by Alexia Adams
“Good. Better. Best when you were lying on me.” He tried to coax her back down, but she shook her head.
“What time is it?” She scooted off the bed and grabbed her phone from the dresser. “Shit. It’s already eight. I’m hours behind schedule. Can I get you anything before I go?” She bent down to retrieve her dress and he got a great view of her ass encased in black lace, her full breasts threatening to spill from her bra. His hands clenched on the bedsheets.
“The goats will wait five more minutes. Sit down, bellissima. We need to talk about last night.” Or have a proper welcome home—which I hope with all my heart will take longer than five minutes. But given his present state, he couldn’t guarantee it.
She clutched her dress to her chest. “Nothing happened. Kai suggested I check on you through the night to make sure you were okay. Unfortunately, I fell asleep. But you’re still alive, so I guess it all worked out in the end.” Her gaze darted around the room, never settling on him. A flush infused her skin. Dio, was she turned on?
He flung back the sheet, his arousal straining against his cotton boxers. He had a vague recollection of her undressing him last night, but the rest was blank. No way could he have slept through their first time in six long, extremely dry years.
“Bella—”
“I have to go, Matteo. I have a busy day. The vet is coming . . . and the guy with the ram to service the ewes that didn’t get pregnant the first time . . . ”
He stood and ignored the sudden dizziness. He grabbed her wrist as she tried to leave the room. “I just wanted to thank you for looking after me last night.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She tugged on her arm again and he let her go. She raced to her room and emerged two minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she went.
“I’ll make you some breakfast and bring it out to you.”
She stopped then, a small smile lifting her lips. “Thank you. Um, I was planning on visiting your father’s grave this afternoon. Do you want to come?”
Did he? Not seeing the grave allowed him to pretend, if only for a few more days, that Papa was alive and just on holiday. Not that his father had ever taken a holiday.
“Yes. I’ll come. What time?”
“That depends on how horny the ram is. As soon as he’s done, we can go.”
Merda, now I’m jealous of a ram.
A shower restored some of his mental agility. By the time he dressed and had a breakfast sandwich ready to take out to Bella, another truck had entered the yard. No one had visited the farm when they’d grown vegetables unless it was harvest time. Now it was a hive of activity. In fact, Bella was dressed head to toe in a white protective suit as she removed the frames from one of her bee boxes. In the background, two women clipped flowers from the lavender. The little girl staying in the guesthouse chased one of the rabbits around the fenced-in yard, and a man Matteo assumed was the vet examined Akbar the camel’s feet.
Was he hallucinating? Except his imagination wasn’t vivid enough to come up with the scene before him.
Bella waved and called out over the noise of the animals, “Don’t come near me just yet. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
When she finally replaced the frames in the hive and had the bees settled, her breakfast had gone cold and the coffee he’d also brought had stopped steaming. Bella removed the large white hat with netting and unzipped her protective suit halfway. She took a huge bite of the sandwich, her eyes closing in rapture as she chewed. He knew a better way to put that look on her face.
“Oh God, this is good, thank you,” she said.
Before she could take a second bite, the two young women who had been by the lavender approached, their wicker baskets overflowing with cuttings. Bella tossed a pinch of bread to a chicken that wandered by. Where the hell had the chicken come from?
“Matteo, these are my business partners in one of my ventures, Antonia and Bianka. We’re called the Lavender Ladies. We make essential oils, soaps, bath salts, and are looking into creating a line of body lotions and hand creams. Ladies, this is Matteo.”
His eyes flashed to Bella’s as he shook hands with the two young women, neither of whom wore wedding rings and eyed him up like the daily special. Bella hadn’t introduced him as her husband. Was that significant?
While the women discussed production schedules, he laid a possessive hand on Bella’s waist. She glanced up at him but made no comment, continuing her conversation about adding a selection of lanolin-based products to their line. Although the other women looked at him curiously, they didn’t shrink back or make the sign of the cross, which was progress.
The women said farewell, their eyes full of questions. Before he could ask why she hadn’t introduced him as her husband, the vet approached to discuss Akbar’s condition as well as one of the ewes who didn’t seem to be eating. Bella managed to answer his questions and ask educated ones of her own between bites and sips of the coffee. That conversation hadn’t ended when an old farm truck lurched into the yard. Bella handed her half-finished coffee to Matteo, wiped her hands on her jeans, and strode with the vet to the truck now parked by the paddock of ewes waiting for their ram lover to arrive.
Matteo stood rooted to the spot, his mind whirling at the transformation in his wife’s world. He knew nothing of bees, distilling essential oils, creams and lotions, cantankerous camels, or anorexic ewes. Dio, he’d barely been able to follow half the conversations and they’d been in Italian. Cristo was right: if he had any hope of figuring out his heart, he’d have to get to know his wife all over again.
His phone rang, and soon he was pulled into his own world of resort woes and misdirected artisanal shipments. Three hours later, he took a ham and cheese sandwich out to Bella, who leaned against the fence, watching the ram rut one of her ewes. The poor sheep on the end of the amorous activity didn’t look amused.
“Oh, thanks,” Bella said, a smile in her eyes as she took the sandwich from him. How many times had she brought him and his father lunch out in the field when they’d been too busy to come in to eat? Their roles had been reversed. But there was no way he could do this long term. Could he convince Bella to give this all up and follow his dreams? Was it even fair to try?
But could he walk away from this woman who intrigued him all over again?
How could he stay?
He wasn’t finding answers, just more damned questions.
• • •
Matteo glanced up from his laptop screen as the cottage door opened and a shaft of blinding light preceded Bella. Her jeans were covered in dirt and from the smell, not dirt. Her ponytail was now at the side of her head and her face was flushed. And he still wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go.
“All done?” he asked.
“Yeah, the ram’s just smoking a cigarette before they load him back in the truck.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, the one that had been there his entire life and never once told the time accurately. “I’ll grab a quick shower then we can head over to the cemetery. Do you want to take two cars? I can’t stay long as I have to get ready for tonight.”
“We’ll go together. I don’t want to stay long either.” Damn the hitch in his throat. His father had been dead for three years. But to him, it was only three days. He didn’t want to say goodbye to Papa at all. They’d disagreed about many things in life but never their devotion to each other.
Bella went to put a hand on his shoulder then seemed to realize how dirty it was and pulled it back. He took it in his instead and rubbed it against his cheek. He was starved for her touch. She sucked in a deep breath. “We don’t have to go today.” Her voice was soft, gentle . . . caring. “It’s just my routine, the first Saturday of each month.”
“No. I need to do this.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”
True to her word, bang on time she return
ed to the kitchen wearing a light, flower print dress, low-heeled sandals, and her hair secured in a knot at her neck. She clutched a straw hat in her other hand.
As he shut down his laptop, she said, “I haven’t had a second to text Cristo. Did he say anything last night about what time he’d be here, or where we’re going and what to wear?”
“He said he’d be here at five and to dress like a nun because he was taking you to see the pope.” Cristo’s parents were the most pious Catholics in Sicily, maybe all of Italy. His mother went to Mass at least twice a day.
Bella tilted her head to one side and smiled. Not the tight smile he’d seen from her so far, but the full, megawatt, with teeth, grin that set his heart racing. “I wish I’d known that sooner. I sent my habit to the cleaners just yesterday. I guess the pope will have to say an extra prayer for my soul when I show up in my leopard print bikini.”
He swallowed, his mind already envisaging Bella wearing the scanty swimsuit, lounging by one of his resort pools, beckoning him with a crook of her finger.
“Let’s go before I’m lying next to my father.”
His words wiped the smile from her face. Ah merda, coming back from the supposed dead had so many linguistic pitfalls.
He drove her little Fiat, not wanting to draw too much attention with the Maserati. During the twenty-minute drive to the cemetery, Bella napped. He parked under the shade of a tree and stared at his wife for a minute. His heart thudded in his chest so loudly, it was a wonder she didn’t wake. Taking her left hand, he kissed her bare ring finger to rouse her.
“You don’t wear your wedding ring anymore?” He’d never given her a diamond engagement ring because he hadn’t been able to afford it. But the band he’d placed on her finger on their wedding day had been in his family for generations, purchased at a time when the Vannis had been prosperous farmers. And every marriage it had symbolized, except that of his parents, had been happy and well blessed. Bella had loved it, saying the history and the combined love it had seen made it more valuable than any diamond he could give her.
And now she didn’t even wear that.
Maybe it was because she was always working and didn’t want to get it dirty or worse, lose it. Yet she hadn’t worn it last night. Of course, she’d been going on a date with another man. But he’d thought that perhaps she’d put it on to go see her father-in-law’s grave. Its absence was another stab in his heart.
She rubbed her thumb over her bare ring finger and stared out the window. “I had to sell it to pay for your father’s funeral. I’m so sorry. I knew it was important to your family.”
He shut his own eyes. She’d been through so much while he’d been gone. It wasn’t fair. The lump in his throat was so large, his voice was raw when it did emerge. “You did what you had to do. I’ll get you another one. And the diamond engagement ring I promised you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Her words hit him like a truck. Before he could ask her to explain, she grabbed the small pot of flowers at her feet and pushed open the door. She was halfway to the top of the hill before he caught up with her.
“Bella—”
“Don’t pressure me, okay?” She stomped on ahead, the plant in her hand shaking so violently there’d hardly be a sprig of greenery on it by the time she got to their destination.
He’d never been to his mother’s grave, so had no idea where his father had been laid to rest. Matteo followed Bella as she stomped to the farthest part of the churchyard. In a corner away from all the prominent headstones of the rich families, she stopped. When she leaned down to put the flowers next to his father’s small marker, a tear landed on the stone.
“Bella?”
She tried to keep her head down but didn’t resist when he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to him. Another tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. He caught it with his lips before it could hit the ground.
“I loved that ring. I didn’t want to sell it, but what could I do? It was the only thing I had left of value. When I slid it from my finger . . . ” The tears came like a torrent now, and she dashed them away with an angry hand. “It felt like I’d given up on you. But I hadn’t.”
He wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her head under his chin. Her tears ran down under the collar of his shirt, each one like a trail of acid, etching her sorrow into his skin.
If only she would stay home tonight and let him take care of her, show her that Cristo wasn’t the answer to her uncertainty. She’d sacrificed so much for Matteo. It was time he showered her with everything she deserved. He pressed a kiss to her temple as the tears dried up. But she felt too good in his arms for him to let go anytime this century.
“Matteo Vanni?”
He turned his head at the sound of his name but didn’t release Bella. She, however, stiffened in his arms and dropped hers from his back.
“Yes. Who are you?”
The man in the regional police uniform looked vaguely familiar but about ten years older than Matteo, so it was unlikely their paths would have crossed at school. And he’d never had trouble with the law prior to his disappearance.
The man ignored his question but bowed toward Bella. “Signora Vanni, how are you? You look beautiful as always.”
Matteo took a step toward the man, but Bella squeezed his hand and held him at her side. “Matteo, this is the questore, Roberto Della Vedova.”
Matteo didn’t take the chief’s outstretched hand. “Have you come to pay your respects to my father’s grave, Signor Della Vedova?”
The man’s eyes made another leisurely pass over Bella. Matteo clenched his teeth. If he didn’t want to spend the next few days in a jail cell, he had to keep his cool. All his paperwork said his name was Mario Barilla, a Tunisian citizen. They could keep him locked up simply on the pretext of confirming his identity.
“I have come to ask you some questions about the events of six years ago. I did not want to visit Signora Bella’s farm in case my presence upset her guests.”
“Your discretion is appreciated,” she said. “However, I don’t see what questions you could have to ask. My husband went missing due to a head injury but has now recovered enough to return to us. We should celebrate.”
“There are still many questions about his disappearance. And the deaths of the other men.”
Bella stepped in front of Matteo before he could speak. “We have had this conversation numerous times, Questore. Do you have new evidence to support your claims that Matteo was involved in those unfortunate men’s deaths?”
“No,” the man reluctantly admitted.
“Then your questions are irrelevant. We are paying respects to our dear Papa within the sanctity of the church grounds. I ask you to leave.”
“This is not over, signora. Your husband was on that boat when the other men died. If he did not kill them then he must know who did. I will not rest until I have answers.”
This time Bella took a step toward the official and Matteo grabbed her arm. He didn’t need his wife to fight his battles, although her passion in defending him was heartwarming.
“I’ll come to your office on Monday morning,” Matteo said.
“No, Matteo,” Bella interrupted. Her eyes were full of worry as she stared up at him. Maybe she wasn’t so convinced he had nothing to do with the other men’s murders.
“That will be acceptable. I will expect you at 10:00 a.m., Signor Vanni.” The questore’s gaze once more swept Bella, a leer curling his lips upward. Matteo clenched his fists. No one disrespected his wife.
Before Matteo could strike, the police chief scurried away.
“Have you had trouble with him?” Yet another area where he wasn’t around to defend his wife. His failure list was getting long.
“Not much. I threatened him with a lawsuit if he slandered your name, and he shut up after that. He has no evidence. You don’t need to go.”
“I have to clear my name, Bella.”
She opened her mouth as
if to argue so he dropped a kiss on her lips instead. In his mind, Matteo could hear his father clear his throat as he had a million times when they’d turned amorous in his company.
Bella sighed when he released her lips. “Take a lawyer with you if you insist on going. Cristo can probably give you the name of a good one. I don’t trust Roberto Della Vedova. This unanswered crime on his watch means he’ll pin the murders on anyone he can find.”
“All right. I’ll ask Cristo for a recommendation when he comes to pick you up.” The reminder of his wife’s date left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She checked her watch. “I need to get back to the farm soon. Do you want some private time with your father’s grave? I can wait for you in the car.”
“I’ll come with you.” No way in hell was he leaving Bella unattended with the likes of Della Vedova around. And in just over an hour, she’d be leaving him to go out with another man.
Tomorrow, though, was his turn. Forget just a dinner date; he would make it a day she’d never forget.
Chapter Eight
Bella inhaled deeply of the warm evening air. The scent of the night-blooming jasmine from the trellis above mingled with the delicious flavors of the lemon tart on her plate. The flames from hundreds of candles flickered around their solitary table on the roof terrace of Positano’s most luxurious hotel. A discreet distance away, a trio played romantic tunes, the lingering notes dancing on the breeze.
She straightened the skirt of her black dress. It was one of the few things she’d brought with her from her old life in New York, but it didn’t fit as well as it used to. With her labor-intensive lifestyle, she’d lost at least ten if not fifteen pounds. But it was her sole dressy dress also conservative enough in case Matteo hadn’t been joking and Cristo took her somewhere religious. Of course he hadn’t. Neither had he complained that the only parts of her skin he could see were from her elbow down and her chin up. It would serve Matteo right if she wore it again at their date tomorrow.
