by Anita Hughes
Lily inhaled the scent of eucalyptus and men’s cologne. The tension ebbed away, and all she could think about were the turquoise ocean and clear horizon.
“Happy?” Ricky asked, squeezing her hand.
Lily studied his chiseled cheekbones, and her heart lifted. A smile crossed her face and she nodded. “Very happy.”
* * *
They pulled up to the sand at Spiaggia Capriccioli, and Lily jumped out of the car. The beach was surrounded by lush foliage and tall pine trees. Limestone boulders fell down to the sea, and the sand looked like vanilla icing on top of a cake. And the water! Lily had never seen anything like it. It changed from turquoise to sapphire as if she were turning a kaleidoscope. There were brightly colored starfish and clusters of underwater plants.
“This can’t be real.” Lily ran back to the car. “It looks like the pictures in a magazine. Models in white bathing suits relax at a beach that’s so remote it can only be reached by a tiny plane. There are shots of them diving into azure water and swimming with the fish.” She sighed. “When you close the magazine, you feel like you’ve been on vacation, even though you’re standing at the supermarket checkout.”
“Spiaggia Capriccioli is one of the most intimate beaches on the Emerald Coast.” Ricky pointed to the horizon. “That’s the island of Soffi, and you can see Mortorio and La Camere.” He carried the basket to the shore. “The best part is there are hardly any tourists. We don’t have to worry about sharing our olives and ricotta cheese with anyone but the seagulls.”
“I’m too excited to eat.” Lily pulled off her caftan to reveal the blue swimsuit she found in the glove compartment of the car. “All I want to do is swim. The water is so clear, you don’t need a snorkel to see the fish.”
Lily raced into the sea and dove under the water. Ricky joined her, and they rolled and splashed like sea lions. There were schools of neon-colored fish and groupers.
“This is the best afternoon I’ve had in ages.” She collapsed on the sand. Then she lay on her back and spread her arms and legs.
“What are you doing?” Ricky stood over her.
“I’m making a Christmas angel,” she said and laughed. “I used to make them in the snow when we went to Lake Tahoe. Try it, it’s the best feeling in the world.”
Ricky lay down on the sand and waved his arms and legs. Lily sat up and burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, sitting up and dusting sand from his chest.
“I’ve never seen a grown man make a Christmas angel before,” she said. “I haven’t done that since I was ten years old.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back and tasted sea salt.
“I’ve been coming to this beach since I was a boy,” he said when they pulled apart. “But I’ve never had so much fun.”
* * *
After they dried off and ate their picnic lunch, they got back into the car. They drove along the coast, past Spiaggia dei Sassi Neri and Spiaggia Rudargia. Lily leaned out the window and inhaled the scent of pine trees and juniper.
Finally, they pulled into the town of Porto Rotondo, and Ricky parked the car. Porto Rotondo had brightly painted cottages and sleek galleries, and a horseshoe-shaped harbor. They explored the stone amphitheater and visited San Lorenzo Church and drank iced coffee in the Piazzetta San Marco.
Now it was early evening, and they sat at an outdoor table at S’Astore. The restaurant had a white tile floor and white curtains billowing in the breeze.
“I should have brought a cocktail dress.” Lily glanced at women in miniskirts and metallic sandals. “I didn’t realize everyone would be so dressed-up.”
“S’Astore is the most popular restaurant in Porto Rotondo.” Ricky sipped his wine. “It has a view of Cugnana Bay and the best grilled shrimp on the Emerald Coast.”
“I’ve never seen a sunset with such gorgeous colors.” She buttered a piece of bread. “Do you ever get tired of so much beauty?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Everywhere you look, there are elegant villas and sparkling yachts.” She sighed. “It’s wonderful, but it must get exhausting.”
“I disagree,” Ricky said slowly. “Life is more exhilarating when you are surrounded by beauty. And when you meet someone with lovely brown eyes, you want to look at her forever.”
Lily looked up and noticed Ricky’s dark eyes sparkling. He gulped his wine and set the glass on the table.
“You order for me,” Lily murmured. “I’m sure you know the best things on the menu.”
* * *
After dinner, they drank digestivi and danced on the terrace. The drive back to Porto Cervo along the winding road was intoxicating. Lily’s hair blew in the breeze, and Ricky kept his hand on her knee, and the sky was studded with stars.
Now Ricky pulled up at the Hotel Cervo and turned off the ignition.
“I had a wonderful time.” He took her hand.
“So did I, everything was perfect. The red convertible and the white sand beach and the delicious meal.” She smiled.
“Do you know what the best part of the last few days has been?” he asked. “It wasn’t cruising on Christoff’s yacht or eating oysters at the Yacht Club. It was spending this afternoon at Spiaggia Capriccioli. We splashed in the waves and swam with the fish and you were like a young girl.”
“I’ve always loved the ocean,” she agreed. “All I need is the sand and sea and I’m happy.”
“When we met, I said I was very serious about love. I just hadn’t met the right woman.” He touched Lily’s cheek. “I think I found that woman.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. Lily kissed him back, and his mouth was warm and tender. Then she pulled away and was suddenly nervous.
“We just met,” she said hesitantly. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“You’re effervescent and lovely, and I can’t stop thinking about you.” He took a black velvet box from the glove compartment and handed it to Lily.
She snapped it open and gasped. There was a ruby pendant with an antique clasp.
“I can’t accept this,” she protested. “I’m leaving in a few days. What if we never see each other again?”
“It’s only a necklace.” He took out the pendant and snapped it around her neck. “It would make me happy if you wore it.”
Lily fingered the rubies and suddenly felt glamorous and sexy. She was divorced and sitting in a red convertible on the Emerald Coast. Why shouldn’t she accept a gift from a handsome man?
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” he said and kissed her.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she answered and kissed him back. “It’s a beautiful necklace and I’d love to wear it.”
* * *
Lily entered her suite and took a deep breath. Soft lighting illuminated the living room, and she was reminded of how pretty it was. The rug was pale pink, and the window seat was scattered with ivory cushions; it was like the inside of a seashell.
There was a knock at the door, and she answered it.
“Enzo, I’m glad you’re here! I have so much to tell you,” she exclaimed. “I just got back from Porto Rotondo. We had a wonderful time.”
“I am glad Ricky is treating you well.” Enzo carried a silver tray of assorted chocolate truffles. “He is lucky to have the company of a beautiful young woman.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Enzo. If it weren’t for you, I would be sitting by the hotel pool like every other tourist. Instead, I’m seeing all the beaches and towns of the Emerald Coast.” She took a truffle from the tray and popped it into her mouth. “Can I ask you something serious? How soon did you know you were in love with your wife?”
“I can’t remember.” He shrugged. “We’ve been married for thirteen years.”
“You must remember; it’s one of the most important days of your life. Besides your wedding day and the births of your daughters.
” She paused. “Was it soon after you met, or did it take months to realize?”
“We were seventeen when we met,” Enzo recalled. “I was working as a valet. One of the guests tore her zipper, and the hotel’s seamstress had gone home. The concierge told me to take the dress to a seamstress near the piazzetta. I knocked on the door, and a young woman answered. She was about my age, with dark hair and green eyes. She took the dress and went into the back. When she reappeared and handed it to me with a new zipper, I knew I was in love.”
“You can’t fall in love that quickly.” Lily laughed. “You didn’t even know her name.”
“Love is about how the other person makes you feel,” Enzo said. “When I look at Carmella, I’m the luckiest man in Sardinia.”
“So you really think love could be possible after a few days?” she asked
“There are no rules to love,” he answered. “That’s what makes it different from anything else in the world.”
“You always say the perfect thing, Enzo.” Lily beamed and took out her phone. “I took some pictures to show you. You must take Carmella for a special dinner at S’Astore in Porto Rotondo. The views are spectacular, and the sunset is so romantic.”
* * *
Lily sat at her dressing table and brushed her hair. Ricky was warm and vibrant, and she’d had a wonderful time. But Lily Bristol’s grand opening was in in three days, and then she was flying back to Connecticut.
She studied her reflection in the mirror and wondered if Enzo was right. Could she fall in love so quickly, and what would happen if she did? She’d worry about the future tomorrow. Tonight, she was a young woman on holiday, wearing a ruby pendant.
Chapter Ten
OLIVER STEPPED ONTO THE TERRACE of Cala di Volpe and thought it resembled the paperback books his mother read when he was a child. The covers displayed women in shimmering evening gowns and stilettos. A mysterious man hovered in the shadows, and you knew the book was full of sex and scandal.
Oliver was surprised that Angela had suggested meeting at Bar Pontile; it had the highest prices in Porto Cervo. Cala di Volpe was the most exclusive hotel on the Emerald Coast and frequented by super models and Russian billionaires. There was a kidney-shaped swimming pool and chaise longues littered with striped cushions.
Maybe Angela was hoping to hand out her card to potential clients. He thought about what he was about to tell her and felt a surge of joy. Angela was going to be so pleased; he wondered how she would reward him.
Angela sat at a table by the pool, and he thought she’d never looked more striking. She wore a flower-print dress and red sandals. Her hair was protected by a wide-brimmed hat, and she wore oversized sunglasses.
“Is that a new dress?” Oliver approached her. “It’s stunning.”
“I discovered it at a boutique in the marina,” Angela replied. “The dress is vintage Cavalli and the sandals are next year’s Gianvito Rossi. They won’t arrive in New York until the spring.”
“I didn’t know you had such an interest in clothes.” Oliver pulled out a chair.
“You have to fit into your surroundings, Oliver,” she explained. “How can I convince clients I understand their floral needs unless they feel comfortable around me?”
“I can’t imagine fitting into these surroundings,” Oliver mused. “The guests look like they belong to an international drug ring. It could be the setting of a Bond movie.”
“It was the setting of a Bond movie,” Angela said. “They filmed The Spy Who Loved Me at this hotel. I thought you knew that. You said you were doing background research on the Emerald Coast for your review.”
“I am doing research. But I did something more exciting this afternoon,” he began. “I can’t wait to tell you.”
“I have some news too,” she answered.
“Do you mind if I go first? I’ve been bursting with anticipation.” He picked up the menu. “But first let’s order. We’ll want to celebrate.”
The bartender brought out a silver cart with a cocktail shaker and ice bucket. He mixed almond syrup and lemon juice and added shots of vodka. The glasses were frosty, and each one contained two raspberries.
“It’s delicious. One more of these and I won’t flinch when he brings the bill.” Oliver sipped his drink. “I was in the Hotel Cervo lobby and noticed a skinny man wearing jeans and a T-shirt. You’ll never guess who it was, Dominique Ansel, the creator of the Cronut!
“I offered to buy him a drink and he accepted. I wrote a glowing review when he was the pastry chef at Daniel, and he’s never forgotten. Did you know that he arrives at Ansel Bakery every morning at four AM to make sure the people waiting in line for Cronuts have water? And he is a pastry genius. The strawberry rhubarb Cronuts are exceptional, and Martha Stewart raves about his frozen s’mores.”
“I’m pleased you met one of your idols, but what’s your news?” Angela asked.
“I’m getting to that.” Oliver leaned back in his chair. “First we talked about his upbringing. Dominique was born in a working-class suburb of Paris and spent three years as a military chef in French Guiana. Then we discussed his philanthropy. He started the Cronut Mission a few years ago and raised millions to provide nutritious meals for the homeless during the holidays.”
“This is fascinating, Oliver,” Angela said impatiently. “But I’m sure I can read his biography at Barnes & Noble.”
“Then he let drop that he’s holding a huge charity event next spring. It’s going to be the event of the season. All the celebrities love his Cronuts,” he finished triumphantly. “I said I knew the perfect florist, and she’s staying in Porto Cervo. He’s going to join us for cocktails this evening.”
“I am impressed, Oliver! That was very thoughtful,” Angela exclaimed. “I’m a fan of his Cronuts … though I’d never wait in line for a croissant wrapped in a donut. It will be fabulous, it could launch my company.”
Oliver sat back and was quite pleased with himself. It felt so good to do something nice for Angela.
“What did you want to tell me?” he asked. “It can’t be as good as my news.”
“It’s quite different,” she said. “I visited a doctor this afternoon.”
Oliver gulped. He wanted to be a good boyfriend. But what if Angela had a rare disease like on the Lifetime movies Louisa’s babysitter watched on television?
“A doctor?” he repeated.
“It’s always a good idea to get a professional diagnosis, even though the tests these days are so conclusive,” she continued. “Did you know you can test before you miss a period? It says so on the packet.”
“What kind of test?” Oliver clutched his drink.
“A pregnancy test, Oliver.” She looked at Oliver and took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“You can’t be pregnant!” he spluttered. “We just met.”
“We’ve been together for two and a half months,” she reminded him. “That’s plenty of time.”
“You’re a modern woman. Surely you’re on the Pill,” he floundered. “I saw the plastic container in your cosmetics case.”
“You were looking through my cosmetics case?” She raised her eyebrow.
“It was on the bathroom counter,” he explained. “I knocked it over when I reached for my shaving cream.”
“When we met, I was tired of men and had sworn myself to celibacy.” She fiddled with her drink. “Apparently it happened before I resumed taking the Pill.”
“You weren’t on the Pill and didn’t tell me?” Oliver was so angry he couldn’t contain himself.
“It was only a couple of times,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. I’m pregnant, and I’m not having an abortion.”
“Pregnant,” Oliver gasped. Jet Skis skimmed the waves, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to get a terminal cancer diagnosis. One minute you were savoring the hint of raspberry in your martini, the next you were thinking of how to enjoy the time you had left.
“Here’s the thing, Ol
iver,” Angela said. “I like you a lot. You’re a little sexually repressed, but that’s understandable for a guy who’s newly divorced. You’re bright and personable.” She wet her lips. “I could even imagine falling in love with you.
“But we’re not going to become one of those couples who hash things out for weeks.” She paused. “Whatever you say next about this pregnancy is going to stand between us forever.” She stood up. “So I’m going back to the suite, and you’re going to think about what I told you. When you’re ready to say the one thing you really mean, you know where to find me.”
“You can’t leave.” Oliver jumped up. “That’s like dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and not waiting to see the destruction. I don’t know anything about your plans or your medical history. Do twins run in your family, and are there any cases of diabetes? Being pregnant is the most climactic news in the world; you don’t just mention it over cocktails.”
“You know the only two things that matter.” Angela gathered her purse. “I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”
* * *
Oliver sat down and sipped his drink, but the almond syrup was too sweet and the raspberry got stuck in his throat. How could Angela be pregnant? He remembered all the times they had sex: sitting on the bench in the shower, Angela straddling him on the bed. That wasn’t the kind of lovemaking that produced a baby; those were a teenage boy’s fantasies come to life.
He signaled the waiter and felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It was all very well for Angela to say she wanted a family, but she couldn’t be pregnant now. He didn’t even know her shoe size or how she celebrated Christmas.
For a moment, he wondered whether she’d gotten pregnant on purpose, but that was ludicrous. Oliver was a newspaper columnist with an ex-wife and child support payments. Angela was stunning; she could marry a hedge fund manager or a sports agent.
The waiter refreshed his glass, and he pictured Louisa’s freckled cheeks. Louisa was the best thing that ever happened to him, but he and Lily had been married and madly in love.
Lily! What would she say when he told her Louisa was going to have a half sister? Neither of them had expected this to happen so quickly. They were still getting used to transporting Louisa’s guinea pig from the farmhouse to Oliver’s apartment.
