So my mouth whispered for me, “Yeah.”
“What happened to the arch-nemesis?”
“She got clocked with the butt of her hubby’s shotgun,” I answered, leaving out the fact that she was now awaiting trial for plotting my murder. I’d already instituted a major overshare. I didn’t need to make the same mistake again.
“Off easy,” he murmured.
“Kind of,” I said softly. “She’s the town pariah, no one liked her much before but they openly don’t like her now and we live in a small town so you feel that kind of dislike in a small town, you know?”
“Not really,” he replied. “I’ve never fucked another man’s wife, setting him on a murdering rampage or even fucked another man’s wife and not setting that man on a murdering rampage so I have no fuckin’ clue.”
At his honest, blunt and weirdly somewhat harsh words, he became real to me, like any normal person, not a famous ex-football star national hero who had a past filled with doing dangerous things and suddenly I relaxed, not completely but a little, enough to smile before I recommended, “Well, my advice is, don’t.”
He smiled back and said, “Good advice.”
“And also,” I kept going, “I think in Lake Como surrounded by swanky rich people, you’re not allowed to drop the f-bomb or probably the s-bomb for that matter.”
He lifted his coffee cup and before taking a sip, his eyes on me over the rim, he asked, “You read that somewhere?”
“Uh… no,” I answered.
He sipped, dropped the cup and noted, “So, it’s not a law.”
“I wouldn’t know. Maybe.”
“If it is, then you wouldn’t be able to do it in Italian. Since I don’t know Italian, I think I’m good.”
“Well if you’re wrong and they arrest you, I promise to post bond,” I assured him.
He grinned. “Good to know you’ve got my back.”
I shrugged. “We Americans have to look out for each other.”
His grin got bigger and he murmured, “Right.”
It was then our food was served. There were some flourishes whilst the waiter served it which made Sampson Cooper catch my eyes, his smiling. When they did, I felt my mouth twitch and my heart flutter that I was sharing an in-joke with Sampson Freaking Cooper.
The waiter moved away, Sam picked up his cutlery and so did I.
He tucked in.
I wondered if I could watch him consuming food across a table from me without having an orgasm.
And it was then I decided to come clean.
“I know you, you know,” I whispered and his eyes went from his plate to me.
Then, to my shock, my delight, my horror and totally messing with my peace of mind and understanding of the world, he whispered back, “Baby, for ten minutes you made me invisible. Women who know who I am do one of three things, they get in my space, they do anything they can to get my attention but do it pretending badly that they don’t know I exist or I flat out cease to exist. I know you know who I am.”
“I wasn’t being rude,” I quickly told him.
“I get that,” he replied just as quickly. “For you, it’s about bein’ shy but for me, it gives me privacy and I don’t get that much. It also allows me to be the one to make the play. And in my life, serious as shit, Kia, that’s rare and it’s really, fucking valued.”
That was when I panicked and assured him, “Well, I wasn’t making some whacked out play either.”
He put his fork on his plate, reached across the table and took my hand.
My heart stopped again.
He squeezed my hand and looked in my eyes.
Then he whispered, “Relax, Kia, and just enjoy breakfast.”
“Okay,” I whispered back, it was breathy but at least I didn’t wheeze.
He let me go and focused back on his food.
It took some effort, and not a small amount of it, but I did too.
And there it was on my plate, proof an omelette was an omelet the world over.
Thus commenced me eating breakfast with Sampson Cooper and I didn’t think I could relax but I didn’t take into account how much he wanted me to.
So for the next forty-five minutes, we ate, we sipped coffee, we sometimes looked out the windows at the beauty of the lake but mostly we looked at each other and Sam asked me questions that weren’t invasive or taxing, mostly about what I was doing in Lake Como and how long I was staying. So I told him about my vacation which started in Paris and would end in two weeks at a beach on Crete. And, with his guiding questions, I went into some detail that was probably embarrassingly enthusiastic about what’d I’d done, what I’d seen and what I was looking forward to doing and seeing.
For his part, when I asked, he told me vaguely he was in Italy “on business”, he didn’t elucidate and I didn’t pry.
And when we were done, the last drops of coffee consumed, our plates long since whisked away, Sam Cooper stood and rounded the table, like the gentleman he was, helping me out of my chair.
No man had ever done this for me either and it was considerate and attentive in a way I liked a lot and it settled in my soul too.
Then he walked me through the dining room, the tips his long fingers barely touching the small of my back to guide me through the room, another chivalrous gesture that also felt like something else, something I didn’t quite get.
Outside the dining room, in the lobby with its beautiful tiled floors and sweeping staircase, his fingers moved to my elbow, curling around and he stopped me then he turned to stand in front of me, a foot away.
I tipped my head back to look up at him.
It was over, I survived. I had breakfast with Sampson Cooper; I enjoyed it and the knowledge that he was truly in real life what he was in my fantasy life, a decent, good, kind man as well as a gentleman also settled in my soul. Looking up at him, I memorized our morning like I’d been memorizing many of the gifts I’d received the last three weeks but this one I burned deep in my brain in the hopes of never forgetting even a second.
“I need to go,” he told me, his fingers still curled on my elbow.
“Okay,” I replied and smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Then my breath caught as his fingers on my elbow tightened and pulled me slightly toward him. I went forward three inches as he bent from his height of what I knew was six foot three and, in a barely-there touch, he swept his lips against my cheek.
I closed my eyes and experienced the beautiful tingle.
Then in my ear, he whispered, “You’ll see me around.”
My heart stopped again and his fingers gave me a squeeze then let me go. He straightened, smiled in my eyes and then he was gone.
And, staring across the foyer that no longer held the tall, built, powerful body of Sampson Cooper it belatedly hit me that he’d said, it also allows me to be the one to make the play.
That was when my heart stopped beating.
Again.
Chapter Two
Cat and Mouse
I stood in front of the full-length oval mirror in my hotel room surveying my ensemble.
I was wearing a dark teal, strapless dress shot liberally with silver. The top fit like a second skin all the way down to my hips then flared out in a cute, flippy, but short, skirt that exposed a whole lot of leg, more than even my sundress. I wore this with a pair of strappy, silver, high-heeled sandals. My hair was swept back at the top and held in a pretty, silver clip at my crown but the sides were sleek and long, the tapered ends curling along my jaw and neck, the rest falling down my back. I had on a pair of earrings that were four dangling silver chains interspersed with teal beads.
It was an awesome outfit.
But really, I was being an idiot.
In Heartmeadow, Indiana I would have no occasion to wear a dress like this. Or the shoes. Or the sundress I’d bought. Or the bronze sandals. Or, really, almost everything I’d purchased on my trip.
I’d flown first class because I could. This meant
I could bring two suitcases so I did but there was barely anything in them since I intended to shop profusely, something I had done.
I had just not made smart choices.
Like the entirety of my outfit which I bought that day with Celeste, my new Lake Como bud.
I had spent my first day in Lake Como touring around riding the unbe-freaking-leivable high of breakfast with Sampson Cooper and riding the not as awesome but very close to it high of being in a stunningly beautiful place I’d never thought I’d be.
I’d also spent that day on tenterhooks, expecting Sam to jump out and whisk me away practically every second.
He didn’t.
So, trembling with expectant excitement and again kitted out and made up, I’d wandered down to breakfast only to find him not there. My matchmaking maitre d’ looked more devastated than I was that Sam was not waiting for me nor did he show while I had breakfast and I gave him plenty of opportunity. So much, I was grateful when my waiter brought me another cafetière of coffee I could sip and not look stupid as I waited in vain.
It was at lunch as I sat at a table with an umbrella (though, I chose a seat in the sun not the shade) on the wide sidewalk facing a flower and fountain bedecked square when I met Celeste and her husband Thomas.
They were old enough to be my Mom and Dad’s much younger, cooler and far, far richer sister and brother. Celeste was French but she spoke English and Italian. Thomas was American but he spoke with a slight Australian accent considering the fact that, while growing up, he’d lived there for ten years and they visited his family there regularly. We’d been sat at tables next to each other and my table had no pepper shaker, I’d asked if I could use theirs and there it began, just like with Sam, I’d joined them. However, not like Sam, they invited me and I accepted.
Chatting with Celeste, I didn’t know what people were talking about when it came to French folks. Cooter, being Cooter, hated them. But Celeste was awesome, chatty, friendly all in this droll, sophisticated, cosmopolitan way that was way beyond cool.
Within two minutes of talking with her, I decided I wanted to be her when I grew up.
Fortunately, I kept my cool and, unlike blurting them out bluntly to Sam, I did not share my recent circumstances with Celeste and Thomas but informed them only I was on vacation.
Celeste cottoned on I had no clue when it came to Italian. I also had a feeling Celeste further cottoned onto the fact that I had no clue when it came to a lot of things.
So she’d taken me under her wing.
She taught me “please” was per favore, “yes” was sì, “no” was just no and “table for one, please” was solo tavolo, per favore.
Easy!
Thomas was taking his lunch with his wife but had to get back to work and Celeste invited me to spend the afternoon with her. I accepted. After we wandered and she showed me some sights, she invited me to spend the next day with her. I accepted that too.
After another disappointing breakfast alone, Celeste had swung by my hotel in a sporty convertible, her hair (get this!) covered in a flowy, chiffon scarf and huge sunglasses on her face making her look straight from a movie. She’d whisked me to her favorite spa where we got facials, massages, manicures and pedicures then had our makeup done and our hair styled then off we went to spend the afternoon shopping whereupon, at Celeste’s insistence since everything I tried on she declared effusively was, “Belle, ma chérie!” I spent an enormous amount of money on clothes I’d probably never wear again.
And I was going out to dinner with them that night, all gussied up after spending three fun, relaxing days in Lake Como eating, sightseeing, shopping and spa-ing (or whatever they called it) but, although fun, as he’d promised and I’d hoped, I’d not seen Sampson Cooper.
Therefore I realized that when he said he’d see me around he was being nice. In fact, I realized, he’d only just been being nice throughout our time together.
And I had to admit, it was disappointing, definitely. Still, I met him, he was wonderful, I had a great story to tell and therefore I decided I could live with that.
What I couldn’t live with was making a stupid dent in my somewhat large, unexpected fortune by buying clothes I could not wear to the grocery store in Heartmeadow. I’d even bought a formal gown mainly because it was beyond awesome too. In fact, it was so stunning it was indescribable. I’d never owned anything near the like, never even tried anything on even close. My wedding gown, which I thought was beautiful, wasn’t even as nice as that gown.
So I got caught up in the life, Celeste, my audience, sitting back with her feet crossed at the ankles, knees closed, slim fingers curled around a flute of champagne (yes, champagne, this was how exclusive the shop was, they served champagne while you tried on clothes), her entire face lighting with delight when I’d walked out wearing that gown. The instant I did, she threw out a graceful hand, saying I simply had to have it, that it was made for me and I forgot who I was, where I came from, where I would go when I went home and bought it.
But it was ridiculous. I’d have nowhere to wear it.
Still, I liked the idea of just owning it and I decided that, maybe, on occasion, I’d make myself a fabulous dinner, buy myself a good bottle of champagne, put it on and share my dinner with Memphis pretending I was back in this life, that this was me.
That might be a weird thing to do but I figured it also would be fun.
And there was no one to care so why the heck not?
And Memphis would get into it. Then again, she pretty much liked to do anything just as long as her human was around.
That said, I had to stop, enough was enough.
My cell on the bed rang; I moved from the mirror to it, saw it was Celeste, flipped it open and put it to my ear.
“Hey, Celeste,” I answered.
“Allô, ma chérie, we’re downstairs. Are you ready?”
God, her voice was even awesome.
“I’ll be right down,” I told her.
We rang off; I grabbed my evening bag (an evening bag! Seriously, I was out-of-control) and headed downstairs.
I was dressed to the eights (my gown being definitely to the nines, or even tens) but, upon seeing Celeste, I noted she still totally outclassed me. Even so, when she saw me, she did this cool thing where her head dipped to the side and her hand elegantly swept through the air, a nonverbal indication she thought I looked great.
And, coming from her especially, that felt great.
Jeez, totally, I liked her.
When we greeted, I reminded myself to grab her upper arms and touch cheek to cheek on both cheeks as she always did with me, with shop assistants and her friend Gertrude who we’d run into at the spa. It was really too bad Americans didn’t do that. It wasn’t only chic, it was sweet.
Then she swept me out of the hotel, I did the cheek thing with Thomas at the car and off we went in Thomas’s big burgundy Jaguar to dinner.
Celeste and Thomas lived on Lake Como and had for nearly a year. His business took him everywhere and Celeste had confided in me while shopping that it was likely they’d be moving again soon.
I hoped (but didn’t share this with her) that maybe he’d be sent to Chicago or New York so I could visit, take all my fabulous clothes and shoes and pretend to be awesome like her again.
And also, I hoped this because I liked her.
They took me to an eatery that was off the beaten path but they declared was the best in a fifty mile radius and they would know considering Celeste also confided to me that, though French and enjoying her food (even if, on her slim frame, it didn’t show), she was a terrible cook so they went out all the time.
They were not wrong about the restaurant and I decided this at first glance. It was fabulous. But as we were shown to our table, I became enchanted. It had lots of Christmas lights strung everywhere and tables with small, compact arrangements of cream flowers set in the middle and peach tablecloths draping low that lined a balustrade of a long, stone terrace that faced the lake. T
he Christmas lights twinkled off the polished crystal and silver on the tables. And, to top that, there was soft music playing from a real live string quartet at the end of the terrace.
It was the most beautiful restaurant I’d ever been to in my life and in the last three and a half weeks, I’d been to some lovely ones.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, walking closely with Celeste who had her hand snug in the crook of my elbow.
“What did I say?” she asked, grinning at me.
“You don’t lie,” I replied, grinning back at her.
“Oh yes I do, ma chérie,” she informed me, lifting her other hand with thumb and forefinger an inch apart then she leaned closer and whispered, “Petites bombards, to Thomas, after shopping.”
My grin became a smile and I noticed Thomas and the maitre d’ had stopped so I looked to him and our table and that was when I saw Sampson Cooper three tables down, sitting facing me and across from him was a brunette. Her back was to me but I could still see she had on a fabulous dress, she had unbelievably beautiful, glossy, long, thick, dark hair and an amazing figure if her shoulders, slim arms and the line of her exposed back were anything to go by.
I stopped breathing again and this time it didn’t feel so good.
Okay.
Shit.
Okay.
Shit!
There it was. I was an idiot. I’d totally misread the situation. Clearly, his supermodel-esque girlfriend slept in or skipped breakfast in order to do pilates or something. And he was just being nice to me.
Shit.
Luckily this time Thomas guided me to the side of the table where I’d have my back to Sam and his woman. Even more fortunately, he did this before Sam saw me.
The maitre d’ held my chair and pushed it in while Thomas moved to do the same with Celeste across from me.
I looked to the lake and my heart restarted but my stomach felt funny and that didn’t feel so good either.
It was late. They ate late here or at least Celeste and Thomas did. They’d picked me up at eight thirty. The sun was beginning to set on the lake and the view was amazing.