you again,” she said, dismissing his offer.
“Perdona, but have we met?”
Lucy realized just how rude she must have sounded, and how unimportant she must have been to him because he didn’t even remember her. She softened her voice. “No, we haven’t actually met. Not officially, but I remember you from the flight. I was in your seat and you ate my shoe…your shoe. You ate your shoe, not mine…I mean.”
“Ah, I am famous!” he said, full of himself.
“For fifteen minutes.”
He smiled, and once again Lucy felt the heat of his attraction. Her toes itched. She wiggled them inside her shoes, trying to get the itch to stop, but it wouldn’t, not as long as he stood in front of her, smiling.
He was taller than she had first thought, at least six feet, but then she had never been this close to him, at least not facing him. And the scent of garlic was gone, replaced now with the scent of basil. How odd, she thought, for someone to smell of herbs.
“Thank you for the offer, but I can drive myself,” she said.
“Nobody with a brain wants a car in Napoli,” he answered.
She didn’t like the implication. “You have a car. What does that make you?”
“No brains. My mamma, she always say I got no brains, so I buy a car. Please, allow me to drive you to Napoli in my brainless car.”
Lucy had to smile at his innocent chivalry.
“You want the car or not, miss?” the woman roared.
Lucy stood unnerved in the midst of airport chaos and tried to decide what to do with his offer. If this were the U.S. and some eccentric guy volunteered a ride, she would absolutely refuse. He could be some crazed killer. But this was Italy.
Her Italy.
Her heritage.
And for the most part, Italian men were romantics, lovers…she noticed the head of garlic sticking out of his shirt pocket.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she said thinking this man was some kind of food-kook.
“Buona fortuna!” he said and turned abruptly away. She watched as he joined the mix of travelers roaming through the airport. He stopped to wave goodbye as if they were old friends and he was leaving on some trip. She wiggled her toes and caught herself waving back, feeling sad. There was something intoxicating about him, but she couldn’t think about that now. There wasn’t any time to question her emotions. She’d think about it later, while she was soaking in a hot tub, scrubbing her toes.
For an instant, she regretted never having taken the time to visit Italy, but she was always so busy with work, and before that there was college, then grad school. Not that she didn’t love Italy. She did. She loved hearing stories about it, reading about it, learning the language, but she could never justify an actual visit, and yet here she was. Alone. On a business trip. A week before her wedding. At least she could enjoy the scenery from the car, even if she would have to learn how to drive along the way.
“I’ll take the car,” Lucy told the woman behind the counter.
The woman looked at her and spat, “Sorry, I gave your car away. No more cars.”
“What? You must have misunderstood. I’ll take the car now.”
“All rented. No more cars, miss. Come back tomorrow. I can get you an automatic tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! What do you mean tomorrow?” Lucy’s voice went up an octave, but she caught herself. She refused to get into a shouting match. “Thank you,” she said in a tight, subdued tone. “I’m sure you did your best.”
The woman behind the counter didn’t reply as Lucy ran off after Mr. Garlic, hoping his offer was still good, when suddenly she realized she didn’t know his name.
3
THE GIRL in the red scarf had so intrigued Vittorio that once the plane had landed in Rome he followed her to the car-rental counter. Fortunately, they were going to the same city, but the beguiling Madonna had turned out to be an elitist.
Her misfortune, Vittorio thought as he waved his goodbye. He was not the type of man to pursue a woman with her nose stuck up in the air when there were so many unspoiled women to choose from, like the girl serving him the cappuccino from behind the coffee bar. The girl with the beautiful, full breasts and round hips who leaned toward him just enough so he could peek down her open blouse.
“Just right,” Vittorio told her as she moved in even closer, smiling over at him when she put the cup, with the billows of steamed milk, down in front of him. “Like a pillow,” he teased and picked up the cup to take a sip. She giggled and her breasts bounced ever so slightly under the thin cotton of her floral blouse.
Vittorio appreciated the moment and was just about to start some heavy flirting when somebody tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, tap-tap-tapping while he tried desperately to get his peek at what had to be the most perfect breasts in all of Italy.
“Go away. I am busy,” he said as he turned around, annoyed by the incessant pecking on his shoulder.
It was she, the elitist in the red scarf. Her hair had come undone from its clip and surrounded her face with its rich luster. Streaks of sunlight sparkled through the warm brown of thick silk.
Vittorio could only smile at his fortune. To be enveloped by two such beauties was indeed a great moment to be savored.
“Ah, it is you, signorina. Let me buy you a cappuccino,” he said, smiling.
“Thanks,” Lucy said, “but I thought you were driving to Napoli.”
“Yes, but first I drink coffee. Please, you will feel better after.” He turned to the beauty leaning on the counter. “Prego, un cappuccino.”
Lucy hesitated, but then agreed, rolled her suitcase in close, and secured her purse on her shoulder. The girl behind the counter continued to flirt with Vittorio as she made the cappuccino for Lucy.
The girl and Vittorio spoke to each other in Italian.
“Is this your lover?” she asked Vittorio.
“What kind of question—”
“Just making sure,” she said.
When she had finished making the cappuccino, she slammed it down in front of Lucy, spilling the coffee on the counter and on Lucy’s white jacket.
“Thanks a lot,” Lucy said and reached for a napkin.
Undaunted, the girl walked back to Vittorio and leaned in as far as she could. This time Vittorio got the full view.
“Oh, brother,” Lucy murmured and turned away.
“I get off work in an hour,” the girl purred.
“Don’t
