To Tuscany with Love (26 page)

“Is that why you brought us here, Rune?” Another man’s voice, quieter, asked.

“Outstanding,” Rune said. “Fly everyone first class to Italy to put together a backer group. Hell of an idea, man.

Wish I’d thought of it. Simpatico with West Coast style. Hell of an idea.”

Bella’s eyes dropped to her watch. Her entrance would be at exactly fifteen minutes past the appointed hour, fashionably late, but no more. The new curve-clinging red blouse and skirt showed off her figure and legs—both still good. She pushed aside the panic about the reunion that had blanketed her during the flight. Too late for that. It’s now or never. How about never?

Bella considered her options. Then she remembered the invitation and its taunt about cowards. She’d come this far, all the way to Italy. Bella patted her black, shoulder-length hair, lifted her chin and sauntered down the stairs with fake confidence.

Rune, facing the mansion, saw Bella first.

“Bella.
Bellissimo
.” Rune rushed to her, folding her in arms hairy enough to vie for an honorable mention in a Ripley’s book.

Bella returned the hug, and then pulled back to kiss his bronzed cheek. “Hello, Rune. Great tan. Is it faux, or are you competing for the melanoma hall of shame?”

Rune’s head flipped back, and laughter erupted from him. “You haven’t changed a bit, sweetheart. Still as sassy and foxy as ever.” He squeezed her again, this time ensuring that her breasts smashed against his chest. “It’s 100 percent fake, you’ll be happy to know. Goes with my nose job, tummy tuck, and lid work.” He cocked his head to the right. “That’s your specialty isn’t it, Lee? Plastics?”

Bella followed Rune’s gaze to her left. Lee slouched in a colorful chintz chair, a sweating glass of pale white wine in his hand. Silver streaked the fringe of drab gray hair anchoring his bald scalp. Thick-lensed glasses perched on his nose. Bifocals, Bella silently bet. Even without his curly hair, she found the Lee she remembered in his kind eyes and receding chin.

“Yes,” Lee said. He pushed up from his chair. “But I specialize in reconstructive and medically indicated surgeries.” He held open his arms. “Bella, you are a walking testimonial as to why people do not need plastic surgery to age with beauty and grace.”

Bella stepped into his embrace. “Lee, you can pitch a line of malarkey with the best of them.” She clicked the tip of her tongue. “But I appreciate the compliment.” His warmth made her think this might not be so terrifying after all. Only five classmates left, but the thought of the two men she had yet to see set off her internal panic alarm.

Lee chuckled. “Bella. I meant it. Seriously.” He draped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the white-linen-covered table a few steps beyond the chairs.

Bella saw a tall, white-haired woman standing at the edge of the courtyard with her back to them.

“First things first.” Lee reached for a bottle of wine. “Pinot Grigio? We’re waiting to break into the Prosecco until everyone arrives.”

“Lee,” Rune said, apparently determined to stay in the conversation, “are you crazy? ‘Medically indicated surgeries?’ The tits and ass market’s a gold mine. No shit. Plastic surgeons may not be top of the food chain, but damn close. Models and actresses start under the knife when they’re still jailbait and keep on until they croak.”

Lee flicked away Rune’s argument with his hand. He smiled and offered Bella a wineglass, which she declined. “Bella,” his voice raised in mock drama, “our aged group awaits.”

The woman with the head of brilliant white hair walked over to join them. Rounded in frame, she looked stout enough to be a high school heavyweight wrestler. A worry line creased her forehead, and her makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes. A smile, at first tentative, then honest, brightened her face. “I’m Hope.”

The two women embraced. “Fabulous hair,” Bella said. Wow, had Hope changed. She looked at least ten years beyond their calendar age.

“I turned early,” Hope said. “White as snow by thirty. Dyed it for a while, until it started falling out in droves. Then I surrendered.” She shrugged.

“It’s distinctive,” Bella leaned back, inspecting Hope further. “Memorable.” One eyebrow perked up.

“Sexy.”

“Cow poppy.” Hope looked down, her hand smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her ankle-length black-and-tan silk skirt.

Bella heard footsteps on the stone path that led from the central fountain. She turned to look.

A too-thin solo version of the twins approached them. She had a pixie haircut and wore beige cotton capri pants and an unbleached cotton T-shirt that hung loosely over her bony frame. The woman’s left hand drifted to the hem of her shirt. Her fingers picked at the fabric edge, the same unconscious fluttering that Bella recalled from their summer together.

Bella rushed to meet her at the edge of the patio and gave her a hug. The woman’s angular bones protruded through her cotton shirt. “Hello, Meghan,” Bella said. “It’s great to see you. Is Karen here, too?”

Meghan’s eyes shifted down.

Then, stone-faced, Meghan’s eyes drifted back to meet Bella’s. “Breast cancer. She died about ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Bella’s arms surrounded Meghan again, this time with a gentle embrace of sympathy.

Silence draped them. Words—Bella’s trademark—escaped her. The heavy door of grief opened to the black void beyond while Bella quietly held her friend from the past.

“It should have been me.” With that bombshell dropped, Meghan stepped away from Bella and took refuge in slowly filling her glass with aqua naturale.

Bella began to speak but swallowed the questions nagging at her. She remembered swapping bras with the twins as the three of them had raided Paris lingerie shops on their mid-semester break. Karen’s breasts had betrayed her, becoming the carrier for her fatal disease.

Remembering the scanty lace bras and panties she had fallen in love with in Paris brought back other memories of those months. Bella forced those unwanted thoughts away, returning them to the deep crevice to which she had banished them.

“Meghan,” Bella said, “are you married?” Meghan shook her head. “Karen married.” Karen’s excitement over her long-distance proposal percolated in Bella’s memory. “Are you close to her family?” Pain tightened Meghan’s eyes. “Her husband hasn’t spoken to me for six years.”

“What an asshole,” Rune said.

He put one hairy arm over Meghan’s narrow shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, you’re better off without him.”

A weak smile rested on Meghan’s face. “Where were you when I needed you?”

“Let’s see, six years ago? I had just inked a major deal. I mean major. Then I promptly blew my advance on a sweet young thing whose ass wasn’t near as high and tight as yours.” Rune made a show of casting his eyes to Meghan’s bottom.

Color radiated from Meghan’s cheeks and a spark ignited in her eyes.

“Rune, you are still every bit the lecher you always were,” Hope said.

Meghan seemed to relax. “And isn’t it great that some things haven’t changed?”

“What hasn’t changed? Did I miss a revelation?” A brown-haired man with silver at his temples and striking blue eyes ambled in from the sidewalk that led to an overlook. A black cotton sweater was draped over his shoulders, Italian style; the top two buttons on his white linen shirt gaped open, exposing curling salt-and-pepper chest hair.

Bella stood silently, hidden in the shadow cast by a potted lemon tree. Phillip looked as she had expected. Styled hair, expensive clothes and shoes. She recognized his Italian designer footwear from her research for the last manuscript that she’d sent to her editor. Requisite California tan—check. Simple gold wedding band—check.

Lee helped himself to another glass of pinot grigio. “Teach you for wandering off, Phillip.”

“Just had to say hello to my old lover, Florence.” Phillip poured the pale yellow-green wine into his empty glass. “What hasn’t changed?”

“Rune, of course.” Hope edged over to the table of libations. “Lee, the pinot grigio is finished. I say, let’s pop that Prosecco. It’ll feel like a celebration then.”

Lee aimed the bottle of bubbly into the grassy garden. He let the cork fly with a grin.

Checking the anger that threatened to burst out, Bella forced her voice into something akin to the tone of a policewoman asking for a driver’s license. “Hello, Phillip.” She stepped into the light of the curved iron wall sconce beside her.

Phillip spun to see her; his sweater slipped over one arm. He reached for it and wine splattered his shirt.

“Shit.” Phillip studied the nipple-high wet spot on his otherwise immaculate shirt.

“Now that’s a greeting that could give even a completely balanced person a complex,” Bella said.

Phillip slid his three-quarters-empty glass onto the table. He turned to face her. “Hello, Bella. You look good.”

“Good, hell, she’s beyond that. She’s fab-u-lous. Do you need eye surgery?” Rune said. Behind Phillip’s back, he raised one eyebrow at Bella. “Look, man, I know a laser eye doc. He’s done all the A-list stars.”

Without a word, Phillip glided over the dust-flecked stones with the erect bearing befitting the president of a three-generation, multibillion-dollar company. He leaned forward and hugged Bella as if she were a china doll.

“That was worthless.” The words came out of Bella before she could stop them. “Have you forgotten how to hug?” Even though Phillip was pond scum to Bella, how dare he show everyone how little he thought of her?

For one agonizing moment, Phillip stared at her.

Bella wanted to slap him, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She relished the opportunity to tell Phillip exactly what she thought of him. Unleashing her anger was a private matter, though, and it wouldn’t happen in front of the others.

Phillip laughed. “Worthless? Since my memory on hug etiquette seems lacking, perhaps you can teach me.” He rubbed one of her shoulders with his palm. “May I have a mulligan on that hug?”

Bella shrugged and forced a smile to her lips.

This time, he folded her into his arms like she’d never left them.

A shudder rumbled inside her, propelling her back and out of his arms. She pretended to stifle a sneeze and waved him off with her hand.

“I love reunions.” Rune poured himself a Prosecco. “Where else does a horny guy have carte blanche to kiss and grope all the women in his reach?” He locked one arm around Meghan’s neck and the other around her waist and crushed the shocked woman into a French kiss.

Meghan pulled away, sputtering and coughing.

Phillip stepped back and looked over his shoulder at Rune. “Speak for yourself.” He scanned their faces. “I’m assuming Stillman is our host for this reunion. Has anyone heard from him?”

Heads shook a negative response, and murmurs indicated the same.

Bella moistened her lips. “My last contact with Stillman was several years ago.” The words came out quiet and tentative.

Phillip’s shoulders stiffened. He moved to the table and poured two glasses of the Italian effervescent wine. He extended one glass to Bella.

“And how was Stillman?” His precisely enunciated words sliced the air. “When you last saw him.”

Bella remembered their last night together at her apartment. Their comfortable routine of tender sex, light conversation, and dinner had culminated in a marriage proposal. Stillman had pushed her for a commitment, which Bella hadn’t been able to give him, and he had walked out. He didn’t say anything, not even goodbye. Stillman had left that night and disappeared from her life.

Bella gulped a large swallow of the wine; the refreshing coolness washed inside her. Her eyes roved across the faces of her former classmates.

“He’s the same,” she said. “‘Still Man’—calm, warm, effectively hiding the forty-two plates he spun constantly.”

Rune stepped forward.

Bella felt their eyes on her, all trying to decipher the connection. She tried to keep it light and noncommittal. “Stillman and I reconnected in New York, years after we left Florence.”

She moved to the table and added a negligible amount of wine to her glass to regain her composure. She knew they waited for the details. No more stalling. Bella picked up her glass and turned to face the group.

“I haven’t spoken to him for years. At one point, I heard he went to Prague for an extended visit.” Bella shot a meaningful glance at Rune. “A client of his was producing a film there.”

“Which one?” Rune’s cool façade evaporated.

Bella shrugged.

“Really, he was on location in Prague?” Rune leaned forward.

Bella watched Hope chug her wine.

Hope’s eyes drifted to meet Bella’s. The empty champagne glass twisted in Hope’s fingers. “It’s supposed to be a great city,” Hope said. “One on my list.” Her words tumbled out. “Hell, I wanted to travel all over Europe after being here.”

“Have you been back to Europe since our summer, Hope?” Meghan asked in a kind voice.

Bella hid her relief that the conversation had moved off Stillman.

Hope’s face flinched. “No. I never left the States after our summer here. I married an asshole. Remember me talking about Charlie?” She tramped to the libation table and refilled her glass. Before anyone could try to salvage the situation, she turned and raised her glass skyward. “To freedom from assholes.”

The others stared at her.

Meghan lifted her glass of water in salute. “I’ll second that. Freedom from assholes.”

“
Scusi
.” A man stood in the arched doorway to the hotel. His face and complexion looked more Roman than Florentine. He held a paper in his hand. In Italian, he asked if anyone could speak the language.

“
Sì
.” Bella nodded and stepped toward him. His melodious voice rattled off a string of Italian that Bella immediately understood. He has a message from Stillman? Bella’s heart jolted. She had two goals for this trip: one regarded Phillip and the other was to figure out whether she and Stillman could have a future together. She reached for the paper. “
Grazie
.”

“
Prego
.”

The Italian stepped back into the arched doorway and waited in silence. Bella’s eyes shot to the page. She raced through the words. She looked up and knew her eyes broadcast her disappointment. “It’s a message from Stillman. He’s been detained on an errand but promises to arrive before long. He sends his love.”