Breathing Room (19 page)

Ren took a sloppy bite of bruschetta, then stretched out his legs and spoke with his mouth full. "God, I loveItaly."

She closed her eyes and breathed a soft amen.

A whiff of breeze carried the cooking smells from the oven into the garden. Chicken and fennel, onion and garlic, the sprig of rosemary Ren had tossed on top of the roasting vegetables.

"I don't appreciate food when I'm home," he said. "InItalythere's nothing more important."

Isabel knew what he meant. At home her life had been too highly scheduled for her to enjoy a meal like this. She was out of bed at five for yoga, then in the office before six-thirty so she could write a few manuscript pages before her staff arrived. Meetings, interviews, phone calls, lectures, airports, strange hotel rooms, falling asleep over her laptop at one in the morning trying to write a few more pages before she turned out the light. Even Sundays had become indistinguishable from weekdays. That Divine Slacker might have had time to rest on the seventh day, but He didn't have Isabel Favor's workload.

She let the wine roll over her tongue. She tried so hard to approach life from a position of strength, but all that effort had come at a price. "It's easy to forget simple pleasures."

"But you've done your best." She heard something that sounded like sympathy in his voice.

"Hey, I've got a world to run." She said the words lightly, but they still tried to catch in her throat.

"Permesso?"

She turned to see Vittorio coming through the garden. With his black hair tied in a ponytail and his elegant Etruscan nose, he looked like a gentle Renaissance poet. And walking just behind him was Giulia Chiara.

"Buona sera, Isabel."He opened his arms in greeting.

She smiled automatically, discreetly fastened her top button, and rose to have her cheeks kissed. Even though she didn't trust Vittorio, there was something about him that made her look forward to his company. Still, she doubted it was coincidental that he'd shown up tonight with Giulia. He knew that Isabel had spotted them together, and he was here to do damage control.

Ren looked less than friendly, but Vittorio didn't seem to notice."Signore Gage, I am Vittorio Chiara.And this is my beautiful wife, Giulia."

He'd never said a word about being married, let alone being married to Giulia. He'd never even told Isabel his last name. Most men who hid the existence of wives did it so they could hit on other women, but Vittorio's flirtatiousness had been harmless, so he'd had another reason.

Giulia was dressed in a plum-colored miniskirt and striped top. She'd tucked her light brown hair behind her ears, and gold hoops swung from her lobes. Ren's scowl gave way to a smile, which made Isabel resent Giulia even more than she'd resented her for the unanswered phone calls.

"My pleasure," Ren said. Then, to Vittorio, "I see word's gotten out that I'm here."

"Not too much. Anna is very discreet, but she needed help with preparations for your arrival. We're family – she is my mother's sister – so she knows I'm very trustworthy. The same is true of Giulia." He lavished his wife with a smile. "She is the bestagente immobiliare in the area. Homeowners from here toSienatrust her to handle their rental properties."

Giulia gave Isabel a strained smile. "I understand you were trying to find me. I've been out of town and didn't get your messages until this afternoon."

Isabel didn't believe it for a moment.

Giulia tilted her head at a charming angle. "I trust Anna took care of everything while I was away."

Isabel made a noncommital murmur, but Ren was suddenly all hospitality. "Would you like to join us?"

"Are you sure we won't be a bother?" Vittorio was already steering his wife toward a chair.

"Not at all. Let me get some wine." Ren set off for the kitchen and quickly returned with more glasses, the wedge of pecorino, and some fresh slices of bruschetta. Before long they were settled around the table laughing at Vittorio's stories of his experiences as a guide. Giulia added her own tales centering on the wealthy foreigners who rented villas in the area. She was more reserved than her husband but just as entertaining, and Isabel began to set aside her earlier resentment and enjoy the young woman's company.

She liked the fact that neither of them questioned Ren aboutHollywood, and when Isabel was guarded about her own work, they didn't press. After several trips to the kitchen to check the oven, Ren invited them to stay for dinner, and they accepted.

While he sautéed the porcini, Giulia put out the bread, and Vittorio opened a bottle of sparkling mineral water to accompany the wine. It was getting dark, so Isabel found some chunky candles to set in the middle of the table, then asked Vittorio to climb on a chair and light the candles in the chandelier she'd hung in the trees. Before long, glimmers from the flames were dancing through the magnolia leaves.

Ren hadn't misrepresented his abilities as a chef. The chicken was perfect, juicy and flavorful, and the roasted vegetables held subtle undertones of rosemary and marjoram.

As they ate, the chandelier swayed gently from the tree limb above them, and the flames flickered happily. Crickets sang, the wine flowed, and the stories grew more outrageous.

It was all very relaxed, very merry, very Italian. "Pure bliss." Isabel sighed, as she bit into the last of the meaty porcini.

"Ourfunghi are the best in the world," Giulia said. "You must come and hunt the porcini with me, Isabel. I have secret places."

Isabel wondered if Giulia's invitation was genuine or another gambit to get her away from the house, but she was too relaxed to care.

Vittorio chucked Giulia under the chin. "Everyone inTuscanyhas secret places to find porcini. But it's true. Giulia'snonna was one of the most famousfungarola in the area –

what you would call a mushroom hunter – and she passed on everything she knew to her granddaughter."

"We will all go, yes?" Giulia said. "Very early in the morning. It is best after we've had a little rain. We will put on our old boots and take our baskets and find the best porcini in all ofTuscany."

Ren brought out a tall, narrow bottle of golden vinsanto, the local dessert wine, along with the plate of pears and a wedge of cheese. One of the candles in the tree chandelier sputtered out, and an owl made a softwhoo nearby. The meal had passed the two-hour mark, but it wasTuscany, and no one seemed in a rush to finish. Isabel took a sip of vinsanto and sighed again. "The food has been too delicious for words."

"Ren's cooking is much better than Vittorio's," Giulia teased.

"Better than yours, too," her husband responded, mischief in his smile.

"But not as good as Vittorio'smamma's ."

"Ah, my mamma's." Vittorio kissed his fingers.

"It is a miracle, Isabel, thatVittorio is not one of themammoni ." At Isabel's puzzled expression,Giulia explained, "These are the... How do we say this in English?"

Ren smiled. "The mama's boys."

Vittorio laughed. "All Italian men are mama's boys."

"So true," Giulia replied. "By tradition, Italian men live with their parents until they marry. Their mamas cook for them, do their laundry, run their errands, treat them like little kings. Then the men don't want to get married because they know younger women like me won't cater to them like theirmammas ."

"Ah, but you do other things." Vittorio traced her bare shoulder with his finger.

Isabel's own shoulder tingled, and Ren gave her a slow smile that made her blood rush.

She'd seen that smile on the screen, usually just before he led some unsuspecting woman to her death. Still...not the worst way to go.

Giulia leaned against Vittorio."Fewer Italian men get married all the time. This is why we have such a low birthrate inItaly, one of the lowest in the world."

"Is that true?" Isabel asked.

Ren nodded. "The Italian population could decrease by half every forty years if the trend doesn't change."

"But it's a Catholic country. Doesn't that automatically mean lots of children?"

"Most Italians don't even go to mass," Vittorio replied. "My American guests are always shocked to learn that only a small percentage of our population truly practices Catholicism."

The headlights of a car coming down the lane interrupted their conversation. Isabel glanced at her watch. It was after eleven, a little late for visitors. Ren rose. "I'll see who it is."

A few minutes later he came into the garden with Tracy Briggs, who gave Isabel a tired wave. "Hey, there."

"Sit down before you collapse," Ren growled. "I'll get you something to eat."

While Ren went inside, Isabel performed the introductions.Tracywore another expensive but rumpled maternity dress and the same run-down sandals she'd had on yesterday.

Despite that, she looked gorgeous.

"How was the sight-seeing?" Isabel asked.

"Lovely. No kids."

Ren emerged holding a plate piled with leftovers. He slapped it in front of her, then filled a glass with water. "Eat and go home."

Vittorio looked shocked.

"We used to be married,"Tracyexplained as the last of the candles sputtered out overhead.

"Ren has leftover hostility."

"Take all the time you want," Isabel said. "Renis being insensitive as usual." Not so insensitive, however, that he didn't make sureTracyhad plenty to eat.

Tracylooked longingly toward the farmhouse. "It's so peaceful down here. So adult."

"Forget it," he said. "I've already moved in, and there's no room for you."

"You haven'tmoved in ," Isabel said, even though she knew he had.

"Relax,"Tracysaid. "As much as I enjoyed getting away from them, I've been missing them like crazy for hours."

"Don't let us keep you a minute longer."

"They're asleep by now. No reason to hurry back."

Except to begin making peace with your husband, Isabel thought.

"Tell me where you went today," Vittorio said.

The conversation moved on to the local sites, with only Giulia remaining silent. Isabel realized she'd been subdued ever sinceTracyhad appeared, almost resentful.

SinceTracyhad been friendly, Isabel didn't understand it.

"I'm tired, Vittorio," she said abruptly. "We need to go home."

Isabel andRen walked them out to their car, and by the time they got there,Giulia had recovered her good cheer enough to invite them to their house for dinner the following week. "And we will gofunghi hunting soon, yes?"

Isabel had been enjoying herself so much she'd managed to forget that Giulia and Vittorio were part of the forces trying to get her out of the house. Still, she agreed.

As the couple drove off,Tracyheaded for her own car, munching a bread crust on the way.

"Time to get back."

"I'll take the children for a while tomorrow if you'd like," Isabel said. "That'll give you and Harry a chance to talk."

"You can't," Ren said. "We have plans. And Isabel doesn't believe in sticking her nose into other people's business, do you, Isabel?"

"On the contrary, I live to interfere."

Tracygave her a tired smile. "Harry will be halfway to the Swiss border by lunch, Isabel.

He won't let a little thing like talking to his wife interfere with his job."

"Maybe you're underestimating him."

"Or maybe not."Tracyhugged her, then Ren, who gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze and helped her into her car. "I'll give Anna and Marta a big tip for watching the kids today," she said. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome. Don't do anything stupider than usual."

"Not me."

AsTracydrove away, Isabel's stomach took a roller-coaster dip. She wasn't ready to be alone with Ren, not until she'd had a little more time to come to terms with the fact that she'd nearly decided to let herself become another notch on his splintery bedpost.

"You're getting jittery again, aren't you?" he said as she headed for the kitchen.

"I'm just going to clean up, that's all."

"I'll pay Marta to do it tomorrow. Stop being so nervous, for God's sake. I'm not going to jump you."

"You think I'm afraid of you?" She grabbed a dish towel. "Well, think again, Mr.

Irresistible, because whether or not our relationship goes any further is my decision, not yours."

"I don't even get to vote?"

"I know how you're voting."

His smile sent out a sexy smoke signal. "And I've got a pretty good idea how you're voting, too. Although..." The smile faded. "We both need to make sure we're clear about where we're going with this."

He wanted to warn her off, as though she were too naïve to figure out that he wasn't proposing a long-term relationship. "Save your breath. The only thing I could possibly –

and I emphasize 'possibly,' because I'm still thinking about it – the only thing I could possibly want from you is that amazing body, so you'd better let me know right now if I'll break your heart when I dump you afterward."

"God, you're a brat."

She gazed up. "You're not, God. Forgive Ren for being disrespectful."

"That wasn't a prayer."

"Tell Her."

He had to know it wouldn't take much effort on his part to make her forget she wasn't quite ready to take that final step. One more of those well-practiced kisses would do the trick. She watched him try to make up his mind whether or not to press her, and she didn't know whether she was glad or sorry when he headed for the stairs.

*

Tracy used the banister to haul herself upstairs. She felt like a cow, but then she always felt like a cow by her seventh month – a big, healthy Elsie cow with round eyes, a shiny nose, and a daisy chain around her neck. She loved being pregnant, even with her head hanging over the toilet, her ankles swollen, and the sight of her feet nothing but a memory. Until now she'd never worried much about the stretch marks that had spread like lightning bolts across her belly or her big, leaky breasts, because Harry had pronounced them beautiful. He'd said pregnancy made her smell like sex. Obviously he didn't find her sexy now.

She walked down the long corridor toward her room. The heavy moldings, frescoed ceilings, and Murano glass fixtures weren't her style, but they suited the dark elegance of her ex-husband. Considering the way she'd barged in on him, he wasn't being as much of a prick as she'd expected, which proved that you could never predict exactly how people would behave, even the ones you knew the best.