to the exterior. Dark and damp. There were better, more majestic Italian cathedrals to see.

I caught Kay buying a candle to light. I laughed at her. "What are you praying for? More money? More good fortune?"

She laughed softly and covered my mouth. "Shhh! You can't be irreverent here. We're in a church!" She shook her head. "Obviously, you have no clue about my character."

"I don't?" I stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Enlighten me? What are you going to pray for? World peace?"

She shook her head. "You are so rotten. Stop with the beauty pageant crap. If you must know, I was going to pray for something more personal."

I waited for her.

"I'm going to light a candle to one of the patron saints of marriage. Living with you, I need all the help I can get." She winked, teasing me in that flirtatious way that made my heart race. "Maybe Saint Priscilla, the Patron Saint of Good Marriages." She took my hand and batted her eyes at me. "So you'll keep buying me everything I want." Her eyes danced. "You do want a
good
marriage, don't you, baby?"

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to say I wanted a
long
marriage. I wanted her for life.
She
wanted a good marriage? Was she just toying with me? Because she already had me dancing on her string. "Good is good."

"That was totally eloquent." She leaned her head against my arm and smiled up at me adoringly. "Or maybe Saint Rita of Cascia, Saint of Difficult Marriages." She put on a pout. "You drive me crazy at times. Like now."

She was wearing a pair of Gucci shoes we'd bought the first day in Milan. They made her nearly even with me in height. She whispered in my ear, "No one who knew the truth would say we don't have a challenging marriage, Jus."

She grinned. "Though not in the usual way." She bit her lip. "Or maybe to Saint Valentine, the Patron Saint of Happy Marriages. What do you think? Good marriage? Happy marriage? Difficult marriage? Whom do we appeal to?"

My heart hammered. "I didn't think you were religious. And you're not Catholic."

"No, but when in Rome. One of the saleswomen who helped me the first day suggested I light a candle here while we're here. She saw how happy we were and said lighting a candle was insurance to help our marriage stay happy. What can it hurt?" Her smile was dazzling.

My heart was in her hands. Did she know how much I wanted what she was teasing about so lightly? I shrugged. "Or when in Milan."

I pulled a handful of bills from my wallet and handed them to her. "I'm partial to Saint Valentine. But why shouldn't we have everything? Good and happy, and definitely not difficult. Light a candle to each of them."

K
ayla

Compared to Milan, Naples was meh. But then, what wasn't? Naples was dirty and old. A large city. Filled with history, yes. But after the heady shopping in Milan? Just about anything would have been a disappointment.

Because it was my first trip to Italy, it was easy to forget that Jus had been dozens of times. Nearly every summer since he was little. His parents had had the rugby tournament business forever. Jus spoke Italian fluently. It shouldn't have surprised me. I loved listening to the romantic language fall off his tongue, making that deep voice of his even sexier.

I didn't speak a word beyond
pizza
,
ciao
, and
gelato
. But after being in the country a few days, I was beginning to pick up the cadence of the language. In Naples, the sound of the language was different.

"They speak
Napolitano
here," Jus told me while we arrived. "It's a different dialect from official Italian. Naples used to be its own duchy until the regions of Northern Italy consolidated the country and forced their language on it."

We were in a hired car taking us to the campus where the tournament was being held. Jus sat next to me, squeezing my hand in the air-conditioned car. Outside, the heat radiated in waves off the pavement.

I was nervous about this meeting. But maybe I could pawn my growing morning sickness off on mere nerves. It was nearly August. A few more days and all of Italy would shut down for the summer. It was hot, as Southern Italy was bound to be in the prime of summer. Naples was on the water. I imagined the beaches—were there beaches in Naples?—would be crowded.

Justin's insecurities had begun to spring. We'd come directly from meetings with a buyer in Milan. I'd offered up the suggestion to change into something more comfortable before we flew to Naples. He said there wasn't time, and suggested the summer dress I'd worn to our meetings was perfectly appropriate. For what was essentially a collegiate rugby camp? I wasn't so sure. But I found myself dressed in a tight sundress and heels, dripping in Italian gold necklaces and baubles, wearing a pair of Gucci sunglasses. And feeling pretentious. But there you had it. Jus was the baby. He had something to prove to the older boys.

We wound through the city. I'd been so preoccupied with my problems, I'd left all the planning of our trip to Jus. I hadn't even bothered to look ahead to where the rugby tournament was being held.

"At a local college," Jus said, and rattled off an Italian name. "They hold it here every year. We'll be staying at a nearby
pensione
. It's not fancy. More like a dorm." He frowned.

I got the feeling he wasn't filled with warm fuzzies at the memories here.

He smiled at me. "We just have to endure these next few days and then the fun begins. You'll love the Amalfi Coast." He squeezed my hand as we pulled down a tree-lined street and came to a stop in front of an ancient-looking building. "With any luck we can escape Naples for a day and take in Vesuvius and Pompeii."

Everything in Italy was full of history.

Jus pulled his hand free and sent a text. A minute later, Diana Green appeared on the front steps of the
pensione
along with two big, hot guys who bore a resemblance to Jus.

Jus turned to me. "Brace yourself. You've entered the sports zone. Nothing but rugby talk for days on end." He made a point of shuddering before he handed me out of the car.

Diana rushed up first to greet us. She was dressed as you might imagine—in sports gear emblazoned with the logo of their company, Rugby Explorers. She was more tanned than the last time I'd seen her. Toned and tall. She hugged her son and then me. She pulled back to arm's length and studied me.

My heart stopped. For some reason I was convinced she would see I was pregnant right then. As if she had some great pregnancy-detecting superpower.

Her critical eye glided over me. "You look very Milanese today. Are those Gucci sunglasses?" She raised one eyebrow.

Jus pulled me free from her. "We came straight from business meetings in the fashion district—"

He was cut off from finishing his sentence, ambushed by his brothers. Grabbed and wrestled around, hugged, teased. His brothers were each six foot five, at least. They dwarfed poor Jus, who was over six foot.

"Boys! Let your baby brother go." Diana called a truce, but her smile was one of pure delight. As if boys will be boys and the horseplay was part of the fun. She made the introductions.

Jus bristled at being called a baby.

And now I could see exactly what Diana had meant when I first met her. Jerod and Jeremy were exactly the kind of guys I used to go for. Confident and charmingly cocky in the way strong athletes are. In full control of their bodies. Graceful in a masculine sense. Alpha dogs.

Jus was the runt of her litter of boys. Muscular, but slightly built compared to the other two. And four or five inches shorter. You could not have gotten his two brothers in skinny jeans like Jus wore, for example. Their thighs were roughly twice the size of one of Justin's, and would look ridiculous encased in tight denim. Their biceps bulged beneath black T-shirts. Just the fact that they were wearing black in the heat made them badass, even though it seemed to be one of Rugby Explorers' signature colors.

Called out by their mother, the big Js left Jus alone. And fuming. Suddenly they were all charm. The questions and compliments flew.

"Jus, you married above yourself." Jerod winked at me as he grabbed my bags and carried them inside. "Surprised the hell out of us. We never thought you'd marry at all. What girl would want you? Kayla, what does a beautiful girl like you see in a dweeb like our baby bro?" His voice had just a hint of an Italian accent.

"He's just so darn adorable!" I smiled at Jus, who, had he been a cartoon, would have had steam coming out of his ears.

Jus took my hand and flashed me a smile of gratitude. "Some women just have good taste. Where's Dad?"

"Kirk had tourney business to take care of." Diana followed us in. "He'll join us for dinner."

Inside, the
pensione
was pleasant, but plain. As Diana showed us to our room, four or five college-age guys burst down the hall, loud and boisterous, big and muscled, like football players. Typical rugby builds. They gave me the up and down as they brushed past us. One paused enough to flash me a flirtatious smile.

Diana gave them a cheery wave. "Take it easy tonight, boys. The tourney starts bright and early tomorrow morning."

She was such a mom. To everyone, it seemed. And it was clear she adored boys. She'd probably been a tomboy herself.

She returned her focus to us. "Dinner's at eight. Justin, you're going to love this. In your honor, we're eating at your favorite seafood place tonight!" She beamed at him.

Jus clearly wasn't used to being the main attraction and being spoiled. He grinned. "Paolo's?"

She nodded.

"It's been a few years," Jus said. "He still running the place? I thought he was going to retire and turn it over to his son."

Diana laughed. "Like that is
ever
going to happen. Paolo can't stand being idle. Or letting anyone else run his kitchen.

"He hasn't forgotten how you fixed his computer and built his website last time he saw you. 'Your boy saved a my business!'" She made an Italian hand gesture I didn't understand, but was obviously supposed to be mimicking Paolo's joy.

"He's got a fresh catch of
polpetto
he's saving just for you!" She opened the door to a room. "You have an en suite bath if you want to freshen up beforehand."

I stifled a yawn. I needed a nap. My bedtime was becoming embarrassingly early.

"Tired?" Diana asked me with that searching look again.

Last time I'd seen her, she'd warmed up to me. Her manner was friendly now. But she was obviously wary and totally wrapped up in the pleasure of having all her boys around her. Protective of Jus. I hoped she also wasn't as observant and intuitive. Jus had to get his traits from somewhere.

"Jet-lagged." I smiled at her.

"But you've been here, what, four or five days already?" Diana said gently.

I forced myself to keep smiling. "I'm not much of a traveler. I can't seem to shake it."
Or the grandchild I'm carrying for you.

She put a gentle hand on my arm. "Take a nap. You'll want to be fully awake for dinner so you can enjoy the feast Paolo's making special for us. Have you ever seen the movie
Big Night
?"

I shook my head.

"Too bad. If you had, you'd know what I mean. He's preparing us his signature dish along with the rest of the feast." She turned to her son. "Justin can catch up with his brothers and me while you rest."

The last thing I remembered was lying down "just for a few minutes." I didn't wake up until several hours later when Jus gently shook me.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get ready for dinner." His voice was gentle, but concerned. "You slept a long time. You aren't sick, are you?"

I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. Crap! I had to hurry if we were going to make it to dinner on time. I'd slept so long I had bedhead. Was I drooling, too? "I'm fine." I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"It's taking you a while to adjust to the time difference." There was that worry in his voice again.

I shrugged it off.

He sighed. "Next time we'll make sure to get you remedies to prevent jet lag."

Paolo's was only a few blocks away from the
pensione
. From the outside it was a candidate for the Italian version of
Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
. Inside, it wasn't much fancier. But it smelled delicious, like everything Italian. Since most of the Italians in America immigrated from the south of Italy, our version of Italian food is southern in nature. In that way, Paolo's smelled homey, yet old world and exotic at the same time. Like the very best, high-end Italian food in the States. It definitely wasn't chain restaurant fare.

Justin's dad was waiting for us. It wasn't hard to spot him. Justin's two older brothers were younger copies of him. Jus looked more like his mom. Even down to her build. She was tall for a woman, but not as big-boned as he was in proportion to her size.

Kirk was a big former jock who looked like he'd played football at some point during his younger days. He had that air about him. Friendly. With a deep voice that was an older, more gravelly version of Justin's. At least Jus had inherited that much.

Kirk greeted me with a crushing hug. Gave his immediate blessing to our union. And told me to call him whatever I wanted. "Kirk. Dad. Hey you. Doesn't matter to me. Don't want you to feel awkward when you're trying to get my attention. Getting used to calling your in-laws by some name, any name, takes time. When Diana and I first got married, I spent a good three months avoiding using any name at all for her dad. Damn inconvenient."

I smiled, liking him on sight. He was big, but sweet like Jus in the way he was trying to put me at ease.

Paolo scurried out of the kitchen and greeted us each, including me, in the Italian fashion, with an air kiss on each cheek. He smiled at me, used so many Italian hand gestures he may as well have been speaking sign language, and rattled off a string of rapid-fire Italian I had no hope of understanding.

Jus seemed to follow it. Soon the two of them were involved in an animated discussion. Jus was even using his hands to talk, too. Which was so sexy it was crazy. All the Greens were soon in on it, laughing and interjecting. Gesturing. Finally, Paolo slapped Jus on the back and we took our seats at a prime table.

I was seated next to Jus, with Kirk on the other side of me. Diana and the others across from me. The wine immediately began to flow.

Jeremy quickly noticed I wasn't keeping up with the others and drinking my share. "You have a non-drinker on your hands, Justin."

I shook my head. "Hardly. I was in the hardest-partying sorority at my school. But too much wine makes me sleepy. My jet lag doesn't need any help, thank you very much. Besides, I'm half your size." I winked at him like I admired his big manliness.

Jerod laughed and refilled my glass. "I'll buy you some NoDoz."

I liked his brothers and the boisterous atmosphere of his family. Jeremy and Jerod were exactly the kind of guys I enjoyed hanging with. I could flip them as much crap as I wanted and they deflected and flipped it back.

"Do you play rugby?" Jerod asked as we devoured a plate of antipasti.

I shook my head. "I knew a few girls in college who were on our college team. That's the extent of my knowledge of the game. Women's rugby is gaining in popularity in the States. Maybe it will eventually replace soccer as the club sport of choice."

"You've
never
played?" Jeremy looked astounded, almost as if I'd committed some kind of heresy.

"No." My stomach started to feel funny. And the smells that had been delicious a few minutes ago took on a sour edge.

"Not even once?" Kirk passed me a loaf of bread.

I gratefully took it and tore off a chunk. The Italians put the bread in the middle of the table. You grabbed or tore off what you wanted. They didn't stand on ceremony. Like slicing bread.

"Not even once." The bread went down well.

Jerod poured himself another glass of wine. "We'll have to get you out on the field. You can't be a Green without playing rugby."

"What do you mean? Justin can." Jeremy laughed.

"He's a special snowflake." Jerod nudged Jus beneath the table while Jus glared. "Delicate constitution, right, Jus? Poor baby bro. Might get hurt."

Jus glared at him.

"Lighten up on the baby, Jer. He keeps a mean score sheet." Jerod laughed.

"Boys." Kirk used the dad voice. "Your brother isn't brawny, but he's got game smarts. He can out-coach either of you." He winked at his youngest son. "By the way, I need you to fill in for me and take my team tomorrow afternoon. I have a business meeting with the university I can't get out of."

"Sure, Dad." Jus didn't look thrilled at the idea.

"Do you like sports, Kayla?" Jerod leaned across the table, penetrating in the way he waited for my answer. Looking roguishly hot.