Out of the Dark (7 page)

She’s doesn’t know I heard her last night. No need to worry
.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” I lie.

“Where is Fabrizio?” Her voice is hoarse.

“He’ll be right back.”

She nods, and I watch as she slinks over to the table and sits down.

She looks . . . defeated, and I feel bad for her. Being married to Rocco doesn’t seem to make her happy.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Miss Carina, I believe it is my job to be asking you that question.” She smiles, but it’s feeble.

I can’t make eye contact. I can’t shake the look I saw on her face last night when she was with Rocco. She looked so miserable, and I want to help her somehow. “How about you just call me Carina. Would that be all right?”

She smiles. “If that is what you wish, Carina.”

“Okay. Good.”

I get the coffee brewing, and Fabrizio enters the kitchen with the dishrag slung over his shoulder.

He seems surprised to find Bianca sitting in the kitchen, but his face lights up when he sees her.

I keep thinking they’re just friends, but maybe there is more between them . . . there must be.

“
Buongiorno
,” he says to Bianca. “
Come stai
?”

“
La vita è bella.
”

Fabrizio nods and walks to stand at my side. “What are we having this morning?”

“Stuffed french toast. Have you ever had it before?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, no.”

“Well, you’re going to love it. You both are,” I say, wielding a spatula.

“I am your servant. Just tell me what help you need.”

“You can whisk up those eggs with a dash of vanilla and a pinch of cinnamon and salt.”

He follows my directions, and I bring Bianca a cup of coffee. I ignore the red marks on her wrists and turn my attention to slicing the bread. I ask Fabrizio to chop some walnuts.

Bianca turns on the stereo, and music fills the room as she returns to sit and gaze out the window, looking lost in daydreams.

It’s a very pleasing sound, and the pungent smell of fresh coffee begins to mingle with the sweet aroma of vanilla and butter as the french toast cooks.

Fabrizio is more than suitable as a sous chef. He anticipates what I need before I ask for it, and we work together as though we’ve done it a hundred times before. With him at my side, I feel as if I might have been paranoid and let my imagination get the best of me. Bianca’s personal struggles are none of my business, and I’m so grateful Fabrizio stopped me before I left. Even in Stefan’s absence, I’m happy here.

I plate our breakfast and drizzle warm syrup over the top. The food looks beautiful, and I realize how much I’ve missed my craft.

Bianca and Fabrizio scarf heaping mouthfuls while complimenting me on my skill. Of course, I give Fabrizio his just recognition, and we have pleasant conversation as we eat.

“So, ladies, what will you be doing today?”

I defer to Bianca. “She’s the boss.”

Fabrizio smirks.

“I’m taking her to Florence for the day.”

“Ah, Florence. You will have a great time, Miss Carina. Will you be home for dinner?” His tone indicates he’ll be awaiting our return. Or maybe just Bianca’s return.

“I was thinking we could try some restaurants?”

I nod.

“Well, please be careful on your journey.” His eyes shift to Bianca.

Once again, I feel out of place, like a third wheel, and become enthralled with my hands in my lap.

A kitchen chair scrapes the floor, and I turn to see Bianca standing and looking toward the door.

Rocco is there in a black suit with a bag in his hand. “I have to leave. Mr. Savano requires my assistance on his business trip.”

Bianca nods, and Rocco walks toward her and grabs her wrist, pulling her into him.

I gasp as he kisses her in front of us. Hard.

The kiss is deep and passionate, and he holds her tight. A simple peck goodbye would have sufficed in front of other people, but it’s apparent that’s not enough for Rocco. I watch as Bianca goes limp in his arms. I realize it has not been Bianca or Fabrizio giving me the creeps, it’s Rocco.

Just Rocco.

Fabrizio looks away, returning his attention to his food and clenching his jaw as he chops at the remaining walnuts on his plate with his fork until they are pulverized and inedible.

Rocco pulls Bianca out of the room with him, I presume to continue their goodbye in privacy.

Fabrizio’s face is red, and he doesn’t look up from his plate.

I begin to clear the dishes.

“Please, I will clean up. Thank you for the meal. And I put your things in Mr. Savano’s room. He would want you to stay in there while he is away.” He doesn’t look at me again, and I leave Fabrizio in quiet solitude.

Stefan’s bedroom has a different look and feel to it than the rest of the house. It’s a master suite with a small lounge equipped with a leather sofa and a large television. Glass doors lead to a large terrace, and the room is different shades of blue and gray. Despite the cool tones, there is warmth to it.

I lie down on his king-sized bed, and I’m bombarded by the scent of his rich cologne. The smell alone does things to me. I want to crawl under the sheets and lose myself in a fantasy of him, but I rise and prepare for my day with Bianca.

This is the first time I’ve seen her out of uniform. Instead of her usual black, she wears a red cotton dress. The plunging V-neck highlights her enviable figure. Her dark blond hair is down in waves, and her nude shoes look expensive. She still wears her oval glasses, and a small clutch is tucked under her arm.

Needless to say, I feel underdressed in my white pants and nice black top. Bianca is a straight-up knockout, and I can see why she is so lusted after, not only by Rocco but by Fabrizio as well.

The afternoon sun shines down on us as we exit the main house of the estate. We get in a red sports car, another beautiful machine that my father would have drooled over.

“Is this car yours?”

She turns the key and the engine purrs. “It was my husband’s.”

Was
her husband’s? Maybe she’s not married to Rocco.

I can no longer be polite. I
have
to know Bianca’s story. “Can I ask you a personal question, Bianca?”

“
Si
.” She stares straight ahead as she drives with a reckless abandon that has me gripping the door handle.

“Is Rocco your husband?” I prepare for the possible anger that may erupt.

“Yes. Well, he is my second husband.”

“Where is your first husband?”

When she turns to look at me, her face is cold, emotionless. She looks me straight in the eye as she speaks. “He is dead.”

Chapter Five

My pity for Bianca multiplies as we drive, and I look out at the countryside, pondering this new piece of Bianca’s puzzle.

“What was his name?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Roman.”

“What did he do?”

She clears her throat. “He worked for Mr. Savano.”

“Is that how you met?”

“No. I did not work for Mr. Savano until after Roman died.”

“How did he die? I mean, if you don’t want to talk to me about it, I understand.”

She adjusts in her seat. “No, I don’t mind telling you. There was . . . an accident.” She rubs her forehead, and the memory seems to be painful. “Roman was my life. I loved him so much. We met when I was just a girl, barely fifteen years old, but he was much older. He lived close by, and I’d always admired him from afar. When I was old enough it was no longer a scandal, we began to see each other and got married very fast. He made good money working for Mr. Savano, and he was a good provider. I never had to work or want for anything.” She smiles and seems lost in the memories brushing past her now. “We were trying to have a baby—”

Her voice cracks, and I see the pain flash across her face.

“When he died, I had nothing. I found that he had not saved any of the money he had made. I was afraid. I have no education, so there is not much work. I have no family left . . . there was nowhere for me to go. I was facing a life in poverty.” She smooths her dress as she speaks, her thankfulness for the fine clothes subconsciously declaring itself. “Because my husband worked for Mr. Savano for so many years, he took mercy on me and offered me a job. I would have been lost without his help. Mr. Savano saved my life.”

“And that’s how you met Rocco?”

“Yes. Rocco was, and is, Mr. Savano’s right hand. Rocco was interested in me as soon as we met, in spite of the fact he knew Roman. He made no secret of it. He was always flirting and touching me. But I was in mourning for my husband, and I did not want to disgrace his memory by getting involved with another man. Second marriages are not looked upon favorably in this country. The church does not forgive that kind of sin. But Rocco would not be dissuaded. When I continued to refuse him, he sought out Mr. Savano’s advice . . . his permission.”

“What do you mean by that?
Permission?
”

“Rocco believed Mr. Savano viewed me as his property since I worked for him.”

I couldn’t imagine Stefan thinking of her that way. I couldn’t believe it.

I won’t believe it
.

“But he doesn’t. That’s ridiculous. Do
you
think Stefan sees you that way? Does he treat you that way?”

“Mr. Savano has always treated me with respect. I owe him a great deal. He asked that I give Rocco a chance, and I could not refuse him.”

She’s answered, but it’s not really an answer.

“So you married Rocco because Stefan wanted you to?”

She pulls the car over and leans toward me. Her eyes are filled with things I will never know. “Mr. Savano is not the kind of man that you say no to.
Ever.
He has helped me in ways you can never understand. When he gave us his blessing, I stopped mourning Roman. When Rocco asked me to be his wife, I said yes. Rocco is a good man, and so is Mr. Savano. I am a lucky woman.”

As she speaks, I think of how she blushes each time Fabrizio enters a room. I think of the smiles she tries to hide, and I speak without thinking. “But you’re not in love with Rocco.”

Bianca’s eyes cloud over, and she looks into the distance at everything and nothing—ghosts and vacant space. “Of course I am.”

I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or if she’s trying to convince herself.

“Of course I love my husband.” She starts the car again, and I don’t ask her any more questions for the rest of the drive.

Florence is a beautiful city. The narrow streets are filled with local people riding bicycles or motorbikes. The buildings are overwhelming in their similarity; the yellow and white walls have brown thatched roofs, and slim rectangular windows dot the facades. The doorways are arched, and big, heavy wooden doors adorn each entrance. Wooden signs state the shop names at the top of each doorway.

Bianca and I walk past the large glass windows, and she gazes with longing at the merchandise. She’s been quiet since the Roman conversation, so I distract her with more pleasant things.

“I’m not familiar with many of these designers, Bianca. Do you have any suggestions for where we should start?”

She perks up. “Oh, yes.” She smiles and links her arm with mine and leads me to a lingerie store called
Mio Destino
.

The shop is small, and the walls are lined with rose-colored wallpaper that resembles lace. The thick rug covering the floor is a lighter shade of pink, and I imagine its warmth folds around every customer that enters.

Bianca seems to know her way around as she walks toward the back corner without pausing to look at any other merchandise. “Let’s find something for you, Carina. Something that Mr. Savano will enjoy.” She winks, and I blush a fiery shade I’m sure is much deeper than the surrounding decor.

“Oh, I . . . I mean . . . we . . .” I want to tell her that Stefan and I haven’t been intimate that way, but I feel uncomfortable.

“Shhh. I understand, Carina. Mr. Savano is a gentleman. Very refined. Respectable. But men are men, and I know we can find something here that will make his restraint melt away.”

I sigh. There’s no explanation needed, and Bianca is clearly on my side.

She walks past the delicate white lace, satin nighties, and panties.

I follow her to the back of the store and see the racier items—black corsets, red bustiers, thongs, garters. Although I have plenty of nice underwear, I own nothing near this caliber of sexy.

She grabs a few items and holds them against me. “What color do you think Mr. Savano would like?”

I consider it for a moment. Thinking of him, of the things he loves, makes me feel a deep ache.

I miss him
.

“Well, he loves the vineyard, so maybe . . . red? Like wine?”

Bianca smiles. “Very good choice, Carina. Come.” She pushes back the curtain of the changing room and hands me a few items.