Gaining Visibility (19 page)

C
HAPTER
17

T
he smooth material felt exquisite, gliding between the tender skin of her underarm and her breast. Julia gathered a handful of the deep purple satin and tucked it under her chin, catching a whiff of Vitale's clean, earthy scent, which still clung there. She breathed deeply and mentally tagged the scent as her favorite new aromatherapy.

The to-do list for the next two days was long enough to keep her plenty busy during Vitale's absence, but she couldn't shame herself out of bed just yet. The memories of last night were worth a few more minutes of replay in her head.

After dinner, they'd gone to the studio to start sorting the art objects into categories, so she could photograph similar items as a series of shots. Vitale had gone to the house to get the satin sheet backdrop but came back a little later saying he couldn't find it. He sheepishly confessed he'd probably thrown the sheets away after his humiliating experience.

They went into the house and got on the computer where she showed him her Web site and other sites like she envisioned for him. Because there was only room at the desk for one chair, he insisted she sit on his lap, then took advantage of the situation by undressing her, removing an article of her clothing each time she brought up a Web site he liked.

Only Vitale could make surfing interior decorating sites feel like trolling for online porn.

After he'd fondled and teased her to the point of combustion, he'd calmly announced he had a little paperwork he needed to take care of, gathered up her clothes with a wink, and left her alone to answer an assortment of personal e-mails that had cropped up in her absence.

She wrote Melissa and told her all about the toe and the changes in her itinerary, leaving out most of the details—such as Vitale, and the fact that she was answering her e-mail while sitting naked in his living room. If the subject of Vitale ever came up—and it probably would since Hettie had guessed the truth—she'd downplay the whole affair. Until then, the heat in her cheeks coupled with that farther down told her it might be something her daughter was better off not knowing or might not want to know at all. The thought of Melissa's uncomfortable
ewwwww and accompanying nose wrinkle made her smile
.

When Vitale led her into the bedroom sometime later, she found the bed all dolled up in royal fashion, and—mmmmm—he'd certainly made her feel like a queen. The image of Francesca and Vitale tangled in the sheets had been deleted from her memory, replaced by, not simply an image, but a total sensory-heightened experience, a movie in her head she could watch anytime she wanted from now on.

She sat up and smoothed her palms over the luscious fabric of the top sheet. The Italian word for the color had caused her to assume the sheets were a light violet. She hadn't prepared herself for this visually stunning hue that oozed with sensuality. She laughed. Working with this stuff all day was going to keep her in perpetual heat.

Of course, constant thoughts of Vitale were going to keep her in perpetual heat anyway. How long would that last? How long before the feel of his hands and lips dulled to just a vague but pleasant memory? Or would the years promote him to legendary status in her memory—magical and bigger than life?

So little time left here with him . . . The thought threatened to darken her mood. Refusing to allow anything to spoil this glorious afterglow, she tossed the cover off and slid out of bed, laughing aloud as the top sheet glided off the opposite side.

After breakfast and a shower, her first order of business was to make some contacts about a Web site for Vitale. This would be her gift to him for all he'd done, as well as an investment in his future. A way to show him how much she believed in him.

She e-mailed her Web designer, who designed the Web site for Panache and was reasonable with his cost. She explained what she wanted to do, the vision she had for the online catalog, and asked for a price quote.

Next, she burned a CD of her
Happy
playlist. Vitale had a vast selection of opera CDs he used to enhance his mood while he worked. If a piece was especially dramatic, he chose a dramatic, soulful opera. A whimsical piece required a lighthearted, whimsical opera. But always only opera. Working all day to opera would numb her brain.

A happy, though nostalgic, tear gathered in the corner of her eye as she stripped the luscious sheets from the bed and replaced them with crisp, white ones.

She sighed as she gathered the used sheets into her arms, again sniffing Vitale's scent among the folds. If only he could join her for the remainder of her trip. The idea made her heart skip a beat. Would he consider it? Could she bring herself to ask him?

She nudged the silly notion to the back of her mind where it belonged—better to leave with perfect memories intact—and got busy with the task of photographing the art that would make Villa de Luca a household name.

Now that she had time to touch and hold and study the art objects closely—now that she knew the man behind the art—Vitale's talent astounded her even more. His personality, his moods, his passions were etched indelibly into the angles and curves and lines of each piece. She replaced her CD with one of his—
I due Foscari
by Verdi because it said something about Byron on the cover—in order to get the full de Luca effect.

Those creations that followed the styles of the Old Masters begged to have fingertips grazed over them to catch the subtle nuances of the human form. The small, fanciful pieces begged to be placed in unobtrusive spaces where they would stealthily maneuver into nearby conversations, each with a voice of its own. The large, modern sculptures carried a haughty air of defiance, brooding and foreboding . . . and beautiful.

All of them were pure Vitale.

The hours flew while Julia staged and photographed piece after piece, numbering each item and making quick notes that could later be embellished into catchy descriptions. Two o'clock arrived before she noticed the empty grumbling in her stomach. Some of last night's cheese and sausage would make the perfect snack to tide her over until dinner.

She headed out the door, flipping off the switches that controlled the lights and the CD player. The thundering rumble of the drums ebbed away, replaced by an unexpected sound. Women's voices. And they stopped abruptly when the door creaked shut behind her.

Vitale's mother, Angelina, stood up from her kneeling position with a garden trowel in her hand. Her brows knitted in question before her eyes settled into a glare.

“Oh, hello.” Julia instinctively braced herself for the angry retort she knew was coming.

Vitale's youngest sister, Orabella, obviously sensed it, too. She sat back on her heels and glanced nervously from her mother to Julia.

“Julietta.” Angelina's voice held the expected sharp edge. “Adrianna say you leave.”

“I, um . . .” Julia tried to swallow, her mouth having gone suddenly dry. “I decided to stay until Monday.” She pointed toward the door she'd exited. “I'm doing some work for Vitale.”

Angelina's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Work?”

“Yes.” Julia nodded, hoping the idea she was working might alleviate some of the disapproval registering from the other woman. “I'm photographing his art pieces and cataloging them for him.”

Angelina's eyes darted quickly to Orabella, who translated Julia's explanation.

The older woman gave a derisive snort and launched into an angry rant. After a while, she stopped, flicking a finger from Orabella to Julia.

The young woman's eyes held a deer-in-the-headlights look. “My mother think she is improper for a woman,” she hesitated, dropping her gaze to the ground at Julia's feet, “a woman of your age to stay here with Vitale. She say she can lead to nothing good—”

Julia had recognized the gesture of an arm cradling a baby during Angelina's speech, though no baby was mentioned in the translation. She suspected Orabella was rephrasing some of the wording as her version, which didn't carry quite the angry punch conveyed in Angelina's tone.

“She say you should leave Vitale alone.” Orabella hesitated again.

“
Sì!
” Angelina punched a finger in Julia's direction, then waved her hand toward the house. “She stay no good.” She launched into Italian again.

Various comebacks skimmed across Julia's thoughts ranging from “You're absolutely right” to “Vitale is a man and can make his own decision who to sleep with.” But, because Angelina apparently didn't need to stop for breath, Julia didn't get to use any of them, and that was just as well. She wasn't sure what would actually come out of her mouth if she opened it.

Orabella shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another when Angelina motioned her way. “She also say Vitale should use his time to find the wife and have the family. He should not play with the toys.” She pointed to the studio. “After the children grow, he play with the clay as he want.”

Angelina watched the gesture and started in again while a jolt of anger caused Julia's spine to stiffen. Those were almost the exact words Frank used twenty years ago when she'd wanted to start an interior design company. He convinced her to put her plans on hold until Melissa was in high school. How Julia regretted those years she wasted working for someone else when she could've been following her own life's dream.

“Vitale is a very talented artist with a wonderful future ahead of him.” Julia broke into the heated monologue, interrupting Angelina, whose surprised frown registered she wasn't used to being interrupted. “He should be doing what he wants to do rather than trying to please other people—especially people who don't appreciate how exceptional his talent is.”

Orabella's eyes widened and she didn't offer a translation until Angelina fixed her with a demanding stare. The girl swallowed hard, then spoke falteringly.

When she finished, Angelina stood quietly for a few seconds. Her gaze swept Julia up and down before she spat out an additional comment.

The trowel in Orabella's hand visibly shook as she took a deep breath. “She say Vitale has only the one talent that interest you.”

The words stung as if Julia had been slapped. She opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to relieve the tension caused by clenching her teeth. She was about to speak when Angelina threw one last verbal punch before tossing the trowel to the ground and stomping away.

Orabella gathered the gardening tools with a sigh. “She say, if you are still here Sunday, you are not welcome to the house of Angelina.” Her eyes softened apologetically. “I am sorry.” She hurried to catch up with her mother.

Stomach in a knot and appetite gone, Julia went back into the studio to fret the afternoon away. How could Angelina not appreciate the depth of Vitale's talent? And how frustrating that must be for him—to be so talented, and not have that talent recognized by the people closest to him. Julia turned an exquisite bronze horse in her hand, marveling at the detailing. What was wrong with these people? Couldn't they see?

A double pang of sorrow and sympathy compressed around her heart like a giant hand had gripped it.

Vitale suffered from his own brand of invisibility, perhaps one just as unfair as her own.

The strange turn of events that brought her into Vitale's life right at this time? It wasn't only Adrianna's scare that gave her purpose here. She was here to help Vitale as well. Just because this fling had a limited engagement didn't mean what came out of it couldn't be lasting.

What was it that Hettie said?

“
That stone didn't just fall on your toe. Fate pushed it there, so be ready.
”

The compression around her heart returned.

* * *

By the time Vitale returned home around eight, Julia greeted him with a genuine smile and a controlled tongue, her anger at his mother, the rest of his family, and anyone who couldn't appreciate his talent subdued, thanks to several hours of hard work and a switch of CDs from his opera back to her
Happy
music.

Much talking on her part wasn't required this night anyway. Vitale had gone immediately into action on the online business. He went on and on, sharing details of his meeting with his brother-in-law, Giovanni, an attorney. They'd talked in-depth about sole proprietorships and business registration requirements, which he'd been advised could take a few days. But Giovanni had assured him things would go quickly after the business was registered, provided Vitale had start-up capital, which he apparently did.

“I have the more money than the family she think. I build the home. I do not use the much money since Luciana die. I have the no one to spend the money to, and I need the very little.” Although his voice was full of enthusiasm, Julia could tell he was bone-weary by his sluggish movements. He'd put in a very long day.

“Julietta, you very quiet tonight.” They sipped their wine in the courtyard after a light supper she'd put together.

She smiled and shrugged. “Just tired, too, I guess.” She wouldn't mention Angelina and Orabella's visit. If they wanted to tell him they could, but she wasn't going to mar her stay with any more unpleasantness.

“You work very much today. Too much. You should not spend the holiday in the studio.”

“I'm spending my holiday the way I want to,” she assured him, and his answering smile warmed her like a deep drink from her wineglass. “You're the one who's done too much today.” She smoothed a finger down the tired lines in his face.

Turning his face to kiss her finger, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I do much work today,” he agreed. “And I think, if I do much tomorrow, I finish so Vitale and Julietta have the Saturday and the Sunday together.”