To Tuscany with Love

by Gail Mencini

  Betting he was on more than one sports team in high school, she asked Phillip about it.

  “Tennis was my best sport. State singles champion my senior year,” Phillip said. “But I played basketball and football, too. The thing I loved, though, was skiing, because I did that with my sister.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister. Older or younger?”

  “Younger, but Anne died when I was in high school. She was the most determined athlete I’ve ever known. She pushed me, made me better.”

  Phillip pulled his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a worn photo of him dressed for skiing. His skis were spread in a deep “wedge”, and he stood behind a grinning girl sitting on a low seat, which was mounted on skis. “She was disabled but loved sports—skiing, bicycling, and horse riding were her favorites. Before she got too big, I even took her hiking in a backpack. I miss her.” He kissed the picture and replaced it in his wallet.

  Bella squeezed his hand. “What happened?”

  “Medical complications. She had a lot of operations and was often sick, but she never complained.” He pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “She was always my cheerleader, my number one fan. It’s why I was so competitive—for Anne.”

  He stopped walking and looked at Bella with a serious expression. “I don’t talk about Anne much, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to the rest of them. She was too special to be just another topic of discussion.” Phillip’s sincerity rang true.

  “Of course.”

  Phillip ended any further discussion of his sister by asking Bella about her own high school activities. Bella could easily picture a young Phillip doing handstands, or jumps, or climbing a wall to make his sister laugh and cheer.

  Two days later, Phillip upped the ante. He ran down a flat section of street and flipped over once, twice, three times.

  Bella ran to him and hugged him. But then, while her arms were still around him, she caught Phillip looking at Stillman with a smirk on his face.

  Was Phillip vying for her attention because of her or because he wanted to beat Stillman? The possibility that she was merely a prize to be won irritated Bella.

  Regardless of their motivations, this attention was something she’d never known—an active courtship by two boys at the same time. Her experience had been limited to boys pulling her hair when she was a child, then disgusting, sweaty middle school kisses, topped by forward high school and college boys trying to grope her on a first date. She’d had as many first dates as she could tolerate, but rarely did she grant anyone a second.

  She waited for the inevitable late-night advance from Stillman or Phillip. When it came, she wasn’t prepared for it.

  After two weeks of her ending the evening by walking and talking with the girls, Stillman and Phillip flanked her as she prepared to leave the restaurant. The guys looped their arms with hers and clutched her hands. Her mind raced. God help her, could they be imagining a threesome?

  At her door, they stopped, released her arms, and stood in front of the door as if they were twin guards. Stillman looked confident, but she couldn’t read Phillip.

  “We talked about it,” Stillman said, “and we came to a gentlemen’s agreement. You must choose between us.” He looked confident.

  She was definitely attracted to them both—much more than merely attracted, if she was honest with herself. Choosing one would push away the other, and Bella wasn’t sure if she wanted that, not yet.

  Bella was twenty years old and had to admit that her body ached with longing for tender kisses and much more. Being close to them, having them flirt with her, brought surges of warmth and tingling over her body, a feeling starkly different from her repulsion during those sweaty, groping sessions with boys in the past. Now, her body begged to be caressed.

  But how could she choose?

  6

  Later that night, Bella asked Hope how she knew that Charlie, Hope’s steady boyfriend, was the one for her.

  “During one of my high school summers,” Hope said, “I met Charlie while I waited tables at a big truck stop along the interstate. We’re both from Fort Collins, but I’d never met him before because he’s older. He was already a Marine and had just got home on leave. Man, did he look sharp in his camo gear.”

  Hope bubbled with excitement. “We’d only met that night, yet he waited for me to end my shift. Charlie’s buddy had picked him up from the airport, to surprise his parents. His friend left, and I drove Charlie home.” Her cheeks flushed pink.

  “So you liked him right away.” Bella sat cross-legged on her bed. “But when did you stop dating other boys?”

  “After I met Charlie, I never dated anyone else.”

  “But wasn’t he away for long stretches of time? What about the dances, like prom? You were still in high school.”

  Hope looked down at her hands, and her voice got quiet. “I’m not pretty like you, Bella. Charlie is my one and only. I’ve never dated anyone else.”

  Bella was shocked. Hope was the first one who figured out how to navigate Florence’s streets, the one who always came up with great ideas and plans for free time.

  Hope was a natural leader, kind and honest. Maybe not what guys considered “cute,” but she was a nice-looking girl. Bella suspected Hope’s dress size and self-confidence were opposing forces. Charlie chose Hope, not the other way around.

  Hope pressed one palm to her heart. “It’s here, Bella. I can’t say exactly when and how it happened, but I love Charlie and I’d do anything for him. And he loves me, so it’s perfect.”

  Bella hoped her friend was right.

  Maybe, Bella thought, she shouldn’t worry about deciding between Phillip and Stillman. If she didn’t choose now, it’d be fun to see what happened next.

  Stillman stood with the rest of the sandal-clad group on the edge of Siena’s shell-shaped Campo. The guided walking tour of the walled city—the reason they had come to Siena—bored him as much as listening to the preacher’s broken-record sermons on the evils of sex outside of marriage. He couldn’t wait for his free afternoon. Stillman knew what he wanted from Siena, and it had nothing to do with the history of this place and everything to do with sex.

  Crowds of local Italians strolled the Campo. White and green Oca flags draped their shoulders, emblazoned with their mascot, the crowned goose. The celebrations following Oca’s recent win in the Palio horse race continued in full, noisy force.

  This morning, their guide had droned on about Siena’s seventeen contrade, similar to city wards, or districts, each revolving around economics, faith, and social structure. People who wanted to rent an apartment within the boundaries of a contrada had to swear loyalty to that district and even raise their children as strong supporters. The rivalries between these districts resembled that of the Hatfields and the McCoys, or any other Southern feud.

  The Palio—the highlight of competition between Siena’s contrade—had run every year on July 2nd and August 16th since 1644, except for wartime suspensions. All day, drummers and costumed flag bearers had paraded through Siena, apparently to remind the losers of Oca’s prized victory. The annoying pounding of the drums grew louder, then fainter, as the marchers’ distance from the Campo changed.

  The oppressive heat, trapped within the city’s stone walls, sent rivulets of sweat down Stillman’s back yet didn’t seem to faze the costumed Italians.

  The marchers reminded Stillman of his hometown’s annual Fourth of July parade and picnic.

  The parade featured contests for decorated floats and included the high school marching band. The band always seemed to follow the horses pulling wagons and surreys, which made marching an adventure, considering the inevitable horse manure littering the street. The town’s old money residents dressed up in Civil War uniforms and carried Confederate flags to honor the noble veterans of the War of Northern Aggression.

  His hometown parade and these costumed marching drummers seemed equally irrelevant to Stillman.

 
“Enough already.” Rune wiped the sweat off his red face. “This reminds me of growing up in Nebraska and detasseling corn—ninety-four degrees and ninety-four percent humidity—and that’s something I definitely don’t want to think about. What I wouldn’t give for Venice Beach now. How ’bout we find some shade and a nice cool beer?”

  Hope rubbed her hands together. “I say we walk the city. We’ll get exercise and keep our budgets intact.”

  Meghan shook her head. “Not us.” She tilted her head to include her twin. “I saw too many leather stores in the back streets that had our names all over them.” She giggled.

  Karen chirped her agreement. “Not to mention the hot clerk that practically kidnapped us as we walked by.” She looked at Bella. “You in?”

  Bella shook her head. “No, thanks. I spotted a tiny shop on one of those narrow side streets,” she waved her arm to the Campo’s outer edge, “that had rad silk scarves. Thought I’d try to find it. I want something for my mom from Siena. She’d really love this place.” Bella’s eyes swept the Campo. Her lips pressed together, as if in determination, or maybe worry.

  Stillman had tagged along with Bella all morning. He couldn’t figure her out. She alternated between being aloof and flirty. But man, was she hot. He didn’t make her out to be a tease. No, there was something deep about her. The mysterious part of her beneath that smokin’ hot surface intrigued him almost as much as the prospect of bedding her.

  The way Stillman saw it, that flirty side of her threw down a challenge to him. He thrived on competition, and he’d be damned if Phillip won her this summer.

  His motor was revved. He went for it. “I know exactly where that shop is. It’s next to a place with watercolor prints of the Palio.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Phillip’s scowl. “I’ll show you.”

  Rune’s head pivoted to take in the Campo. “I’ll be here. It’s where the action is, isn’t it?” He nodded and muttered to himself. “God, I love these bitchin’ babes.”

  Lee clapped Phillip on the back. “We seem to be the odd men out. Let’s go for a walk with Hope.”

  Phillip’s eyes shot to Bella, but Stillman stepped between them; he linked his arm with Bella’s, her bare skin warm against his. He winked at her. “Ready to explore?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Grinning, he pulled her with him toward the center of the Campo.

  It couldn’t have worked out better for him.

  Stillman led Bella into the narrow street directly opposite the spot where they had left the others. He had exaggerated, of course. He remembered Bella checking out scarves and the art print store next to the shop, but he hadn’t a clue as to which street it had been on. In fact, he thought it had been away from one of the piazza’s spoke streets, down an almost hidden alley.

  They’d find a scarf, any scrap of fabric that satisfied Bella, and then he’d take the grateful Bella to a dark alley and empty bench; he’d lost count of how many they’d passed this morning.

  “I remember it being off one of these spoke streets.” The deep-toned confidence sounded convincing, even to him. He let his hand slip lower to hold Bella’s hand, and he pretended to lead her.

  Off the main streets, narrow, cobbled alleys held more shops and restaurants, often with a handful of cloth-covered tables nestled against the building. One alley opened into a mini-piazza, complete with a fountain and park bench. Draped over the sun-drenched seat, a couple about their age groped each other and necked as if they were tucked into the back seat of a car hidden off a country road.

  Stillman stopped, surprised they had chosen such an open, sunny spot. He muttered, more to himself than Bella, “What the hell?”

  Bella tugged his arm to propel him forward. “They have nowhere else to go. More than likely, they live with their parents and grandparents in one house or apartment.”

  Stillman’s groin perked to life. He had to focus on something else or his buddy would announce his thoughts to the world. His eyes roved the buildings, focusing on the architecture—surely a snoozer. He spotted a row of reliefs above them on the stone building: a lion adjacent to the arched doorway, a coat of arms, a martyred saint. “Look,” he pointed at the guardians of the home. “Those are major stud.”

  Bella looked at him as if he were loco.

  Stillman felt himself go flaccid. He shrugged. “When I’m a doctor, I’ll have money to spare. I want to drive fast cars and own a big house—a mansion with a circle drive and carved reliefs.”

  “You’ll be the rich doctor, why not?” Her head tilted back as she studied the medieval art. “You’re from the South. Which do you prefer: animals or humans?” One eyebrow rose at him in a wicked, mocking challenge.

  Perfect. He feigned indignation. Stillman leaned his torso backwards, away from her. He let his voice rise. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

  He stepped forward, slid one arm behind her lower back and supported the back of her head with his other hand, sweeping the startled girl backwards over his arm in a tango dip. “I prefer ladies. But only foxes, like you, of course.” He pulled Bella upright, rested his palms on her shoulders and dropped his chin as if he were serious, and leaned toward her. Her smell—perspiration and baby powder—filled his nostrils. “You owe me an apology for the animal crack.”

  Bella’s lips pecked his. Before Stillman had time to return the kiss, she skipped out of his grasp. She moved farther down the alley and giggled. Raising her voice, she said, “Excuse me. But you do like animals: foxy, lady animals.”

  He ran after her, only to have her sprint ahead. He caught up with her in a few feet. Stillman pinned Bella against the wall.

  Her shoulders drew away from the wall as her bare arms met the cool stone.

  One hand on her shoulder, he pinned her back to the wall. Stillman pressed his other palm flat against the stone, and stepped into her. This time, Bella met his mouth with eager lips. His hand had started to slide from her shoulder to the crook of her neck when she pulled out of the kiss.

  “I still want to find that scarf for my mom.”

  He wanted to jump her right here and now. His thumb traced circles on her neck. “I like it here.”

  She smiled. “It is cooler, in the shade.” Bella slid out from his arms and skipped two steps up the street. “The scarf. My mother, remember?”

  He resigned himself to her singular focus. “You’re pretty tight with your mother, aren’t you?”

  Bella nodded. “She was a young mom and worked her butt off to take care of me. Her family disowned her when she got pregnant.” Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, as if she could sense the similarity in their mothers’ past. Bella straightened with pride. “Mom put herself through college. She’s a high school teacher. Somehow, she saved up enough to pay for my plane ticket over here. And she took on a second job to pay the rest.” She looked down. “Summer abroad was her idea.”

  “Why?”

  “She thought if I stayed in the States with all the demonstrations and protests, I’d decide to drop out.” Bella’s shoulders trembled, as if a sudden chill had raced down her flesh. “But there’s something else, too. I think something is going on with her that she’s not telling me.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  Bella shook her head. “Mom doesn’t date much. Hardly ever, in fact. She seemed preoccupied when I left. Not sappy ‘I’ve-got-a-new-boyfriend’ preoccupied, more like, you know, distracted.”

  They walked in silence to the end of the street. Not looking at Bella, Stillman guided them down another street, one that sloped downhill. After the steep inclines they’d walked this morning, his legs had gotten heavier with each successive hill. Where was that damned shop?

  “I appreciate your help. I really do.” Quiet determination marked her words. “I refuse to give up on finding the store. I know there are a ton of other scarf shops, but it’s a matter of principle at this point.”

  “What’s my reward for finding this infamous shop?”

  Expressionless, she studied
his face. “How ’bout something soft and smooth?” Her husky voice hit him below the belt. She flicked her eyebrows up. The tip of her tongue pressed against her upper lip. “Something ... lickable?”

  The wanting hit him hard. Stillman stepped back and jutted out his butt, afraid his arousal would scare her off. He nodded. “Let’s go find that shop,” he said, his words throaty with hunger. He wiped his damp palm against the back of his jeans and grabbed her hand. Stillman pulled her behind him. He had just made the best deal of the summer.

  They wandered street-to-street; Bella’s frustration with not finding the store became more evident as the afternoon wore on. Stillman dragged her into other stores, but she insisted none had the same selection of scarves.

  Hours later, he no longer held her hand. The afternoon’s heat closed in on them in the narrow passageways. They dragged their legs like wooden fence posts, heavy and unyielding after trudging the cobblestone streets.

  Stillman attempted a methodical search of the side streets, without luck. Most of the shops had closed for the afternoon.

  They rounded the corner of the street where they had started and spotted the twins exiting a building. The girls closed the thick wooden door behind them; they hadn’t seen Stillman and Bella yet. Meghan’s neck was draped with a pink and red scarf. Before Stillman could speak, Bella sprinted ahead to the girls.

  Stillman caught up with them. His eyes traveled from the brass plaque on the door to the plate glass window of the neighboring shop. The window showcased large posters advertising an opera performance. Stillman could just make out the corner of the Palio print he remembered, peeking out from behind the posters. He heard Bella laughing with the twins and knew he had no time to waste.

  He pulled on the wrought-iron handset. The heavy door, which the shopkeeper closed to keep out the afternoon heat, swung open. A glance inside confirmed his assumption. Stillman bent low and swept one arm toward the entryway in an exaggerated bow. “Your scarf store, I believe.”