All the Way to Heaven Page 12

  I was twenty-two years old, just a college kid, broken-hearted, broken-legged, still frail from three days in the sick bed, and penniless to boot.

  Maybe that’s exactly what he saw in me, just as Isa had said. I was the quintessential damsel in distress.

  So what was it about damsels in distress that stirred the need in men to slay dragons, to sweep the fair maiden off her feet and carry her away to his castle in the sky? I glanced past his shoulder out over the valley spread below us. This was as close to a castle in the sky as I was ever going to get.

  Perhaps I could do this after all.

  I reached up and covered his hand with my own, closing my eyes, afraid to see his reaction. His fingers curled reflexively against my cheek, and I could hear him fill his lungs with what must have been relief.

  “Vorrei baciarti, passerota.” He was leaning toward me, both hands now cupping my face, and I knew what he’d said before he translated. “I must kiss you now.”

  Then his lips were pressed to mine, gentle, exploring, his breath warm on my skin, his fingers in my hair, holding me steady so I wouldn’t float away entirely. “You are so beautiful, Ani,” he murmured against my mouth. “Your kisses light fires in my blood.”

  That about summed it up for me, too. Definitely sparks and electricity. And something else a little more dangerous. I felt like I might pass out. I needed to catch my breath, to think this through a bit more. I put my hands on his chest and gently pushed him away. He cocked his head to the side in question, but waited patiently for me to speak. Scrambling to come up with something, I said, “Where is everyone? Isa? Your sister?”

  “We are alone, bellisima. They are all at church this morning. It is important to Franco and Claudia, so Isa and Gerardo always attend with them.” He must have read something in my expression because he leaned forward, kissed me gently one more time, then stood. “Come now. We will eat and talk. We do not want our coffee and bread to grow cold.”

  I was relieved and disappointed and charmed by how sensitive he was being, and a little blindsided by my physical reaction to someone I knew so little about. It wasn’t like me to let down my guard so readily, but I was a trembling mass of nerve endings right now, and as I watched him pour the almost ebony liquid into my cup, I was afraid to take it from him, lest he see how badly I was shaking. Slow down, heart of mine. Slow down.

  “So tell me about you, passerota. I want to know everything there is to know about you.” He sat across from me and lifted the lid off the dish, and the smell of cinnamon and cream filled my nostrils. My stomach wept for joy.

  “Oh, my. What is that?” I wasn’t avoiding his questions. I was just distracted by the vision of chocolaty goo slathered over a dish of what looked like glorified cinnamon rolls.

  “This is Claudia’s specialty. Her famous Sunday breakfast pastry. Cinnamon bread with hazelnut and chocolate ganache.” He dished up two servings and handed me a plate, then a fork. “One bite and you will think you have died and gone to heaven.”

  I kind of felt like that already with the taste of Cosimo’s kisses still on my lips, but I picked up my fork and tried a bite. “Oh, Cosimo.” The syllables rolled off my tongue like I’d been using his name every day of my life. “This is divine. Truly divine.”

  He just smiled, clearly enjoying watching me eat.

  He picked up the paring knife he’d brought, and my pomegranate, and holding it over a paper towel, he deftly carved out the top and bottom of it, then scored the sides in a beach ball pattern, not quite deep enough to puncture the inner membrane encasing the fruit inside. With a practiced motion, he broke the softball-sized fruit in two over a bowl, then again in smaller sections, prodding the ruby seed-berries loose from their clusters with his thumbs. He didn’t get one tiny speckle of juice on his shirt.

  “Do you know, Ani,” he said while he worked. “The pomegranate is believed to be an aphrodisiac? That is why I had to kiss you before you tasted the nectar; so I would know your true feelings for me.”

  “Ah,” I quipped, snatching a few of the jewel-like pieces and popping them into my mouth. “And here I thought it was because your lips couldn’t stay away from mine for another moment.” Oh, Tish would be so proud!

  His hands stilled and his gaze went to my mouth. “If you keep talking like that, Miss Tomlin, I will have to demonstrate how much my mouth already misses your mouth again.”

  I felt my cheeks flush and picked up my mug, sipping the hot liquid slowly so as not to make a fool of myself by burning my tongue. Delicious, smoky, almost nutty in flavor, the coffee was perfect. Now this was an elixir of love in my book.

  “You like the coffee? I made it for you. This is my favorite in all of Lucca.”

  I nodded, and thought of Madalina and her favorite coffee in all of Lucca, but didn’t say anything. I was too busy watching Cosimo and what he was doing with the pomegranate.

  Using his fingers he scooped up a small handful of ruby berries into the champagne flutes. Then with a spoon, he pressed down on the fruit inside each glass, causing several of them to burst, splattering the sides of the glass with juice. Using an ice cube from the ice bucket, he wet his fingers and wiped them clean on a napkin, then reached for the San Pellegrino. Twisting off the top, he waited for the fizz of bubbles to settle before pouring the chilled carbonated water over the bruised fruit. I watched in delight as the water turned a pale blush color from the juice while the seed-berries danced jubilantly with the bubbles in each glass. He topped each one of with a generous squeeze of lime juice.

  “One aphrodisiac for you,” he said, reaching across the table to hand a glass to me. “And one for me. Let us drink together and love forever.” He raised his flute between us and waited for me to clink mine to his in agreement. “Brindiamo alla vita, all’amore, alla felicità. Salute!”

  “Cheers!” I echoed, sipping the tart, bubbly brew, the sweet nectar of pomegranate mingling with notes of lime on my tongue. “Oh, wow. This is nice. So what did we toast to?” I hoped I hadn’t just agreed to be barefoot and pregnant the rest of my life.

  “We toast to life, to love, and to happiness,” he translated.

  “Well, that was lovely. All of this is lovely.” I spread my arms out to my side, marveling at everything that had brought me to this moment in time.

  “As lovely as you are, mia passerota. Now tell me about your life in California.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I had just finished explaining my boring degree to Cosimo who was doggedly trying to learn why I would pursue an education in business. I had no desire to start a business or own one or even run one, but I knew every business was glued together by the skills of the administrative staff. “I’m a git-er-done kind of girl. I love to get in and get things organized and running like a well-oiled machine. I’m always looking for a better way to do things. I hate the saying, ‘If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.’ There is almost always a better way.” I leaned forward in my chair, and lowered my broken foot to the stones beneath me, relieving the strain on the back of my thigh and knee. “I’m the girl who finds that better way. I’m like a wannabe detective, but without any danger involved.”

  Cosimo chuckled. “You do not like danger?”

  Well, I was beginning to like him, and he felt pretty dangerous to me. But I didn’t tell him that. I just shrugged instead.

  He didn’t push me for an explanation, but laced his fingers together around his empty coffee cup. “And when you are finished with your education, what then? Do you have a job waiting for you?”

  Either he was hoping for a yes from me so he could back out of our lifetime of happiness together he’d just toasted, or he was hoping for a no from me so he could convince me to stay in Tuscany forever and be his princess bride. “I do, in fact. Actually, I have two job offers waiting for me. But I’m planning to go to work for a local architecture firm in my hometown. They’re one of the more prominent contributors to the city planning committees and have buildings and other struct
ures all over Southern California. I’m not very knowledgeable about architecture in and of itself, but I am very comfortable with the office programs they use. During my internship last summer, I revamped their filing system and scored some major points with the big boys. They’ve made me an offer I would be a fool to refuse.”

  “That is wonderful. And it is a job that makes you happy?”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. It felt like another leading question to me. “I’m happy to have a job offer already,” I stated noncommittally. “It means I’m already a valued commodity even before I have my degree in hand.”

  “Ah, but I, too, value every one of your commodities.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me and I giggled like a silly schoolgirl.

  “Ciao!” A female voice called out from around the side of the house. “Hallooo!”

  I glanced at Cosimo, but by his frown, it was clear he wasn’t expecting company. He stood slowly, just as Madalina bustled around the corner carrying a large pastry box tied like a Christmas gift with a big red ribbon. Ambling along behind her, eyes glued to the view spread out before him, was Paulo Durante.

  “Madalina!” I waved happily. I was thrilled to see her, and Paulo, too, even though they had interrupted a rather cozy morning with my doctor. “My goodness, Madalina, you look so glamorous today!” And she did. She was wearing a deep burgundy dress with tiny black roses all over it, black piping around the collar and sleeves, and a row of the same piping circling the hem of the flared skirt. On her feet were lace-up Victorian style boots over fishnet stockings. She wore her hair down around her face in fat, pin-up girl curls, and her lips were a cherry red that would have clashed with her dress if she’d been anyone but Madalina the Magnificent.

  I rose slowly, keeping my weight all on my right leg, and Cosimo circled the table to put an arm around my waist. I couldn’t tell if he was holding me upright or just holding me. I saw the same question in Madalina’s eyes as they approached. I didn’t look at Paulo.

  Setting the box down on the chair my left foot had vacated, she reached for my face and kissed each cheek in greeting. “Look at you, Princess Grace! Your face is pink with the sunshine! And Isa tells us you are sick? Wheesht!” She chucked me under the chin. “I want to catch your illness.”

  Paulo, who had finally recovered from the spectacular scene below, had also been sizing up the situation. His eyes went back and forth between me and Cosimo, then over our shoulders to the French doors behind us. I tried not to wonder what he was thinking.

  Madalina turned to Cosimo and held out her hand. “I am Madalina Poptelecon.”

  He had to let go of me to shake her hand and when he did, I lowered myself back down into my pseudo wheelchair, and rolled myself close to the table. I didn’t like the tense looks passing between the men. I didn’t understand them, but I felt fairly certain it had something to do with me. By the guarded look on Paulo’s face, I was beginning to wonder if I’d given him any reason to think he might have a claim on me.

  “I am Cosimo. Benvenuti.” He deftly pulled away from Madalina’s lingering handshake, and then turned to Paulo. As if suddenly remembering his manners, Paulo stepped forward and thrust out his hand, too.

  “Paulo. Thank you for letting us intrude on your morning.”

  “Prego, prego. Come. Join us.” Cosimo indicated a chair nearby for Paulo to grab, standing by while Madalina sat in the one he’d vacated. “Would you like some coffee? Water with pomegranate and lime?” He pointed at the drink in my hand. He’d made me a new one just before they’d arrived.

  “Coffee, please,” Paulo stated and sat between Madalina and me at the round table.

  Madalina opted for a fizzy drink and offered to go inside with Cosimo to help. I knew she was probably curious about the house, and in particular, the kitchen, but I didn’t want to be left alone with Paulo and any misconceptions there might be between us. I could think of nothing to prevent her going, though, so I waved her off. Paulo stood politely as she left the table, and then sat back down beside me. She’d taken her box of pastries with her, so I busied myself propping my foot up, taking extra care draping my long skirt to cover my ugly bruises. I had gone without the tube sock under the brace since my bath last night, leaving my foot bare.

  “How are you, Ani? Are you feeling well?” Paulo asked. He folded his hands on the table and his question was kind, sincere, but I could see his shoulders were tense. He reached over, plucked a pomegranate aril from the bowl, and popped it in his mouth.

  “I’m doing much better today, Paulo. Thank you for asking. And thank you, also, for coming to see me, for bringing Madalina. I’m just glad you didn’t show up a few days ago. I was a disaster. I—” I broke off as a grin cracked the solemn line of his mouth. Good golly, Miss Molly. When he smiled, his whole face changed. “What?” I asked, a little disarmed by the expression on his face.

  “You talk when you are nervous, I think.” He cocked his head a little to the side, a move I’d seen Cosimo do a dozen times since I’d met him. Well, my goodness. Paulo Durante was flirting with me. “So tell me. Why are you nervous with me?”

  “I’m not nervous with you,” I denied, my cheeks growing warm.

  “Okay,” he said after a weighty pause. “So tell me how is your leg?” He clearly didn’t believe me, but he was gentlemanly enough to move on. “You have another X-ray tomorrow, yes? Is your doctor good to you?”

  Another loaded question from another Italian man. I wasn’t savvy enough to keep up with these guys. “Isa and her mother, Claudia, have been wonderful nurses, helping me with everything I need. I will be eternally grateful for their kindness. And Cosimo is a wonderful doctor. Very kind.”

  “Cosimo? He is your doctor? That man is Dr. Lazzaro?” Paulo’s voice rose in disbelief as he pointed toward the doors where the other two had disappeared inside the house. He swiveled in his seat, taking in the surroundings. “All this belongs—” He broke off, his expression darkening before my eyes. “I thought Isa’s uncle—I assumed he was, well, older.” He kept stumbling over his words. “Mature. Not fresh out of university.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his voice just above a whisper. “How old is he? Is he old enough to have finished medical school?”

  “Now who’s rambling?” I smirked, not sure whether to be flattered by his reaction or offended for Cosimo’s sake.

  He straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at me, no trace left of that open smile.

  “Good grief, Paulo. I don’t know how old he is. I don’t usually ask my doctors that question. But he seems to know what he’s doing, don’t you think?” I held my arms out to the sides in a sweeping gesture, goading him into a response.

  Paulo just glared at me.

  No, he studied me.

  “Yes, Ani,” he finally said, his voice low and gruff. “I believe your Dr. Cosimo Lazzaro is a fine doctor indeed. You look exceptionally healthy today.” He ate another pomegranate seed, then stilled, his unruly hair falling forward over his brow as he continued to watch me. “In fact, you look exceptionally beautiful today. The color of your sweater brings a light to your eyes.” He looked away then, his gaze wandering over the valley spread out before us, the wisteria-draped pergola overhead, the French doors custom made to fit the wide-framed entry into the house. “Or perhaps it is your fine doctor, himself, who brings the new light?” He kept his eyes averted when he posed the question.

  “You know, I don’t know whether to thank you for the compliment or slap you for being rude.” I spoke quietly, running my words together, wishing for one moment, that he couldn’t understand a thing I said.

  There was that smile again. It made me wonder how old he was. Not nearly as far gone as I’d first thought. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Cosimo had a good eight or ten years on Paulo. He leaned over the table toward me. “I think you must slap me. You are right. I am being very rude.”

  I looked around us, seeing things the way he must. If he’d come up her
e with any notions of romance, as far-fetched as the idea seemed to me in light of our few turbulent encounters and his obvious affiliations with Madalina, I could only imagine how this must look to him. How could anyone compete with the beautiful Dr. Cosimo Lazzaro and his grand family villa overlooking all of Tuscany? Why wouldn’t I be swept off my feet by all of this?

  When I didn’t respond, he chuckled. “Then if you are not going to slap me, will you please forgive me?” He reached out and laid a hand on my forearm resting on the table. At that moment, Madalina stepped outside carrying two flutes in one hand, two mugs in the other. Cosimo was right behind her with the refilled coffee carafe. He came up short when he saw us. Never taking his eyes off Paulo’s face, he asked, “Is everything okay, passerota?”

  Paulo slowly withdrew his hand and murmured thickly, “So it is like that already.”

  “Excuse me?” I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but I didn’t like his tone.

  Paulo stood politely as Madalina sidled up to the table. “Oh Ani. Everything here is so beautiful.” She made a subtle motion with her head, leaving no doubt in my mind that she was referring to more than just the house and property. “You are the luckiest patient in the world.”

  Paulo took the stemware and mugs from her and set them on the suddenly crowded table, then held her chair while she sat. She glanced up curiously at him, but didn’t say anything.

  Cosimo, in the meantime, lifted my foot from the chair where it rested and sat down, cradling my appendage on his lap instead. I was rather surprised at the show of familiarity, realizing belatedly that, like the endearment, it was a not-so-subtle staking of his claim on me. I felt a wild urge to jerk my foot from his hands and flee to my room, but that wasn’t going to happen without turning what was already becoming a mountain into a volcano.