Tuscan Heat (14 page)

“You love this city more than anything.”

“Not more than you.”

His heart was pounding. Every muscle in his back was tense. His arms were holding me so tightly that I knew he would never let me go. I also knew I couldn’t let him do this. Whatever his words were saying, his body was screaming in protest. I took a deep breath. “No.”

I said it with all the finality I could muster. The simplicity sunk into his thick Tuscan skull farther than any of my logical arguments had penetrated, and it was like I’d shot him. He staggered to his feet. “I see,” he said in a thick voice.

“What? No! You
don’t
see,” I jumped up and clamped my hands on his arms. If he was going to run off, he was going to have to drag my carcass along.

“But you said—”

“All right, I know what I said, let me talk. I mean no, I won’t let you leave your home. There’s nothing for me in the States. I can run my career from anywhere in the world.” I was dizzy, but I kept talking. “I don’t know anything about Italy that happened after around 1650. I have no idea how I can get a visa extended or permission to work or even if I can do those things. You’re going to have to help me.”

He dropped to his knees and clutched my hands. “I want nothing more but to do that for you,” he said.

I tried to haul him up, but six feet plus of Italian masculinity don’t haul very well. “Get up, goon, people are staring,” I muttered.

He did, but only so he could pick me up. “This is wonderful. Wonderful! I should have translated the song for you much sooner.”

“Yes, you should have. Why didn’t you?”

“Well, you were leaving. Everyone knows American women get carried away if you say ordinary nice things to them. I did not realize until nearly too late that I meant to say extraordinary things, and that you were terribly…practical.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, Marco. Only in Italy would anyone think I was the practical one. I love it here.”

“You do and you will. I know it.”

“I swear I won’t be a burden. I could even help you with your new business. In fact, if your family won’t give you your share of the capital, I could keep us fed while you got your feet on the ground.”

His face froze. I blinked. “What? I’m serious. My career is portable and I have a few jobs lined up already.”

“You…you are offering to support
me?
”

“Yes. If you’re willing to help me get established, it’s the least I could do. I thought we would be, you know, a team…” I faltered. Oh, God. I’d missed something. I thought he had been suggesting…that he’d…oh, God. My face was burning. I turned to study the crypts like I was about to be quizzed on their design.

“A team,” he said in a faraway voice. “You would do that for me?”

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“Yes. Yes, it was. But I did not realize…Serafina, oh, my Sara, you are a woman who was meant for me, and you do not even yet know why.”

“The hell are you on about now?”

“Come. There is something I must show you.”

He grabbed my hand and towed me to the Harley. We took off in a spray of gravel and tore down the hill. His driving was on the outer edge of reckless, and I could feel him laughing.

When we reached the river, he stopped for a moment and shouted over the engine noise. “Serafina, do you still say yes?”

“Yes!”

“Will you pack a little overnight bag and trust me one little step more?”

“Yes!”

We zipped across the bridge and into the city center, scattering pigeons and tourists with the roar of the motorcycle. The doorman at the hotel raised his eyebrows at me. I gave him a tiny shrug and blushed. He cackled with amusement and clapped Marco on the shoulder.

Vittoria and the desk staff saw that exchange through the lobby windows and greeted me with wide smiles. I apologized to the concierge once as I went to the elevator, and again when I left with my carry-on bag.

Marco’s face lit up with approval. “You changed clothes, fixed your hair and makeup, and packed, all so quickly?”

I gave him a Mona Lisa smile and climbed on the bike. All I’d done was sweep my hair into a bun with little curly side tendrils, slip into a scoop necked red silk blouse, and reapply the ruined eye makeup. As for packing, a toothbrush, clean panties and a fitted T-shirt were all I planned on needing. But if he wanted to be impressed, I was going to let him.

The doorman helped me put on the helmet and waved goodbye.

With a feeling of déjà vu, I noticed we were climbing the hills into Fiesole. An overnight bag, plus he’d said he lived up there…oh, right. Finally, I was going to get to see his place. I wondered how long I would have to wait outside while he kicked laundry under the bed and stuffed dirty dishes into the oven.

We swept right past the little farmhouses and cottages along the road, and up to a pair of wrought iron gates complete with a family crest. At the end of a gently curving driveway, I could see a beautiful fieldstone villa and a matching three-car garage. Marco put his foot down to steady the bike, and fished a remote control out of his pocket. With a tiny electronic chirp, the gates opened wide.

Swell. Of course this was his house. He and I had drastically different definitions of “having nothing.” For the second time in two days, I felt like the world was falling away from my feet.

But I managed to hold on. “Your signature remote control feature, I see,” I shouted. He gave me a thumbs-up sign, and maneuvered the motorcycle over the cobblestone driveway.

He cut the engine and lowered the kickstand. “Here we are, Serafina.”

I shook my head. The villa looked like it had been there for hundreds of years, and at first glance the garage seemed the same. Then I realized Marco had gone to the trouble of using the exact same kinds of materials. Even the same kind of stones were mortared together to create the base of a graceful fountain.

“Will you please make up your mind if you have nothing or everything?”

“Pardon?”

I peeked in the garage window. The outbuilding was as perfectly period correct on the inside, where it looked like a carriage house. I could see Marco’s hand in the design. Modern lighting showed off pristine white floors that set off a gleaming red Ferrari and a black BMW sport-utility vehicle. Of course.
One can’t ride a Harley in winter, duh,
I thought with a hysterical little giggle. I chopped off that train of thinking. “This is clearly your design. Am I wrong?”

He beamed at me. “No, you are not wrong. I did indeed design the garage. Already you can see my hand in things.”

The fountain burbled, and the scent of roses was everywhere. Something else with lovely flowers, a plant I’d never seen in the States, climbed up and over the doorway to the villa. “Marco, not two hours ago you said you weren’t really rich, that it was family money. So, what’s this? A homeless shelter?” I stared at him. “Damn it, I need you to be straight with me. No more holding back.”

“Come, sit down.” I gave him my hand, against my better judgment, and he led me around the side of the villa. Another chirp from the remote opened a sliding glass door, and Marco vanished inside while I looked around. A low-slung teak and canvas outdoor sectional sat expectantly around a hammered copper firepit. Large patio umbrellas stood in strategic locations around the patio. A small wet bar with a tiny sink was under one umbrella. The centerpiece of the whole space was the infinity pool set into the hillside. Anyone sitting in it would have the impression of sitting on the edge of the world, gazing over Florence.

And what a view it was. The afternoon light against all the red-orange rooftops made the entire city glow as if lit from within. The view from San Miniato had been wonderful, but this was like looking down into heaven from the throne of God.

Marco reappeared with a bottle of wine.

“Sara, my love. Welcome to my home.”

“Your home.” I gestured at the opulent surroundings. “This is your home.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need a business partner, and you definitely don’t need support. You held out on me.”

“I do not need money, but I need your support. Yes, I did not tell you of my family and I communicated badly about my own position. That is why I decided to stop talking and take you here. Again, I am sorry.”

“I felt like an idiot. Everyone else has known all along what you are. Who you are. Vittoria said John F. Kennedy Jr.”

He sighed and set the bottle down. He opened a drawer on the wet bar and fished out a corkscrew. “Others have known, of course, but it is not as bad as you think. And not as famous as a Kennedy. It is just that Firenze is truly a small town without the tourists.”

I said the last part of his sentence with him. “Here I thought that was a line.”

“It is not. Everyone knows everyone, everyone knows everyone else’s past, and no one would discuss another Florentine’s business with an outsider. Besides, all Tuscans secretly love matchmaking. They hope I have found someone to love.”

“I don’t care about what ‘they’ say anymore. I want to hear it from your mouth. Who are you?”

“I am an architect. I am also the second son of the D’Alessandro family. That means nothing to you, and I am glad.” He handed me a glass of wine.

“You’re glad enough when the name gets you into museums and closed corridors. And anywhere else that might be fun.”

He grinned. “Yes. I am not sorry. Are you?”

I ignored him. “Or the rooftop lounge of a nice little
enoteca
.”

“That is different. I own that
enoteca
.”

“Of course you do.”

“Are you angry?”

“What exactly is a D’Alessandro?”

He stood a little straighter and put back his shoulders. “We are one of the oldest families in the region. We have always been builders. People in my family on both sides have been putting up structures in Firenze ever since there was a Firenze.”

“What about your line about your money being family money? I was pissed off that you’d lied to me, so you decided to fix it with another lie?”

“Now wait. I did not lie. I meant that most of what people see is family money. But I have earned my own, and I contributed all of an inheritance from the father of my mother when we expanded the family business as an investment. The expansion caused my parents to send me to school in America, if it matters. The investment has been, shall we say, worthwhile. I did not intend to mislead you.”

“No wonder you looked so weird when I offered to feed you for a few months. You must have thought I was an idiot too.”

“I would never think you were an idiot.”

“A slow learner?”

“If you are a slow learner, then so am I. I swore I would not keep my work and my future love into neat little boxes, that I would communicate better, that I would not indulge business at the expense of a woman. I have failed.” He thumped his chest with a closed fist.

I was torn between agreeing with him and being delighted by such a dramatic gesture. I covered my confusion with sarcasm. “I can’t imagine why you failed. I mean, you started out telling me everything.”

“Sara. Listen to me.” His face grew serious, and he took my hand. “At first I did not tell you of my family or my wealth because I liked the thought of an affair with someone who
wanted to sleep with me and not my money. And then I did not tell you because I did not want to change the spirit of our last days together. And then,
tesoro mio
, I realized I did not want these to be our last days.”

“Marco…”

“There was only one other woman in my life that loved me for who I was, and I lost her. I had despaired of ever finding another woman with her spirit. You are not a replacement for her. You are more beautiful, more sexual, more brilliant and more of everything I ever wanted. Will you stay for a few more weeks, or months, and find out if I am what you want?”

Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes. I swallowed hard. “I want to. I want to so much. But I need to be practical. My hotel room is only reserved through tomorrow.”

He was trying not to laugh, damn him. “
Americana,
if you do not want to stay here in my home with me, I will buy you the damn hotel.”

I stared at him. “You really could, couldn’t you?”

“I could, but I do not want to.”

“What do you want?”

He put his hand on my cheek. His dark brown eyes were full of tender emotion, but his voice was steady. “I want to have you beside me. I want to know you, to love you, keep you and cherish you for all of our days. So much do I want you that I will settle for anything you wish to give me. I do not believe in omens, no. But I believe in love at first sight. I do not require that you believe it, only that you give me a chance.”

I sat down hard on one of the wide, white cushions. I still held the wineglass, and I stared at the dark ruby liquid. It had a marvelous smell, like ancient summer days and warm grapes on the vine. I took a sip and rolled it around on my tongue. “A chance,” I repeated.

“I say too much, perhaps. But you now have all the facts.” He kissed the top of my head.

“I am going to go for a swim. Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t bring a suit.”

He gave me a look that wasn’t quite disgust, but it was close. “That is the worst excuse I have ever heard, considering the last few days.”

“I suppose you have towels?”

Marco went inside the house again and came out with a stack of towels. Each was so thick and white that I either wanted to wrap one around my bare body or have Marco do my laundry. Then I realized he probably had a maid to do it.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Any other objections?”

I put down my wineglass, slipped off my shoes and socks, and stood up. I took a few steps forward and stopped.

Then something inside of me snapped.
Yes
.

I ran to him. “I’m sorry, it’s…this doesn’t seem real. It was a long day. I must be asleep in my hotel room and dreaming.”

Marco put down the towels and pulled me into an embrace. “Believe it. Maybe this is a fairy tale, and you really are a
principessa
.”