gold box, in which Maria’s old clothes, shoes and hose had been packed beneath shimmering layers of tissue. She wore an elegant powder-blue, cashmere suit with a gold brooch, and sleek Italian leather slings with tiny heels. All purchased for her through a mysterious arrangement between Antonio and the saleswoman that involved only a signature and not even a glimpse of a check or plastic. The sales staff all but genuflected as he left the boutique.
Maria had become a believer. Almost.
If he wasn’t actual royalty (which she still found hard to accept), he at least had one soaring credit allowance and the respect of high-end merchants—neither of which was likely to come as a perk for working as a professional escort.
This took serious mental adjustments.
Next stop was I Matti, an upscale Tuscan-style trattoria, on Eighteenth Street. Antonio ordered for her, and she was delighted with his choices. They dined on lamb shanks and pasta with a heady tomato sauce redolent with olive oil, accompanied by a delicious Barolo wine.
She couldn’t help questioning him further. “You’re really Italian then,” she said as they returned to the limousine.
“Yes.”
“And rich?”
“Very.” He seemed more amused than offended by her questions.
She nodded, thinking about times in the distant past when she’d been called gullible.
She had fallen for Donny Apericcio’s game, playing Doctor and Patient, when she was seven. She’d had to undress to be “treated” for her pretend ailment. And she had believed Becky Feinstein in high school when the popular girl had congratulated Maria on making the yearbook committee. It had been a cruel joke.
But those episodes were kids’ stuff, embarrassments she’d gotten over long ago. Allowing herself to be charmed, possibly even seduced by a stranger, was of the adult world. A game she wasn’t about to play with any man, rich or not.
“So-o-o-o,” she said pushing Antonio’s wide hand off of her knee where it had wandered as soon as they’d seated themselves in the limo. “You’re an honest-to-goodness prince, and you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you’re in this country, standing in for a paid date.”
“Si, my former valet, he was posing as me and causing my family terrible embarrassment.”
“Valet,” she repeated thoughtfully. “And what do you do in Italy? Own a vineyard or something?”
“Olive groves, a mill where the olives are crushed for their oil, and a bottling factory,” he corrected her, smiling proudly. “Passed down many generations through my family.”
She absorbed these new details. “Listen, I hope you’ll understand my confusion. I didn’t know you, but I do know my co-workers. They once hired a stripper dressed up like a pizza delivery person to surprise a man who was retiring. Then there was the singing kangaroo.”
“Kangaroo?”
“You don’t want to know,” she assured him with a roll of her eyes. “The thing is, I’m going along with this for one reason only. To save myself grief in the office.”
He looked a little disappointed. “I thought you were coming with me because you’d never ridden in a limousine.”
“That too,” she admitted quickly, uncomfortable that he’d remembered an unguarded moment of girlish enthusiasm. “But I really don’t need all this wining and dining stuff to be happy on my birthday. A good book and a hot bubble bath are just fine. And I don’t mind being alone,” she added quickly when he opened his mouth as if to comment. “I enjoy my privacy.”
Which was true. To a certain degree.
She’d always needed time to herself. Time to read, to write in her journal, to garden or listen without interruptions to a CD of her favorite opera. A cup of sweet tea and a melt-your-knees tenor singing to her while she soaked in steaming water was her idea of heaven.
But there were times, more and more often these days, when she’d have liked someone to eat dinner with, someone to talk to about her day or snuggle up with in bed at night before falling asleep. These were other kinds of quiet times.
Sex? The word popped into her head. Sex would be nice, she imagined.
Everyone said it was an indispensable part of life, although she believed most people made too much of it. Someday she’d be able to judge for herself. That time would come when she found the man she would marry.
Until then, she had promised herself she wouldn’t surrender totally to any man. Her mother had made that mistake, and had been left alone with a baby. Maria admitted to herself that she was curious, maybe even a little anxious as the months and years wore on and she felt child-bearing years slipping away from her. But she wouldn’t be foolish.
Antonio’s hand returned to her knee. This time she eyed it thoughtfully, but didn’t brush it off. “Where to next?” she asked.
“Next, we go to Espazio Italia. On my last trip to this country I saw there the loveliest terra-cotta pieces outside of my own country. I would like to buy presents for family back home and, if you like, something for you as well.”
She shrugged, having already decided it was easier to go along with him than fight a mulish man. “Sounds harmless enough. Why not?”
So why did she feel as if she’d just stepped off a cliff into thin air? Why did her instincts shriek at her that, with that simple gesture of lifted shoulders, she had just set forces in motion over which she had no control?
Two
Maria was delighted by the profusion of amazing hand-made pottery from Sicily, Taormina and Grottaglie. The brilliant colors evoked Mediterranean sunshine and made her feel cheerful just by looking at them.
Antonio bought a pretty glazed bowl and a small figurine of an ebony horse, and had them wrapped—for safe travel, he told the clerk. It seemed odd that he was purchasing items that had originated in his own country, but maybe he was too busy with his olive groves to go shopping very often at home.
He offered to buy Maria a pretty vase she had admired, but she politely refused after flipping over the price tag. “I’ll save up for it and come back someday.” But she knew she never would. Everything in the shop was gorgeous but way out of her budget’s league.
At last they drove back across the city as the sun set, and Maria felt as if she were melting into the limousine’s seats. She hadn’t felt so relaxed, so pleased with a day in as long as she could remember. If humiliating her had been her friends’ goal, their plan had failed miserably. This day and Antonio had been wonderful gifts.
The car pulled up in front of her apartment building. Maria sat up straight and was about to turn toward the passenger door beside her when Antonio’s hand closed around the back of her neck and easily guided her back toward him.
“Sei bellissima,” he murmured, then kissed her expertly, softly on the lips.
It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to draw a breath or protest. When he pulled back a few inches to observe her reaction, she was speechless.
“You
