Gaining Visibility (5 page)

“
Buona sera,
signora.”

He asked her something in Italian, which she didn't understand, but she held up a hesitant finger. “Uno?”

“But, of course,” he answered in English, and his unruffled elegance eased her discomfort a notch. He led her to a table for two but made quick work of dismantling the extra place setting and directing a server her way.

As she waited for her glass of wine, a twinge caught between her shoulder blades—that distinct feeling of being watched, though no one around her seemed to be paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was about to chalk it up to a mild case of woman-traveling-alone paranoia, when her eyes wandered to a dark corner and met with a brooding stare.

Adonis. Showered and changed into different clothes . . . sipping a glass of wine . . . no doubt waiting for a hot date.

Julia glanced away, discomfited by the impression he was looking through her rather than at her. She took a sip of wine, trying to carry off a nonchalance she didn't feel. She scanned the room, letting her eyes drift toward the dark corner again. Yep, still staring.

Maybe it was some kind of game with him. A form of “Who'll blink first?” She wasn't about to be drawn in by something so childish. She fished her phone from her small clutch and absorbed herself with checking for nonexistent texts, calls, and e-mails while the gentle rhythm of the Beatles' “Across the Universe” played in the background of her mind.

Her salad arrived, giving her reason to look up again. She glanced to the back of the room, relieved to see Adonis had pulled out a pad and seemed to be sketching. But the forkful of luscious spring greens clogged her throat when he glanced at her and back to his sketch.

Was he sketching her? Oh, surely not. He was probably daydreaming about the woman who was on her way to meet him.

An elderly gentleman, elegantly dressed in a full suit, entered the restaurant. The maître d' nodded in recognition, but a hand gesture told him not to bother with a menu.

The gentleman's eyes scoured the room, landing on her and staying a fraction too long to be appropriate. A quick exchange with the maître d' and then he headed in her direction. She absorbed herself in her salad and her phone again.

He stopped beside her table. “
Buona sera,
signora.”

Julia looked up with feigned surprise. “
Buona sera
.”

His head cocked in question. “You are English, yes?”

“American,” she corrected him.

He gestured to the empty seat next to him. “I see you dine alone.” His English was almost perfect. “Would you enjoy company?”

Was this a pickup? It had been so long since anyone had tried, she wasn't sure how it was done these days. Even with the nap, jet lag had left her enervated and not in the mood for forced interaction. “No,” she replied, then felt a little ashamed of her curt reply. “But thanks for the offer,” she added.

He shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned in Adonis's direction.

The younger man was watching their brief interaction with a look of keen interest. He quickly closed the sketch pad and pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing its availability to his elderly friend, but not before spearing Julia with a disapproving look.

She arched an eyebrow and shot the look right back as the two men greeted each other amiably. They spoke low and, of course, in Italian, so she wouldn't have understood them anyway. But the telltale glances in her direction raised her suspicion she was the topic of a terse conversation.

Men like Adonis and Frank and Howard from the plane—and ninety-nine percent of their species—viewed the world as open season on women . . . thought at her age she should welcome
any
attention. Well, the welts of still-angry scar tissue that closed the tear where Frank ripped her heart out, as well as the ones that ran like vines across her breasts, were made of tougher fiber than the original and were pleasantly numb. They'd convinced her to come to Italy alone . . . to hike alone . . . she certainly could survive eating alone. She'd done it often. And while she didn't particularly enjoy it—a part of her longed for companionship and conversation at the table—it by no means targeted her as easy prey.

Anyone who thought differently could go piss up a rope.

She swallowed another forkful of salad and washed it down with the wine.

The waiter arrived with her grilled fish entrée, and she welcomed the distraction although the conversation in the corner had moved on, and she no longer sensed the looks directed her way.

Her sea bass was half eaten when the two men got up and left after having only a glass of wine. Neither looked her way, which was no surprise.

The surprise came, though, when she asked for her check and the waiter informed her that it had already been paid “by the gentleman in the corner.”

She didn't have to ask which gentleman. Adonis would never pay for a dinner without expecting something in return.

C
HAPTER
4

J
ulia woke to the cheery brightness of morning in Italy. Well, morning, yes—but barely. The clock read 11:37—a far cry from her usual 6:30. These two days in Lerici were for preparation. A short three-mile hike today, and a bit longer seven-mile tomorrow . . . nothing like the long all-day walks she would be doing later. But these early ones would leave plenty of time for sightseeing and pool time. With a no-guilt attitude, she stretched languidly, embracing the air with her arms and the place with her heart, thankful to be alive and here.

The next ten days, hers alone. She would hike and eat and rest at her own pace, and day by day, she would win back the vitality stolen from her over the past two years.

Tap, tap, tap.
The sound drifted up from the ground through the open door of her balcony.

Curious, she roused herself from the bed.

Adonis was back at work. As she watched, he hoisted a huge stone and carried it effortlessly to an unfinished area of stone paving that surrounded a sculpture near the pool. The sight of his backside once again proved as perfect as the front without the intimidating, piercing eyes.

Instead of dropping the stone with a thud as she expected, he carefully placed it on the ground and stepped back to study it.

Ah! A stonemason, then. A fitting job since he appeared to be made of the same matter.

So what did that imply about her work with antiques? She pushed the thought away.

He knelt and chiseled delicately around the edge of the rock, shaping it to snuggle tightly against the one it would rest beside.

Julia brewed a cup of coffee and decided to sit on her balcony, enjoying it along with the view. Invisibility had its advantages and watching Adonis unobserved was one of them. Today he wore a T-shirt, which pulled taut across his chest even when he wasn't in motion. Drenched in morning sunlight, he was the epitome of raw masculinity with the heat shimmering off him like it did on the sea below.

The sculpture he was paving around drew her interest. An iridescent ball rested within what appeared to be a clamshell or a sunburst folded in half. The effect was that the ball could be a pearl or an eye or even the moon. She would check it out more closely if she found a time when the stonemason wasn't around.

His dark eyes unnerved her yesterday with their piercing stare. They hummed with the same power she could see coiled in his movements now as he worked the hammer, the same power that resonated in his voice.

She wouldn't want to get in this man's way.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, he stood abruptly and threw his hammer in disgust. It thudded against the wall behind him. Picking up the stone he'd just placed, he hurled it and some colorful phrases in the direction his hammer had taken.

Julia chuckled at his temperamental actions. A stone that didn't fit exactly the way he wanted? Big deal.
Suck it up, pretty boy. If that's the worst thing life throws at you, count your lucky stars.

He stalked off, and she redirected her attention to the view of the countryside.

Surrounding the hotel property, houses clung like plants to the hillside, a spring garden in pastel hues, drawing water and life from the jewel of sea below. Not a single cloud marred the infinite blue stretch of sea and sky. Heat was already evident, even in the shade of her balcony, but it wasn't a stifling heat. It was a warm bath set to the perfect temperature.

She drew a dreamy breath. Her planning and training and hard work paid off. The interior decorating company she'd started five years ago had shown a fine profit for three years despite her personal setbacks. She'd even been able to expand and take on a partner. And soon, she would begin her conquest of the Cinque Terre. She would conquer this ruggedly handsome terrain just like she conquered the cancer and the depression and the weight gain.

Voices below the balcony caught her attention. One she thought she recognized from yesterday as the stonemason's. She stood up, catching sight of two figures lingering in the shade beneath the balcony next to hers. Sure enough, Adonis and a young man sipped dark liquid from espresso cups, deep in conversation.

As they talked, a well-endowed blonde sunbathing by the pool stood up to adjust her nearly nonexistent bikini. The young man gave a low whistle, making a motion as if squeezing a proffered breast.

Adonis's snort held a derisive edge. “
Americana,
” he muttered. He leaned over and picked up a large, round rock and squeezed it, giving an exaggerated grunt. His companion laughed as Adonis tossed the rock away.

Julia felt her face heat as Frank's remark that she now came equipped with jawbreakers surged to the front of her mind. He'd been trying to cover his revulsion at her appearance . . . had sought to make light of the horror he tried to hide.

She blinked away the tears. If he'd stuck around, he would've been surprised by how supple her fake breasts had become over time, almost lifelike really.

But he
hadn't
stuck around.

She'd been fading in Frank's visibility for years. The cancer caused him to lose sight of her completely.

She stepped back into her room and closed the door on the conversation below. Let them think whatever they wanted, these perfect young men surrounded by their perfect women in their perfect world.

Age would give them a different perspective.

And if it didn't, God help them.

* * *

Julia's heart jumped with delight at the sight of the trailhead at Piazza Garibaldi. Everything she'd read led her to believe that hiking in Liguria was
the
way to see the countryside, but until that very moment, she'd been afraid to trust the information completely. She needn't have worried. The trail was well marked and obviously very well used.

A group of a dozen or so people dressed exactly like she was—armed with backpacks, hiking boots, walking sticks, and small GPS devices attached to their belts—stood listening to a young man speaking in German with an easy smile.

She hurried to get ahead of them. Although the assurance that she wasn't alone on a trail in a foreign country calmed the first-time jitters, she didn't want to share her premiere celebratory adventure with anyone—especially not strangers.

She headed up the shady trail, which was quite steep at the beginning, but eventually was broken by level areas that wound through tall stands of trees. She didn't recognize them, although the leaf shape indicated some type of oak and closer inspection revealed acorns with hairy caps.

Determined to stay ahead of the German group, she pushed upward until the trees gave way to a meadow and a spectacular, unbroken view of the
Golfo dei Poeti
—the “Gulf of Poets.” There she paused to munch on the granola bar and water she'd brought along. Looking across the breathtaking vista, she fully understood why Dante and Petrarch felt inspired to write about its beauty, why the Romantics, Byron and Shelley, chose to live here. A fleeting memory of Shelley's
Adonaïs
came to mind, which conjured an image of the stonemason this morning. The scenery at this place could apparently make a poet of anyone.

Or a romantic. This beauty was meant to be shared with someone special.

An unexpected stab of loneliness hit her hard enough to make the scenery blur. She swiped away the tears and tucked the remainder of the granola bar into her pocket, no longer hungry.

I'm here,
she reminded herself.
Alive and healthy. And alone is preferable to being with someone who can't stand the sight of who I've become.

Across the gulf lay Porto Venere and beyond that, the tiny villages of the Cinque Terre waited for her.

But first, she had Lerici to explore.

And if she wanted the pool time this afternoon that she'd promised herself, she had to get a move on.

The olive grove ahead—and the sound of chatter from the first of the German hikers—spurred her to start moving again.

She tuned the playlist in her head to the one that offered the quickest pace—
Dance Like Nobody's Watching.

She used that one often because, of course, nobody was.

* * *

One hour at the pool lengthened to almost two.

Julia slathered on another huge dollop of sunscreen, paying careful attention to her chest area. The modest cut of the one-piece she'd bought for the trip showed only a bit of cleavage and kept all the scars covered, so she was relatively comfortable. Except for the fact that sitting next to the overly endowed
americana
the young men had spoken about that morning made her wonder exactly what fantasy her mind had been in when she'd also purchased the two-piece hidden in the bottom of her luggage. But the sun and the warm water felt so perfect, she couldn't bring herself to leave the pool yet. She'd denied herself this pleasure far too long—too self-conscious of her body in a swimsuit to go near a pool or a beach.

Another thing that pinned her to the seat was the spectacular scenery—Adonis, still hard at work. Still hard everywhere. She'd given up trying to make sense of the article in the magazine on her lap, although she kept it there as a prop to thumb through. The man was too great a distraction. Hidden behind her large sunglasses and floppy hat, she'd been enjoying the view for quite some time.

He dropped a stone into place, and suddenly, his head snapped her way as if her stare had called him. A “caught ya” smile played across his handsome, dark features.

Julia went rigid with embarrassment, quickly thumbing another page to prove the arrogant playboy wrong, but a hot flash of seismic proportions sent her scurrying to jump in the pool and wash away the telltale sweat.

As she swam a couple of laps, Adonis took a break, moving to the shade to down a bottle of water. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pick up his pad and start to sketch, as he'd done the night before. She went back to her chair and toweled off just as the
americana
bombshell stood and stretched and readjusted the back of her Brazilian bikini, eyes glued on the stonemason.

In the perfect position to see and hear all, Julia put her invisibility to work. She donned her hat and sunglasses, and opened her magazine as the blonde strutted her stuff in Adonis's direction.

He flipped the sketch pad closed when he saw the woman approaching.

“You don't have to be shy.” She came to a stop—more of a pose, really—with hands hugging the back of her hips and breasts thrust far enough forward to look dangerous. “I've noticed you watching me all afternoon, and then I saw you sketching me. I thought I'd come over and introduce myself.”

So that's how the visible crowd did it these days. Even if she were visible and the young woman's age, Julia never could've been that bold. But it was intriguing to watch.

“
Mi dispiace
.” Adonis's deep voice carried easily.

The blonde waved her hand in front of her chest and let her fingers play lightly at the base of her throat, drawing attention to her breasts as if they might somehow be overlooked. “You don't have to apologize. I wanted to let you know I wouldn't mind posing for you . . . like in a more
private
setting? We could meet later for drinks and talk about it if you'd like.”

“
Sì
.” He shrugged. “My friend Romano meet me for the drinks in the bar.” He indicated the door to the bar with a nod. “You join us?”

“That sounds fun.” The blonde's tongue glided along her upper lip in a provocative manner. “What time do you
want
me?” She flashed a smile. “To meet you, I mean?”

“
Le diciannove.
”

Blondie giggled. “What's that mean?”

“The nineteen hours.”

“So that would be . . . ?”

Adonis held up seven fingers.

“All right, then. I'll see you at seven in the bar.” Blondie gave a tiny wave and strutted back to her seat.

As Adonis downed a second bottle of water, Julia gathered up her things and headed for her room. The last three minutes had added at least a decade to her age.

Adonis had worked moving rocks all day in the hot sun, yet was primed and ready for sex.

She, on the other hand, had relaxed for a good part of the day—and was ready for a nap.

* * *

From her corner table in the restaurant where she relaxed unnoticed, Julia watched the three young people in the bar, playing out the scenario she had overheard being planned.

The ubiquitous stonemason and his friend had scored . . . or were well on their way.

Blondie had indeed met them for drinks. Although Adonis had been anxious to accept her offer this afternoon, now his friend seemed more aggressive in the pursuit. Adonis appeared a bit more aloof, to the point of being standoffish, actually.

Julia swallowed her last sip of wine. No doubt, one of them was going to get lucky tonight. Maybe both.

Waiting it out with another glass of wine to see who left with whom was tempting. The subtle—and sometimes not so subtle—interaction was fascinating. When the blonde turned her attention to the stonemason, he would do something every time to divert her attention back to the friend, who was handsome and sexy . . . but he was no Adonis.

Even fully dressed—if the low-cut, backless minidress could be considered fully dressed—Blondie was pretty, but a little hard around the edges. “Rode hard and put away wet” was the descriptive Kentucky term.