Falling for Italy Read online

  He laughed. “That sounds great. Don’t forget Linda’s and Gerard’s wedding is in five days.”

  “You’re kidding, right? How could I forget when I can’t stop obsessing about what I’m going to wear? I didn’t even ask where they’re going to hold the reception.”

  “At the same restaurant the masquerade party was.”

  “Oh, good. I loved that place. Well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Take care, okay?”

  “You too. Dream about me tonight, will you?”

  She smiled again, knowing she would.

  “I’m fairly sure I will. Giovanni,” she added after a beat, “I miss you too. You have no idea how much.”

  She put down the phone, ending the conversation on that lingering note. It was true though. She missed him terribly—his smile, his scent, his nearness, his calm deep voice, his body next to hers. They’d spent two nights together and it had been bliss. The thought of his leaving for his own home drove her to despair. What was she going to do without him? Could she get over him as easily as she had first thought? One thing she knew for certain now, and it was hard to admit it even to herself. She loved him. For the first time in her life, she really loved a man.

  She fell asleep with this thought circling around her mind, where strange and mixed dreams haunted her until morning.

  The next day she was awakened by one of the girls, who was knocking insistently at her door.

  “Miss Galsworthy, are you awake? It’s Tara. It’s seven-thirty. We’re gonna be late for breakfast.”

  She lifted her head a fraction and shouted, “You and the others go eat, Tara! I’ll skip breakfast. Be ready to leave at eight sharp.”

  After the girl left, she rolled out of bed and literally crawled under the shower, where she washed away most of her fatigue under a jet of scalding water. She dressed hastily and applied some makeup, then jogged down the stairs. Her kids awaited in the hotel’s lobby, each carrying their gun cases and equipment bags. After a short inventory to check if everyone had everything they could possibly need, she ordered two taxis.

  She stuffed herself and the girls in one and got the boys in the other, telling the drivers to take them to the shooting range on the outskirts of the city.

  Despite the cold and foggy day, she felt good and her blood tingled with excitement, as it did before every competition, big or small, important or not. She knew the girls were terrified, like she used to be in the beginning. Even after ten years of practicing this sport, she was still nervous when she participated as an athlete, not so much as a trainer. However, she’d learned to enjoy that feeling, the escalated heartbeat, tenseness and knot in her stomach. She knew her kids would get used to it. If they lasted. Not many did. Target shooting was a demanding sport, in which one should invest effort, discipline, patience and tenacity. Few had that kind of strong calling and passion in their genes.

  They reached the range almost at the same time as the boys’ cab. She joked with the kids, trying to make the atmosphere more relaxed as they warmed up in a room built for that exact purpose. The girls were to shoot first, and the boys half an hour after the girls finished. The boys were to stay and warm up, then rest or come watch their female colleagues if they chose.

  At a quarter to ten, they all went in the shooting area and her girls occupied their positions, getting in line with the other female shooters, making their last minute preparations. There were more than fifty participants in their age group, which was juniors—under twenty years old.

  When the arbitrator’s strong clear voice announced the beginning of the competition, her own heartbeat accelerated with the old feeling of nervousness and anticipation she knew her kids must feel. She stood behind them at the established distance, along with the other trainers. They chatted around her, but she was focused only on her pupils, walking slowly behind each one, consulting her small binoculars now and then.

  They did fine, especially Adele. She was the best of the group, but Tara and Gina handled themselves well enough after a bumpy start. By the time they had finished, Sonia made some approximate calculations and was fairly sure they would get a team medal—possibly even gold, depending on the finals.

  The boys did even better, not appearing to be as nervous as the girls. Simon surprised them all by making a spectacular score, to his own amazement.

  Sonia knew these results weren’t conclusive, but she was nevertheless happy when, after long hours of hard work and the usual awarding ceremony, they returned to the hotel carrying two gold team medals and one silver individual medal—Simon’s, who was so proud his cheeks looked rouged, framing a huge smile.

  They had a copious dinner and Sonia let each one of them drink just a sip of champagne to celebrate their success. She knew they needed small rewards like this and she wanted to indulge them. After dinner they all retired to their rooms, tired but happy, with the feeling of accomplishment topping the day.

  Sonia took a hot shower and barely had the energy to call Giovanni before she fell into a deep sleep, between the thick blankets and pillows.

  * * * *

  The next day, Giovanni paced Sonia’s living room, consulting his watch every five minutes, absently aware of the music coming from her sound system. He’d chosen one of her CDs to play and now Bonnie Tyler was singing about her Total Eclipse of the Heart, making him even more anxious.

  It was half past five and nearly dark outside. Sonia should have been back by now. He looked again at the lavish flower arrangements with which he’d filled her flat. He nearly had to beg her next door neighbor to let him in. The extravagant old woman had seen him with Sonia one time. Gaping at the army of delivery boys accompanying him and carrying huge crystal vases filled with red roses, she’d sighed deeply. While she unlocked Sonia’s door using her spare key, she’d kept repeating over and over how romantic and thoughtful he was and how lucky her neighbor was.

  He wondered if Sonia would think the same or if she’d be upset he had entered her flat without her permission.

  He heard the front door unlocking and stood motionless, hands in his pockets, surrounded by roses. The room smelled intoxicatingly exotic and looked even more so, lit only by a corner lamp.

  Soon came the sound of her dumping her luggage on the floor and taking off her boots. She was just shaking off her coat when she stepped into the living room and spotted him. She froze on the threshold, her lips parted in surprise, then gazed slowly around the room, her eyes growing round and shiny.

  She’d never looked more beautiful to him. The two days without her had been agony. He’d felt restless and edgy, not finding pleasure in anything, trying to abstain from calling her every hour. He’d never in his entire life experienced that feeling of emptiness and lack of purpose. He, who was self-confidence itself, was now watching her like a freaking lost puppy, unsure of what he should do, unsure of her feelings and reactions.

  When she jumped into his arms, laughing with joy and hugging him tightly, he felt whole again, as if the missing piece of his heart was back in his chest. Her cheeks were cold and she smelled of winter. He kissed her long and deep, possessively holding her body glued to his. She responded to him with the same passion and longing that were burning in his blood, embracing him hard, kissing his every feature, telling him how much she’d missed him. His heart contracted hearing her words, knowing she meant them. They stood a long moment silhouetted against the glass wall and he held her in his arms, burying his face in her hair.

  “I’ve missed you too, Sonia,” he said finally, almost in a whisper. “You’ve no idea how much.”

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “I think I do. How did you get in here anyway?” she asked and gently detached herself to walk around the room, admiring the rose vases strategically placed.

  “Well, your neighbor, Mrs. Nolan, took pity on me and the twelve guys who carried the flowers and let us in.”

  She turned to him.

  “Twelve guys? Showoff! You’re just tryin’ to impress me.”


  He grinned.

  “How am I doing?”

  She looked at him seriously.

  “Perfect. Just perfect. Thank you, Giovanni, this is…”

  She gestured to encompass the room, speechless, and her eyes shone with what he suspected were tears of joy.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  She went to him and cupped his face between her palms.

  “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  He swallowed hard while his heart raced, invaded by nameless yet so familiar emotions.

  “There’s something else in the bedroom, but first tell me how your trip was, how are the—”

  He didn’t have time to finish before she rushed to the bedroom. He waited for a few moments, listening to her intake of breath as he envisioned her admiring the flower arrangements scattered all over the room, spreading their charming fragrance. Then he heard the rustle of paper, as she opened the box waiting on the bed. He smiled when she loudly and clearly exclaimed, “Oh, my God! Giovanni, this is gorgeous!”

  He walked slowly to the bedroom and remained in the doorway, watching her while she took out the pale pink cashmere dress he’d bought for her. She went to the mirror, putting the dress against her. It fit perfectly, as he knew it would. He knew her body as well as he knew his own.

  The dress was soft, knee-length, with long sleeves and a low neckline. He’d also bought her a pearl necklace and matching pearl earrings, presently resting in a black velvet jewelry box she hadn’t yet discovered.

  She turned to him looking pleased and happy, but slightly confused.

  “What is all this? My birthday isn’t until July.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted.

  “Well, Linda’s and Gerard’s wedding is the day after tomorrow—in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “As if!”

  “Anyway,” he went on, “I know you were obsessing about what to wear and I saw this on a mannequin. I thought it would suit you. And it does. I just wanted to buy you something pretty,” he finished hesitantly. “Do you like it?”

  She lowered her arms, looking at him strangely.

  “I love it, it’s…splendid. I just don’t want you to feel obliged to buy me stuff. That sounds stupid. I don’t know how to express what I feel. Giovanni, I don’t want you to think I’m interested in your money. I couldn’t care less about that.”

  He laughed, frankly amused.

  “Princess, you’re the least mercenary woman I know. It really didn’t occur to me you’d be interested in my wallet,” he said, his usual arrogance back in his voice. “I just wanted to give you this, okay? Why overanalyze it?”

  She smiled back, looking relieved she’d made things clear on that matter.

  “Okay. Then, thank you!”

  She went to him and kissed him softly before she began unbuttoning her black tight sweater. When he raised an eyebrow, she winked at him, saying, “I’m dying to try it on.”

  She unfastened every button with agonizing slowness, revealing inch by inch of delicious creamy bare skin. As the soft fabric clung to her covering only her nipples, Giovanni’s throat tightened, while another part of him went rigid as steel.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked roughly.

  “No, thank you,” she replied, peeling the garment off her shoulders, her gaze locked with his.

  He ached to touch her, but not until she asked him to. He kept his hands in his pockets, fists clenched, as she headed toward him and gave him a light push, making him lie down on the bed. Darren Hayes’s sexy voice came from the speakers in the sensual rhythm of the song Insatiable—just as he felt since he’d met this gorgeous vision of female glory, who was maddeningly torturing him right now.

  The sweater slid to the floor, leaving her bare breasts exposed to his hungry eyes. Her habit of not wearing a bra was going to kill him, but it would be the sweetest death imaginable. She unfastened her jeans and let them drop to the floor as slowly as possible, remaining only in a minuscule pair of black lace panties. Then she turned her back to him and, looking in her vanity mirror, shimmied into the dress. As he’d guessed, it gloved her enticing body to perfection. He noticed her mouthwatering nipples were tight, prominent under the fine texture.

  He got up and stood behind her, reaching for the jewelry box that had been packed with the dress. He opened it, revealing the pearl necklace and earrings. She turned to him, looking awed at the exquisite jewelry. He took the necklace out of the box and, turning her around to face the mirror again, he fastened it around her neck. It was simply perfect, resting between her beautiful breasts, having the same ivory glow as her flawless skin.

  They stood gazing at each other in the mirror, as though mesmerized, with him holding her waist and the back of her head supported on his chest. He stared meaningfully into her eyes, looking for a sign of what he should do. Suddenly, he decided.

  “Sonia, I’m leaving after Linda’s wedding.”

  Chapter Eight

  Her smile simply shattered, which encouraged him. Before he could go on, she detached herself from his embrace and began tidying up the bed covered in wrapping paper. She swallowed and said, “Oh. Aren’t you staying for the holidays?”

  He stared at her back, trying to judge her reaction to his news.

  “No,” he finally replied. “I want to go home. And I wanted to ask you to come with me to Italy.”

  She stopped dead, and then spun around to face him, dismayed.

  “You want me to come spend the holidays with you in Italy?”

  “No, Sonia. I want you to come and stay, not only for the holidays.”

  She seemed at a loss of what to say. Her lips were parted but it took some time for words to come out.

  “I see. You want me to leave my home and my job and come to Italy to be your…what? Your concubine, for as long as it suits you? And then, when the novelty fades away, I can come back and pick up my life where I left it?”

  He was stunned, both by her tone and by her words. He couldn’t believe what she’d just said and felt waves of pure rage darkening his vision.

  “What? Is this what you think, that I’m just interested in having fun and then discard you like a used object?”

  “Isn’t this your modus operandi? You told me yourself you’re not interested in serious relationships, just sex!” she retorted and flung the empty gift box and wrapping to the wall with all her might.

  “That was before I met you, damn it!” he shot back. “Can’t you see I’m in love with you? Are you so blind you can’t recognize love when it hits you in the face?”

  She froze for a moment, but then said with utter derision, “Say what? Mister Italian Playboy, in love? Give me a break.”

  That mocking of his feelings made him angrier than he recalled ever being. Something fierce and savage invaded him, a feeling as primitive as it was frightening, even to him. He headed toward her, his blood boiling with ferocious fury and she took a step back, but not quickly enough to escape him. His hands shot out and he gripped her shoulders, squeezing hard.

  “Don’t ever mock my feelings, Sonia,” he told her through his teeth, very slowly and deliberately, trying to cling to control and reason. “If you don’t share them, you just have to say so. But don’t ever call me a liar.”

  “I didn’t call—”

  “This was the first time I’ve ever told a woman I loved her,” he went on, his voice rising without his being able to control it, “and what do I get in return? Did I ever give you any reason to doubt I’ve always told you the truth? Yes, I told you at first I wasn’t husband material, but maybe I was wrong. I asked you to go to Italy with me as my wife, not as my whore!”

  She stared at him speechless, looking helpless, confused and maybe a little scared, but he couldn’t stop now, it was too late. He went on, his voice near a shout, “You were the one who first suggested we enjoy each other with no strings attached, remember? You said you were scare
d of the monotony of marriage and bullshit like that. Well, if you only want me to fuck you, I’m happy to oblige and then be on my merry way!”

  He had backed her into a wall, trapping her body between it and him. He kissed her brutally, bruising her lips and probably his own. She shoved him with all her strength, pushing against his chest, but he couldn’t be budged. He grabbed her hands in one of his and held them high over her head to stop her from fighting him. She bit his tongue hard, but he grasped her jaw with his free hand, trying to force her to kiss him back, her strangled protests vibrating in his chest.

  The necklace, which had somehow gotten in the way of his untamed hands, snapped. Pearls flew, jingling as they landed on the wooden floor. He lowered his mouth to her breast, kissing it savagely, expecting her to call him every name possible as soon as he’d released her mouth. But all he heard from her lips was the ragged sound of her breathing. He knew she was responding to his nearness—incapable of protesting, betrayed by her own body’s desire for him as he did for her.

  He lifted his head, still keeping her hands trapped and kissed her again, biting her lower lip, demanding in a voice so rough he couldn’t recognize it, “Tell me how you feel, damn you! I need to know! I can’t stand this torture any longer. Just tell me, Sonia.”

  She opened her eyes and looked into his own, letting him see into her soul for the first time.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I knew I loved you from the first night we made love, but I couldn’t tell you. I never thought you could truly love me, Giovanni. I’m sorry for what I said.” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, as she lowered her head. “I didn’t want to mock your feelings. I’d never hurt you. I was just trying to protect myself from being hurt.”

  He felt his own heart constricting and an imaginary weight being lifted off his soul. He kissed her tears away, releasing her hands, and she placed them around his neck.