“Amazing,” Nell replied. “We were just finishing up a late lunch. Fabulous, of course. So how’s the flower farm?”
“Hmmph.” Vivi recounted the debacle in the rain and mud, and Nell expressed the appropriate horrified sympathy.
“Anyway,” Vivi concluded. “Here I am, stuck like a bug on flypaper. But that, I kid you not, is the least of my problems.”
“Oh, really? What’s going on?” Nell prompted.
Vivi paused, suspicious of the cheerful curiosity in her sister’s voice. “Jack Kendrick is my problem, as I am sure you know.”
“Oh? In what sense?” Nell asked, all innocence.
“Nell, what exactly do you know about the guy?”
Nell hemmed and hawed. “Um, exactly what Duncan told you,” she said. “There’s a photograph on Duncan’s wall of Jack climbing a sheer rock face. So I knew he was big, with dark hair, nerves of steel, and lots of thick, sinewy muscle. But that’s about it.”
“He despises me,” Vivi announced. “He thinks I’m a piece of insignificant fluff. A rootless, brainless tattooed bimbo incapable of making commitments or seeing anything through to the end. And he hates my van.”
“Wow.” Nell sounded impressed. “That sounds deep, Viv. Fear of commitment issues, after one evening’s acquaintance?”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Vivi wailed.
“I never said it was, honey,” Nell soothed. “What’s the place like?”
“Out of my wildest dreams,” Vivi admitted, staring out the window. “The place is covered with flowers. Edna’s having the time of her life chasing something across the field. I hope it’s not a skunk.”
“So? What’s the problem?”
“What do you mean, what’s the problem? I told you! The man doesn’t want me here! He thinks I’m trash! This is a big, big problem!”
“But the van is stuck, right?” Nell prodded.
“Yes, at least until—”
“Well, good, then.” Nell sounded satisfied.
“Good?” Vivi’s voice rose to a squawk. “What do you mean, good?”
“I mean that, at least until your fucking van gets unstuck, I, your sister, and Nancy, too, will be able to breathe easy and sleep at night because for once in your goddamn life, somebody is looking after you!”
The violence in her sister’s voice startled Vivi. “Um, okay,” she whispered.
“I know what these guys are capable of.” Nell’s voice quivered. “You don’t. You have no clue, Viv. And you don’t want to. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Vivi assured her. “And I promise. I’ll be careful.”
“You know what we did this morning?” Nell asked.
Vivi hesitated. The tone in Nell’s voice made her wary. “Ah, what?”
“We talked to the domestic staff at the Palazzo de Luca. There was a lady there in her seventies, the daughter of the previous housekeeper. She remembers when Lucia left. And why.”
Vivi swallowed, hard. “And? Stop teasing.”
“It was after finding her father’s dead body,” Nell said. “In his study, under his writing table. The table we still have. He’d been tortured to death. Cut to pieces. Slowly. Like they threatened to do to me. Like they would have done to Nancy. Or to you, if they get you. Keep it in mind.”
Vivi flinched. It wasn’t like it was a big surprise, but still. This evil had deep roots.
“So be careful, okay?” Nell begged. “Just be very, very careful.”
“I will,” Vivi soothed. “I promise.”
Nell sniffled. “Right. At least, you’re finally attracted to somebody again. Thank goodness for that, at least. It’s about freaking time.”
Vivi felt strangely cornered. “You don’t get it, Nell. Whether I’m attracted or not, it’s a bad scene. He despises me. He sees me as a type, not a person. It’s just like when Brian—”
“Viv, stop it,” Nell cut in. “It’s been years since that dumb putz messed with you! Get over it! Stop living like a wandering nun!”
“I’m feeling manipulated,” Vivi said tightly.
“Manipulated?” Nell snorted. “Poor Vivi. Trapped in a flowering wilderness paradise with a gorgeous, eligible hunk sworn to protect you from the evil villains. How cruel of us, for doing this to you.”
“I’m hanging up,” Vivi said. “I’m too pissed to talk anymore, but I love you anyway. Later, bye.” She hung up, her face hot. The mention of Brian’s name made her squirm with anger. After six years.
She was twenty-one when she met Brian Wilder, at her student art show. It was during her rebellious period. Wilder was a suave gallery director out scouting for hot new talent. His gallery was affiliated with an art museum specializing in works by emerging artists. He expressed an interest in her work. Soon after, he expressed an interest in her personally. He was handsome, intelligent. She’d been dazzled. At first.
Everyone had been thrilled for her when Brian offered her a contract with his gallery. She remembered the fateful day as clearly as if it had just happened. They were sitting in a coffee bar on Bleecker Street. She drank espresso. Brian was sipping a decaf soy milk latte.
“What do you think?” Brian asked, flicking hair out of her eyes.
“I-I don’t know,” Vivi stammered. “I’m not sure yet what it entails.”
“Let me explain,” Brian said, in a patronizing voice. “I see huge potential in your work. Energy, anger, power. But it lacks discipline.”
“Um.” Vivi sipped her espresso, pondering that.
“Just like you,” Brian observed. His eyes flicked down, checking her out. “That skirt and boots you’re wearing, for instance.” His thin lips twitched. “You have to polish up your image.”
Vivi tugged down her purple velvet miniskirt to cover another couple of inches of thigh, wishing she hadn’t worn torn-up fishnet stockings. She stared down at her thigh-high lace-up black leather boots.
Brian flicked another lock of her hair back, and look her up and down. “We’ll start with a haircut and a new wardrobe.”
“I can dress myself,” Vivi said.
“Yes? Well. If this is the result…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes took on a weird, hot glow. He chucked her under the chin. “I’ve never gotten intimate with your type before.”
Vivi wrenched her chin away from his pinching fingers. “What do you mean, my ‘type’?” she demanded, irritated. “What type is that?”
“You know. The bad girl with the innocent eyes. The lost waif. You’re like something out of a Japanese anime film. All eyes, and that wild mop of hair. It’s…mmm. Stimulating.” He tilted her chin up again. “About the contract. What do you say?”
It was an incredible opportunity. Any of Vivi’s struggling artist friends would have cheerfully killed for it. And her jaw was aching with tension. Vivi pulled her face away from his fingers again. She gulped the rest of her bitter coffee, wondering why she wasn’t feeling happier.
“If you sign the contract, it will be with the understanding that you’ll accept me as an artistic mentor,” Brian said sternly. “And I’ll expect you to produce. I can make you successful, Viv. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Brian turned the full force of his cold gray eyes on her.
Her doubts felt vague and foolish. Destiny called.
“Yes,” she said.
She’d signed. Agreed to let Brian groom her into an artistic sensation. The stupidest move of her life. So far.
Vivi stared at the luxuriant spider plants that hung in Jack Kendrick’s kitchen, thinking grimly about the way one’s worst mistakes tended to repeat themselves, again and again. They dressed themselves in slightly different outfits, but the basic content was always the same.
Here was another man who saw just a type when he looked at her. Another man who made her feel inadequate and embarrassed, just for being what she intrinsically was. Except that this time, it was worse. Maybe because her desire for Jack Kendrick’s good opinion was so irrationally strong. And her chance of getting it so small.
It was odd. She’d always considered Brian handsome, in his cold, austere way. But compared to Jack Kendrick, Brian seemed effete. Dried up and stringy, even. Maybe it was that empty, no-calorie crap he ate. But Kendrick, whew. A girl could just sink her teeth into that one. She would never wear that guy out. Never use him up.