by Jill Blake
He kept coming back to those ten days in Amalfi, and the mélange of accumulated memories. Bella laughing with sheer delight as they surfaced naked from the moonlit water of their hotel’s private cove. Bella leaning against him as they listened to Haydn’s string quartets at the outdoor amphitheater in Ravello, her eyes closed and a dreamy smile on her lips. Bella grinning as she palmed a euro coin and then made it reappear from behind his nephew’s ear.
Sometimes he wondered if he’d built her up so much in his mind, that no real person could possibly live up to the fantasy. Had he projected his own feelings and desires onto Bella, like he once had with his ex-wife, imbuing her with qualities that she didn’t in reality possess?
But no, having seen her again just now, he recognized traces of the Bella he had known. Subdued for sure, like a sparkling light glimpsed in passing, through the curtained window of a house surrounded by bars, locked gates, and overgrown landscaping.
The essence was still there, half-buried in protective layers, just waiting to be released.
He opened his eyes and smiled. Perhaps it was premature, but he felt a sudden surge of optimism, mixed with a healthy dose of anticipation and lust.
Thanks to Bella, his future was starting to look a whole lot brighter.
###
Like any seasoned campaigner, Luca started with some background research. He waited until the bottle of Glenmorangie scotch was half empty before broaching the topic.
“I noticed Isabelle out there,” he said. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
Ross grunted. Alex didn’t bother to respond.
“She looks different,” Luca prompted.
“She had an accident,” Ross mumbled, then frowned as Alex elbowed him none-too-gently. “What?”
Alex shook his head and reached for the bottle. “Who wants a refill?”
Luca waited until Alex finished pouring. “What happened?”
“You don’t know?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “You went to Italy around the same time she did, right after Ross’s wedding, didn’t you?”
“Yes…”
“What did you do to her?”
Cazzo. This wasn’t going quite how he’d imagined. “Why do you think I did anything to her?”
Alex set down his glass and leaned across the table. “Sam thinks something happened in Italy. And Sam’s usually right.”
Ross sputtered and started coughing. Alex slapped him on the back until the coughing subsided, then turned to glare at Luca. “I’m not making any judgments. But Isabelle’s been through enough. If she wants to tell you about it, that’s her choice. But if she doesn’t—” his voice dropped to a growl, “then back off.”
###
Isabelle was more polite, but no less dismissive. At least she picked up the phone when he called, and didn’t immediately hang up on him. But as far as agreeing to see him, the message was loud and clear: thanks, but no thanks.
Luca wasn’t discouraged. If he’d learned one thing in his years of doing research, it was perseverance. A problem with no apparent solution was simply a challenge that required a different approach.
She cited a birthday party as one of her previously scheduled commitments over the coming weekend. Her niece, Elizabeth, was apparently turning six.
“Six, wow. That’s a big milestone. Who’s throwing the party?”
“My parents.”
“Ah. The famous tent and bouncy castle.” He paused, but she didn’t volunteer any more information. Clearly, this was going to be an uphill battle. “Kids are a lot of fun. I have a couple nephews myself.”
“I know.”
Right. She’d met them, at that disastrous family gathering the night before he returned from Italy. “Did I tell you my sister Teresa got married, and now has a daughter? Maria Ginevra.”
“Congratulations.”
He cleared his throat. “So, aren’t you going to invite me along?”
“I already have a date.”
Of course. For some reason, that hadn’t occurred to him. Maybe because she’d seemed so alone, so self-contained at the baby shower. And neither Alex nor Ross had mentioned any man in her life. You’d think if there was someone, it would have come up. Then again, they hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with any information regarding Isabelle. Which meant it was up to him to ferret out the details.
“Should I be jealous?” he said.
“No.”
“So it’s not serious.”
Her sigh didn’t bode well. “Luca, I’ve moved on,” she said. “Whatever may have happened a few years ago is over and done with. I’m not interested in revisiting it. Is that blunt enough for you?”
“Bene. I’m not interested in revisiting either. We can start fresh.”
This time there was no mistaking the exasperation in her voice. “It’s not going to work, Luca.”
He could feel her withdrawing. “I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to bridge the widening gap. “I behaved like an ass.”
The silence stretched. He wished he could see her, touch her. “Yes,” she finally said. “You did. Why?”
It was his turn to hesitate. “This isn’t the kind of conversation one has by phone, Bella. How about we meet—before you say no, just hear me out. We won’t call it a date. Just two old friends getting together on neutral ground to clear the air and make peace. Lay to rest any lingering resentments. What do you say?
“I’m not looking for a relationship, Luca.”
“Because you’re seeing someone?”
“Yes. No.”
There was hope then. “How about lunch?” he said. Before she could turn him down again, he amended, “Or coffee? If you’re feeling really adventurous, I’ll throw in a croissant.”
Her laughter bubbled over the wireless connection, buoying his spirits. “You’re incorrigible, Luca. You know that, right?”
He doubted she meant it as a compliment. “We can go wherever you like.”
“Fine. Day by Day, on 21st and Sansom. You know the place?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Good. I’ll meet you there Sunday morning, ten o’clock.”
Chapter 8
He rose to greet her when she arrived at the café, performed the ritual three cheek kiss. To his delight, her face flushed pink. It was one of the paradoxes about her that he found so intriguing: as uninhibited as her behavior might be, she blushed quite easily.
“How was the party?” he said, after they ordered.
“Fun.” Her smile flashed, and then disappeared just as quickly. “I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to be around a couple dozen six year olds.”
He wondered if he dared ask about her date. She’d ordered brunch, a good sign that she meant to stay a while. But he wouldn’t put it past her to storm off if the conversation veered into territory she’d prefer avoiding.
So he asked instead about her family, a topic she was happy to expound upon with minimal prompting. He sipped his cappuccino and listened as she described the antics of her twin nephews, Ben and Dan, and the futile efforts of their parents to corral them. Mention of her other nephew, Joseph, the birthday girl’s younger brother, had her pulling out an iPhone with a slew of photos. He made appropriate noises as she scrolled through the pictures, though he barely glanced at them, focusing instead on her face. Her expression softened as she talked about the children, her voice lost its hard edge.
He felt an unexpected tug in his chest. This was what had been missing in all his other relationships with women. Not just Bella’s animation and zest for life. But also her love of family. He’d recognized it, even back in Italy, as something he and Bella shared. But somehow that realization had gotten lost in the muddle of emotions triggered by her mention of career.
It was simply a matter of priorities. He saw that now. A woman without children of her own, who doted on her niece and nephews the way Bella did, was not the kind of woman who would
put career ahead of family. She might be a highly accomplished doctor, might denounce the old boys’ network all she wanted, but that still wouldn’t change the fundamental fact: she was an old-fashioned girl at heart, who clearly loved her family and would no doubt view her own husband and children—once she had them—as the center of her world.
He’d been blinded by his own baggage last time. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, he understood what he had almost let slip through his fingers, and how lucky he was to have been given this second chance at making things right.
Their food arrived, and Isabelle put away her iPhone.
She took a few bites of her huevos rancheros, then set down the fork. “So,” she said, leaning back in her chair and fixing him with a steady gaze. “Are we going to tip-toe around the elephant in the room?”
Ah, the Bella he remembered—the brash, take-no-prisoners woman who’d captured his attention from the moment they’d met—was back.
###
Isabelle refused to let herself get distracted by his grin.
He was here to apologize for—as he put it, behaving like an ass three and a half years ago, and she was here to accept his apology and lay to rest that chapter of her life, for good.
Over the years, she’d been peripherally aware of Luca’s activities. Visiting Sam and Jane, she’d overhear Alex and Ross discussing their business partner’s latest exploits. A furtive nudge in the ribs from their wives, a quick glance toward her to make sure she wasn’t upset, and the subject would change. Isabelle pretended to be oblivious to the byplay, but each time she felt it like an unexpected blow to the solar plexus. She told herself she didn’t care what Luca did, it was his business, they’d shared nothing more than a glorified holiday romance. And over time it did get better, less painful. It took on the aura of something she might have read in a book, or seen in a movie—almost as if it had happened to someone else.
And then after the shooting, it dropped off her radar completely. She became too focused on the trauma and its aftermath, which spread like an inkblot on the page that was her life, seeping through the porous paper, smearing and then obliterating the printed text, until everything else disappeared in the darkness.
She wasn’t sure what her future held. She was still trying to reclaim both the physical health and emotional equilibrium that would enable her to chart a new course professionally. She’d once had a med school professor who left a thriving law practice for a career in business, and then medicine, claiming that everyone should challenge themselves by changing careers once a decade. Well, here was her chance. Working in research, helping to design and conduct clinical trials, wasn’t something she’d ever anticipated doing. But thanks to Jake and Kate, here she was.
As far as personal life, she wasn’t sure what she wanted or what she was even capable of these days. She felt safe engaging in light flirtation with Jake, because despite their one night of alcohol-fueled fumbling between the sheets, they both recognized their relationship for what it was: a friendship based on their mutual understanding of pain and loss. He was perhaps farther along in the healing process, having lost his wife almost sixteen months ago. Isabelle was just coming up on the one year anniversary of the shooting: three weeks more, to be exact.
Some days she still felt like she was barely holding it together, forcing herself to get out of bed in the morning and go to work. Even dealing with every day things like shopping or filling up her car could be a challenge, because she couldn’t always predict what would set her off into a cold sweat, heart hammering, vision blurring. Inviting another person besides Jake into that nightmare—someone who couldn’t possibly understand what she was going through—wasn’t even a consideration.
Which was another reason Jake was such a godsend. With him at her side, she didn’t have to invent excuses about her lack of social life. His presence alone guaranteed protection against intrusive, if well-meaning, questions from extended family about when she planned to settle down. Good thing he didn’t mind spending a Saturday afternoon playing hide-and-seek with a bunch of kindergarteners.
“You’re right,” Luca said, bringing her back to the present. “I was an idiot the last time, and I’m sorry. I know it’s no excuse, but I was just getting over a difficult divorce. I wasn’t ready for anything serious. You caught me off guard. You charmed my mother, my sisters, my nephews. I got spooked over how easily you fit in.”
Isabelle frowned. “Let’s not forget the career part.”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “My wife—ex-wife—was a lawyer. She was very ambitious, the type to stab you in the back and then climb over your corpse if it helped her get to the top. Our marriage got in her way, so….As you can imagine, the last thing I wanted was to get involved with another woman who had a high-powered career.”
Isabelle tried to quell some of the bitterness in her voice. “Well, at least that’s no longer an issue.”
“Che? How do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear? I’m no longer practicing medicine.”
His voice softened. “Ross mentioned something about an accident.”
“I guess you could call it that,” she said. “I wasn’t the intended target. I just got in the way of the bullet.”
“Oh, cara.” He reached for her, his warm hand covering hers.
Her fingers twitched. There was nothing wrong with the feeling; the sensation was still intact. Too much so, at times. Like at night, when she woke up because of the throbbing ache in her elbow and forearm, all the way down to her wrist. She imagined the screws there, shifting a hundredth of a millimeter at a time, the change imperceptible to the naked eye. Each time she went for a follow-up X-ray, the orthopedist assured her everything was still properly positioned. But the motor function, the strength: that was the rub. No one—not the orthopedist, nor the neurologist, nor the occupational therapist—could tell her if she would ever regain the strength and coordination in her left hand. She might not, they all cautioned. Wait and see, they all said. It can take up to eighteen months.
Eleven months down, seven more to go.
“What happened?” he asked, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.
In short, dispassionate sentences, she told him. “So,” she concluded, “I’m no longer doing clinical work. Luckily, Kate—that’s my sister-in-law, you might remember her from Jane and Ross’s wedding—she hooked me up with a new gig doing cancer research. Consulting for a biotech.”
“Sounds impressive.”
She pulled her hand back from his. “It keeps me busy.”
“You don’t enjoy it?”
She considered the question. “I guess I do. I’m still adjusting. The hours are more flexible. I have a lot more control of my schedule. And I can work from home if I want. At least some of the time.”
“Which is surely an improvement, no?”
“It suits me now, I suppose. I don’t like being around people much, these days. Especially strangers.” She resumed eating. “There’s also a lot of travel involved. Meetings with advisory panels, FDA officials. That part I’m not so keen about.”
His sympathetic expression paradoxically fueled her anger. She set down her fork and took a long sip of water. “Tell me about this company you and Alex and Ross have,” she said, once she felt more in control. “I hear you’re gearing up for a big IPO.”
He accepted the change of subject with equanimity. “We’re in the cooling off period now, waiting for the SEC to give us the green light. Hyping the company to institutional investors, doing some judicious media marketing. Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley expect the founders to participate in the dog and pony show, so we’re spending a lot of time on the road. Thankfully Alex and Ross are fielding most of the business talk, since they’ve done this all before. I tag along in case there are any technical questions.”
“Like what?”
“How our technology works, for example. How secure it is.” He paused while the waiter refilled their water glasses. “You’re familia
r with the concept of big data?”
“I must have skipped school that day.”
Luca smiled. “Basically, it’s data sets that are so large and complex that you can’t process them using traditional computer applications. There’s a so-called ‘3V’s’ model that defines the challenges of big data: volume, which is essentially the amount of data; velocity, which is the speed of processing, including data capture, search, transfer, and analysis; and variety, which is the format in which data is stored, like a text file, or video, or PDF. But what it all boils down to is time and money. You want software that can analyze big data quickly and cheaply. That way you can detect trends and make accurate, timely predictions in everything from financial markets to politics to medical epidemiology.”
“And that’s what the company does?”
“That’s what we do best.”
She laughed. “You tell a good story.”
“I can tell you plenty more, if you’ll let me,” he said, with an exaggerated wink.
“Scheherazade in reverse?” She shook her head. “Tempting as that is, I think I’ll pass.”
His expression turned earnest. “We could start over, Bella. Tabula rasa. Clean slate.”
“I don’t think so. You sound like you’ve got a lot on your plate already. And you’re still teaching, aren’t you?”
“I took a leave of absence this semester. I don’t go back to Princeton until the fall. After the IPO.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to resort to the old cliché: it’s not you, it’s me. You want the full speech?”
“You wound me, Bella.”
“Better now than later.”
“Are you involved with anyone?”
Innate honesty warred with expedience. “No.”
“And you said your schedule is flexible. Why can’t we spend some time together, see how things go?”
“Looks like I’m going to have to give you the speech after all.”
“I’m serious, Bella. All these years, I kept thinking about you, about our time together. It was magical. I’ve never felt that way with any other woman since.”
