his palm. Sit closer so he could feel every radiant bit of heat from her body. Lean in so she could only see him. Find out what fascinated him about her.
“Racing across the lake like you were trying to fly. I consider that amazingly like a daredevil,” she explained, leaning closer.
Did she feel that same pull of attraction? He took a breath, taking in the scent of her, light and flowery. He held his breath for a moment to savor it. Then released it and shook his head. “I’m no daredevil. You should meet my brother Valentino. Now, he’s the daredevil in the family. Today was just Jet Skiing.”
She pointed to the motorcycle across the square. “That’s a dangerous mode of transportation.”
“Not if you know what you’re doing. It’s like flying along the road.”
“So tell me about living here, especially during summer,” she invited as they ate their cones.
Cristiano didn’t want to talk about himself; he wanted to know more about Mariella. But if he offered something, he could have her reciprocate. He began recounting summer days playing at the edge of the lake, climbing around on the rocky shore and learning to swim. Then the nights he and Valentino had spent roaming the woods, feeling daring and grown up braving the darkness.
She laughed at his stories and from time to time admonished Dante to stop listening, she didn’t want him to get ideas. The longer Cristiano talked, the lighter the world seemed to grow. He liked hearing her laugh. The more she did, the more outrageous he made the stories.
“Now, tell me about your summer holidays,” he said when he’d wound down. They’d long since finished their ice cream. The baby had fallen asleep and Mariella seemed content to sit in the sunshine. It was as if she brought sunshine into his life where only darkness had once dwelt.
“We always went to places to learn more about history. My father was an accountant, but he loved history. So we visited Pompeii and Turin, Florence, of course, and Venice.” She smiled in memory and Cristiano knew from her expression how much she’d enjoyed those vacations with her parents.
“Ariana went with us when we were teenagers. We flirted like crazy with the gondoliers in Venice. Of course they ignored us.” She laughed, then her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. “We should have had the chance to remember all those foolish activities when we were old with grandchildren running around. It’s so unfair she died.”
Cristiano wanted to comfort her, but only time would completely heal the pain.
“I had a friend who died last May. Life is unfair. I’m single with few responsibilities. He had a wife and two children. Why him? It should have been me.”
She looked at him in shock. “Never say that. Who knows why some die young? But I have never thought it should have been me instead of Ariana. Life is too precious. We need to enjoy every moment. Maybe even more so because in a way we are now living also for our friends, experiencing life as they will no longer be able to.”
The memories were threatening again. The fear he’d end up hiding beneath the bench they now sat on in the middle of the day, yelling for Stephano, was real. He had to get away before he cracked.
He stood. “I have to go.’ The tightness in his chest grew. It was becoming more difficult to breathe. He held onto the present desperately.
“Thank you for the ice cream. And the conversation,” she said.
He nodded and strode to the motorcycle. Staying any longer was flirting with danger. He knew his limits—and he’d passed them already. Time to get away.
He started the bike and looked over at Mariella. She was watching him, her head tilted slightly as if wondering what had gone wrong. If she only knew all that was wrong.
“Come tomorrow,” he said.
She smiled and nodded.
Mariella watched Cristiano leave. He was the most perplexing man she’d ever met. She’d thought they’d been having a great conversation when he’d abruptly jumped up and left. She tried to remember what she could have said to cause such a reaction. They’d been exchanging memories and she had lamented the fact she and Ariana wouldn’t grow old together.
So who was his friend who had died young? Such an odd thing for them to have in common, yet for a moment it brought her comfort. He was someone who could understand the sadness she felt for the loss of her friend.
The evening was quiet. Mariella played with Dante until the baby fell asleep. She liked this impromptu vacation. She was still working the odd hours to keep her clients happy. But she had more time to spend with the baby. And with several months’ of experience behind her, she was growing more confident in her abilities than that first month as a stunned guardian with a tiny infant and no job.
She could not afford to stay in Lake Clarissa for long, however. She wanted to expand the search for Dante’s father before she had to return to Rome. Stopping in a few shops, speaking with the priest didn’t encompass all of the village. Tomorrow she’d make a concerted effort to visit more places. Then if she had no results, the next day she’d move on to Monta Correnti.
After the baby was asleep, she checked her laptop for any new assignments, then surfed the Net. She put in Cristiano’s name on a whim and was startled when pages loaded. He was a firefighter. He’d been a first responder to the bombing in Rome last May. She read the compelling newspaper articles. The man was a hero. He’d gone down into the bombing scene time and again. He’d saved seven lives, become injured himself and still fought to bring a baby and small child through the smoke-filled metro tunnel to safety that last trip.
Wow. She read every article she could on the bombing. She’d been finishing up finals in New York when the terrorist attack had hit Rome. Once she’d been assured none of her friends had been injured, she’d relegated it and all other news to the back of her mind as she madly studied. Even if she’d seen Cristiano’s name back then, she never would have remembered it.
She had suspected he had some physically demanding job. He was strong, muscular and fit. He moved with casual grace in that tall body. And being around him gave her a definite sense of security. She searched further hoping for a picture, but the only ones she saw were of firefighters and police in uniform, battling for people’s lives.
It was late when she shut down the computer. Checking the doors and windows before retiring, she realized how much it had cooled down in the cottage. She switched on the wall heater and went to get ready for bed. Dante was fast asleep in one of the fleecy sleepers she used for him at night. She covered him with a light blanket and shivered; her fingers were freezing. Fall had truly arrived. At least the baby would be warm through the night, and once she was beneath the blankets she’d be toasty warm herself.
Cristiano sat upright with a bolt. He became instantly awake, breathing hard, the terror still clinging from the nightmare. He took deep gulps of breath, trying to still his racing heart. It was pitch dark—not unlike the tunnel after the bombing. Only the lights from their helmets had given any illumination in the dusty and smoky world.
He threw off the blanket and rose, walking to the window and opening it wide for the fresh air. The cold breeze swept over him, jarring him further. He breathed in the crisp air, relishing the icy clean feel. No smoke. No voices screaming in terror. Nothing here but the peaceful countryside in the middle of the night. The trees blotted out a lot of the stars. The moon rode low on the horizon, its light dancing on the shimmering
