City Chicks

Chapter 18-2

Sweet Saltwater Taffy, I hoped this was just the effects of jetlag. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I suddenly found respect for everyone I worked with.

Jetlag. That was all.

The guest rooms were even more lavish than the lobby. Rich golds and lush velvets everywhere. Even the four-poster king-size bed had gold velvet drapes and gold quilted jacquard bedding. The gilding on the light fixtures alone must have cost more than my entire apartment.

Our baggage managed to beat us and my suitcase stood empty in the antique armoire, the contents neatly folded into drawers and hung on smooth wooden hangers.

Never underestimate the value of five diamond service.

“Ready to see the sights, sugarcakes?”

Elliot came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me to his chest. His energy was boundless. Maybe I wasn’t the only one needing to cut back on the sugar intake.

“No.” I turned within the circle of his arms and slipped mine around his neck. “I need to rest before the shows begin. We have almost an hour and I need a quick cat nap.”

“Oka-ay,” he drawled, “but don’t think you’re getting out of a moped-driven city tour.”

I smiled at the exuberance in his sky blue eyes. “Just be sure and get a yellow one.”

He grinned in return. “Daffy II.”

Then, with a quick kiss to my forehead, he bounded out the door. Off to take Milan by storm, no doubt.

I stepped out of the driving mocs and padded over to the bed, lovingly caressing the sensuous duvet and testing the downy softness of the mattress. Sleep beckoned.

Before I could lift one knee, a hesitant knock sounded at the door. Not Elliot, I knew. I didn’t think he knew how to be hesitant. He took life by the horns in every situation.

Still, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I swung open the paneled door to find Gavin standing in the hall.

“Hey,” he offered in greeting.

“Hey back.”

His eyes hovered over my shoulder, scanning the room behind me.

“He’s gone,” I answered the unvoiced question. “Sightseeing.”

“Oh, well...” Gavin scuffed a perfectly polished oxford on the carpet and jammed his hands in his pockets. He looked like a recalcitrant schoolboy in his button down and khakis. Golden hair a little mussed and guilt heavy in his bright green eyes. “I want to apologize for acting like a jerk. Earlier. In the lobby. In the limo.”

“Accepted.” Though I had expected a little more than this unnecessary apology when he showed up at my door. “Is that all?”

“No, of course not.” Taking a deep, sighing breath, he shrugged and relaxed into a more casual, but undeniably confident stance. “If you don’t have plans for tonight would you like to join me for dinner and maybe visit a museum? The Pinacoteca di Brera is only a few blocks away.”

My eyes shot up and I held his gaze intensely.

He remembered. My favorite painting in all of history, The Kiss by Francesco Hayez, hung in that museum. How could he, two years later, still remember my favorite painting? And he had obviously gone to the effort of finding out where it lived.

A tiny, self-effacing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. As if ashamed to be caught being so thoughtful.

“That,” I managed through the emotion swamping me, “would be wonderful.”

“ Why don’t we go to the museum straight from the last show and then to dinner after?”

I nodded. “Are you going to the show?”

“No, I have a couple of calls to make to New York. Time change and all that. Besides,” he raked a hand through his hair and stepped back into the hallway, “you know I’m not much for the whole fashion thing.”

This was an opportunity I couldn’t resist.

“But Gavin,” I cooed, “you were on the cover of GQ.”

He shook his head. “A horrendous lapse in judgment. The firm’s publicity rep owes me big time.” He grinned, confidence and mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Need tickets to the Super Bowl?”

It felt like forever since I’d laughed with Gavin. Forever since he pulled back the reserved façade to let his inner class clown show. I was surprised to realize I missed this.

“I’ll let you know,” I joked back.

We shared a smile. One that bridged a gap that had long kept us isolated. Different than the completely spontaneous and outrageous ones I shared with Elliot. One that felt like home.

He lifted his wrist and checked his watch. “I’d better let you rest,” he said as he backed down the hall towards his room two doors down. “I’ll meet you in front of the Fiero Pavilion at 5:30.”

“See you then.”

I’d lost track of which new beginning this was, but it sure felt like a Whopper.

“I never imagined how beautiful it would be in real life.”

Though it had to be the millionth time I commented on the exquisite beauty of the Hayez painting, I couldn’t help saying it again. And as we strolled along the narrow streets of a Medieval city, Gavin let me gush.

I wondered what Elliot would have thought of the The Kiss. Would he have been awed by the emotion in the lovers’ embrace? Or would he have turned to me and swept me into an embrace of our own? Maybe I would bring him to museum before we leave.

I also wondered how to tell him I’d spent the evening with Gavin. Even though we were not committed, he had an endearing streak of jealousy. Especially where Gavin was concerned.

“If I could afford it,” Gavin said, interrupting my thoughts, “I would buy it for you. Just so you could see it every day.”

“Oh no,” I exclaimed, horrified by the thought. “It should never leave this museum. The public needs it more than I do.”

Gavin laughed at my adamant response.

“You were joking, weren’t you?” I asked. Sometimes with Gavin I couldn’t tell. He had a kind of humor that made you wonder if he was laughing with you, at you, or if he really laughed at all.

“If you want me to be.” He batted his eyelashes in feigned submission.

When I stuck out my lower lip in a pout, he laughed and put his arm around my shoulder, deftly guiding us across Via Broletto and onto the sidewalk on the opposite side.

Gavin was the sort of man who always knew where he was going. In a new city. In a car. In life.

Navigation was not my strongest suit.

“I don’t know how you know where you’re going.” I shook my head in wonder. “Do you ever get lost?”

“Not when I look at a map beforehand,” he answered, distractedly reading the sign above a door on Via Dante, a street blocked off as a pedestrian area and strewn with sidewalk cafes and full of tourists and locals alike. “This is it.”

Gavin pulled open the unassuming, carved wooden door and ushered me inside. Down a flight of ancient tile steps we met a maître d’ with a pair of menus in his hands and a welcoming smile on his lips.

“Buona sera, signore Fairchild. Come stai?” the maître d’ asked musically.

“Molto buono, grazie Carlo.”

Gavin’s fluent response surprised me. “I never knew you spoke Italian.”

“There were a lot of things you never knew.”

Carlo motioned for us to follow him. “I have saved you the very best table, il migliore. All is ready.”

“Thank you Carlo.”

After setting the menus on the small corner table, Carlo pulled out my seat. Gavin stepped around and took the chair and slid it in beneath me as I sat. With a quick nod and a smile of commiseration, Carlo disappeared.

“What is ready?” I asked as Gavin sat.

“A special order,” he replied cryptically. Picking up the open bottle of local Valpolicella to his right, Gavin carefully poured two equal glasses. Lifting his glass, he indicated I should raise mine as well. “To Italy.”

I smiled, holding my glass higher. “To Italy.”

“And to you,” he added, interrupting my first sip, “Lydia Ilene Vanderwalk. You are an amazing and beautiful woman.”

Not knowing how to respond—a woman with more social savvy would have said “Thank you” with grace and aplomb—I merely nodded and lifted the glass to my lips.

The meal was slow, in a leisurely and sensual way. Several minutes passed between each lavish course and the conversation never waned. I told Gavin about my promotion offer from Ferrero and my thoughts about maybe, possibly, someday starting my own jewelry line. He gave me advice, as both friend and businessman, for both options.

We never spoke about that night two years ago when I walked out of his life or that afternoon two weeks ago when we finally talked about it.

Getting to know Gavin all over again was more like realizing that I had never known him at all.

“I didn’t know you spent a summer in college volunteering at Sustainable Development International.” I looked at him in a whole new light. “That must have been very rewarding.”

He shrugged as if it meant nothing, but I could see in his eyes that he regarded that time very fondly.

“It was okay.”

Yeah, if okay meant life-altering. “Where were you sent?”

“West Africa. Ghana mostly. Digging canals and planting soil-retaining vegetation in areas that suffer from soil erosion-induced droughts.”

Rather than continue the conversation, Gavin looked around and caught Carlo’s attention. A cryptic signal passed between the two and Carlo quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

Moments later he reappeared, a grinning chef and two waiters following in a mini-parade.

“For you, signorina.” Carlo bowed and stepped out of the way.

The chef stepped forward and set a large, covered platter on our table. One waiter lifted the lid as the other handed each of us a dessert fork and wished us, “Buon appetito!”

On the platter sat an enormous, spherical scoop of Semifreddo al Limone—a rich ice cream parfait that was my absolute all-time favorite dessert—in a bed of strawberry sauce. Written in the strawberry sauce, in carefully piped chocolate, were the words, “Guaranteed to melt in your hand.”

My mind sped back to a clear blue morning several years ago—lying in Gavin’s king-size bed, decadently wasting away the first half of a lazy Sunday. One where he miraculously didn’t have to work and I had no plans but being with him.

He had rolled over and reached under the bed to pull out a brown paper bag with Sugar and Spice imprinted in vibrant red. From the bag he produced a sable artist’s brush and a small paint can.

“What’s that?” I had asked.

He had grinned wickedly in return. “Chocolate body paint.”

With a swift twist of the lid, he popped the can open and dipped a finger into the liquid inside. He held the chocolate-coated finger out, waiting until I had closed my lips around him to add, “Guaranteed to melt in your hand.”

Needless to say, we had been lucky to make it to work on time the next morning. And I bet his sheets still bore traces.

“Lydia?”

Gavin’s voice jarred me back into the present. Into a new moment. A memory in the making.

He held a forkful of Semifreddo hovering in front of my mouth. Our eyes met and, as I leaned forward in slow motion, taking the frozen treat into my tongue, the tension built and crackled between us.

“You know,” I breathed after swallowing the bite, “I’m not really hungry.”

Not taking his eyes off mine, Gavin called out, “Check please.”

Carlo appeared with the bill before I could even lick the little drop from the corner of my mouth. Clearly he had expected things to go this well.

We were out the door in a taxi to the hotel moments later.

Our mouths met before Carlo closed the door behind us. The taxi only took three minutes to get to the hotel, but already I was overheated and trying to get on Gavin’s lap.

He threw a few euro at the driver—far more than a three-minute ride warranted—and climbed out the cab, pulling me out behind him. Hand-in-hand, like anxious school children, we dashed across the lobby to the elevator which, thankfully, was waiting on the ground floor.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Gavin exclaimed as the doors slid shut and he pushed me against the back wall.

His mouth captured mine, his tongue sweeping across my lips before forging in to taste all of me. I couldn’t get enough. I had to touch him everywhere. My hands grabbed at his shoulders. His back. His tight behind. Finally, needing more, I tugged his button-down out of his waistband and smoothed my hands over the rippling planes of his chest.

“I’ve missed this,” I breathed when his mouth released mine to devour my jaw and neck and collarbone and ... oh my.

A faint ding registered in the back of my mind, but I was too swept up to even notice. It wasn’t until I felt Gavin move away suddenly that I opened my eyes to find out why he left.

“I guess I know why you missed our moped tour,” Elliot said, his voice cold as he held Gavin by the shirt collar.

Dropping his catch, Elliot turned abruptly and stalked down the hallway to our room.

“Elliot, wait!” I called after his swiftly retreating form. “Elliot!”

The door to our room slammed with a resounding thud.

Dubble Bubble Damn!

I looked from the empty hallway to Gavin, still panting from our heavy petting and obviously confused by what had just happened. Did I stay and satisfy some long-unaddressed urges with Gavin, or go to Elliot and do a lot of explaining?

That was the trouble with new beginnings; you had to make choices to get them started.