To Tuscany with Love (35 page)

Fifteen minutes later, Meghan and Rune sat on the steps of the Church of Santa Croce. Giacomo had disappeared with a promise of gelato.

“He’s hot for you.” Rune threw out the accusation. Meghan shook her head in denial. “You can ignore it if you want. But trust me, he’s just warming up with his flirtation.”

Meghan looked away. “I love weddings.”

“So how come you never got married?”

Meghan flushed. “Never the right guy, or the right moment.”

“So you believe that ‘finding-your-life-partner’ crap is possible.”

“Of course.” She spun her head to face him. “Look at Karen and Ed. They met at freshman orientation and were madly smitten from the first day.”

“Yeah, right.” He licked his lips and gave an ugly laugh. “Karen and I had a thing. I guess you didn’t know.”

Meghan popped up to stand before him. “When?”

“On the night train to Paris.”

“You had sex?”

Rune nodded. A snort escaped from his nose. “Oh, yeah. My legs were so weak walking around Paris there was no way I could climb the friggin’ steps up Notre Dame.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “It was the moment. Nothing more.” He mumbled the words as if he meant them as an apology.

Meghan bowed her head. “Jeez, I’m sorry I told you.”

“That’s all you’re about, isn’t it? Sex.”

His face drained of color. Meghan thought about what she had said. Wrong words to a man with prostate cancer. Was he imagining the possible repercussions of his surgery?

Rune’s eyes searched her face. “I’ve heard prostate cancer is somehow related to breast cancer. Was it awful for Karen?”

“Karen’s death was ugly. Painful. Hard to watch. Her death—and then her daughter’s—was like a beacon. Something flipped in me. I decided I would do whatever I needed to survive.”

Rune clapped one palm against the stone step. “Survive? Hell, I want to live. I refuse to turn into a sorry excuse for a human being. My world rocks, and I can’t lose that.”

“A sorry excuse for a human being?” Meghan’s palm met his cheek with a jarring force that shot up her arm.

“Shit.” Rune’s eyes watered.

Giacomo cleared his throat. He held three cups of gelato in his hands.

Meghan set her cup down on the step.

“You wasted your euros on her. She’s too pure for gelato.” Rune sucked on the plastic spoon of chocolate gelato; he made a great show of his pleasure.

Meghan glared at Rune.

He ignored her. He turned from his gelato to gawk at a young American blonde with a size E cup who bounced up the steps to the church. More cleavage bobbed above her top than rested beneath it. The modesty patrol at the entrance to the sanctuary stopped her. With a giggle, she draped a shawl over her shoulders. Once the blonde disappeared inside, Rune returned to his gelato. He licked the tiny pink spoon for every drop of chocolate.

“We should start for the Duomo.” Giacomo stood. He gestured with his half-eaten gelato cup.

Meghan picked up her untouched gelato. She glared at Rune. Take this, you cretin. She brought one cautious sample to her lips. The fresh scent made her salivate before it even hit her tongue. A cool explosion of flavor rushed through her mouth, both sweet and tart. How many years had it been since sugar had passed her lips? She gulped it down so fast that only half remained when she heard Rune’s low whistle of surprise.

Meghan chucked her cup of gelato into the nearest trashcan without a glance in Rune’s direction. She scooted up to Giacomo and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She could already sense the sugar rush in her body, but the interesting thing was that the lapse from her rigid diet felt empowering. It felt defiant.

What else about Karen didn’t she know? Had Rune been the only one to bed her sister?

41

R
une hovered near the edge of the rooftop bar of the Hotel Elegante. A violet and rose sunset washed the clay tile roofs of ancient Florence. The air turned from the thick warmth of the day to the cool of an autumn night. The first to arrive for their pre-dinner cocktails, he clutched a glass of Chianti Riserva close to his chest. He psyched himself up for the pitch.

Hope and Bella arrived. They jabbered about their designer outlet excursion and the endless lines at the stores as if he gave a shit. Their words fell on Rune’s ears like pesky droplets of rain. By the looks of them, they wore some of their purchases tonight. Ah, the almighty power of frivolous consumption. Hope’s smile was plastered to her face.

Stillman walked in and sat with his back to the falling sun. Rune sauntered over.

Then a wolf whistle made Rune pivot. Hope’s fingers lowered from her mouth. Meghan stood at the crest of the stairwell. She wore the blue silk blouse he had helped her pick out. Bella and Hope rushed over to Meghan, squealing and swapping compliments.

It was Rune’s chance to hit up Stillman. He sat down on a chair across from him. “While they’re gabbing, let me bend your ear.” He tried to calm his nerves. “I’ve been holding back a property waiting for the right market, right backing.”

Stillman’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s very high-concept. Think
Saving Private Ryan
meets
The Bridges of Madison County
, with shades of
Seven
layered in.”

“What’s the setting?”

Rune shifted forward. “That’s the great part. It’s set in the Sahara Desert.”

“Sounds sandy.”

“But great, right?” Rune edged to the lip of the chair. “I’m thinking a couple big names, budget maybe fifty to seventy mill for three stars, plus a half dozen on-the-edge-of-greatness actors. It’s an ensemble piece, so the bankroll’s a bit pricey, plus we’ll need the best stunt guys we can persuade to eat sand for the better part of a year.”

Stillman’s lips puckered. “Got a script?”

“In the van. I can get it now or bring it out at dinner.” He leaned in toward Stillman and his chair scooted out from under him on the fine crushed pebbles of the roof. Rune tumbled forward in a sprawl to the ground. His knees cracked against the ground and his palms jammed onto the sharp pebbles. Stillman’s laughter covered him like a blanket of thorns.

Bella, Hope, and Meghan crowded over him. He pushed aside their hands, stood up, and brushed off his knees, his left knee showing under the ragged tear in his best slacks.

He leaned over Stillman and rested one hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it now. That way we won’t forget to discuss it later.”

“No.” Stillman’s hand shot out and grabbed Rune’s wrist. “It’s time for dinner. The van is waiting.”

Rune gestured to his leg. “I should wash this off. I can do that and grab the script, so we can talk about it on the ride. Besides, Phil and Lee aren’t here yet.”

“We’re going now.” Stillman’s firm tone left no room for discussion.

“Your party, man.”

“Where are we going?” Phillip asked as he glided out of the elevator.

Rune eyed Phillip’s designer-label jacket. He cringed as Phillip’s eyes flicked to his ripped slacks.

“Where’s Lee?” Stillman sounded more perturbed than concerned.

“Couldn’t tell you.” Phillip accepted the glass of Prosecco offered by the silent attendant. “He and I split ways earlier. Said he had something to investigate.”

On the ride to dinner, Giacomo mentioned that Lee had said he was going to research more rumored locations for lost works of art.

Platters of roasted meats crowded the table at the tiny ristorante on San Jacopo. The owner had pushed small tables together to seat them, which left only a border of booths for other patrons. They laughed and drank glass after glass of Brunello di Montalcino. Still, no Lee.

Rune patted the screenplay on the table between him and Stillman. He hadn’t sat near Stillman in the van, so he couldn’t discuss it on the ride over, but Rune had brought it into the ristorante. “You’ll love it. Luckily, I happen to be available soon. The project I was working on got postponed due to an unplanned pregnancy of the female lead.” He smirked. “You’ve probably seen that the tabloids already picked up the news about her.”

“You’re full of shit.” Stillman’s calm but harsh words silenced the table. He rested the tips of his fork and knife against his plate. “You’re directing dinner theater at a run-down, second-tier house. Unless the father of the baby is famous, I suspect your female lead’s pregnancy isn’t making the news. This,” he said, gesturing to the crisp screenplay beside him, “is the same horse crap you’ve been peddling for three years.” He picked up his utensils and attacked the wild boar sausage in front of him.

Rune opened his mouth. Words failed him. He slid the screenplay onto his lap and picked up his fork. Sausage, chicken, and veal blurred together on his plate. Had the whole table heard?

Meghan spoke first. “That was rude.”

“Are you a dinner theater fan?” A smirk marked Stillman’s face.

“Why be so hurtful?” Meghan glared at Stillman.

“His screenplay is unbankable.” He rested his hand on Rune’s arm. “Sorry about coming on strong. You’re my friend, Rune, but you’re desperate to land a sucker. It’s not going to be me.”

“Maybe he’s desperate because he’s facing a health crisis,” Meghan said.

Stillman looked at Rune. “What?”

Rune didn’t speak. His eyes pleaded with Meghan across the table. He didn’t want pity from his friends.

She misunderstood the silent request to keep his disease a secret. “Prostate cancer.” She ratcheted up her volume as if she needed to be heard in the cheap seats. “Rune’s having surgery after this trip.” Her words silenced the table.

Bella, on the other side of Rune, rested her palm on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anything except that you’re having surgery. I hope it’s not serious.”

Shit, Rune thought. Thanks a heap, Meghan. “Prostate cancer. Pretty advanced, I guess.” Rune spit out the words. “Even with the surgery—which will undoubtedly fuck up the few things that work well in my body—my longterm survival prospects aren’t great.”

Phillip’s business tone surfaced in his terse question. “Do you have insurance?”

Rune looked at his plate. He shook his head.

“Rune,” Phillip said, “I can help if you can’t cover your treatment.”

Rune stared at Phillip. “You’d do that?”

Phillip smiled. “I can give it to you or, eventually, to my wife’s attorney. I’d rather give it to you.”

“Man, you’re incredible.” Rune shook his head in disbelief. He saw Bella stare at Phillip.

“Rune, it’s my pleasure,” Phillip said. “At our age, everybody has something—health, work, or family issues. If we can help each other, maybe we should. We used to be close.” His eyes darted to Bella. “Close enough to know each other’s dreams.”

Stillman’s eyes circled the table, finally settling on Rune. “Sorry, Rune. You took me off guard. I resented you hitting me up on your screenplay.” He cut a healthy piece of meat, stabbed it with his fork, and paused, the meat suspended in the air. “I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” Rune looked Stillman square in the eye. “Wanna change your mind about producing my work?”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Stillman downed his forkful and reached for seconds of the wild boar sausage. “I think you should concentrate on beating the disease and not worry about work.”

Meghan pushed up from the table. “I’m sorry, I’m exhausted.”

Rune wiped his mouth with his napkin. He stood up. “I’ll go with you, doll.”

Ten minutes later, a sedan arrived to drive them. Rune marveled at Giacomo’s ability to produce an extra car without advance notice. He wished he had half as many connections.

Back at the palazzo, Meghan fumbled with the key while Rune pressed his lips to her bare neck. It was cool and soft and beckoning. “I think we need to be together tonight.” His raspy voice projected his desire and his desperation.

Meghan opened the door and took one step into her room. Her hand held the door firmly. “Look, I enjoyed shopping with you today, but I’m not your type.”

Zing. After Stillman’s routing at dinner, Rune couldn’t take more. He exploded. “Not my type? It doesn’t matter. Soon I’ll have a limp dick. My take on sex is changing already. I’ll bet you haven’t gotten laid recently.”