by Carol Grace
“I'm sorry,” Ana Maria said. “I'm going to return them all, but...”
Isabella shook her head. “Don't think of it,” she said. “Nonna has told me the whole story. You're American. I love everything American - American music and movies. That is, I used to love them before...”
“What about candy?” Ana Maria asked. “Would you like a piece of American candy?”
“I would love it.”
Ana Maria reached for her box of chocolates and held it out to Isabella. After all the trouble with the damned candy, he wished his sister would just polish it off. But after studying the various truffles with their swirls and decorations, she only took one piece.
Ana Maria looked at Isabella and then at Marco. She put the candy box back in her bag and said she would leave them to catch up on family matters while she went down to her room and wrote some post cards.
After she'd left, Isabella motioned to a bench under a tree. “Nonna was right,” she said. “She's beautiful, your American.”
“I'm afraid she's not mine,” he said.
“Since when have you not had any woman you wanted?” she asked with a teasing grin.
“It's not so simple any more,” he said. “She's American and divorced. She has a son in America and an ex-husband who wants her back.”
“Pfahh,” Isabella said. “As if you weren't a match for anyone and anything. She loves you, I can tell. And you...?”
“Me? I don't believe in love. You know that.”
“I know that's what you say. I also know she's the one for you. You're not getting any younger, Marco. If you lose her, you will end up a lonely old man.”
“I may get old, but I've never been lonely. Why should I end up that way?” As he spoke the words he thought of Silvestro, looking forward to his retirement with his wife of fifty years. He thought of Nonna and her rich memories of a lifetime of happiness with her husband, his grandfather. She managed fine on her own now, why shouldn't he? “Enough about me. Don't keep me in suspense. What has happened?”
“Giovanni came to see me.”
He braced one arm agains the back of the bench. “What? When?”
“Yesterday. I didn't know how I would feel after all this time. It's been two years; I have changed. He saw it. Even you see it, don't you? I've learned so much here. So much about life and love. So much about how little material things matter. Giovanni has changed too - not entirely for the best. He is even more materialistic than before. And he's in love.”
“In love? I thought he was married.”
“He was. But he's in love with an American. He told me all about her. Someone he met years ago when he was in school in California. Someone who's in the same business as he is. Import-export. It must be something in the air: Italians falling for Americans. Maybe I should go to America to find someone.”
Sitting in the shade on a warm Roman fall afternoon, Marco felt cold inside and out. He should have known. He did know. He'd known all along they were in it together. He just hadn't wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe she was an innocent tourist, even when all the evidence pointed to the truth. Import-export meant stealing and fencing jewels. It was clear to anyone with half a brain who this American Giovanni was involved with was: the same American who was downstairs in her room writing postcards. The same American Marco had made love to twice in the past two days. And if he had a chance, he'd make love to her again, even knowing who she was. That was how bad it was. Had he learned nothing in all these years?
She was in her room, unless she'd taken this opportunity to sneak off to see Giovanni. To give him the diamond. Unless she'd double-crossed him and was going to give it to someone else. He forced himself to remain seated, to listen to his sister, though he wanted to race down the stairs to be sure she was still there. Because if she wasn't, if she'd left, he would never find her again. Not in Rome. Not if she didn't want to be found. There was a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“The important thing is,” Isabella continued, unaware of the effect her words were having on him, “that I am no long in love with Giovanni. I see him for what he is. A philanderer, a materialist, and someone who plays by his own rules.”
“You're not angry with him?” Marco asked, feeling like he'd just run into a glass wall. All these years he'd despised Giovanni for betraying his sister, and she'd forgiven him.
“Not anymore. It's not his fault, Marco, it's how he was raised. It's how he's always been. In fact, I have to say I am grateful to him. It was because of him I came to the convent. I was a young, immature girl, disappointed in love. The sisters took me in, didn't ask anything of me, didn't pressure me to join the order. They just accepted me. That was what I needed. I've worked hard here, physical work. I scrub the floors, I wash the dishes, peel potatoes. While working, I was thinking and learning, and now...well, I have much more to learn, but I think I can learn on the outside as well as here.” She took a deep breath. “That's what Giovanni thinks too. That's what he told me, anyway. He advised me to return to life. He pointed out that I can do good anywhere I am. He believes, or he said he does, that I am a good person.”
“Anyone can see that,” Marco said tightly. “And compared to Giovanni, anyone is.”
“Don't be bitter,” she admonished, and took his hands in hers.
“Does that mean you are actually leaving, then?” He was amazed and impressed at how mature his sister had become. Did Giovanni really deserve any credit for that?
She nodded. “In a few months, after I do what I need to do here. Then I'm going back to San Gervase. I'll stay with Nonna until I decide more about my future.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes. She's very happy about it. She would like it if you, too, would come back to your house there. She walked by the other day and she didn't like what she saw. The garden has been neglected. The roof is rotten. The paint is peeling. What are your plans?”
“I have no plans,” he said. “I'm here on business. After that, who knows?” But the little house on the cliff in San Gervase with its overgrown plants and bushes and its leaky roof, called to him. If he didn't want it, it was time to go back there, fix it up, and sell it. If he did want it...he had to ask himself why.
“So we have Giovanni to thank for your change of heart?” Marco said, half disbelieving that Giovanni could accomplish anything remotely good.
“I was already thinking about leaving, but he gave me the push I needed. I know you and he have always been rivals and people say he's a crook. But he's not in jail, so how can he really be that bad?”
Marco just smiled enigmatically, but didn’t answer. He spent that afternoon with Ana Maria showing her some of his favorite places, little-known spots not in any guidebook. While on their way to the Campidoglio, she wanted to see the Mammertine Prison. He warned her it was dark and depressing, and she said she didn't care. But once inside, once she saw the hole through which the prisoners were lowered, she shivered and he instinctively put his arm around her shoulders.
Never before had the thought of the prisoners awaiting their deaths bothered him so much. Never before could he almost smell the rotting corpses, though it had been centuries since the prison had been used. On the wall were lists of prisoners and how they were executed - “Strangolati, decapitato, morto de fame. Strangled, decapitated, starved to death. Donation requested.”
Ana Maria's face turned pale, and her eyebrows were drawn together as she read the list. What was bothering her so much? Was she afraid she'd wind up in a prison in America? He'd heard white-collar criminals there were treated to country-club prisons with green grass and volley-ball. Maybe she'd get a light sentence. She could plead nolo contendre or insanity. Somehow the thought was not as comforting as it should have been.
Once outside, the color had returned to her cheeks, and they sat down at a small cafe, ate gelato and drank tiny cups of coffee. She stirred her coffee but didn't speak.
“Shall we go?” she asked finally. “I w
ant to see as much as possible.”
“There's always tomorrow,” he said. Or was there? Wouldn't Giovanni find her as soon as possible and demand the diamond? Or was it destined for someone else?
“I wish I didn't have to go to that party. I want to see the floodlighted monuments at night.”
“Where is this party? Maybe we'll pass a monument or two on the way.”
She pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and showed him the address.
He whistled softly. “That's a nice neighborhood. What does your friend do?”
“I don't know. You can ask her when you meet her. She's not my friend, anyway, she's my friend's cousin.” She looked at her watch. “I'd better call Evie and tell her I'm finally going to see Misty.”
He handed her his phone.
“I'm calling America.”
He shrugged as if money was no object. Maybe he'd write it off as a business expense.
“Do you always let your clients use your phone?” she asked. What she really wanted to know was, do you always sleep with your clients?
“Never,” he said. “But you're not a client. You're a...”
She waited. The words that came to mind were not complimentary.
“Friend,” he said at last. “I'd like to think we're friends.”
“Is it possible for men and women to be friends?” she asked. She really didn't know.
“Ask me again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. After the party. After a night in the convent. Surely he didn't think they'd make love in a convent? The thought of their muffled sighs, their contortions on a narrow cot caused her to forget Evie's number. She had to open her small address book before she could punch in the numbers.
“Evie, it's me.”
“Anne Marie, I'm so glad you called. My cousin called. I heard about the party. This is so fabulous. You're going to love her house. Do you know how to get there?”
“No, but my, uh.. friend does. The one I've been traveling with. Misty won't mind if I bring a date, will she?”
“Of course not. Who is he?”
“No one you know.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At the hotel in San Gervase.” She glanced at Marco. He was looking off in the distance, his gaze carefully focused somewhere across the piazza.
“Do you know anything about him?” Evie sounded concerned. Anne Marie wanted to hang up.
“Yes, quite a bit,” she said. “He's a tour guide,” she added glibly for Marco's benefit.
Marco shot her a swift glance.
“Anne Marie, be careful. Many of those guides are out to take advantage of you.”
“Don't worry,” she said. “I have everything under control.” Liar. She had nothing under control, not her mind or her body.
“Dan's been asking for you. He expects you to call him. If you gave him even a little encouragement, I think he'd fly over there. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd take you back.”
“Take me back? How infuriating. How maddening. How condescending. And you can tell him I said so. Got to run, Evie. Gotta get dressed for the party.”
“Are you going to wear that black dress you ordered through the catalogue?”
“Not tonight. I'm thinking of wearing a little tied-dyed, silk halter dress.”
“Tied dyed? Halter dress? Anne Marie, that doesn't sound like you.”
“Sometimes I don't feel like me. Bye, Evie.”
“Wait, wait, don't forget the candy. You won't, will you? It's okay, isn't it? It hasn't melted?”
“What's left of it, yes.” She didn't have time to replace the missing chocolates, but why bother? They wouldn't be the same and Misty would notice. Instead, she'd send her another box when she got home. Which is what Evie should have done in the first place. Really, how ridiculous was it to hand carry a box of chocolate truffles all through Italy while they melted, got eaten, or forgotten by the wayside.
“Left of it? Left of it?” Evie's voice rose, it was clear she was upset. Anne Marie had no desire to explain what happened to the candy. And she couldn't believe Evie had nothing better to do than worry about some expensive chocolates. She disconnected and handed the phone back to Marco.
His phone rang immediately. He got up from the table.
“Marco, thank God I found you. I hope you're in Rome,” Silvestro said.
“Yes.”
“Giovanni has been double-crossed.”
“I know.”
“Do you know he's there in Rome and more determined than ever to get the diamond?”
Marco paced back and forth in front of the cafe, his voice low, his eyes on Ana Maria, who was still at the table.
“Yes.”
“There's a party tonight,” Silvestro said.
“I know.”
Silvestro was clearly annoyed. “If you know so much, why haven't you taken the diamond? Why haven't you found Giovanni and arrested him?”
“I will arrest everyone when the diamond is handed off. Don't worry. I have everything under control,” Marco said.
“Just in case there's a problem,” Silvestro said, “I'll be there tonight, and I won't be alone.”
“Good,” Marco said and hung up.
Was it possible for both him and Ana Maria and Silvestro to all have everything under control? Tonight would tell.
Chapter Sixteen
Anne Marie sucked in a breath at the sight of Evie's cousin's sixteenth-century villa. Located in a quiet corner of Rome, it was surrounded by lush gardens and statues. In front, a huge fountain spouted water from the mouth of a lion. Floodlights illuminated the pillars and polished marble of the facade.
“This can't be it. It looks like a museum,” she said in a hushed voice, suddenly nervous about attending a party like this. Thank God for Marco, she'd have someone to talk to. Though he didn't seem to have much to say in the taxi on the way there.
He hadn't even said anything about her dress. The look he gave her when they met on the terrace told her nothing, either. He merely raised his eyebrows. It was Isabella who'd complimented her when she came to her room and helped her get ready.
“You look wonderful,” Isabella said. “Now, with that dress you should wear a stone pendant. A man I was once involved with gave one to me just yesterday. When he came to see me. A farewell gift. I can't wear it now and I may never wear it, but you can.” She reached into the pocket of her apron for the necklace, fastened it around Anne Marie's neck, then told her to wear the patent-leather slingbacks that matched one of the bright rainbow colors in the dress. She stood back, looked at Anne Marie and nodded happily. “My brother will be knocked off his feet, if he isn't already,” she said. “Or perhaps you don't want to knock him off his feet? Don't answer that.”
“I have a question,” Anne Marie said. “What does he do?”
“Do?” Isabella wrinkled her forehead. “Whatever they tell him to do.”
“They?”
“His bosses at the agency. I know what you're worried about, that he takes his work home with him. That's always been a problem. I was just a kid when it happened, but I think that's why Donatella broke up with him. The bad thing is, he didn't take it as a warning. He just got more and more immersed in his work. Not that he didn't always have a woman around, but nobody serious. Not until now.”
“Serious? I've only known your brother a few days.”
“But you like him, don't you? I'm asking you, just give him a chance.”
A chance? A chance to do what? Make love to her again? Break her heart? Send her back to the US an emotional basket case?
“I think, and Nonna thinks too, that if he had a life outside his work...if he had a wife...”
“But I haven't seen him do any work at all. Since I met him, he's done nothing but show me around, eat and drink and...” She felt her cheeks burn.
Isabella gave her a knowing smile. “That's why you're so good for him.” She looked at Anne Marie with hopeful eyes. “I just want to say that he's a good man
. A good man who needs a good woman. I know he's difficult. I know he doesn't always say what he means, or mean what he says, but I can tell by the way he looks at you...”
Anne Marie waited, but she didn't finish her sentence.
“Go,” Isabella said. “I've said too much already. Go and have a good time. I won't wait up for you.”
Before they knocked on the massive, carved wooden doors of Evie's villa, Anne Marie turned to Marco. Despite his dark jacket, white shirt and a tie, he was too rugged to look suave. Not smooth either, with his hair a shade too long, his slightly crooked nose, and the shadow of a beard on his square jaw. But he was sexy. Very sexy, with his heavy-lidded eyes on her.
“I have to ask you something.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “Who are you, really?”
“I might ask you the same thing.” His gaze was dark and fathomless.
“That's no answer. You know who I am. I have nothing to hide.”
“Nothing?” he said.
“All right. I didn't tell you, but I've seen Giovanni, and I gave him something. But that's really none of your business. He's an old friend. I trust him.”
The unsaid words, But I don't trust you, hung in the air. He heard them just as surely as if she'd spoken them.
“Aren't you going to see him again? Aren't you going to give him something?”
“I have nothing more to give him,” she insisted.
Before he could press her for more information, the huge double doors on the front of the building flew open. Loud music came floating out on the night air, along with loud voices. A woman in head-to-toe gold, a full-length embroidered gold lace coat and gold leather jeans, glittered in the doorway. She was barefoot.
“You must be Anne Marie,” she said with a dazzling smile that matched her outfit. “I'm so glad to see you. You look absolutely fabulous. What a divine necklace.” She reached for the stone around Anne Marie's neck and studied it carefully for a moment, before she kissed Anne Marie on both cheeks, gave Marco a puzzled, sidelong look, then turned back to Anne Marie. “Where's the candy?” she asked abruptly.
Anne Marie's mind went blank. She'd had the candy. She'd brought the candy. But suddenly she didn't know where it was. She turned to Marco.
