albeit not a good one, he’d admitted with a rakish white smile. She didn’t espouse one particular religion. Irena believed in the emancipated woman who could be powerful in the corporate world.
“He has an opinion on everything and isn’t afraid to express it.”
No worshipper of money, Vincenzo. As long as he made enough at his job, he was happy to let someone else handle the financial nightmare of being a CEO. Irena came from a monied background. Her parents’ very existence was defined by wealth.
“Vincenzo went out of his way to show me his village. Our walks in the hills took all day because he kept pulling me down to kiss me. On my last night there I ended up at his apartment in Riomaggiore. It was very small and simply furnished. He fixed me an Italian meal to die for.
“We drank wine and danced on his veranda until it got dark. When he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom, it seemed entirely natural. I’d stopped thinking because these overwhelming feelings had taken over. Before I flew back to Greece, he said something totally ridiculous to me.”
“What was that?” Deline had been watching and listening, spellbound.
“‘We are opposites in every conceivable way, Signorina Liapis. I think we should get married.’”
“Irena—”
“He shocked me, too. He enjoyed doing it on a regular basis.”
“What did you say to him?”
“From the beginning he knew how things stood with me, that I’d loved Andreas Simonides for a long time and expected to be his wife soon.”
“How did he handle that?”
“He laughed at me. ‘Love? If you two truly loved each other, you would be married by now and not here with me.’”
Irena bowed her head. “I have to tell you, Deline. Those words pierced me because I realized he was speaking the truth. Andreas and I had been drifting. If I’d felt for him what I felt for Vincenzo, I wouldn’t have let my career take precedence over being with him whenever possible.
“Vincenzo kept firing truths at me. ‘What is love, anyway? A word. It can mean anything you want it to mean at the moment. Then again it can mean nothing at all.’
“I asked him if he didn’t believe in it. He shrugged his shoulders and did that Italian thing with his hands and arms. Then he said, “‘I believe in forms of it. Who couldn’t love a child, for instance?’”
“When I told him he was impossible to talk to, he said, ‘Why? Because I don’t conform to your misguided idea of perfection or feed you what you’re used to consuming? Have you ever taken a good look at yourself?’”
Deline shook her head. “I can’t believe he dared.”
“He dared more than that. ‘Ms. Liapis,’ he said. ‘You are like the geese that fly in chevron formation—cool and unflappable, you cruise above the world with your fine-feathered family unit as you were taught to do, careful not to be diverted by other species of birds or natural disasters.’
“‘But I must tell you it would be fascinating to watch what would happen if just once you took a different course and had to wing it on your own.’”
“He didn’t say that!” Deline cried.
“Oh, yes, he did, and his remark stung. When he started to make love to me, I didn’t want him to stop. More than anything in the world I wanted to know his possession. He was a virtual stranger, yet nothing about him seemed strange. Everything we did felt right. It was like I’d met my soul mate.”
In a rare moment of pique Irena had risen to the bait and had done something foolish, if not dangerous, in order to prove he was wrong about her before she flew back to Athens. It had shocked her to the core, considering that from the moment he’d agreed to show her and the photographer around, she’d wanted to take him seriously, but was afraid.
Irena got to her feet. “After my new doctor’s appointment this afternoon, I’m going to go back and tell Vincenzo he was right about everything. My being there will prove that I’ve taken a different course and want to be with him. We have this intense attraction and connection. It will be liberating to be able to admit it. If he meant what he said about getting married, I want it, too.”
“What will you tell him about the baby?”
“The truth. As much as I’ve been told by the doctors. He has the right to know everything, including the fact that Andreas met someone else, too. If he can’t forgive me for going back to break it off with Andreas, then he’s not the man I thought he was.” She bit her lip. “If he wasn’t being serious about marriage, then I’ll have to leave Europe.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Oh, Irena. I’m frightened for you.”
“So am I. I’m terrified”
“Come on, Dino. You can do it.”
“I’m scared, Papa.”
Vincenzo could see the fright in his son’s dark brown eyes. His medium-size six-year-old would only come as far as the edge of the hotel pool, but he wouldn’t jump into his arms. No bribe would entice him. “Then what would you like to do before we leave?”
“I don’t want to leave. I want to live here in Riomaggiore with you.”
When Dino said it in that forlorn little tone, it gutted Vincenzo. “You know you can’t, Dino. Come. We’ll walk down to the beach and watch the boats.”
“Okay,” he demurred sadly.
“Would you like to go for a ride and catch some fish?”
“No. I just want to watch.” Dino claimed he loved the water, but when it came right down to it, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. By now Vincenzo had hoped his son would have overcome some of his fears, but since his ex-wife, Mila, had remarried six months ago and moved to Milan from Florence, they seemed to have grown worse.
“Let’s go!” He levered himself onto the tile. When both of them had slipped on their shirts and sandals, Vincenzo grasped Dino’s hand and they descended the steps beyond the pool area that led down to the sea.
Tomorrow was the last day of his boy’s one week summer vacation with him. Only a little more time left before he had to drive him back to Milan. Then the one weekend a month of visitation would begin again until his week in December. So much time apart from his son was killing him.
Before Mila had moved to Milan, Vincenzo had made that once a month sojourn to Florence where she’d lived with her family and Dino since the divorce. He’d found a small hotel located near the Boboli Gardens where you could look out over Michelangelo’s city. The delightful spot had become a second home to him and Dino.
The hotel he’d picked out in Milan didn’t feel like home to them. Neither did Milan itself, but rules were rules and had been set in concrete. Vincenzo was only given one week in summer and one week in December before the Christmas holiday to be with
