chapter NINE
I decided on black jeans and a fitted royal purple T-shirt for the bird watching outing. I kept my makeup simple with black eyeliner and deep red lipstick, hoping Vittorio would be less likely to kiss me if my lips were painted. I was probably wrong, but a girl could dream.
I sipped my third cup of coffee when a knock on the door startled me. I opened it to find Vittorio, exactly on time.
He wore a pair of dark jeans and an untucked black T-shirt. It was plain, but still managed to look expensive. I wanted to touch it to feel what it was made of, but knew that was a bad idea if I wanted to maintain control over myself.
Had it not been for the long, thick hair he had pulled back into a braid, he would have looked normal; well, as normal as a man that tall with the face of a god can look, that is. As had become the norm, my heart skipped a beat or five when I saw him.
“Elena.” He greeted me with the now customary arm stroke and kiss on the back of the hand. “Even dressed down you look stunning.”
My face burned. “Thank you.” I looked down shyly, a foreign movement to my body. I had never been shy.
“Are you ready for your first bird watching lesson?”
“You better believe it.” At least I sounded more confident than I felt.
We walked outside to a freshly waxed black Ferrari California.
He opened the passenger door and held my hand as I sank down into the supple black leather seats, inhaling the warm scent of leather that enfolded my body. I sighed contentedly. This was so much nicer than my beat up Corolla. “I bet this is fun to drive during the winter,” I said.
“I have a Mercedes G550 to get through bad weather.”
Of course he did. Why would I have thought he only had the one car like us mortals?
Vittorio started the car and classical music floated from the speakers, meshing with the purr of the engine. “Do you like Faust?” he asked.
“What?”
“Charles Gounod’s opera Faust.”
“I’ve never been a fan of opera.”
“Why is that, mia belezza?” He turned his whole body toward me.
We hadn’t even pulled away from the curb and my hormones took control of my body. I focused on the memory that started my distaste for classical music, wrapped it around me as a shield to block out Vittorio’s gaze. It worked. I’d have to remember hate was a powerful shield. “My grandmother listened to it constantly. Whenever I visited her, she made me listen to it, grilled me about how it made me feel, what I thought it was about. I didn’t care, and I had no idea what they were singing about in a foreign language. She smacked me whenever I said something rude about opera, which made me hate it even more.”
“Will you try listening to a little bit with me, and if you still do not like it, I will turn on whatever music you like?”
“Why do you want me to listen to it so badly?”
“I have a feeling you will like it, if only you give it a chance. I adore opera, and want to share it with you. I want to share everything with you.”
Everything? His eyes bored into me, pleading. My pulse raced, hatred of my grandmother long gone. How could I say no? I couldn’t say yes either; my throat was too dry. I nodded.
“Thank you,” he said, as he lightly touched my cheek, sending tingles through my whole body. That one touch should not be so sensual.
Vittorio narrated the opera while driving at high speeds through winding country roads after we drove west away from the city. I watched as he drove with confidence, admiring his features and his deep, rhythmic voice. Every once in a while he would turn to look at me, and smile.
I focused on Vittorio while he narrated. I needed to be able to control myself around him. If I could watch him under a controlled circumstance such as this and keep my feelings in check, I’d have a start to build upon in less controllable situations. Such as when there was less than a foot of space separating us. And if I was really lucky, even when he touched me, or kissed me.
At the end of the hour, by some miracle, I was able to control my heart every time he smiled at me. Perhaps it was because there was a full foot of space between our seats. Whatever the reason, for the first time since I had met him, I could concentrate.
By the time he pulled off the side of the winding road and parked the car, I realized I no longer hated opera. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he was the one narrating, but I found myself enjoying the music and wanting to hear more.
He came around to my side to help me out of the low vehicle.
My heart sped as he rested his hand lightly on the small of my back, but my legs remained firmly beneath me; a vast improvement from the other night. He held my hand as we walked through the trees. The sound of chirping birds and leaves rustling in the breeze filled the air. We eventually reached a clearing with a stream lined with bushes at the opposite side. Vittorio stopped and pulled a thin blanket out of his backpack.
Seeing Vittorio outside of the club in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a backpack was an odd sight indeed. His long thick hair and perfect face didn’t fit the image of rugged nature man; yet somehow it seemed right and reasonable. He was the type of man who would look at ease in any situation.
Vittorio gestured for me to sit, then sat dangerously close to me, unpacking a pair of binoculars. For once, his attention was not focused on me. I was surprised to find myself feeling slighted. Then he drew in his breath, pointed across the field and handed the binoculars to me. “Do you see those blue jays over there?”
I searched, but couldn’t find them.
He leaned closer to me, gently put his arm around my shoulders, and helped me aim the binoculars in the right direction. I almost lost all focus at his touch until I found the birds, flitting around a bush by the stream. They were beautiful, and I didn’t mind that his attention was on them instead of me.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Vittorio said after some time of birdwatching.
“Where are you going?”
“Relax. I have a surprise in the car. I’ll only be a minute.” He kissed the back of my hand.
True to his word, Vittorio returned with a basket. Very quaint.
“You must be getting hungry. I know I am.” His voice held heat that alluded to more than lunch.
Any control I had mustered over the course of the morning fled and my mouth went dry.
I tried to swallow. “Well, now that you mention it, I am.” The last two words came out far more breathy than I intended.
He unpacked sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of wine. “Did you forget I don’t drink?” I asked.
“Of course not. I haven’t forgotten a word that has passed your lips. This is sparkling grape juice. I thought it a good finishing touch since I cannot share my Italian wines with you.”
I read the label and found he was telling the truth. Silly me. I bit into a sandwich realizing the extent of my hunger. My nerves hadn’t allowed me to have more than coffee earlier. The fruit tasted sweet and juicy. I inhaled the food in an unladylike manner, but didn’t care. If Vittorio wanted me, he could have me in all my starving glory. When we finished eating, he packed up and we walked back to the car.
“Would you do me the honor of joining me at the club tonight?”
“I’d love to,” I said honestly. “What time should I meet you there?”
“I would like it if you would come with me, as my date.”
“Well, I’ll need to go home and change.”
“Do not worry about that. Come home with me.” I looked at him in alarm. “Now, now, where is your mind taking you? In case you have not noticed, I am a gentleman.” He grinned at me. “I will take you shopping, buy you a new gown.”
Gown? Who said ‘gown’ these days?
“You can shower and dress at my place. You will have your privacy. I simply wish to enter the club with you on my arm tonight.”
As he looked at me pleadingly, his crystal clear emerald eyes boring into my soul, I couldn’t refuse. As soon as I said yes, I mentally kicked myself. Why would I do that? Young women should not go to the homes of strange, older men.
I didn’t like the conflicted thoughts in my head the past few days. I couldn’t explain them. However, I still sensed Vittorio meant me no harm, so I stuck with my decision, for better or worse.