Ruthless Perfection (The Rosa Legacy #1) (11 page)

Isabel remained silent and Marc dived into the pool.

Escaping to the office wing of the villa, Isabel spent an hour unpacking and going over her equipment. As promised, Marc had a computer with a large screen set up for her work. She pulled herself away from the work when her stomach growled and she realized she was famished.

Maria had set out an elaborate breakfast on the terrace. When she sat down, Marc offered to pour her coffee.

“Enjoy breakfast because lunch will be bagged and eaten on the go.”

Isabel added fruit, eggs, and freshly baked bread to her plate.

“I don’t know if Alda is ready to be left on her own today.” Since the procedure, she had been a constant companion to the older woman and it felt odd to go off filming today.

“Maria will keep a close watch on her and hopefully she will rest.”

After they finished their meal, Isabel went to gather her camera and equipment while Marc went to speak with Maria.

Meeting him in the foyer, she balanced her pack loaded with equipment along with a water bottle and map to the area.

“You won’t need a map. I’ll show you the area.”

“I don’t want you to spend your entire day taking care of me. I’m sure I can explore on my own.”

“At some point, you can begin to explore on your own, but in the beginning I’ll accompany you or I can assign a guide.”

Marc took the map from her and left it on the hall table. She followed him out to a small truck.

Driving around the hairpin turns, Marc downshifted and maneuvered the truck around a stopped vehicle. Isabel smiled as she noticed tourists out photographing the mountains.

Within minutes, they were on the private road to the quarry. Isabel watched in fascination as they passed through an opening and the entire quarry appeared around them. Getting out of the truck, she didn’t know where to look first.

Marc came over to her and said, “Welcome to the Santoro Quarry.”

“It’s breathtaking.” Isabel tried to absorb all of the view at once.

It was difficult to talk outside, as the equipment being used to cut the marble was quite loud. She followed Marc to a modular office near the parking lot. A foreman greeted them and he seemed to welcome her presence. He showed her the office and the sparse bathroom and then told her she could leave her equipment on a spare desk.

When she stepped outside, the foreman handed her a hard hat and ear protection. She used the strap on her camera to put in on her shoulder as he adjusted on the hard hat and then the ear protection on her. It allowed her to relax slightly as her body was no longer overwhelmed by the sound.

Marc used hand signals to show her around the quarry. Within a few hours, she had taken hundreds of photographs and the muscles in her legs began to cramp from all of the climbing.

When a whistle blew for lunch, she felt grateful to be able to remove her ear protection and sit down. The dozen or so men assembled near the office at an outside table and began to unpack lunches and thermoses with coffee.

Marc joined her and gave her a packed lunched that Maria had sent. Instead of eating at first, she took a few more photographs of the men. It was obvious from the dust and sweat, that the men worked exceptionally hard.

When she finally took a break to eat, Marc said he would take her to the village for the afternoon. Nodding, she listened as the men talked with the foreman about the progress of the work. There were a few jokes made about the best place to photograph, but in general the workers seemed open to having her there over the next few weeks.

Marc met with the foreman as she gathered her equipment and took a few more shots of the quarry. As the men went back to work, Marc directed her back to the truck.

As she climbed into the small truck, she said “Thank you for making this possible.”

She noticed he seemed guarded and merely nodded. He took her to a series of villages in the area and pointed out landmarks. He stopped at a local coffee shop and they were both greeted warmly. It was evident that Marc was highly regarded wherever they went. She snapped a few photographs of him speaking with the locals. He introduced her to many people and she was able to give out her business cards, asking for anyone who wanted to be interviewed to call her.

When they returned to the villa in the late afternoon, Alda was resting and Marc told Maria that he was going out and would return the next day.

Isabel headed to her room for a quick shower before she began the process of downloading and reviewing the images she had taken. Her mind was reeling from all that she had taken in during the day.

Over the next several days, she barely saw Marc as she explored different villages and conducted interviews. She was amazed at how open and willing people were to share their stories with her.

Almost a week into her visit, Marc returned to the villa in the early evening and found Isabel in the living room. “Alda is in bed for the evening?”

He noticed that Isabel was not dressed for dinner. Instead, she was wearing a long sleeved pink shirt with jeans, and her bare feet were tucked under her. Her graceful hands held the place in her book before she glanced up at him.

“She is feeling well, but I think she may have overdone it today a bit.”

“Why is that?”

Isabel stood up and placed the novel on the cocktail table.

“She wants to regain her strength so she has been following Dr. Bender’s exercise schedule to a tee.”

“Why don’t you change, and I’ll let Maria know we are going out?”

“You don’t need to entertain me.”

“I was hoping you would entertain me.”

Her eyes grew large and surprise was evident in her mild gasp. Her reaction stirred something within him.

Before she refused outright, Marc said soothingly, “I have been very busy since coming to Carrara. But I would like to hear how your research is going. There is a local trattoria that serves an excellent meal. Would you join me?”

Marc watched her as she picked up her novel and left the room. Her resigned acquiescence surprised him. Usually women were more than happy for his company and didn’t have to be cajoled into spending an evening with him.

Searching his memory over the last week, it seemed things were going well. Alda had ceased demanding he take Isabel out and instead was focused on her own recovery.

On edge when she reached her room, Isabel tried to banish her insecurities and reminded herself it didn’t matter what she wore. Marc was at loose ends and decided to invite her on a whim. Didn’t he realize it would only serve to encourage Alda?

Suddenly irritation flared up inside her. All of the expectations were getting to be too much.

But as she stood in front of the closet stripping off her clothes, she realized her feelings for Marc were complicated. He made her feel alive. The chemistry that sparked between them was powerful and tempted her to reveal more of herself. She acknowledged privately that he made her want to feel all sorts of things instead of locking her emotions away.

Instead of wallowing in romantic dreams, Isabel acknowledged frankly that how she felt had no basis in reality. Marc didn’t return the sentiments.

He would be horrified at the sight of her scars. She herself was shocked each time she caught a glance of the raised jagged lines left behind by the surgeon. Normally she quickly covered them, but this time she felt drawn to examine the marred skin. What would Marc say? Probably he would look away and try to hide his repulsion. Or maybe he would react as others had and avoid the subject altogether.

She knew she was lucky. Her life had been spared. In the end, skilled doctors were able to rebuild her arm and hip and the rest of her had healed. At the time, everyone was so concerned about mobility and function that she hadn’t wanted to seem superficial by talking about the appearance of her body. She had hoped the skin would improve over time. But as she examined the skin now, she realized it wasn’t just the incisions made by several surgeries on her arm, hip and leg. At the time of the accident, severe puncture wounds from displaced metal and glass had caused much of the damage. The skin covering her right hip never smoothed out. Instead, the raised, discolored patches formed an odd quilt-work pattern making the thin straight lines from the scalpel seem insignificant in contrast.

Isabel pulled out a black fitted dress from the closet and stepped into it, pulling up the zipper. Completely covered, she looked like before. Only she knew the truth.

She slipped her feet into black high heels and decided to apply a sheer lip gloss. She tried to remember the last time she went out to dinner with a man. It must have been with Dylan. She hadn’t dated anyone since she broke off the engagement almost two years ago. With Dylan, she had never felt nervous or on edge.

The memory of their last dinner came back to her uninvited. It was after the accident, and while she saw very little of him at the hospital, when she returned home to her parents’ house, he had called and suggested dinner. She remembered feeling numb and just going through the motions of getting ready. It wasn’t until they were seated in the restaurant that his resigned attitude got to her. She was not going to spend her life with someone who was badgered by his own guilt to put up with her scarred body.

She turned away from the mirror and banished the memories. The feeling of insecurity must’ve been coming from the fact Marc was interested in perfection and that he was flawless. She reminded herself that he would never see her flaws.

As Marc watched her gracefully descend the stairs, he felt suddenly very aware of her. Instead of returning his desire, she seemed as if she was blocking him out and the energy about her was one of introspection. He ruefully acknowledged it was for the best, because it would only complicate matters for them both.

Outside in the night air, Isabel hesitated and looked back towards the villa. The evening was pleasantly warm and for the briefest of moments Marc contemplated the evening ahead. He’d been looking forward to spending time with Isabel until he became conscious of the tension in every line of her beautiful body.

He stepped down into the cobblestone driveway, touching her shoulder, and she turned toward him. She looked at him but the guardedness in her gaze surprised him. He knew she was hiding her thoughts and he deliberately chose not to push her.

“I’ve had an impossible day, and with Alda already in for night, I thought you would welcome a brief escape from the villa.” He purposely kept a neutral tone to his voice.

“Yes, thank you.” Isabel moved back slightly and her gaze returned to the night.

Isabel could feel the tension winding its way through her body as Marc drove on the dark roads. Her mind tried to formulate an opening for a conversation but nothing came. Marc remained silent as he navigated the hairpin turns taking them down toward the ocean.

Marc pulled into the steep parking lot of a small tavern perched on the side of a cliff. Isabel climbed out of the car and looked at the small restaurant illuminated by the moon.

Marc lightly touched her lower back and guided her forward. “This place is rural Italy at its finest. The owner makes the best
lardo
in the region.”

She faltered walking across the uneven stones, and Marc held out his hand in invitation. Isabel placed her hand in his and could feel the warmth as he gently caressed her fingers. She thought of pulling away, but the excitement tempted her. She enjoyed feeling like a young woman out for an evening. 

As they walked in, the owner of the tavern greeted them with a warm smile. “Marc, my friend,” he said, clapping him on the back, “it is good to see you.”

Isabel stood back as the two men shook hands. The tavern had a marble bar that ran along the far wall and a dozen or so tables set near large windows overlooking the view of the ocean.

“Hello, Bruno. I would like you to meet Isabel Neri. Isabel, this is Bruno Gestri, the owner of the tavern as well as the local
lardo
expert.”

Isabel extended her hand to Bruno. He moved forward and placed a kiss on each cheek.

“Isabel, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Your restaurant is amazing perched among the cliffs. But I must admit I’ve not heard of
lardo
before.”

“Making
lardo
is a labor of love. The recipe was handed down by my great-grandfather. It is a staple of this region. I’ll bring you some to try.” Bruno was looking around the small restaurant for a table.

Marc indicated an empty table in the back of the dining room.

As soon as they were seated, Bruno asked about their wine preference and then if they preferred white fish or roast chicken. Marc looked at her questioningly and then chose a red wine with the roast chicken.

“This is not the type of place where an expansive menu is available. Usually you have the choice of two entrees, and they will serve the evening’s antipasto, vegetable and cheese plate,” Marc told her.

Isabel watched Marc from across the table. His skin was golden and the dark eyebrows combined with dark brown eyes were a perfect match for his wide mouth and beautifully white teeth. She thought of the images she had captured of him and how the camera seemed to love him.

“What is
lardo
?”

“It is unique to Italy. The
lardo
is a regional dish made from pork fat, salt, and rosemary that ferments for a year. Most visitors enjoy the complex flavor.”

Isabel made an effort to keep her face neutral.

“You can’t visit Carrara without tasting it. It is as white as the marble from this area and quite rich.”

Before they had a chance to discuss it further, Bruno arrived with the wine and a tray holding olives, pickled red onion and paper-thin slices of
lardo
atop seasoned flatbread.

Bruno poured the wine, and excused himself to serve others.

“
Salute
.” Marc raised his glass to her and held her gaze.

Isabel said, “
Salute
” and touched her glass to his.