by Casey Dawes
Did that mean she was sleeping with Rick or not?
A wave of uncomfortable silence arced between them.
Sarah jumped up from the bench and held out her hand. “Let’s go! I’m starved!”
After a moment, Elizabeth stood and cast one more look up the hill at her mother’s childhood home. The family had faced the unknown and crossed an ocean to a new life.
She would have to find her own courage to let Sarah run her own life and make her own mistakes.
But what would she do instead of guiding her daughter’s life?
Chapter 2
Elizabeth’s low heels clacked in time with the muffled taps of her daughter’s flats as they walked down the street. She tried to concentrate on the faint rustle of the leafy trees and the scent of olive oil lifting from a dozen trattorias on their route. The warm air and murmur of voices in the background surfaced old memories: her five brothers squabbling at dinner, the rustle of her father’s newspaper, her mother’s iron hand that kept everything in order. They hadn’t been rich by any means, but they’d had enough.
Why couldn’t Elizabeth be satisfied with the life she had? She frowned in concentration.
“Mom,” Sarah said, linking her arm with Elizabeth. “It’ll be all right. This is why I didn’t want to tell you about the transfer. I knew you’d get all mopey and everything. It’s not the end of the world.”
It’s the end of the world as I’ve known it. And I don’t know what to do next.
“You need to get a life, Mom. Find a new man. Open another store. Go to college. Do something!” She practically dragged Elizabeth down the hill. “Let’s find the perfect place for lunch. One with rich Italian pastas, good-looking waiters and a view of the Mediterranean.”
Elizabeth smiled at her daughter’s joy.
They’d walked for about ten minutes, chatting about the sights, when Sarah stopped suddenly. “Wow. Look, Mom. You have to see this window. It’d be perfect for your store.”
Elizabeth looked. Dozens of bottles of skin care products nestled in dramatic sea-colored scarves filled the window. Pictures of lush-lipped models with radiant skin framed the display. A sigh of joy escaped her and she floated in the door. She couldn’t wait to get her fingers in the sampling jars.
Once inside she went from one counter to another, sniffing and touching the lotions and oils. Sarah was right beside her, grinning like an eight-year-old who had just presented her mother with her best school artwork.
An older man appeared at her side.
“Welcome to my store,” he said. “It is a privilege to have sophisticated women such as you,” his gesture included Sarah, “in my shop. Are you looking for something special?”
“Not really.” Elizabeth grinned. Sheer flattery. And she loved it. “My daughter saw your display. It was so luscious, I couldn’t wait to sample the lotions.”
He returned her smile. “Sensual, yes?”
“Yes. I love the way fine lotions make my skin supple and smooth. Yours are silky.” She gestured at the scarves that were artfully arranged around the samples. They were the same style and design as those in the window. “These are quite beautiful, too.”
Another smile crinkled under the man’s thick white mustache. “This is my family’s line of skin care,” he said. “And those scarves are my daughter’s designs. She does beautiful work, no?”
“Yes, she does.”
The man smiled proudly.
“Can you tell me about the products?” Elizabeth asked. The discovery thrilled her. These products could bring new life to her shop.
He glanced at her left hand and gestured for her to follow him to a far side of the store. “Here we keep our products for women who would like to find or keep a man.” A slight tinge of red crept up his neck.
She had to laugh. “Grazi, but I am not looking for a man right now.” A guilty thrill went through her as she thought Marcos.
Sarah nudged her arm. “Yes, you are, Mom.”
“Hush.”
The proprietor smiled. “You never know when you’ll find the one of your dreams. Here, smell. We call it Amoré.” He held an open jar toward her.
The scent was spicy with a hint of musk underneath. The imp who had been brought to life with Marcos’ touch shivered with sexual anticipation.
“Why don’t you get some, Mom?” Sarah asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t need a love potion right now.” What she needed to do was keep her head.
She walked to the other side of the shop and pretended to examine the merchandise. Putting on her business voice, she said, “I’d like to be able to carry these in my day spa in California. Do you ship overseas?”
“I am sorry, but no. We are a very small company, family run. We made the decision a long time ago that this was the size of company we wanted to be. This way, everyone works a little and everyone can enjoy life.” His gesture included the world beyond the store.
Sounded perfect. She wondered if she could get the lifestyle in a bottle. “I’d like to buy some of your family’s lotions while I’m here, then.”
“Benissimo! Let me get you a basket.”
A half hour later, Elizabeth had a large bag and an even larger dent in her credit card. “Coming, Sarah?”
“In a sec. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Un momento.” The proprietor handed her a pink notepad paper. “This is the company we work with to produce our lotions. Perhaps they know someone who would export Italian products for your store.”
Or help me create my own.
Where did that idea come from?
Elizabeth waited for her daughter on a park bench. Leafy trees arched overhead and the chirp of sparrows surrounded her. A young couple strolled by, arms linked, and heads touching in deep conversation.
Beginnings. Sarah was right. Elizabeth needed a new beginning.
She pondered the creation of her own line of lotions and smiled as she imagined a “Beauty by the Bay” skin care line featured in Vogue.
Sarah breezed out of the store, a small bag in her hand. “Mom, now I’m totally starved. We need to find a place to eat soon.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“I’ll show you at lunch.”
A trattoria near the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean captured their interest. Over lunch, Sarah seemed determined to rehash every moment of their two-week trip in Italy. Elizabeth was happy to follow her lead. Small talk kept her from having to tell her daughter she was going out to dinner with a strange Italian that night.
By the time they got to coffee and dessert, Elizabeth knew she couldn’t delay any longer. “You’re going to have to be on your own tonight,” she said.
“Why? Got a hot date?” Sarah grinned.
“Actually, yes.”
Sarah stopped smiling. “Who do you know in Italy?”
“I met Marcos last night.”
“You can’t go off with a man you only met last night! You don’t know anything about him! He could be a sex-trafficker or something!” Sarah’s voice screeched.
Elizabeth burst out laughing. “He’s the cousin of the innkeeper. He’s quite nice, although I am flattered that you think a sex trafficker would be interested in me.”
“Mother.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “You know you’re pretty enough to be on the cover of Vogue. Stop fishing for compliments.”
Elizabeth smiled. “There’s nothing to fear. I’ll be perfectly safe.” I hope. She patted her daughter’s hand. “But thanks for worrying.”
“I still don’t think you should go alone.” Sarah looked sternly at Elizabeth. “You should take a chaperone. Like me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m serious, Mom. You don’t know this person.”
“Sarah. Stop. I’m going out tonight. You’re the one always pushing me to get a new life. Well, here it is and I’m grabbing it — at least for tonight. Now, what’s in the bag?” Elizabeth asked, looking for an excuse to stop talking about Marcos.
Sarah laughed and pulled out a jar of Amoré. “Perfect for your date!”
• • •
Elizabeth brushed golden shadow on her upper lids, highlighting her brown eyes. She glanced at the jar of Amoré on the counter. The container seemed to grow larger by the minute, almost mocking her for her efforts.
“Mom, c’mon.” Sarah knocked on the bathroom door. “What are you doing in there? You don’t have to get all dressed up. He might get the wrong idea.”
Elizabeth paused, her lipstick halfway to her mouth, and considered her daughter’s remark.
Marcos had stirred something within her that she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. Joe had been a loving husband, but she’d been a mother at seventeen. Not much time for romance. And the problem had become worse in the last years of their marriage.
And Bobby … well … She couldn’t say what was different, but going out to dinner with Marcos made her feel sexier than a weekend in bed with Bobby ever had.
She snapped the lipstick shut. Looking as attractive as she could was a risk, but the evening was only a casual date with a stranger she’d never see again. A harmless flirtation. Nothing serious was going to happen.
Then she remembered the touch of his hand on hers and a shiver went through her. A delicious tremor, to be savored, like a glass of fine wine. As long as she didn’t overindulge, she’d be safe.
She examined the results of her efforts. The sheer tawny lipstick gave her a look of sophistication. Her dark brown hair was swept up and gold drop earrings shined below her ears. A simple, but flowing dress with nodding sunflowers and stylish yellow heels completed the picture.
She pushed a wayward hair back in place. There. Ready to deal with the opposite sex.
She opened the door.
“Wow, Mom. If he doesn’t fall instantly in love with you, he’ll have to be halfway dead,” Sarah said. “I thought you weren’t looking for a man.” Her voice held concern.
“I’m not in the market for a man. This is only a fun date.”
“Right. Let’s go meet the man you’re not interested in, Mom.”
“Children,” Elizabeth said with mock horror.
“Mothers.” Sarah retorted.
They laughed as they rode down the tiny elevator to the first floor. Marcos was pacing in the small lobby. Elizabeth drank in the picture of his lean body and intense expression, feeling the heat of desire flush through her in spite of her resolution.
• • •
Marcos gave Elizabeth an appreciative smile. “Bella,” he said, grasping her hands.
“This is my daughter, Sarah,” she said.
“Ah, you have inherited your mother’s good looks,” he said as he shook Sarah’s hand.
“Marcos.” Rosita came from behind the hotel counter. “Where are you taking my guest? And when will you be back?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, her arms akimbo. “I want to know, too.”
Elizabeth looked up at Marcos with a grin.
He smiled back. “You are well-protected, I see.” He spoke some rapid Italian to his cousin.
“Buona.” Rosita said. “He is treating you well. As he should.” She glared at her cousin, then turned to Elizabeth and said, “You will love the food there.” Rosita hooked her arm through Sarah’s and said, “Come, your mother is safe. Now we will find some good young people for you to eat dinner with.”
Marcos chuckled. “The dragon feroce with a heart of gold. Shall we?” He gestured to the front door.
They strolled through the soft evening light of the Italian coast down narrow streets. While Marcos didn’t touch her, the heat of his body kept her hyperaware of his presence by her side.
“How was your day?” he asked. “I have spent mine with numbers, numbers and more numbers. I pray you had more fun.”
She told him about the discovery of the lotion store, finishing as they reached a tiny restaurant carved from of an older set of buildings. The vine-covered stone of the building laced the glow of light beaming from thick-silled windows.
Marcos pushed open the wooden door and she entered. A small bar hugged the left wall. Eight white-covered tables made up the seating for the entire restaurant. Patrons were seated at all but one table.
A birdlike woman who had been drying glasses behind the bar swept around and gave Marcos a squeeze before launching into an Italian tirade.
He finally broke free from her lecture and introduced Elizabeth. The woman rushed them to the last open table, muttered something under her breath and left after Marcos nodded.
“Let me guess,” Elizabeth said. “Another cousin?”
“Unfortunately.”
They laughed together.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he said after the bartender had brought them an apéritif. “I know it’s a risk to take with a relative stranger.”
“The only way to stop being strangers is to begin to be friends.” Where had that come from?
“Not only good-looking, but wise, too.”
She laughed, enjoying the subtle flattery. “You’re a tease. Just like my brothers.”
“Oh? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“No sisters. Only five brothers.”
“And you are the only female?” His eyebrows raised in mock horror. “How terrible for you! How did you ever get out on a date long enough to create the wonderful Sarah?”
She blushed, remembering the escape tactics that she and Joe had employed to get away from her brothers and her parents.
“There is a story there, no?” he said.
One that she chose not to tell. “How about you? What’s your family like?”
“I have only one sister — older. She lives in Milano. She designs jewelry. I have her card somewhere.”
He dug his wallet out and fished among the papers. “Here,” he said. “You’ll have to see her jewelry on the Internet.”
She took the card, pleased with his endorsement of his sister. A man who loved his family had good values. “Is your sister married?”
“Oh, yes. They are so terribly in love, even after two children and a long marriage. I never thought it would last. He’s so imbranato … how do you say it … geeky. He works with computers or something. But they are very happy, especially now that their children are out of the house.”
Elizabeth wondered what a relationship that outlived children would be like. If Joe had lived would they still be friends now? Or strangers sharing a house? Many of the wives who came into her store described a life like that. The loneliness seemed so sad after a lifetime of work and children.
A young waiter plunked a stacked antipasto plate on the table. “Buon Appetito!” he said over his shoulder as he rushed into the kitchen.
Marcos chuckled. “Their son. I do not think he has finished his training yet. May I?” He began to place several slices of meat and cheese, an array of olives, and a few small peppers on a plate. “These are the best parts of antipasto. You must try them and tell me what you think, yes?”
Elizabeth watched him, wide-eyed. She’d never had a man serve her in her life. With Joe and Bobby, it had been the other way around.
Marcos continued. “I have been talking so much, I have never asked if you work. It is nerves, I assure you. I do know how to be quiet.” He grinned with a warmth that crinkled the edges of his eyes.
“I own a day spa in Costanoa. It’s a small town on the California coast.”
“How wonderful! You are an entrepreneur, like me. I make beautiful wine and you make women look beautiful. But it must be easy for you, since you look so well.”
He picked up an olive from the plate and put it in his mouth, slowly chewing.
“Um … thank you,” she finally said, forcing her gaze back to the table. “I opened Beauty by the Bay about seven years ago.”
“And you are successful?”
She nodded. “It’s given me a living.” She relaxed into the company and the meal. “My husband died when Sarah wa
s five, so I had to find something to do to make money.”
“I am so sorry. That is very young to lose a husband and father.”
“He died suddenly. A heart attack.”
“Mi dispiace.” He touched her hand softly.
They ate quietly for a bit. Every time she looked up, he was watching her, a bemused smile on his face.
“Do you like?” he asked after they’d demolished half the platter.
“Very much.” She looked into his blue eyes. Too bad he lived in Italy.
Too bad she was sharing a room with her daughter.
What was she thinking?
“What happened between you and your wife?” she asked, searching for a flaw in the man.
He took a sip of his apéritif before he answered. “AnnaMaria and I divorced a number of years ago.” A strain in his voice told her the divorce hadn’t been an amicable one.
“Just the one daughter?” She felt like she was prying, but she wanted to learn more. His presence caused her skin to prickle, as if it was awakening from a long slumber.
His face lit up. “Just Gina. But she is worth it all. She’s working in some purse place … ” He named a fashionable store where, Elizabeth knew, purses started at several thousand dollars. “But on her days off, she makes paintings.” He sat up straighter. “She has inherited the artistic gene from my sister.” Pointing his fork at Elizabeth, he said, “I predict she will be very famous some day.”
She had to laugh. Every daughter should have a father like this.
“Have there been other men in your life, other than your husband?” he asked.
She was saved from choosing to be indignant or answering the question by the arrival of their young waiter with pasta and wine.
“I have ordered traditional cheese ravioli because, of course, ravioli was first invented in Liguria,” Marcos said.
“Of course.” Every Italian claimed ravioli invention as a product of their region. Elizabeth stabbed a pocket of cheese and slid it into her mouth. Slowly chewing, she glanced up at Marcos. He was still watching. She shut her eyes to concentrate on the savory flavor and creamy texture. When she was finished, she deliberately licked her lips. She opened her eyes and was rewarded by the slack-jawed look of the man across from her.
