Villa Blue (21 page)

“That’s very reasonable.”

“Well if you’d like me to yell, I can give it a try.”

He thought about it as he watched her female routine with lust gripping his gut. “I think I might.”

She scrunched her face into a stern scowl and she raised a fisted hand. “God dammit, I told you...!” Then she broke character and burst out laughing. “How was that?”

“Awful. And amazing. You’re cute when you’re trying to be mad.”

“Intimidating, I know. Now scoot. If you’re in here any longer, I’m liable to demand you take off your clothes then we’ll miss dinner entirely.”

He stepped toward her and again was rewarded with her laughter. What was it about that sound that felt so good to hear? It was familiar, soothing. Tantalizing, he thought as he ran a hand up the bottom hem of her towel.

“No, no. Scram, sexy man. I’ll be up at the villa in a few minutes. You could start helping Donatella?”

“I’ll do that.” He snuck in a kiss. “Once I take a cold shower,” he told her as he trailed a series of kisses down her neck.

She eyed him in the mirror above the sink, watching as his hands and mouth skimmed along her freshly showered skin. “Oh fine,” she said on a sigh, then dropped her towel and jumped onto him, wrapping her legs around him. “But we only have time for one orgasm.”

“Maybe two.” He carted her toward the bed, considering himself the happiest man in the world.

“Maybe two.”

Chapter Sixteen

Dressed in a flowing white gauzy dress, Ivy waved back to the three men on the ferryboat who waved at her. She watched as Aiden, Emmett, and Logan became blurry against the backdrop of the broad blue waters, as if life became an impressionist painting.

And if she weren’t the one painting it, Monet would, she imagined. With a pallet of dark periwinkle and soft greens, the scene would be reflective yet encompassing, using marks of abstract expressionism. At first glance it would be casual, a joyous parting, but beneath that there would be currents of yearning.

Or maybe that was just how she felt. Yearning, she thought, considering how very much the word represented the image in her mind’s eye. As if there were thin lines under the water that connected the two of them—her and Aiden—invisible to anyone without a keen eye. And what would become of those lines after everything settled?

Once the trio of men disappeared into the horizon, sailing off to the commercial airport on the mainland, she stopped for a scoop of ice cream—mint chocolate chip—and enjoyed every lick as she made her way back up to the villa in the cart Aiden had left for her. Apparently he’d purchased the thing during one of his and his brother’s many trips into town to meet with proprietors, and left it in her care.

She followed the sway of the road, climbing up toward Villa Blue. And wasn’t it stunning? she thought through the intense quiet that had descended. The cypress trees had grown taller, the blue of the villa had brightened. And it was bigger, she decided with a chuckle. According to her, in the past few weeks, Villa Blue had managed to grow in size, intensify in color, and had begun to sparkle with something magical.

Magical, she thought as she pulled the cart into a perky, pocket-sized parking space. Donatella would love that the term “magical” had sprung loose in her mind. Ivy didn’t believe in magic just as she didn’t believe in a muse as a driving force. She was good at being an island unto herself, self-reliant to her core.

But since she’d met Aiden, not just the term “magical” had begun to spring loose in her life on a whole. He’d led her to the edges of her comfort zone then had held her hand and taken flying leaps—literally—beyond them. And, she thought, unable to hold back the grin, he’d shown her what it meant to have truly excellent sex.

She began to wonder if Aiden would have sex with other women while in New York, taking their hands and soaring with them too. Should she have asked? Then she realized she also hadn’t asked when he was coming back.

The future had too many unknowns, and the unknown she most needed to give her attention to was her truest passion—her art.

Daydreams of Aiden could sneak in, she wouldn’t turn them away, but the worry she could do without. She was one day out from her show in San Francisco and she wanted to be ready for it—physically, mentally, and energetically.

A bubble of thrill tingled up her spine as she entered her studio and spotted a plain brown bag in the center of her bed. And on the bag was a giant bow in a burst of primary colors.

Curious, she moved to the bed, eyed the thing. In the quiet hum of her questioning mind, she carefully removed the bow and peeked inside. Worry gave way to a burst of laughter as she pulled out a bucket of jumbo-sized sidewalk chalk. And tied to the handle of the bucket was a note:

Stay away from street sweepers. Aiden

Well, that was damn cute, she thought, with a boost of giddiness. A grown man had bought her a bucket of sidewalk chalk because he’d known what it would mean to her. Damn cute on several levels, she decided.

Wishing she could pick up the phone and thank him, hear his voice, she made a mental note that she really did need a new cell phone. It had been on her to-do list but given that she didn’t love talking on the phone anyway, she’d pushed that little item further and further down the list until it had eventually fallen off. Plus she hadn’t thought to ask for his number and she had other business to deal with.

So she left her studio and walked up the path and into the villa where she greeted a group of three couples who were visiting from—where had Donatella told her? Kansas? Kentucky?—then continued on, still smiling, toward Donatella’s nook of an office.

She used the landline to call the framer who confirmed that the courier had picked up the final paintings. Then she called the gallery and confirmed that everything was hung and ready for the show the next day.

A grin buoyed on her face once again as she strolled into the kitchen for some water.

“Don’t you look like a happy woman the day before her big show?” Donatella’s sensual voice hummed.

Ivy pulled a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water. “I am happy. And excited. And a little bit nervous. Well, maybe a little bit more nervous than I’m admitting.” She paused to drink. “What happens if no one comes to the show? What if no one buys anything? Or it gets terrible reviews in the Chronicle? Van Gogh sold only one painting in his lifetime. One.”

Donatella pulled out a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge then peeled off the foil wrapper, making a mess in the process. With a loud pop, champagne flowed out onto the counter.

“Early in the day for champagne, isn’t it?”

“It’s never too early to celebrate something so important. I’m sorry I can’t be at your show. L.B. and Nicholas extended their trip to Palm Springs to stretch over this weekend. And I can’t leave our guests by themselves, so we’re celebrating now.”

“Oh, I know you can’t come. It’s okay. And, sure, why not? Champagne sounds lovely.”

“Your sexy man won’t be there, I won’t be there. Are any of your friends or family in Carmel going?”

Ivy accepted the flute, held it. “No, I don’t believe it’s their sort of thing.”

“Art? How can art not be their thing?”

“I think it’s more me being an artist that’s not their thing.”

“Their loss. So I take it your family’s visit didn’t go well?”

“Not really.” Ivy sipped. “I’ve spent a lot of my life bending to fit into their world, and I’m not bending anymore. I’m just me, and however long it takes them to accept that, then that’s how long it takes. It is what it is,” she announced, knowing that she had to believe that, to trust that, otherwise it was too heartbreaking to consider.

“No champagne for them.”

Relief sprinkled over her like a good spring rain on freshly sprouting buds. She’d never had a friend quite like Donatella, one who required no explanation in order to understand, no exhaustive details to be loyal. “No champagne for them. Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, sipped, then wandered out onto the veranda.

“One more toast,” Donatella announced. “You, lovely woman, have already sold more paintings than Van Gogh did in his entire lifetime. And you’ve still got both your ears!”

“Oh geez, Donatella. Van Gogh is one of the most—”

“No need for a lesson. I’m happy with my points as they stand.”

“Sorry, natural reaction. Cheers to hopefully selling some paintings tomorrow.”

“I’ll drink to that too. So much to drink for, we may not be able to walk straight after this.”

The women stretched onto vivid orange cushions that covered wrought iron chaises. A bird squawked and soared through the sky, then circled below into the harbor in search of snacks to steal from unsuspecting tourists.

“If Aiden and his brothers get their father to invest along with them, and they make you an offer you agree with, where will you go after you sell? Don’t you think you’ll miss Villa Blue?”

“I’ll always love Villa Blue in my heart.” Donatella tapped a hand to her chest, held it there. “Always, always, always. But the responsibility is nearing too much for me. The taxes, the upkeep. I’ve let the place go a bit more than is fair to it. It’s had a good life with me and I’ve had a good life with it.”

Donatella paused to appreciate her current place in the world. “I’m not sure where I’ll go. Honestly, I just don’t know. Sometimes I dream of going back to Italy but I’m not sure that’s my destiny.”

“Maybe you should stay on Parpadeo.”

“There are many maybes but I’m not a hypothetical thinker. I’ll know what to do when it comes time. For now, we sip champagne, we enjoy Villa Blue, the view of the sea, and for the moment, we know we’re home.”

“To being at Villa Blue. To being home.” Ivy sipped, swallowing back champagne mixed with a well of emotion. “This is home for me. Villa Blue is where my center is, where my heart is. I think you’re taking this whole thing better than I am.” Ivy’s eyes misted. “My heart and my home are here.”

“Maybe you found your heart here, but it is within you, where it matters, that’s where your home is.” Donatella lifted her glass. “To your heart. May it always be open and
soddisfatto
.”

“Oh, now you’re just trying to make me cry,” Ivy told her before drinking. “And you’re also going to make me drunk and possibly start cussing in Italian like last time we drank champagne. When was that? New Years?”

“We’ll balance it out with pizza this time. The dough’s rising, then we’ll pile on the cheese, some peppery salami, some salty olives.” Donatella kissed her fingers and let out a noisy, “Mwah.”

“Pizza and champagne. You always know the perfect things.” As Ivy said the words, a prickle of panic burrowed deep. The important colors in her life were beginning to turn, as if the sun were setting against what she’d painted for herself. The life she had now was her true north, a place and time she wanted to stay seeped in.

She was a painter frantic to hold up the sun so the light, the setting, the subjects wouldn’t change.

But change happened whether one expected it or not, wanted it or not, so she figured she may as well enjoy every sip, every conversation, every moment, every saturated color in the light she loved most—the light at Villa Blue.

Chapter Seventeen

The next day, wanting to arrive early at the Lemieux Gallery in San Francisco to make sure the art was hung properly and the order of paintings flowed, she took the mid-morning ferry into port. Then, once situated in the silver compact car she’d rented, she cruised up the 101 for a solid six hours, stopping three times for bathroom breaks.

Nerves were getting the better of her.

She heard Donatella’s voice in her head reminding her that she’d already sold more paintings than Van Gogh and she felt a little better. Though, really, it wasn’t about the facts and figures, the hard bottom line. It was about showing her art, sharing her art.

Of course, if people made purchases, it would be icing on the cake. Plus, it would mean she would have money to buy actual cake.

Cake, she thought idly, wondering why she hadn’t thought about stopping for food. Her stomach was jittery, unsettled, so she lowered the driver’s side window and inhaled the air that was moist with late afternoon fog, attempting to calm herself.

With the help of the GPS, she navigated to the gallery near the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, found parking in the nearby garage, then began the trek down the sidewalk when the idea that she was nearing her show washed over her.

This was it. She’d created art, had pushed emotion and perspective out of herself, had challenged herself to keep going even when she’d felt like she was trying to shove an iceberg from the recesses of her heart through her fingertips to put paint to paper. Even through the frozen artist’s block, she’d painted.

Then Aiden had shown up and that iceberg had begun to thaw, melting through her heart and her fingers as she created painting after painting, with emotion gushing out of her.

The effort, the struggle, the determination, had been worth it. She was building a life she’d always dreamed of. She’d focused and had put to work the energy of being with Aiden—sharing nights, thoughts, ideas with him—and she’d delivered more than the fifteen paintings she’d agreed upon for the show, deciding to let the gallery select which to hang.

She calculated that she had about an hour to get to the gallery, do a walk-through, get acquainted with the manager, then maybe head out for a coffee and a piece of cake before her show. Sweets would settle her.

Or maybe she was justifying eating cake, but that was okay too.

Pedestrians and cars filled the streets, their energy zooming ahead of themselves, Ivy thought, painting the picture in her mind. There was a purpose in the city that she could appreciate, a drive toward something. But her senses quickly overwhelmed, bombarded by the sights, sounds, smells, and swirls of feelings around her.

A quick, hot spread of anxiety spewed inside of her as she rounded the corner.

It’s okay to be nervous, she thought, giving herself a pep talk in her head:
It’s okay to be excited, to have heated nerves fluttering in my belly. I’m living my dreams and this is what it feels like. Enjoy the ride, enjoy each moment. I can do this and I’m ready.

She took a deep breath then walked the remaining steps to the tall glass doors.

Closed, the sign said.