Her Italian Soldier Read online

  Guilio was waiting for her and invited her to eat dinner with him and his wife at their villa.

  Not wanting to offend him, she asked if she could take a rain check because she was nursing a slight headache. It wasn’t far from the truth. “This modeling business is much harder than I thought.”

  He patted her arm. “The sun was warm today. By all means go back to the hotel and have an early night.”

  “That and a cold drink are all I need, Guilio.” Once she knew if Lucca was all right, she’d be able to relax. “Thanks for understanding. Will you be at the shoot tomorrow in Furore?”

  “No. I have to fly to Milan for an important meeting, but I’ll be back the day after. You can always call me if anything comes up.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “I told Marcella to save that wedding dress for you with my compliments.”

  “Guilio—you’re generous to a fault, but there’s no wedding in my future. I’m done.” He knew she was divorced though she’d never told him the details.

  A frown appeared. “Only the young say that without knowing what’s around the next corner.”

  “I think you’re mixing me up with the Amalfi Girl who still has stars in her eyes. She hasn’t been where I’ve been and doesn’t know those stars blaze hot, then run out of hydrogen and fade.” From the doorway she blew him a kiss, then hurried down to the parking garage.

  The evening traffic was even worse than the morning commute. By the time she pulled in the driveway, her worry over an untenable situation combined with fatigue had caused her temples to throb.

  After parking the car, she hurried inside, moving past Lucca, who was cooking something at the stove. The duffel bag was nowhere in sight. A delicious aroma filled the house, even to the bathroom.

  Annabelle had to admit she was glad their earlier conversation hadn’t driven him away or put him off his food. On the way home from Amalfi, her anxiety level had gone off the charts. She’d feared she might find him in a more troubled state than the night he’d come home.

  She reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she’d put in the cabinet. Two pills ought to do it. Cupping her hands, she trapped the water from the faucet and swallowed. In the process, her hair fell forward and some of it got wet. She reached in her purse for the tortoiseshell clip she carried and fastened the ends behind her head.

  When she walked back to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in another black shirt, a polo this time, and jeans. When she’d asked Marcella what it was about Italian men and their clothes, she said it was because the Italian mother considered her son to be so important, she pushed him to turn out gorgeous no matter what. She would actually starve herself to save the money to keep him stylish.

  Annabelle smiled, not knowing if that was totally true, but in Italy she’d been surrounded by men who dressed with uncommon flare. Lucca was no exception. Even in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed last night, he’d looked classy, yet he seemed unconscious of it.

  “Something smells delicious.”

  He was pouring a white sauce over the baked pasta in a tomato base that was arranged in a large oval dish. “It does to me, too. I’ve made my favorite meal.”

  “What is it?”

  “Veal cannelloni.”

  “Did your mama teach you?” Her mind was still on her conversation with Marcella.

  “She taught me many things.” The affection in his voice was palpable. He’d been his mama’s boy all right. Italian men were known for putting their mothers on a pedestal. “Are you hungry?”

  The change in his spirits from this morning came as a big shock. “Yes.” All of a sudden she was famished.

  “Then join me on the terrace and help me eat this.”

  He was feeling better and wanted to show her. She couldn’t turn him down. “Would you like me t—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I’ve managed pretty well on my own today.”

  He certainly had. “I can see that.” So would his father when the time came.

  Something dramatic had caused this alteration in his mood. She knew that getting him to open up was partially responsible.

  While he carried the hot dish outside, she followed and sat down in one of the chairs. A lighted candle flickered over the table already set for two. On top of the floral cloth he’d placed bread and salad. Between the scent of flowers in the air and the wonderful smell of the cannelloni, it was all too romantic for words.

  She watched him sit. He was still careful, but she was confident his pain was diminishing. He served her a sample of everything. “I made tea with lemons from the fruit on that overhang, but if you’d prefer wine, there’s some in the cupboard. I won’t be drinking any until I’m off my painkillers.”

  “Tea sounds perfect to me. What a good patient you are!”

  “Actually I was the hospital’s worst,” he corrected her after starting in on his food. “By the time the doctors told me I’d healed enough to leave, they were ready to throw me out, but my psychiatrist said I wasn’t ready. He was right. So were you.”

  Annabelle almost choked on the bread she was in the middle of swallowing. “About this morning—”

  “We both know I have post-traumatic stress,” he blurted before she could finish her thought. “The doctor told me I don’t suffer from it as badly as some of the other guys he’s treated, but I’ve been living in denial that it was my problem. You dashed water in my face and woke me up. It’s what I needed, so don’t apologize.”

  “If this meal is your way of thanking me, then I’m very humbled.” She wiped the corner of her mouth with the napkin. “Thank you for not staying angry with me.” The man had a lethal charm she couldn’t deny.

  “Since it serves both our purposes to live under the same roof, I decided we might as well enjoy our partnership in crime together.”

  “Lucca…you can’t tease about something this serious. After we eat, I really am going to leave. I’ve already registered at the Casa Claudia.”

  His facial muscles tautened. “Why would you do that? This morning you offered me your services. Did I misunderstand?”

  “No. That offer is still open, but not here in your home. Whether you realize it or not, I care for your father and can’t bear the guilt I feel still pretending I don’t know you’re back in Ravello.” She bit her lip. “Yes, I’m worried about my standing in his eyes, but aren’t you afraid he’ll somehow find out? He loves you. What if it’s too much of a shock for him?”

  Any parent would be hurt, especially Guilio, with all his plans. She dreaded what his reaction would be to know his son had been staying at the farmhouse with Annabelle and she’d said nothing.

  His eyes narrowed on her features. “I’ll call him tomorrow and explain everything. I swear it.”

  Annabelle believed him. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear it.”

  “He’ll understand I placed you in a terrible position and won’t give it another thought. But since we’re discussing your sins of omission, how about the one against me.”

  She was ready to tell him the truth. “Your father met me in California while he was over there on business. He came right out and asked me if I would fly to Italy for three weeks to be a model in a new campaign ad he was working on.”

  Lucca blinked. “You’re a model?”

  “Don’t flatter me too much,” she teased after hearing the surprise in his question.

  “You know very well you’re easy on the eyes,” he drawled. “Go on. This conversation is getting more fascinating by the second.”

  “I told you I’m a nurse, but he said I had the look he wanted.”

  “He’s never used a female model before.”

  “I found that out. The other day on one of the shoots I asked him again, ‘Why me?’ He said I have that all American look and smile that appeals to men who buy his cars. Apparently he’s made a study of it or something.”

  Laughter escaped his throat, surprising her becau
se she so rarely heard it from him and because he was so attractive when he did laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “My father. He’s good. In fact he’s so good at what he does, even I stand in awe of him. What he really means in the American vernacular is that you’re drop-dead gorgeous to every male in sight.”

  “I think you must be your father’s son. You’re good at what you do, too. No one’s ever told me that before. You’ve made my heart pound out of rhythm.”

  When she realized she was actually flirting with him, she couldn’t believe it. Not after the winter she’d been living in since the divorce.

  He lounged back in the chair. “Where were you when I was recuperating in hospital?”

  “Probably changing some old man’s dressing at another hospital. Back then who would have dreamed that one day you’d be relaxing on your own terrace, let alone feeding your home-crasher divine cannelloni you learned to make at your mother’s feet?”

  He angled his dark head toward her. “You liked it?”

  “Trust me, you could open up your own restaurant on your farming property.”

  “Now there’s an idea! In that case I’ll come up with something else to satisfy your taste buds for tomorrow night’s menu.”

  Tomorrow night. The thought of it filled her with a fluttery sensation. “You mean you’re going to feed me in return for my listening to you.”

  Lucca examined her with a speculative glance. “It makes perfect sense to me. By the way, I need some things from the store. How would you like to drive me to the farmacia in Solerno for more shaving cream and blades. Unless you’re too tired.”

  “Not at all.” She’d taken something for her headache earlier, but it was the transformation in Lucca that had given her a second wind. She was pleased he was feeling this much better.

  What alarmed her was how thrilled she was to be able to spend more time with him this evening. This shouldn’t be happening. “We’d better hurry before it closes. I’ll get my purse. After we get back, I’ll do the dishes.”

  He got to his feet. “There’s a rule in this house. Whoever does the cooking, does the cleaning up.” He blew out the candle and followed her inside.

  A half hour later they’d made the trip and she came out of the farmacia with the desired toiletries. When she would have gotten back in the car he said, “You see that trattoria across the piazza?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s been here for years. They serve a dessert to go called torta caprese. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I could go for a torta,” she said, mimicking his accent.

  “Bene.” When he smiled like that, she had difficulty catching her breath. “Use the money I gave you to buy some for us. I’ve decided you were right about something else you said earlier. I need a little sweetening up.”

  Following that thought she felt another dart of awareness at being alone with him like this. “I’ll be right back.”

  Annabelle wouldn’t have said anything else, not when he was coming out of that dark place where he’d been thrust months ago. His appetite was returning and he’d unburdened himself to an extent. It had to mean he was on the emotional mend, but she needed to be careful that she didn’t read more into this than the situation warranted.

  Lucca was Guilio’s son, just home from war, and she’d happened to be on the premises to offer some support. But in less than two weeks she’d be going home. To construe any more out of this would be absurd. If she’d taken it slower with Ryan after they’d first met, she might have picked up on a clue and not have married him. She needed to remember that.

  The errand didn’t take her long. When she returned, Lucca told her where to drive. Five minutes later he’d guided them to a private place where the view of lights along the coastline filled her vision.

  “If the whole world could see what I’m seeing,” she murmured.

  “Climb in back and we’ll look together while we eat.”

  His suggestion made sense because he’d done enough standing and moving for one day. Yet she couldn’t help feeling like she was a teenager getting in the backseat of a guy’s car, ostensibly to watch an outdoor movie.

  The trouble was, she took too long before she acted. When she joined him, he leaned closer and whispered, “I still couldn’t if I wanted to, Annabellissima.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STEADY, Annabelle.

  During the conversation with Marcella about the well-dressed Italian male, the designer had also given her tips about the Italian male himself. “They’re born flirts. It’s in their genes. They love women, all kinds, sizes and shapes.

  “When they flatter you, they mean it, but don’t assume it is a serious affair of the heart. A foreign woman does not understand this. She thinks she has his exclusive interest, which, of course, she does at the time, but it’s not forever. He loves life, he loves love. The Italian woman understands this.”

  Annabelle decided Marcella gave out good advice. The change in Lucca from that first night in the hall was like night and day and had thrown her off her guard. As long as she knew to stay on guard, she’d be all right.

  “I like your nickname for me, Lucca. No one else I’ve met has thought of it. It’s very clever in fact, if you don’t mind my saying.” She felt him give her an odd glance while she pulled their cartons out of the sack and opened them. “Here you go. And a spoon.”

  “This is a local specialty,” he informed her. “I’ve been salivating for one of these for ages.”

  “How long has it been since you were here last?”

  “Maybe eight years.”

  “That’s too long a time to be away from this.” She’d almost said home, but caught herself in time.

  He was too busy eating to comment.

  “Umm,” she moaned with pleasure after eating several mouthfuls. “It’s like an undercooked brownie, but much better with that almond flavor. I can’t stop with just one. I should have bought seconds.”

  He lounged back when he’d finished, looking amused. “When I stumbled up the hill between the fruit trees a few nights ago, I couldn’t imagine being alive by morning. Now here I am stuffing myself with sweets in the backseat of a car with my new nurse.”

  No doubt he’d beguiled a ton of willing Italian female nurses, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with. She put their empty cartons back in the sack. It was time for this American female nurse to go into action. He’d confided part of his soul to her. Now it was her turn so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea that she was blindly attracted to him.

  “I, too, can remember one night in the past believing that I wouldn’t live through it.”

  She saw his expression quicken with curiosity.

  “One of the nurses working on my shift at the hospital told me my husband had been having a full-blown affair with another nurse, whom I thought had been my friend.”

  Lucca eyed her for a lengthy moment. “When did it happen?”

  “Two years ago. But evidently I did survive, and now here I am having eaten a decadent dessert with an Italian war hero. Who would have thought?” Before this went on any longer, she reached for the handle and got out of the car.

  He continued to stare at her. “I hope you realize your ex-husband didn’t deserve you. But if you’re still so in love with him you can’t sit still, then you need to talk about it.”

  She let out a measured breath. “My love for Ryan was burned out of me when I learned their relationship had been going almost from the beginning of our marriage.”

  After a period of quiet he asked, “How long were you married?”

  “A year and a half.” She stopped herself before she said anything more. Lucca didn’t want to hear it, not when it sounded so trivial after what he’d lived through. She shut the door and opened the driver’s door to get in.

  “A very wise nurse I met the other night explained that a man who has seen combat needs to validate his existence to another warm body,” Lucca continued as if
she hadn’t left the backseat. “It’s vital that what he did in the war did matter to at least one other human being besides himself. You’ve been in combat of a different kind, Annabelle. Isn’t that what my father meant about you deserving a break?”

  She started up the car. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you get help for it?”

  Touché.

  She waited until they were out on the main road before answering him. “I did. I divorced him and transferred to another hospital in Los Angeles.”

  “And now you’re involved with this Mel Jardine?”

  Lucca didn’t miss much. “I met him after I moved to L.A.”

  “Where were you living before you moved?”

  “In Fullerton. It’s near L.A., where my family lives. My husband was finishing his residency at the same hospital where I’d been getting my nursing degree.”

  She heard him grind out something in Italian that needed no translation.

  “You know what they say about a change being as good as a vacation, Lucca. At my lowest ebb, Mel offered me a job with his company. I took it and never looked back.”

  As she rounded a curve, another car started passing her. She had to brake so there wouldn’t be an accident. That was all they would need, especially Lucca, whose surgery needed more time to really heal.

  “Speaking of looking back, keep your head down. We’re coming into Ravello. One of your family members or friends might be driving around and see you.”

  “In the backseat no less.”

  “And alone,” she quipped. “No sign of lipstick on your mouth. Just chocolate.” Giovanni wouldn’t believe it.

  A scoffing sound reached her ears and Annabelle grinned.

  “So where do you go for these photo shoots?”

  He was full of questions. “Besides Rome, where I’ve already been, they’ve been scheduled around the most beautiful spots along the Amalfi Coast. Basilio has been the one working with me the most, but your father’s in charge of everything.”