L'amore: The Luminara Series (26 page)

I giggle. “You can’t. Hazel is downstairs waiting on me.”

He lifts my other leg up around his waist, holds one hand in my hair, and carries me to the bed, laying me down. He steps back, looking down at me with hunger in his eyes. I’m devouring his greed and lust because I want him so desperately, especially after he helps me reason and think straight. I’m gone.

Folded, crumbled, and melted.

I stretch my hand to his chest, clenching his top, then pull him down on top of me.

“Since you have asked, you are getting,” he growls sexily. He takes my T-shirt off and unbuttons my jeans in a flash, then in quick time has my bra and panties off. I’m stripped and naked for him again. He walks away, leaving me on the bed.

“Well, don’t just leave me like this,” I moan.

He returns from the dressing room with my diamond jewellery. “I love seeing you naked, but I also love to see this sparkle on you, so will you put these back on for me?” He leans over, teasing my nipple with his tongue.

He has never told me about the experience that incited his obsession with diamonds. In Tuscany all he told me was that they saved his life and that they remind him he’s alive, and then something cryptic about thinking I’m angelic and by wearing them it makes him feel alive and he wants to give me light. I know if he wanted to tell me more, he would. I respect that we both share things that we find hard to talk about. I do think his obsession for extravagant gems is excessive but he sees it as light as opposed to the value of the stone.

“You don’t play fair,” I protest seductively.

My naked body and jewels make sparkly love to my Italian God.

Revelations

After our spontaneous rendezvous confirming our love, I shower quickly, throw my black blouse back on this time, and pair it with my jeans then tie my hair in a wavy ponytail. He smacks my ass and smiles as I walk past.

“Nice blouse. You look beautiful. This is exactly how you looked when I first saw you in the clinic. It reminds me of that day. You are stunning, baby. God … we have come a long way since then. Are you feeling better?” The blouse paired with jeans does resemble my outfit that day, which makes me smile. Although, this blouse is somewhat more expensive.

“Yes, I do. Thank you for listening and for making me feel special.” Smiling, I wrap my arms around his waist.

I lean over and kiss him contently then look for Hazel. She’s sprawled out on a lounger next to the pool with an orange juice and one of Rose’s cinnamon buns. It’s not like her to eat sugary carbs in the middle of the day.

“Oh, look who’s back. Our next top model. My job here is done.” She smacks her lips and rubs her hands together.

“Don’t be a smartass. Lucca actually made me see sense, so don’t think about taking the credit this time, Skippy.” I lift my chin and tilt my head.

“Really? More like made you see stars. You, missy, have just been seen to, but whatever works for you.” She giggles.

“Hazel!” I yell, mortified. “How do you know that?” I soften my tone, furrowing my brow, now very serious.

“You’re rosy and you have that glow about you. Bless your little paws.” She taps her middle finger against her chin with a smug smile on her face.

Lust glow.

“Bless my what? What are you talking about?” I wrinkle my nose, trying to work her out.

“Instead of cotton socks, paws. You know, my little cub would have paws.” She takes another bite of her sticky bun. I giggle watching her. She really does make me laugh and it’s not intentional either.

“Joey … baby kangaroo,” I correct her, “… I think you’re in a little carb coma.”

“Hmmm, I needed to release some endorphins. We’re not as lucky as you to have around-the-clock sex fests. I’ve not had any in three days! Three days! It’s sacrilege.” She slaps her hand on her forehead in an Oscar-winning performance.

As much as my confidence is growing with Lucca in our sexy, heat of the moment fun, I still feel a little prudish and get embarrassed talking out loud about sex, even with Hazel.

“Oh, those cinnamon buns you’re eating? Six hundred and fifty calories, three cups of sugar, twenty-one grams of fat. Shall we go?” I say, diverging from the sex chat. I never sound as convincing as her when I try and say stuff like this, but it has worked.

She nearly chokes on her last bite and spits it out into her hand in shock, but I’ve shut her up. For now. I turn on my heels and stroll off, leaving her dwelling on that thought.

I drop in on Mr. Carlin and check his fridge and freezer. I meet Julie, his new home help, and get to the bottom of this diabetes he’s been rambling on about. I like Julie. She’s sweet and has an adequate level of patience, which is necessary when dealing with Mr. Carlin.

I get him up and give him some exercises to do, then open his mail, check on his washing, and switch off the heating. I suspect this is why he likes Julie; she doesn’t switch it off.

It’s bloody stifling.

I leave Mr. Carlin and Julie to continue with their game of backgammon. It actually makes me a little envious she is spending quality time with him and I’m not. I go back to my own house next door and open my mail. It feels melancholy and strange; it’s surreal not living here. I’m rudely awakened when I see the state the kitchen is in. Shaking my head, I march through to Hazel and give her a scolding. I’ve been away a few days, and she has turned my house upside down. I pick up my mail and have some words about her lack of housekeeping in the car.

Hazel drops me at my doctor’s surgery then goes to the supermarket while I attend my appointment. I pick up a magazine in the waiting area and flip through, focusing on the recipe pages.

“Lexi Robertson,” the receptionist calls.

I place the magazine down, and as I walk towards the door, I feel my skin shiver, so I turn briefly and tremble from head to toe, erecting my spine.

There is no mistaking the person across my peripheral vision.

Real.

Haunting me.

Oh God, I think I might pass out.

I trail my eyes from the black footwear, all the way up to a pair of ripped jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. The olive skin, unruly, blonde-streaked hair, and familiar sickening scent. I settle on uninviting green eyes.

Sly.

Sleazy.

Demeaning.

I want to run.

“Miss Robertson, this way please,” my doctor impatiently says, holding the door for me.

The eyes slowly study me, crawling across my skin, undressing me and peeling me to the raw nerve. Those eyes are unknowing at first but are now clearly recognising me. A sly smile forms across the wet lips. I grit my teeth, press my lips, and raise my brow.

I turn, dazed, and walk behind my doctor. I rub my sweaty palms, chew the inside of my mouth, and try to mask my irrational breathing.

“Lexi, what can I do for you today? Are you feeling okay? Would you like some water?” Dr. Harvey asks.

Refusing the water, I stutter and stammer, but eventually I explain my recent wrist surgery in Tuscany. She checks my notes, nods, and smiles, acknowledging my injury and treatment. I ask for more painkillers and for another prescription of my anti-anxiety tablets and anti-inflammatories. After she scribbles down my prescription, she asks if there is anything else.

“Yes, I would like a more permanent form of contraception. I’m in a relationship and would like something reliable and long term,” I say nervously.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?” she asks while she looks at my medical history on her software.

“I thought about the implant or Depo-Provera injection.” She thoroughly goes through the benefits and side effects of both options. “Hmmm, I don’t know.”

“Have you considered the Mirena coil?” She goes on to explain the effectiveness of it. The description makes it sound desirable, and knowing it lasts for five years is an added bonus.

Doctor Harvey is a wise, young doctor. She took over from the retired Doctor Foster. I like her. She’s patient, very knowledgeable, and compassionate, and she is sincere. She also is very hands-on, enthusiastic, and eager, whereas Doctor Foster was beginning to be absentminded in the last year before her retirement.

“When was the first day of you last period?”

I think back, counting in my head. “The thirtieth of May,” I add.

“Have you been sexually active?”

“Yes.”
Very much so.

“Have you been taking your pill correctly?”

“Yes.”

“So your period’s due in a week if you’ve been regular. If you opt for the implant or coil, we’ll need to refer you to the family planning clinic because we don’t do it here. I can call and ask for an appointment if it’s more convenient for you,” she gestures.

“Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate an appointment.”

She secures me a cancellation appointment late on Monday, asks about my wrist fracture, and surprises by telling me she owns a holiday home in Sienna, not far from where I vacationed. Leaving with my prescription note, I walk past the doctor’s private offices and press the push bar to open the emergency exit. I’m not walking back through the waiting room to face unwelcome demons.

Hazel is not back yet, and I don’t have my phone. Looking for somewhere to take shelter, I cross the road, enter the church, and lurk around the foyer as I watch behind the teak doorframe for her car passing.

It feels like hours, although seconds have passed.

“Lexi, what a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you at service recently, is everything all right? How is your family?” It’s the sweet words of Ms. Morrison, our local Minister. She is petite, cheery, and has the warmest smile. She is always welcoming and caring every time I come across her.

Ms. Morrison is very good friends with Cathy, my grandparents’ minister, who is close to my family and was my local minister growing up in Aberdeen before she moved on to Grantown-On-Spey in Morayshire.

“Very well, Ms. Morrison, thank you for asking. I’m actually planning on going up north soon for a visit,” I say, staring at her crucifix chain hanging from her neck. It’s traditional yellow gold but has a mother of pearl in the centre. I’ve always admired it, and I’ve never seen her without it.

“Excellent. Will you be popping in to visit Cathy?” she asks with enthusiasm.

“Um … well, yes, if you’d like me to.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if you could deliver something from me.”

She takes my hand and walks me through the church’s right wing aisle, past the altar, to her office. The last time I was in this office was Eleanor’s funeral, but it looks different, rearranged perhaps. She rummages in a drawer and lifts out a sealed jiffy bag. Placing it in my hand, she smiles.

“You’re a little treasure. Lexi love, God is with you always,” she says sincerely.

“I’ll deliver it to Cathy for you, no problem.” I smile sweetly and nod my head.

“Thank you, Lexi.”

“Actually, I have something I’d like to speak to you about if you have time.”

She always has time.

“Please sit and talk to me. I always have time for you.”

I shift in my seat and stare at her communion service card for Sunday and some handcrafted cards made by the Sunday school children.

“I apologise for not being at church. I was travelling, and I … um, I met someone and got engaged.” I clasp my hands in my lap and look around her office admiring the changes she’s made.

“I noticed your ring, but it’s not my place to pry. Congratulations, that’s delightful news.” Her eyes widen as a genuine smile graces her face.

“I … I’ve already moved in with him, and my mother isn’t happy with my engagement. I love him, love him unconditionally, and I know he loves me, but I feel an overwhelming feeling of guilt as if I’m doing something wrong because my mother is disappointed in me. Ms. Morrison … are you disappointed in me?
Is God disappointed in me
?” I whisper.

Ms. Morrison removes her gold spectacles from her face, leaving them hang around her neck attached to a neck chain, then tucks her short, brown bob behind her ears. She sits upright in her chair, pulling her shoulders back, and leans forward clasping her hands over the desk.