The Date Before Christmas: A Novel

by Elyse Douglas

  Yes, it was time to tell her. It would be a risk, yes, but the impulse was there, the feeling was there and the time was right.

  As he opened his mouth to speak, a giggling English couple approached Dina, cell phone in hand.

  “Do you speak English?” the red-headed boy asked, his arm around a chubby, strawberry blonde with a nose ring.

  “Yes,” Dina said.

  “Will you take our picture against the Eiffel Tower?”

  Dina took three.

  After they were gone, Dina met Paul’s eyes. “Were you going to say something?”

  Paul hesitated. The moment had shifted into doubt. What if the truth ruined everything? Would Dina think he was trying to buy her love? Would she care? He calculated that Dina would care. She was the type—the authentic type—not the gold digger type.

  And he didn’t want to ruin her vacation; he’d truly wanted that for her. He also didn’t want to destroy their potential relationship. No, as another dark gray cloud passed over and the snappy wind bit at his face, he decided it was all wrong to tell her now. The timing was all wrong. It was too soon. Too abrupt. She’d think it was too soon, too strange and insincere. What he needed was more time. Just a little more time and then, after Dina realized how he felt about her, she might understand and forgive him for the whole charade.

  “Well, yes. I was just going to say that by a coincidence, I’ll be in Rome tomorrow night. Some leftover business to take care of. It just came up this morning.”

  Dina narrowed her eyes on him, studying him carefully, but his face was impassive. She didn’t know if he was joking or serious.

  He worked to summon a coolness he didn’t feel. “Maybe we could meet. Maybe I could show you around… that is, if you don’t have plans.”

  Dina felt a sudden, surprising shiver of desire. Paul turned her on and she didn’t know exactly why. He wasn’t her type: she went for extraverted men with blonde or red hair. Paul was quiet, dark and mysterious. Had he changed his plans so he could be with her in Italy? Yes, she thought so, and that turned her on too.

  “No, I don’t have any plans at all. I was just going to take a tour or something.”

  Her direct gaze warmed him. He smiled into her eyes. “Good, then I’ll play tour guide. Meanwhile, how about joining me for dinner tonight at one of my favorite restaurants?”

  Dina gave him a flirty smile. “Love to.”

  Paul was convinced now that Dina didn’t remember him as a guest at Gallagher’s Restaurant. If she had a memory of him, he had surely replaced the figure of that man with the man who was here and now. The man who had been in Colorado was just an old forgotten dream.

  In truth, Paul had flattered himself to think that Dina could remember him after only one encounter. She had been too stressed that night—too busy—to truly focus on him, a nobody. How could he have ever believed she’d remember him? To Dina he’d been just another guest from out of town, a cloudy face in the crowd who came and went, like an evening breeze.

  But there was still the problem of when and how to tell her the truth. Now he wished he’d told her after their first meeting. Why hadn’t he just invited her to travel with him to Europe in the first place? Right from the start, she’d moved him, touched him, softened him. Yes, he was definitely falling in love with her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dina spent the short flight from Paris to Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport, Rome, napping in her comfortable First-Class seat, sipping a Bellini and speculating about Paul, recalling pieces of the conversation they’d had at dinner the night before.

  “The name of my company?” he’d repeated. “Let’s not talk about it now. The Pinot Noir is perfect, the sea bass tasty and the company, lovely.”

  Dina sat at 28,000 feet, smiling at the thought. He had called her lovely. The entire night had been lovely, as they dined at a fancy French restaurant under a multi-tiered, glistening, tear-drop crystal chandelier, listening to a string quartet and eating some of the best food she’d ever tasted. But it was the conversation that kept repeating in her head, like a haunting melody.

  Paul had actually loosened up a bit. He almost laughed. He’d smiled at her several times—after they’d finished the bottle of wine and were sipping Sauterne and coffee.

  After dinner, they had walked up and down the Boulevard Haussmann, admiring again the fabulous lights at Printemps and Galeries Lafayette.

  Paul said, “Guess how many bulbs it took to create Galeries Lafayette’s illuminated canvas?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “A wild guess.”

  “Sixty thousand. I don’t know.”

  “Last year, it was 150,000.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A client asked me the same question last year and I looked it up.”

  “Was she pretty?” Dina asked playfully, batting her eyes.

  “Not especially. He’s married and has two kids.”

  She had laughed, much too hard. It wasn’t really that funny, but the lights were dazzling, Paris was romantic just like in the movies, and she was still pleasantly high from the wine.

  To end the night, they had taken an elevator ride to the first level of the Eiffel Tower to watch the skaters glide across Paris’ highest ice-skating rink. She and Paul had gazed out at the city’s domes, towers, and rooftops—the City of Light magically illuminated for the holiday season.

  Paul had turned to her, letting his shoulder touch hers. “I hope you’re having a good time, Dina.”

  He’d said it in an intimate whisper that had aroused her. “Yes… Yes, I am having a good time. I never want it to end. Are you having a good time?” she’d asked, fishing for a compliment.

  His eyes fell on her softly. “I’ve been to Paris many times, Dina, but I’ve never enjoyed myself as much as I am tonight.”

  It had been one of the best nights of her life.

  On the ground, Dina entered the arrival lounge and searched the line of drivers who held signs with passengers’ names written on them. She looked for her name, but didn’t see it. After checking her itinerary, reviewing the instructions and meeting location, she again scanned the ten drivers and their signs. No name. No driver. She was supposed to be met by a chauffeur who would carry her suitcase to a nearby Mercedes and drive her to her hotel. Puzzled, she reached for her phone to call one of the emergency numbers. Just as she tapped her speed dial, she changed her mind, and disconnected the call.

  She was a grown woman, after all, and perfectly capable of getting a taxi to the hotel. Besides, it would be a fun little adventure to manage it all by herself. To go off script, so to speak.

  Dina turned and started off through the airport terminal, towing her heavy suitcase, following the signs to the Taxi Rank, thinking that this airport looked pretty much like any other airport.

  She exited the terminal through two double glass doors and started for the taxi line, noticing that the small white cars had the roof sign “TAXI”. The sun was out, but the late morning wind was sharp and cold. When she’d glanced at her phone earlier to get the local weather, she was surprised to see it was only 39 degrees, going up to 42.

  Just then, a confident, arm-swinging, big-eyed kid of about 10 years old, wearing a brown jacket with no hat or gloves, spotted Dina and darted over.

  “You need a taxi, lady?”

  Dina was startled. “Yes… I’m taking one of these,” she said, pointing to the taxi stand.

  “No, lady. These taxis over-charge, lady. I speak good English, huh? I speak cool English. I have a brother who drives cheap. We take you any place. We good and cheap.”

  He reached to take her bag, but she resisted, pulling away. “No, thanks.”

  “My name Angelo—means Angel,” he said jamming a fist into his chest. “You can trust Angelo. My brother’s car is there,” he said, pointing. “We not overcharge you like these bad taxi guys over there.”

  Dina glanced in the direction the kid was pointing, toward a small yellow
car parked at the curb on the opposite side of the drive. She saw a short-haired broad man in his 20s, leaning back casually against it, smiling and waving. He looked harmless enough. He was even good looking, flashing a white, toothy smile, as if to suggest suave confidence.

  “You see,” Angelo said. “He my brother, Fabio, like Fabio Lione. You know Fabio Lione?”

  “No…”

  “He do heavy metal. You like heavy metal?”

  “Not much.”

  “Fabio Lione look good, like my brother. We both handsome boys. You American, right? You American lady?”

  “Yes.”

  “You Bella American girl. You’ll like Fabio.”

  “Look, I need to…”

  Angelo cut her off. “…Okay, me and Fabio get you where you want. Where you want? Hotel?”

  Dina was distracted and disoriented. At that instant, Angelo’s hand shot forward and snatched the handle of her suitcase so swiftly and skillfully that she hardly noticed.

  Dina reached, grabbing for it, but Angelo was too fast. She swallowed away a mounting fear. “Give me that!”

  But Angelo sprang away toward his brother, towing her suitcase, its wheels growling across the pavement. He waved for her to follow.

  “You come, lady. We take you where ever.”

  Dina glanced about for a policeman or security, but she didn’t see anyone. She inhaled a quick breath and started after Angelo.

  By the time she reached the yellow Fiat Hatchback, Angelo had handed off Dina’s suitcase to his brother, Fabio, and he had popped open the trunk, hefted the suitcase and shoved it in.

  “Wait a minute!” Dina called, as she approached the car, white mist puffing from her mouth.

  Fabio extended a hand, a bright smile revealing those snow-white teeth. He spoke fast, with an accent, and as he talked, he gesticulated dramatically with both hands, to ensure she understood him.

  “Hello, lady, my name is Fabio, and I take you anywhere and everywhere in Rome or other places. I good driver. I good escort. I good tour guide. I good at everything,” he said, with a proud lift of his chin.

  Dina pulled herself up a little taller to fortify her courage. Fabio was only an inch taller than she. “I want my bag back,” she demanded.

  Fabio looked hurt. He shrugged. “Why? It’s in there,” he said pointing to his trunk. It’s good there. Safe. Now we go.”

  Angelo spoke up. “Where you wanta go, American lady?”

  Before Dina could speak, Fabio lit up. “American? You American lady?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I love Americans! They have sucha big mouths and big fun, you know. They speak so big and drink so much, and they eat like my Uncle Orlando. He like bigga everything, like bigga women, bigga cars and bigga rings, like Americans. I love them Americans.”

  Dina tried to speak again, but Angelo snatched her hand, and yanked her toward the passenger door.

  “Andiamo, American lady.”

  Fabio took her other hand. “Now where you going, Miss?”

  Angelo opened the door, backed away and bowed.

  Dina searched both brothers’ eyes. They seemed harmless. Aggressive yes, but harmless. She turned back and saw a policeman glance over, curiously. She almost lifted a hand to wave him over, but then decided against it. Was she crazy for getting into that car? Yes.

  Dina bent into the little car, with Angelo piling into the back seat and Fabio sliding in behind the wheel.

  “Where to, Miss?”

  Dina swallowed, still unsure. “The Grand Hotel Palace. Do you know where it is?”

  “But of course, I know,” Fabio said, mildly insulted. “Why wouldn’t I know where the Grand Hotel Palace is?”

  “Of course, Fabio knows,” Angelo shouted from the backseat. “He best taxi driver in all Rome. Best tour guide too.”

  “Molte grazie, Angelo,” Fabio said.

  “He have lots of girls too,” Angelo, added. “He like the girls, and the girls like Fabio.”

  “You shut up, Angelo. We have a guest here. A nice lady from America. Keep that little mouth shut, Angelo.”

  Fabio cranked the engine, found the gear and the car jumped away from the curb, with Dina grabbing both sides of her seat.

  Fabio shot her a glance. “Where in America you from?”

  “Colorado.”

  Fabio pounded the wheel with the palm of his hand. “I love Colorado. Is near Buffalo, no?”

  Dina grinned. “No, it’s out west.”

  “Buffalo out west, of course,” Fabio said, emphatically. “Yes? That’s where the buffalo are, no? Out there in the west. Buffalo roam out there, like the song Home on the Range. I know that song. That’s where Buffalo is,” he insisted.

  “Well, yes… but…”

  Fabio cut her off. “I go to Colorado someday. Big mountains there, right?”

  “Yes, big mountains.”

  Dina decided to change the subject. “Is the Grand Hotel Palace a nice hotel?”

  “Yes, very nice hotel, short steps to the Hard Rock Cafe, short steps other way to Harry’s Bar and Grill. You can walk to the Trevi Fountain and Spanish steps. Near lots of cafes and restaurants. No problem for you. I’m tour guide too. I take you every place. No problem for me. Good price for all.”

  “Is that the fountain people toss coins in?” Dina asked. “The Trevi Fountain?”

  “Yes, sì, naturalmente, but you have to do it right, you know. You throw the coin from the right hand over the left shoulder. It means you come back to Rome, in the future.”

  “How much are you going to charge me?” Dina asked, aware she should have already asked the question.

  Fabio shrugged his shoulders. “Why worry so much about money, huh? Americans worry so much about this and that, and money, but it’s okay. I love them. As you say there—no problem.”

  “So how much?” Dina persisted.

  “Okay, so I take you to the Hotel Grand Palace for cheap, only 40 Euros. Those taxi boys back there charge you 45 or more.”

  Dina had done her homework calculating euros vs the dollar. “So, that’s about 45 U.S.?”

  Fabio waggled his hand. “Yeah, ball park, as you guys say. Okay, I take you for 38 euros, and you only tip if you want. Now, how’s that? Includes your bag and tax. Fabio always good to American ladies.”

  Angelo leaned forward. “You don’t do no better than that, American Lady. That good deal. Fabio always give good deal to girls.”

  “Shut up about the girls, Angelo. We have a guest in our taxi.”

  Fabio turned to Dina. “But if you want to leave good tip, Fabio okay with that. I give it to my Mamma.”

  Dina looked at him, doubtfully.

  “You should come and meet my Mamma. You like her and she like you. I can say that, no problem, because she like Americans too. My father went to America once—to New York. He work at a restaurant there. He send back money. How about I take you now to meet Mamma?”

  “No, no, thanks, Fabio. I need to check in.”

  “Okay, after check in, you come with me and Angelo and we meet Mamma Luisa. She cook you the best food you ever eat. Promise that. Yes, I promise that.”

  “Maybe some other time,” Dina said. “By the way, how long will it take to get to the hotel?”

  “Maybe 30 more minutes. But this is Italy. Thirty minutes not mean 30 minutes, you know. There’s all this traffic. But I’m the best driver.”

  Angelo spoke up from behind. “He the best driver. All the girls tell him that.”

  “Angelo, shut the mouth about the girls.”

  “Baciami il culo!” Angelo yelled, turning away with a flip of his hand.

  “Hey, Angelo! You bad guy,” Fabio shouted, into the rearview mirror. He glanced at Dina. “You don’t know no Italian, right?”

  “No…”

  “Good. Now, what’s this some other time you talking about, to meet my Mamma Luisa? You have plans tonight? No, right?”

  Dina seized on that. “Yes, I do have pla
ns. I’m meeting someone.”

  Fabio weaved in and out of traffic like he was NASCAR racing. He laid on his horn several times, cursing in Italian and throwing up a finger as he sped along the streets.

  “So, you bring that someone to meet Mamma Luisa. Mamma Luisa don’t care.”

  Dina scratched her head, thinking, This is not the Rome I’ve read about in the travel blogs. It was as if she had been thrown into some crazy Italian movie.

  Fabio’s invitation to meet his mother did help calm her nerves, although she wondered if he invited all his passengers home. If she decided to go, was there some protocol that she wasn’t aware of? If she said yes, would she be committing herself to something—like announcing that she and Fabio were an item? Maybe Fabio wanted to get to America, and she was part of his plan.

  Dina remained tense but intrigued. There was something about this little adventure that was entertaining and fun. It was weird and different and it would be a great story to tell Patti when she returned home, a home that seemed light years away and off on another planet in another galaxy.

  Would Veronique think she was crazy for riding with Fabio? What would Paul think?

  As they approached Rome, traffic was heavy and aggressive, and Fabio was forced to reduce his speed. Still, he kept charging ahead, mumbling, cursing and whipping the car from lane to lane.

  Dina’s hands gripped the passenger seat, her knuckles white, her face pinched with stress, her anxious eyes throwing darting glances, like a mouse searching for the cat that was stalking it.