“On the contrary, I live to interfere.”
Tracy gave 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.” Tracy hugged 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.”
As Tracy drove 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.
She opened the door to her bedroom, then stopped just inside as light from the hallway fell on her bed. Harry lay on his back in the middle of her mattress, the raspy sounds coming from his mouth not exactly snores, but not exactly not-snores either.
He was still here. She hadn’t been completely certain he’d stick around for the rest of the day. She allowed herself a moment of hope, but it didn’t last long. Only his sense of obligation had kept him from leaving right away. He’d drive off first thing in the morning.
In looks, Harry was ordinary compared with Ren. His face was too long, his jaw too stubborn, and his light brown hair beginning to thin on top. The creases at the corners of his eyes hadn’t been there the night of that dreary cocktail party twelve years ago when she’d accidentally on purpose tipped a glass of wine into his lap.
The moment she’d seen him, she’d made up her mind to get his clothes off, but he hadn’t made it easy. As he’d later explained, men like him weren’t used to having beautiful women hitting on them. But she’d known what she wanted, and she’d wanted Harry Briggs. His quiet intelligence and steady outlook had been the perfect antidote to her wild, aimless life.
Now Connor lay across his chest, the fingers of one chubby hand caught in the neck of his father’s undershirt. Brittany was pressed against his other side, the final remnant of her tattered blankie draped over his arm. Steffie had curled into a tight, insect-fighting ball near his legs. Only Jeremy was missing, and she suspected that it had taken a supreme act of will to keep him in his room instead of cuddled up with his father and the “brats.”
For twelve years Harry had been the calm to her fire, putting up with all the drama and emotional excess that made up who she was. Despite their love for each other, it hadn’t been an easy match. Her untidiness drove him crazy, and she hated the way he withdrew when she tried to get him to express his feelings. She’d always been secretly afraid he’d eventually leave her for someone more like himself.
Connor stirred and rolled farther up on his father’s chest. Harry instinctively drew him closer. How many nights had they spent with kids in their bed? She never turned them away. It hadn’t seemed logical that the most secure people in a family, the parents, were permitted to find comfort together at night but the smallest and most vulnerable were expected to sleep alone. After Brittany was born, they’d moved their king-size mattress to the floor so they didn’t have to worry about babies falling out at night and hurting themselves.
Her friends had been incredulous. “How can you ever have sex?” But the doors in their house had solid locks, and she and Harry had always managed to find a way. Always, that was, until this last pregnancy, when he’d finally gotten fed up with her.
He stirred and opened his eyes. They were unfocused until they settled on her. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of that familiar, steadfast love, but then his expression went blank, and she saw nothing at all.
She turned away and went off to find an empty bed.
In a small stone house on the outskirts of Casalleone, Vittorio Chiara pulled his wife closer to his side. Giulia liked to sleep with her fingers in his hair, and that’s where they were now, woven through the long strands. But she wasn’t asleep. His chest was damp beneath her cheek, so he knew she’d been crying, and her silent tears broke his heart.
“Isabel will be gone by November,” he whispered. “We’ll do the best we can until then.”
“What if she doesn’t leave? For all we know, he might sell the house to her.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, cara.”
“I know you’re right, but…”
He stroked her shoulder to quiet her. A few years ago he would have made love to her, but that wasn’t so much fun anymore. “We’ve waited a long time,” he whispered. “November isn’t far off.”
“They’re nice people.”
She sounded so sad he couldn’t bear it, and he said the only thing he could think of that might cheer her up. “I’ll be in Cortona on Wednesday night with those Americans I’m taking out. Can you meet me?”
She didn’t reply for a moment, but then she nodded against his skin. “I’ll be there,” she said, sounding just as sad as he felt.
“This time it’ll work, you’ll see.”
Her breath skittered across his skin. “If only she’d go away.”