Villa Blue

by Isla Dean

  What the hell did he want? He’d always known the answer to that but his mind tripped on something.

  The phone in his pocket rang and he pulled it out as Ivy began her order.

  “I’ve got to take this. Order for me? I don’t care what it is, whatever you pick is great.”

  Before she could ask him if there was anything he didn’t like, he’d already slipped out of the booth and was headed toward the door.

  Ivy exchanged a look with the waitress. “What would you order for him?”

  “What kind of food does the man like? Steak and eggs? Ham? French toast?”

  Ivy glanced at the menu. “I have no clue what he likes. Sweet? Savory?”

  “Well he likes you. You can tell by the way a man looks at you, and he looks at you like, well, like he’s looking into your soul, you know?” The waitress jingled the bells around her wrist.

  Ivy took a moment, considered the woman’s words, then dismissed them as lightheartedly silly, and continued. “In that case, I guess I should know what the man eats then, shouldn’t I?”

  “How long have you two been in love?”

  Ivy coughed out a stunned chuckle. “Oh we’re not… We’re just…”

  The waitress patted Ivy on the shoulder. “Just go with the bacon and cheddar omelet. It’s a safe bet. Men like bacon and cheese.”

  Ivy grinned humbly, her insides having jumped into a tizzy. “That’s perfect.”

  “Coming up,” the waitress announced then wandered off, jingling with every step.

  Scanning the maze of boats moored in the harbor for the weekend—the tidy white shapes floating in dark blue waters, all beneath a leisurely pastel sky—Ivy tried to distract herself with images but it only served to fuel the flutter, illuminating what the waitress had said.

  The man had been inside of her. She’d felt his power, his presence in his movements within her, hadn’t she? But it certainly wasn’t love. She may have little dating experience, but she wasn’t naïve enough to think sex was anything more than just that. Sex.

  Even so, she wondered what the waitress had seen. She prided herself on being observant, understanding, having a keen eye. But she’d just boarded the wrong golf cart hadn’t she? What else had she missed?

  Not that it mattered; he was a guest visiting Villa Blue, a man on a business trip. And wasn’t it strange that he couldn’t tell her what business, exactly, that he was there for? He didn’t seem terribly focused on it. Or maybe it was effortless and she just hadn’t noticed.

  Effortless, she thought again. She did paint so much more freely when effort stopped and something else entirely took over. Maybe he was the same way. Or maybe she was just focused on her own work so she hadn’t seen his.

  Or, she thought as she poured another brown packet of raw sugar into her coffee, maybe he was a spy. Maybe he was there for covert reasons, a real hush-hush scenario, she decided, amused. He did have a look about him that made him appear as though he could belong anywhere.

  She entertained herself by envisioning him running down streets in Istanbul, hiding in pockets of cafes in Paris, descending from ceilings in high-tech banks to catch crooks in Hong Kong.

  She loved living in her imagination. It had been her sanctuary throughout childhood, through the first dash of adulthood, and now, wasn’t it nice to share it with someone? Even if it was only for a small, single scoop of time.

  And when she began to imagine a scoop of time in the flavor of mint chocolate chip, she decided she was glad they’d stopped for food. Her brain was getting loopy.

  “Sorry about that.” Aiden scooted back into the booth.

  “No problem. I amused myself by imagining you as a spy.”

  His eyebrows raised above eyes that’d gone from bottle green to a dusky moss color. “A spy, huh?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He scrubbed his hands on his face that was rough from not having shaved. “Nothing, just business.”

  “Spoken like a spy.” She drank from the sweet coffee in her mug then moved on to the glass of water that had been set in front of her.

  “Spies don’t usually work for their parents.” His tone and face were unreadable.

  “So that was your father on the phone?”

  “The one and only.”

  Ivy watched him more closely than she had before and realized it was the first time she’d seen him look anything but casually confident. He looked like a man slowed down by whatever weight he carried on his shoulders. “Not a good call then?”

  “He’s just a tough man to deal with at times.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s a man who knows how to get what he wants when he wants it.”

  She refrained from telling him she’d say the same thing about him—but she would have meant it as a compliment.

  “Is he hot or cold about it?”

  “He operates at whatever temperature is necessary to get what he wants.”

  “And if you happen to be in the way?”

  The waitress delivered plates of hearty food, refills of hot coffee, a quick, bell-chiming pat on Ivy’s shoulder again, then was off to the next table.

  “Wouldn’t think twice about bulldozing over me if it suited him.”

  There, she thought, feeling the pulse of what beat beneath the surface.

  Watching as he forked a heap of eggs into his mouth after smothering them with hot sauce, she wondered if he noticed what he ate, but decided he’d meant it when he said he didn’t care what she ordered for him.

  “I want to ask why he called, but if you don’t want to share, that’s all right. I hope you like what I ordered you.”

  “It’s perfect,” he said, looking down at his plate as if he’d just realized he was eating. “He called to get my report on this trip and to tell me he wants me in London tomorrow.”

  She stopped chewing for a moment, then finished her bite, swallowed. “Tomorrow,” she repeated, feeling her stomach drop abruptly into disappointment.

  “Yeah. A deal that’s heated up there, he wants me to fly in and negotiate it.”

  She waited for more, trying to understand, watching as he devoured his plate of food.

  “And that’s the sort of thing you do for his company, right? Travel places, check out opportunities, buy them, or invest in them or whatever?”

  “It is.”

  “Are you unhappy in your job? You don’t really have to work for him, right?”

  He finished his omelet then nudged the emptied plate away and pulled his cup of coffee in. “I don’t really know what’s wrong. Something rubbed me the wrong way while I was talking to him, I guess.”

  Aiden absently drank from the mug then looked down at the black brew. “My job’s great.” When he looked back up at Ivy, a frown was set on his face. “I don’t have to work for his company, I’ve gotten other offers, considered doing my own thing, but I actually have a lot of freedom working for him. My father, in all his faults, gives me my freedom and pays me for it. I’ve seen the world and have earned money at the same time. Pretty good gig.”

  “So then why are you frowning?”

  “Am I?”

  She nodded. “You don’t like London, then?”

  He thought of the reporter from the London Times that he knew—Millie. Brunette, leggy, smart. And Katie the pretty woman who worked at the boutique inside of the hotel his father owned in London. He thought of the fun, frivolous adventures he could have.

  “I don’t know why I don’t want to go.” Aiden emptied his coffee, pulled cash from his wallet and laid it on the table. “Ready?”

  Something about the nook of a restaurant had gotten cramped instead of cozy. He needed air, adventure, something to take his mind off the fact that he had to leave Parpadeo and didn’t seem to give a damn about taking steps to actually leave—booking a flight, packing, finishing his report. “Come with me to that waterfall in your painting.”

  Puzzled, having left most of her breakfast on her plate, she follow
ed him across the walkway of the promenade. The harbor town—still waking under the warming glow of late spring—was empty except for two women power walking toward the shore, a woman on a bicycle speeding by, and a shopkeeper hosing off the sidewalk in front of his store.

  “I have work,” she told him. “And my mom is here. The former is the difference between living my dreams and not, and the latter is… Well, I’m not really sure what to do about the latter. Don’t you have to leave?”

  His face hardened in response.

  They retrieved the cart—the correct one this time—from its spot in front of the gallery, waved to Klem through the window.

  Heading back up the hill to Villa Blue, neither said anything. The sun had brought out additional morning stragglers and a variety of carts putted by, including one filled with the girls that made up the bachelorette party. Screams and calls came from the collection of girls and they pointed excitedly at Ivy and Aiden as they passed.

  “What was that all about?” Ivy asked.

  He shrugged then glanced at her, realizing. “Maybe they saw us this morning.”

  Her eyes widened before she clasped a hand over her mouth, muffling a chuckle.

  “Gives them something to aspire to,” he decided, then pulled over into one of the lookouts along the way.

  “Well we’re not giving them another show right here. What’re you doing?”

  He glanced at her and the jolt she got was startling. Ivy decided the waitress had been spot on about the way he looked into her, but there was something else. He let her look into him as well.

  “What if we borrow the Jeep from Donatella—she’s already offered to let me borrow it—load up your mother, sister, and your painting gear, take it to the west side of the island and you can show me that waterfall. Many birds, one stone.”

  She squinted as she tried to understand. “You want to spend the day with my mom and sister while I work? Why? Don’t you have to go to London?”

  “I will. But I want to spend the day with you first. If that means other people are there, if that means you’re working, it doesn’t matter. I just want to spend the day with you before I leave.”

  She searched for words but came up short of any intelligent articulation. The request had been so simple, so sincere, there wasn’t any response left except yes. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, and if I can really work, then yes. Okay.”

  His face lightened again, and his lips caught hers in a kiss.

  “I like watching you work,” he told her as they started back to the villa.

  “Why?”

  He maneuvered the cart through the switchbacks that squiggled up the hill. “I’ve never met anyone who sees the world like you do. I like watching it in action.”

  “I just stand there painting. I’d think that’d be boring to watch.”

  “Then you underestimate the sex appeal of watching a woman lose herself in passion.”

  She frowned. “I’m inclined to tell you you’re crazy, but I think I’ll just accept it.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” she repeated. “I can’t believe those girls saw us—maybe—this morning. You really think the odds are that good they were up early, watching us?”

  “We could try it again, increase the odds of that happening.”

  She knew he was kidding but it was more fun for her mind to imagine being with him again. She did have the gift of imagination, after all. “When will you leave for London?”

  He pulled the cart under the shade of a cypress near the entrance of Villa Blue. “I don’t know. For now, I like where I’m at.”

  “Me too,” she said, meaning it from the core of her being, knowing they meant it in different ways. “And doesn’t that feel good?” she decided as they made their way toward the front door of the villa.

  “You feel good.” He picked her up and in one sweeping movement, her legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth covered hers. And instead of carting her into the villa, he took the side path to her studio.

  “I thought we were getting ready to go to the waterfall?”

  “We will.”

  “This must be what it’s like to be tall,” she teased, glancing around at the pockets of thick woods, curving streets, and kaleidoscope of colorful homes tucked into the next hill over, taking advantage of seeing things from his perspective. “You know, the view really is beautiful here.”

  “I prefer the view right in front of me,” he gripped her with one hand as he pushed open her door with the other.

  “Too bad we couldn’t wait and do this at the waterfall.” Her body had come alive, ignited by his easy hold of her while he walked.

  “You don’t want me looking like this in front of your mom and sister.” Aiden laid her on the bed, glanced down at himself pushing hard against his jeans.

  “I see,” she said, pulling him toward her. “I think I can help with that.”

  “And we’ll just have to play again at the waterfall.”

  “Play,” she said, considering as his lips found her neck. “Too bad my mom and sister will be there,” she said, amending her statement.

  Aiden slid her pants down her hips as she wiggled out of them. “We’ll find a way.”

  “We’ll find a way,” she offered on a shuddered breath as he slid into her.

  Chapter Ten

  Donatella’s rusty red Jeep climbed over rocks that poked out of the dirt road on the wilder, preserved west side of the island, crept over wavy hills, putted beside meandering streams.

  Helen and Iris chatted in the backseat, discussing matters Ivy preferred to ignore.

  “Did you hear that Erika Rosenthall broke it off with the Heinz boy? Big mistake if you ask me. He’s going places.” Helen’s raspy, matronly voice reached up to Ivy. “Did you hear that, Ivy? Erika Rosenthall made a big mistake by—”

  “I heard you, Mom, but I didn’t hear about Erika. I don’t have much interest in the Carmel gossip scene and I’d rather stay out of it.”

  “You mean get out of it?” Iris corrected, holding onto the roll bar as they rambled over a rise of rocks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You leaving Carmel, leaving Greg without, you know, fighting for him. People are saying you snuck out of town in the middle of the night to save face, others say you’ve cracked and have become some kind of nut in hiding. And some say you went off to have plastic surgery so no one will recognize you. That’s my personal fave.”

  Ivy ordered herself not to turn around in her seat to glare at her sister. “People will get bored eventually and move on to something more interesting.” She leaned an elbow out of the open window and, realizing which camp her mother was in, mumbled, “I’m not in hiding.”

  “No, it’s pretty interesting stuff. With Greg and that girl getting married, and her being pregnant. Ah! I almost forgot. Their wedding is today! Did you know, Ivy?”

  Aiden looked over to Ivy who was staring off in the distance and he wondered how knotted up in her ex she was. Her emotionless face hidden behind sunglasses wasn’t giving away any hints.

  “If Ivy had stayed and fought for him, Greg would’ve done the right thing in the end,” Helen told Iris, again just loud enough for Ivy to hear. “I didn’t raise quitters.”

  Finally Ivy turned around. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Mom. Really I am. And I’m sorry you don’t understand, but that’s just the way it is. Now both of you are being rude to Aiden who is being perfectly kind and taking us to see a waterfall. Let’s just enjoy this the best we can. It’s a beautiful place. I’d rather not spoil it by trying to wish any of us were other than who we are.”

  “I’m your mother.” Helen’s voice slammed down like a wall of iron bars. “And you will not speak to me that way.”

  “Then we agree this conversation can be over,” Ivy said, reining in the snarling spark, then turned back to watching the dirt road.

  Surprising himself, Aiden reached over, placed a hand on Ivy’s leg in assura
nce, in understanding. He wasn’t one for displays of affection in front of parents—too many expectations tended to spring up—but in that moment, he didn’t care. Ivy simply mattered more.

  The rest of the ride was quiet except for Ivy guiding them toward the waterfall Donatella had shown her when she’d first arrived on Parpadeo. It had, once again, been hidden by the growth of spring—framed by bursting green ferns, twisting ties of thick brown vines, white, gold, and purple wildflowers that climbed from the base of either side of the steady spray of water. Nature shielded the grotto from the whipping winds of the western coastal edge, making it feel like a secret, soothing pocket of life.

  It looked the same as when she’d first been there, except the green had grown livelier, fuller, and the flowers had grown in numbers, as if building their own chipper families in the secret spot. Boulders circled the base of the waterfall, cupping the pool of water, creating a swimming hole and providing a neat row of seats to take in the view.

  Helen and Iris were steps ahead, and Iris was already screeching over the chill of the water.

  “Magical.” Aiden stopped beside Ivy.

  She’d paused to take in the wonder—and a breath—from afar before she got any closer. She preferred that view, the broader view, before dialing into one scene, one emotion, one speck of time that she’d feel her way through then paint on paper.

  Catching the scent of man by her side, it factored into the scene that came into focus in her mind.

  In clear contrast to how she felt with her own family—rigidly prepared to shield herself at any time—she was comfortable standing next to Aiden. He was a man she barely knew, and yet, somehow she was more content with him than with her flesh and blood. For one, he understood her better than her mother and sister ever would. And he’d somehow been beside her when she needed him. Or, more accurately, when she didn’t know she needed him. “Magical,” she agreed, her thoughts crossing with the conversation. “I didn’t think I believed in magic. I might be changing my mind on that.”

  “You create worlds out of nothing. That’s magical.”

  She tilted her head to meet his gaze, feeling herself in that quiet place in the center of a storm. “You always say something at just the right time that makes me smile. You’re really good at that.”