Gaining Visibility (16 page)

“Yeah, yeah.”

Click
. The call ended so abruptly, the alarm in Julia's head sounded again. Her finger poised over the redial button. The last time Hettie sounded that way, one of her friends had died. That was most likely the case, but it was odd she didn't mention anything.

Julia tucked the phone back into her pocket and walked down to the travel agency she'd spied. She smiled at the woman lurking behind the door, then cringed with embarrassment when she realized a mirror hung there, and she was looking at her own reflection.

The change was remarkable. The chestnut hue drew out her natural peachiness while the highlights softened the area around her eyes. The angular cut with wispy sides and mussy top took years off of her face. So how was it that at the moment she was feeling every bit of her forty-eight years?

The American travel agent's chin buckled at Julia's request, but she typed a few strokes on her computer. “There's a room available in Tellaro for two nights. Do you have a car?”

“No. Well . . . maybe. I have a friend who has a car.”

“It's only a fifteen-minute bus ride from here, but the buses are really crowded when the tourists are in. Taxis book hours in advance. Early morning would be your best chance.”

Julia slumped against the counter. She hated to ask Adrianna to take her all the way back to Vitale's and then drive her all the way to Tellaro and then make the return trip home. It wasn't far, but that still seemed a lot of trouble to ask of someone she hardly knew. And she couldn't ask Adrianna at all if the news this afternoon happened to be bad. Two nights didn't help much either. But even one night at Vitale's now seemed out of the question. Things were too awkward. He probably wouldn't even speak to her. “Maybe there's something here in town? Anything? Even a tiny room would be fine.”

The woman regarded her over the top of her bifocals. “Everything, and I do mean everything, books solid this time of year. If it's an emergency, I could find you a car for hire, but you'll pay an exorbitant price for it.”

“No, it's not that urgent.” Julia could almost hear her breasts snorting as her heart sank past them.

“So, do you want me to book the room for you tonight?”

“Let me talk to my friend with the car first, then I'll get back with you. It shouldn't take but a few minutes.”

“Don't wait too long.” The agent handed Julia her card. “It'll be gone.”

Julia walked back to the doctor's office, frustrated and wondering what to do now. Approach Adrianna about hiring her to chauffeur her around for the next couple of hours? Certainly that was a possibility . . . if her news was good.

That flicker of hope flared a few minutes later when Adrianna came out of the examination room. Her cheeks were tear streaked, but the smile that dimpled them shouted joy and relief.

She hugged Julia, and whispered, “It was the cyst. He removed the fluid with the needle.”

Julia felt her own hot tears of joy and sent up a prayer of thanks. She held Adrianna until the young woman's grip began to loosen, a secret rule she'd used since Melissa was a toddler. Let the person who initiates the hug be the one to let go first.

A male voice startled her, and she turned to find the ancient doctor who had examined her toe. She hadn't expected to see him again, but then, he was probably the only doctor in the village.

He smiled broadly when he recognized her, making an approving motion toward her hair. She couldn't understand what he was saying, although she picked up the gist of it when he pointed to her foot, raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

She showed him the cane Vitale made for her and demonstrated how well she could walk with it.

He chuckled and applauded her performance. Then his face went serious. His speech sped up so much she couldn't pick up even one familiar word, and his gestures gave her no hint of what he was talking about. He kept motioning as if he were pointing to the sky; then he would shake his head and point some more. He finished with a sad sigh and a shake of his head.

“He said he was thinking of you an hour ago when he got called back to the hotel where you were staying. It hardly ever happens, yet he's been called there twice this week. For you Saturday and then again today,” Adrianna translated. “One of the tourists staying at the hotel had a heart attack, and they had to send him to the hospital in Genoa. He did everything he could, but he hasn't heard yet if the man survived.”

“Oh,
mi dispiace.
” Julia patted his hand.

He squeezed her hand lightly, then kissed it. The gleam in his eye made her think the guy who had the heart attack might no longer be on the doctor's mind.

“We will go now.” Adrianna looped her arm through Julia's and gave a tug that broke the doctor's hold. She thanked him the whole time they made their way to the door. When they got outside, she giggled. “I think he wanted to examine you next.”

Julia laughed in agreement. “It must be the hair.”

When the bright orange of the Lord Byron Hotel caught her eye, the doctor's story
cha-chinged
in Julia's brain. The heart attack victim was sent to Genoa. “Adrianna”—she grabbed the other woman's arm and motioned up the hill—“if they took the heart attack victim to Genoa, maybe Mr. Moretti has a vacancy.”

Adrianna held back, chewing her bottom lip as she thought. Finally, she gave a resigned shrug. “Vitale won't like it, but Mama will be pleased.”

* * *

Julia wheeled her luggage into the kitchen, anxious to get away as quickly as possible—and without a scene.

Damn!

Vitale stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway to the backyard.

The house was quiet, except for the pulse pounding through Julia's veins. She saw no sign of his sister. “Where's Adrianna?” She glanced out to the courtyard but didn't see her there either.

“She leave.” He lowered his arms and hooked his thumbs in his front pocket. “I tell her to leave. We need to talk. Alone.”

Frustration simmered in the pit of her stomach. Adrianna was her means of transportation, and Julia so wanted this departure to be quick and easy. Tell Vitale she appreciated everything he'd done for her—emphasis on
everything
. Kiss on each cheek.
Arrivederci.
“Vitale, we don't need to talk—”

He sauntered toward her. “I think we need to talk. After we talk, you call her back if you want. But first, we talk.”

C
HAPTER
14

V
itale stopped about four feet from her and moved his hands to his back pockets, shirt stretched taut across his chest.

Julia chose to stare at his pecs rather than make eye contact. His sharp eyes missed nothing and would slice through her tough outer layers and peel them back without so much as a blink. She continued to stand in the middle of the kitchen clutching the handle of her luggage, hoping for a quick and friendly departure, though her sweaty palms didn't seem to buy into that scenario.

“I have much gratitude for your kindness to Adrianna today.” His soft, liquid tone washed away some of the grit from the more tender areas.

Julia glanced around the room, focusing nowhere in particular. “It was nothing really. I was glad to do it.”

“She is the something. She is the much something. Adrianna say she very afraid, but you talk to her, and you go with her to the doctor.
Mille grazie.
”

Emotion weighed in his voice and drew her eyes to meet his.

“
Prego,
” she answered.

His lips pressed together as his chest heaved in a deep breath. “If she did not allow Antonio to know this, she should allow me to take her when she is afraid. Not you. I am the brother.”

So, hurt for being left out of the loop fueled part of his anger. Julia's talk with Adrianna about Vitale had made some things clearer. “There was nothing you could've done any different from what I did.”

“Yes, I hold the hand.” He slapped the backs of his fingers across his other palm. “
Mi preparo
. Make ready to hear what the doctor say. I feex.”

“Some things you can't fix, Vitale.”

“She is correct for me to make the try, yes?”

Telling him he'd just drive himself crazy in the process wouldn't make any difference, so she swallowed her advice and gave him a shrug.

“Adrianna also say you have the cancer of the breast.”

Noooo.
Julia caught her top lip between her teeth to stop the groan from escaping. Vitale's eyes reflected concern too genuine to ignore. “I
had
cancer.” She dragged the verb out to emphasize its tense. “I don't have it anymore. It's all gone. Completely.”

He took a step closer, and her stomach tightened.

“
Capisco.
Giada, she say I do not make the words good. But I know you have the cancer in the past. Adrianna, she say you come to hike the Cinque Terre to congratulate yourself.”

Julia nodded and gave him a weak smile. “That's right. And that's a lovely way to say it.” Her smile faded as she swallowed.

“Julietta.” He inched toward her as if she were a wild animal about to bolt. “I think the cancer, she is gone here.” He brushed the back of his finger across her breast. “But not here.” He grazed her temple with his knuckles, and she felt the pressure of tears building at the back of her eyes.

Raising her palm, she stopped him from touching her again. “You're wrong.” She shook her head and fastened her eyes on his chest again. “I'm okay. I'm healthy and whole and thankful to be alive. And my head is fine. It used to not be. But it is now. It's fine.” Even
she
knew she was protesting too much. She blinked, fighting the tears, determined not to get all emotional about this. “I'm not a survivor. That term implies I faced death, but I never did. I had a disease once. I'm over it. I broke my arm once. I'm over it. I don't need you to have sex with me out of pity. I don't need you to fix me.”

Anger flashed across his face and then it was gone, replaced by a tenderness that was harder to bear. He rested his hands on her shoulders, then smoothed his palms down her arms to her elbows and back up. “Last night, you say, ‘I am ready to let go.' But you do not let go. Fast. Let go.” He released her arms long enough to “weigh” the terms in his hands, showing evidence of the imbalance. “They do not mean the same.” He returned his hands to her shoulders.

So she hadn't fooled him at all. Tension corded the sides of her neck where she held her emotion in check. She wanted to apologize for using him in her self-centered game of “Make Me Whole Again,” but her chin quivered, and if she spoke, her voice would do the same. She brushed the tear trying to squeeze from the edge of her eye.

“You keep the breasts covered when we have the sex.” Vitale's voice was soft like his touch, and just as compelling. “If everything is fine, do not need the feex as you say, why do you do this?”

Why indeed?

Because beneath her glib exterior beat the heart of a coward. “I . . . couldn't let . . . you see.” Her voice broke on the words, and with it, the tight rein she held on her composure.

Be careful what you ask for
—the old adage had come back to bite her in the ass.

She'd wanted someone to see her.

Well, Vitale didn't only
see
her, he saw
through
her.

The statue of Rachele had warned her, shown her what he was capable of. But she'd plunged ahead, recklessly ignoring her instincts, and now here he was, reaching into her soul with his tenderness, pulling the real Julia to the surface—the scared one—exposing the truth that her bravado was as false as her breasts.

Anguish knifed through her.

Despite her best effort, the tear escaped. And then another and another, coming so quickly she couldn't keep up with wiping them away and finally gave up trying.

He knew, so pretense was no longer an option.

“I know what you think about American women and their fake breasts.” His head tilted in question at her comment. “I heard you and that guy talking below my balcony at the hotel.” A shadow of guilt passed over his face, and she spoke quickly to quell it. “You have a right to your opinion, and you spoke it honestly. I'm the one who hasn't been truthful. I don't really have breasts. Mine are as fake as they come.” The words took up more space in her chest than the implants hanging there. Everything felt crowded, making it difficult to breathe.

Vitale removed his hands and placed them in his back pockets. Withdrawal—precisely the reaction she'd expected. But she had, after all, lived through it before.

She gained control of her breathing with a shuddering sigh and went on, determined to give him the details. “The surgeons removed everything inside so they could get all the cancer.” She chose words simple enough for him to understand. “They left only the skin, and they filled the empty space with bags of fluid.”

He reached out with a tentative hand and gingerly cupped it over her breast, then did the same with his other hand. His touch raised a sob that caught in her throat. She chewed her bottom lip as he spoke. “But she is beautiful. Soft and round. And the nipples . . .” He looked her in the eyes, but his thumbs circled the protruding folds of skin.

“Aren't real.” She finished the sentence for him. “They're just nubs made of skin with tattoos around them. They have no feeling, no sensitivity . . . and they're permanently erect, so they don't tell you anything about how I'm feeling.”

“But why do you not allow me to see?”

Her spine stiffened in preparation for when he pulled his hands away again, and the movement put some added strength in her voice. “Because you made fun of even the pretty ones, and mine are far from pretty. They're ugly. I've had three operations, so there are scars. Ugly scars right across the middle that you can't see until I'm undressed. But they're there, and they can't be fixed, and if I'd allowed you to see them, you wouldn't have wanted to touch me again.”

His hands left her breasts, but only long enough to cup the sides of her face. He bent until his eyes were even with hers. “How do you know what I do?”

“I. Just. Know,” she whispered.

“I think the large, the not real breast, she is foolish. This is true. But she is not you.” He straightened. “And I am not
him,
Julietta. You do
not
know.”

She raised her chin and met his steady gaze with her own. “You think you're always so honest about everything? Let's see how honest you've been with yourself.” Her fingers flew to unbutton her blouse. It fell open, and she shrugged it off her shoulders until it slid down her arms to the floor. Then she slipped her fingers under the straps of her camisole.

A moment of panic gripped her chest, strangling any words that hung in her throat, but she'd come too far to stop now. Exchanging the fear of cancer for fear of rejection was still surrender, and she'd already lost too much to this damn disease. She wouldn't let it eat away another tiny bit of her.

What she'd said a minute ago? A lie. She
was
a survivor, and a minute from now, her heart would still be beating.

She kept her eyes locked on his, determined to face this with dignity, and not fall apart like she had with Frank. Her fingers tightened around the straps of her cami, and she tugged the material down, and down still farther, and down until it circled her waist.

Vitale's face didn't flinch. No long blink to cover emotion. No recoil in horror. No reaction. None.

Her brain barely had time to register his reaction before, with one stride forward—not away—he was at her. “You fight the battle with the cancer. You have the scar from the battle. The scar, she is not ugly. She is the proof of the courage.” With gentle sweeps of his fingertips, he traced the scars, back and forth, back and forth, and his eyes burned with something she'd never expected.

Interest.

Julia felt nothing beyond pressure, but watching him touch her breasts and kiss across the scars—not under the cover of darkness, but here in the stark light of day—struck her as extremely erotic. His thumbs circled her nipples, and a flame flickered to life at her core.

The tip of his tongue replaced his thumbs, while his hands moved behind her to make sensuous feather strokes down her naked back. “Do you feel this,
bella mia?
”

“Yes.” She gripped his head, letting her own roll back languidly as she closed her eyes.

His mouth left a line of wet kisses in the valley between her breasts as he moved to the other side. His hand found its way under her skirt. “And this. You feel this, yes?”

She opened her eyes and nodded, his smoldering look taking away her ability to speak.

His hand started a sensuous creep up her stomach. “The breast, she is the thing of beauty.” He smoothed a palm slowly across each of them, then up to her neck and into her hair. “But the body, she has the many places of the pleasure, yes?”

He caught her smile on his lips.

Desire for him coursed through her body, flooding her with the need to allow his exploration of her “many places of the pleasure.”

“I do not see you naked last night. I would like to now.” He flicked his tongue across her shoulder while his hands were busy unzipping her skirt. One deft push sent it fluttering to the floor along with her panties. He held her hand as she stepped out of them and continued to hold it as his eyes roamed slowly from her head to her feet and back.

Naked in front of a man.

Her breath stilled in her lungs.

The dramatic moment of revelation was over. His curiosity about her breasts was sated, and now, the light of day might bring a new dawning to him as well. One that would shed a better light on the difference in their ages.

His eyes climbed steadily until they met hers and came to rest. “Julietta.” His tone was serious as he pulled her hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles across them. “I tell you to call Adrianna if you want this after we talk.” The side of his mouth twitched. “I think we finish the talk, yes? Do you call her?”

Julia laughed softly, but a couple of renegade tears made warm tracks down her cheeks as she shook her head no.

“Good.” Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the bedroom. “Because I would like the hours to learn very much about your beautiful, naked body.”

At first, she thought he must be exaggerating about the “hours” part, but he laid her on the bed and began exploring each inch of her skin, one at a time. Her mouth. Her earlobe. Her jawline. Her neck . . . his movements slow and enticingly deliberate. Whatever he explored at the moment received his thorough attention. A finger would trace an outline, or a hand would smooth or knead. His tongue tasted. His teeth nibbled. His mouth caressed.

She followed his lead, thrilling at the way she could make his body dance with her hands or her mouth. His whispered exclamations and endearments needed no translation. They encouraged an exhilarating boldness and soon, any inhibitions, imaginary or real, dropped away. He made her forget her breasts were anything more than merely breasts.

Julia imagined herself a sensuous butterfly, emerging from the protection of her carefully constructed cocoon.

She tried her wings and found she could fly.

Her quivers of excitement eventually gave way to prolonged euphoria. Like clay in the artist's hands, he molded and sculpted her into positions that yielded maximum results, each climax more consuming than the last.

After a long while, when he at last positioned himself over her, she wept at the intensity of the full release.

He kissed her tears away, and whispered, “Now,
bella mia,
you should let go.”

And she did.

Then, and again a couple of hours later.