Falling for Italy Page 2

  However, she understood the concept of passion. As long as she could remember, a terrible, longing need had resided in her heart and body, waiting for awakening and fulfillment. Yet no one had succeeded in helping her discover those things.

  Lost in thoughts and reveries, a mug of cocoa forgotten between her palms, she gazed almost sightlessly at the big snowflakes falling endlessly beyond the huge shield of glass.

  * * * *

  Giovanni drove carefully, keeping an eye on the GPS, since he wasn’t familiar with the streets of London. However, his thoughts lingered back to his encounter with Sonia Galsworthy. For some reason, the woman was stuck on his brain and he looked forward to their shooting session the next day. There was something about her, both striking and attractive. As he’d watched her training, handling her gun with such self-confidence and attitude, he thought she was sexy as hell. She had the body of a goddess, outlined in tight jeans and a dark blue sweater that kept slipping off her shoulder, leaving it bare and making it obvious she didn’t wear anything underneath it. He nearly ached to explore the subtle curves hinted under the clinging material. He usually liked long hair on a woman, but her short bob suited her perfectly. He imagined sliding his fingers through that shiny dark hair, which left the soft, creamy-looking skin of her neck and back exposed.

  She was quite a package, Miss Sonia Galsworthy. As she’d watched him with those bold brown eyes in the parking lot, he’d wanted to yank her to him and kiss her until her ears rang. His too, for that matter. But he’d learned that romance was an art. He’d learned to bide his time, to exert finesse and patience when pursuing a woman. Building anticipation made the capitulation much sweeter and more satisfying.

  At thirty, he had never been married, nor did he have any thoughts of such commitment. He liked his independence too much. Just like his sister had before she’d found the guy who spellbound her to him.

  He smiled affectionately, thinking of Linda. She was a well-known sculptress and had moved to London at the beginning of the year. Part of her motivation to relocate was her involvement with Hope, a clinic for children’s cancer treatment and research. For years, she had made donations there and to other such facilities, as he did himself back in Italy. But Linda had taken a special interest in Hope. Fortunately it seemed, because there she had met her soon-to-be husband, Gerard Leon, a researcher and physician.

  Giovanni truly liked the man his sister had chosen the second time. Her first marriage had been a disaster, with a bully named Tony—the Italian Mafioso type. Giovanni had never trusted the slick bastard, but he had awed Linda for a while. She’d come to her senses soon enough though. Seven months after the wedding she had her lawyer draw the divorce papers. This time she was going to have a husband worthy of her. He hoped after their tumultuous love story, things would brighten for his sister and Gerard.

  Gerard was very dedicated, a brilliant doctor, and was about to revolutionize the entire medical world with a couple of unconventional treatments for cancer. Unfortunately, the progress of his work seemed to always be impeded by one thing or another. Bureaucracy and red tape were always a pain in the ass, but these delays were costing lives. As such, they were unforgivable and incomprehensible.

  Carried by thoughts and the purring engine, he reached Linda and Gerard’s house, his temporary residence while he was in London—a big, rust-colored building in a select neighborhood. He’d wanted to stay at a hotel, but his sister and brother-in-law—he already considered Gerard as such—wouldn’t hear of it.

  He stopped the car in front of the massive gate, climbed out and inserted the alarm code Linda had given him. The gate glided open, then closed automatically after he drove past, on the short lane leading to the house. He parked his car on the side of the driveway, as the garage was small and already occupied by Linda’s and Gerard’s cars. He didn’t mind. He felt really good here, almost like home.

  When he opened the front door, a smell of fresh cookies and scented candles caressed his senses. He’d almost forgotten what an exceptional cook his sister was. He found her in the kitchen, just putting in the oven another batch of cookie dough. She wore black sweatpants and a T-shirt, a pink apron and pink, fluffy house slippers. Her long, dark-blonde hair was carelessly knotted at the nape of her neck. In all honesty, she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever known. At least, until he’d met Sonia. They were as different as the sun and moon, but both beautiful, attractive women.

  “Ciao, bellezza,” he said and lifted her off her feet in a bear hug, while she squirmed in delight, wiggling her legs. She was just two years younger than him, but felt like a child in his arms. Ever since she was born, she’d been the love of his life, and they’d become even closer when their parents’ marriage had broken.

  “Put me down, you clown! My oven’s getting cold,” she protested, and then looked disapprovingly with slanted blue eyes as he snatched a cookie and quickly popped it into his mouth.

  “Don’t do that,” she scolded him. “You’ll ruin your appetite. Pirata already stole a handful when he thought I couldn’t see him.”

  The offender—Linda’s cat—sat placidly on a chair, delicately washing his paws. His soft fur was white, except for some black spots on his paws that looked like cat shoes, and a dark patch around his left eye. That particular black patch had brought him the name Pirata and lent him a prankish look.

  Giovanni scratched the cat’s ears and chin, being repaid with a generous purring sound as Pirata rubbed against him, leaving white hairs all over his suit. He didn’t mind that either. The whole scene had a domesticity he sometimes envied, since the few days he’d been living in their house.

  “Is Gerard home yet?” he asked Linda, as she fussed around the kitchen, clinking bowls and pans while she prepared dinner.

  “Yeah, he’s in the living room, watching the news or something. Go and keep him company until I get dinner ready.”

  He went into the living room, where his brother-in-law sat sprawled on the couch, a beer in his hand. Giovanni knew him well enough to notice he very rarely drank alcohol, and only when he needed it to relax after a particularly nasty day. He punched him lightly in the shoulder.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Gerard lifted his head to look at him. His handsome face was unshaven, wearing traces of tiredness. Circles of fatigue shadowed his green eyes and his sandy-blond hair looked as though he’d been ruthlessly dragging his fingers through it.

  “Hey back. How was your shooting session?” he asked in his abrasive voice, which wore an unmistakable native French accent.

  “It was great. I’m having another one tomorrow.”

  “Is Sonia Galsworthy as good as they say?”

  “Oh, yeah…She’s good all right.”

  Catching the double meaning in his voice, Gerard laughed lightly.

  “I can imagine. You’re all but drooling, amico.”

  Giovanni laughed too, shoving his hands into his pockets. In spite of the men jokes they exchanged, he sensed something was on his brother-in-law’s mind. He delayed his plan to go and change first, and sat on the couch instead.

  “So, how was your day? Not as good as mine?”

  Gerard stared at the screen for a long while, then propped his elbows on his knees, pushing his fingers through his hair.

  “Not well, Giovanni. Not well at all. I lost another patient today. A ten-year-old little boy. I’m almost positive I could’ve saved him using my snake venom serum, but the clinic’s manager was ordered not to allow this treatment until it’s been approved higher.”

  Giovanni put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

  “It’s not your fault, man. I know it doesn’t make it easy at all, but you’re doing everything that’s humanly possible. What the hell is wrong with those people?” he demanded, furious and puzzled. “What was their excuse this time?” he went on, referring to the numerous pretexts that were thrown in Gerard’s way to prevent him from patenting his cancer cures—one based on the Mohave rat
tlesnake venom, and the other one on hellebore.

  Gerard sighed.

  “The usual. That we don’t have enough conclusive results, that it needs to be tested on animals before anything further can be done . . . That I need to fill in this paper, ask for that approval . . . Fucking criminals, that’s what they are! And they use us, doctors, as their murder weapons.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Gerard broke the silence.

  “I haven’t told Linda. I don’t want her to worry, so don’t mention it, okay?”

  “Okay,” Giovanni consented. “But you’ve got to promise me something. That you’ll stop blaming yourself. I know—actually, I don’t know, but I can imagine—how demanding and hard your job is. You’re taking it too much to heart, and that makes you so good at what you do. But don’t let it destroy you, Gerard.”

  He looked in the direction of the kitchen, where they could hear Linda talking to Pirata.

  “Listen, when I get back to Italy I’m going to pull all my strings to help you out with this, to find out who and why is trying to hinder your progress in this matter. We’re going to put your treatments on the market, I promise you that. If you can’t manage it here, we’ll do it in Italy. You know I have connections to the best clinics. We’ll find a way. Hang in there and stop beating yourself over this, okay?”

  Gerard raised his head to glance at him, and then his teeth flashed white in the semi-darkness.

  “Hey, I’m soon to be married to a famous sculptress, my brother-in-law has a computers empire, how can I not trust you?” he joked. Sobering, he added, “Thanks, G. It really helped just talking to someone.”

  “You can talk to me anytime, you know that. Now, I’m going to change before Linda nags us both to death for not being ready in time for dinner,” Giovanni said and got to his feet, then climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom, where he resided at the moment.

  The room was nice, a bit girly for him—understandably so, since the house was Linda’s. It was furnished simply with a large bed, a closet, and a few other things, all done in light blue and honey brown.

  He changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt before going back downstairs. They usually had dinner in the kitchen, at the triangular counter also serving as a table.

  Linda had made pasta, with a rich, spicy tomato sauce. It was delicious, especially when followed by freshly baked cookies and milk.

  They chatted about nothing in particular throughout dinner. Afterward, they watched a movie, but Giovanni excused himself before the ending. It was boring anyway and he preferred scanning the news on his laptop, so he retired into his bedroom.

  But when he laid on the bed, he put the laptop aside, staring at the ceiling. He caught himself thinking of Sonia again, of their next meeting. He recalled her brushing past him in the parking lot, trailing a vague elegant fragrance. It was exotic, just like her. He remembered her full lips, soft and pink, without any lipstick applied, and regretted not kissing her. Tomorrow he was going to ask her out.

  Chapter Two

  Sonia woke up before the alarm clock’s ring, as she did nearly every day. She had always been an early riser. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was a quarter to seven. She got up lazily and looked through the oversized window of her bedroom. It wasn’t as big as the glass wall in the living room, but bigger than the average. Though her flat was small, the windows were large. She felt claustrophobic in rooms with stingy windows.

  It was still dark and the snow kept falling. A good four inches of it lay on the pavement, where the snow blowers hadn’t gotten yet. It looked like a fairytale setting—one of the few reasons she loved winter. Another reason were the holidays, although she often became blue because of spending them alone almost every year. Her friends had families, children, husbands. She didn’t fit in their tidy little worlds, but she didn’t want to. That kind of monotony would kill her in two months.

  She shimmied into a thick robe and went to make coffee. She turned on the big flat screen TV in the living room. Then she sat in the dim light nursing her hot mug of coffee, watching the city come to life beyond her glass wall. It took her a while to really wake up in the mornings, and coffee was the magic elixir that did the job every time.

  After watching the morning news, she hauled herself to the bathroom to take a routine scalding shower, which made her feel more cheerful. She didn’t usually use much makeup, but remembering she had a date—no, damn it, lesson—with the gorgeous Giovanni Coriola that afternoon, she took her time. She shadowed her eyes subtly, put some color in her cheeks and applied pink lip-gloss, which contrasted nicely with her fair skin. Her uneven bangs emphasized her round dark eyes and well-shaped eyebrows. She’d paid a fortune to have them properly shaped, so now she only had to maintain their elegant arch herself.

  She stood in front of the closet for a long time, contemplating her seemingly endless supply of clothes. She really should learn to control this weakness. She discovered a tight red shirt she didn’t remember ever wearing. It had a beautiful belt made from wooden beads and lovely dark red buttons. Even without the help of her push-up bra, it created an excellent cleavage. She decided against the bra. It made her uncomfortable and she rarely wore anything under shirts anyway. She pulled on black stretchy jeans, knee-length leather boots, and the same leather coat she’d worn the day before.

  Grabbing her handbag and keys, she walked out, only to return again to spray some perfume on her neck. She’d forgotten that detail.

  Geez, it looks like I’m fixing up for seduction, not for work. Get a grip, Sonia! The guy is a filthy rich Italian, for God’s sake! He’s only here on vacation and probably part of the mob. Computer firm, my ass! She smirked as she descended the stairs.

  However, Giovanni seemed very sincere. In fact, he had no reason to lie. But she’d dealt with a lot of lying bastards in her life, enough to make her mega-cautious.

  Her car’s interior was freezing. As the heater did its thing, she trembled in the thin shirt and coat, swearing—as she did every single morning—that she’d start wearing practical clothes and stop dressing just for the sake of fashion. She drove with her teeth chattering until the heat started to seep into her bones.

  By the time she reached the shooting range, she was feeling quite cheerful. Her morning training was with her girls’ team. She had two of them—one team of three boys and one of three girls. The teenagers were all very talented and motivated. Like her, they adored target shooting and considered it a high-class sport. Unfortunately, financially speaking, target shooting wasn’t nearly as well supported as other sports. The ridiculous amounts of money people invested in football, basketball and other such sports were only fairytales here. For those who didn’t know shit about it, target shooting wasn’t a spectacular sport, not something to watch anxiously in hopes of scoring with a kick, such as was a football game for most.

  She wouldn’t have changed it for anything. This was a mind sport, a sport where the shooter competed mostly with himself—with his fears, lack of concentration, or flawed technique. That’s what she repeated to her pupils, especially before any competition. They were their only challenge. On the range, it was only them and their guns. They had to be one.

  “This is your mantra,” she told the three girls twenty minutes later, as they stood aligned at their desks, guns in hand at the ready. “Revise your body scheme, your posture, your balance. And when you feel those are perfect, gather your inner attack attitude,” she said, while she walked behind them, from one side of the shooting area to the other, making sure each one was listening.

  “Control your breathing, Adele. Don’t breathe like an asthmatic old lady, leading with your clavicles! Move only your diaphragm muscle. Ready? Fire!”

  She pressed the button on the machine that controlled the targets. The wooden silhouettes turned on their sides, only their edges facing the shooters. The girls stood motionless, guns down at the ready, in a waiting position for seven seconds.
After that, the targets turned automatically to face them. They had three seconds to raise the gun, aim and fire before the targets turned again on their sides. This was called the speed test. A perfect execution was hard to achieve, but that was the goal of a professional marksman. And they were turning into professionals, she noticed proudly, as the routine repeated five times. After the five rounds, she said in her loud, authoritarian voice, “Discharge, weapons down, relax. Now let’s see what we have here.”

  She looked through her telescope at their targets, giving indications to each of them, passing out observations, critiques and praises.

  The training went well. The National Championship was getting close, so they all worked harder these days, even during weekends. She dismissed the girls, who said their goodbyes exhausted. Consulting her watch, she noted it was twelve o’clock. Her boys were scheduled for one so she had time to go and eat something. She pulled on her coat and left, locking the doors behind her. It was Saturday, so no one else was around—thank God for that.

  She blinked several times to adjust to the crappy light outside. Though it was cloudy, the snow reflections made her squint and made her eyes sting. She decided to walk instead of drive, maybe do some window-shopping for some real clothes. She ate a hamburger and fries at a close-by McDonalds, and then browsed through some shops. After some debate, she bought a thick gray turtleneck wool sweater, which had the characteristics she needed, being practical and trendy at the same time. She flirted a bit with the idea of buying a pair of slacks to fit her new sweater, but her outraged economy sense reminded her of the full closet she already owned, so she headed reluctantly back to work.

  The boys were already waiting for her, listening to rap music on their phones. As they greeted her respectfully, she took a closer look at one of them.

  “Simon, is that a piercing spearing your eyebrow?”