Chapter 5 #2
“Sorry, laughing still hurts,” he said, his voice still a little gruff. “I keep forgetting that.” He paused and spoke to her again. Kara couldn’t refuse him so she told him everything she could remember. Then she had to apologize, and explain that she wasn’t the biggest seafood fan.
“But to be fair, you made it the most edible seafood I’ve ever had,” Kara admitted.
“You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No, it’s just not my favorite. But what can I say? Maybe you can change my mind.”
That earned her another rusty chuckle. “Perhaps I’ll figure out how to cook fish just the right way for you to love it.” He seemed amused by the challenge.
“You never know.”
“Not everyone likes fish, which I understand. Millie and Nicholas only like fish sticks, though that’s mostly a kid thing. I knew they were coming this year so I made a turkey too.”
“That turkey was amazing. What’s the secret to the flavor?” She settled deeper into the pillows, simply enjoying the sound of his voice. It was so soothing, yet it strangely excited her in a way she couldn’t explain.
“I soaked the turkey overnight in a mix of spices, especially rosemary, and lemon juice. That way, it goes deeper than the skin. Most people baste the skin, but when you eat it, the skin is often removed and the rest of the bird has meat that has no juice on it.”
She put the phone on speaker and set it beside her on the pillow.
She nuzzled against his pillow, and something like warm amber and sandalwood teased her nose.
She let the scent fill her senses as the last bit of tense nerves inside of her began to unknot, and her body began to truly relax.
How could anything hurt in a place like this? ”
“I suppose… as your fake fiancée I should know more about your cooking. I’m sure we talked about it during one of our many dates right? How did you learn so much about cooking?” she asked. “Did you go to a culinary school?”
He chuckled at her teasing but answered her question seriously. “Eventually, but that’s not where I started. When I was young, I visited my grandmother in Italy. My mother’s mother, my Nonna. She saw I had an interest in cooking and taught me everything she knew.”
“How old were you?” She stifled a yawn with a balled fist. She was very tired, but she liked listening to him talk and needed to learn everything she could about him.
“I was about ten. I went to Ortigia every summer for the next seven years to spend time with her. I haven’t been back there since she died.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kara murmured.
“Don’t be. She had a full and wonderful life. She wouldn’t want anyone to feel sad for her.”
“I’ve never heard of Ortigia. Where is that?”
“It’s an island in the southern part of Italy in Sicily on the Ionian coast.”
“What’s it like?” Kara tried to imagine a small dark-haired boy with warm brown eyes running around a sunny Mediterranean village.
Angelo’s voice softened, deepened. “Everything glows.” Now she pictured him lying in bed beside her, telling her about his home.
A sudden longing struck her heart. The desire to be held, to be touched, to be loved by someone…by someone like Angelo, who seemed to love everything and everyone so easily. Could someone like him ever…?
She shook her head, pushing away her foolish dreams.
“What do you mean glows?” she asked.
“It’s like the sun never fully sets. When the sun dips below the horizon, the stones of the city still keeps a golden hue that shimmers beneath the lamplight on the streets and shops.
Nonna once said the city was made of honey stones because everything is such a soft gold.
You can wander the streets for hours, discovering crumbling Palazzos and quiet incense-filled chapels.
Nightingales wake you up in the morning, and there are cats that move out of the shadows to bathe in patches of sunlight.
And the sky… it’s the most brilliant blue you’ve ever seen.
Everything is built in a Baroque style, and yet the remains of a Greek temple can be seen in the ancient columns of our cathedral. ”
He painted the most beautiful picture of a place she wished she could see in person, but never could because she couldn’t get a passport like she could get a fake ID.
“When the sun sets, it looks as though the sky’s on fire.
The sea breeze carries sounds across the city, everything from laughter on the beaches to the clinking of glasses in the restaurants.
Everything smells like the ocean, and honeysuckle with lavender.
” Angelo paused. “I haven’t been back in three years.
I’ve been so busy with my restaurant, I lost track of time. Have you ever been to Italy?”
“No… I’ve only ever traveled around the U.S.,” Kara admitted. That was the truth. She may have been conceived in Ireland, but she was born in the States, and it was the only country she’d ever been in.
“Maybe I can take you after the holidays are over,” Angelo said.
For a moment she let herself imagine that possibility. She and Angelo traipsing around the honey-hued streets of his ancestral city, exploring the beaches, lighting candles in the Cathedral and petting the sun-warmed cats that wandered the city.
“Kara?”
She shook herself. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. I don’t have a passport.”
“Oh, they take a couple of months to get but we can work on that.”
She didn’t tell him it would never happen. Instead, she let out a sigh.
“You sound tired. Why don’t you go to sleep?” he suggested.
She couldn’t stop the almost hysterical laugh that escaped her. “You keep worrying about me. You were the one who was stabbed.”
His chuckle was still a little rough, probably from the intubation tube during his surgery.
“I can’t help it. I don’t think of myself as much as I do of others.” It wasn’t a brag. She heard the note of frustration at himself, barely concealed in the weariness of the way he said it.
“How about we both get some sleep?” she suggested.
“Okay, you talked me into it.” He chuckled again, softer this time. “Good night, Kara,” Angelo said. “I’ll be here if you need to call me.”
“Thanks. Good night, Angelo.” But she didn’t really want to hang up.
The call ended, and she put the phone on the pillow next to hers, feeling like in some small, silly way that Angelo was there beside her. If she’d asked herself yesterday whether she’d be daydreaming about sleeping with a man, she would have called herself crazy.
But so much had changed in just a few hours. She was tied to Angelo now, tied to him by the blood he’d shed protecting her. That changed something inside of her forever. She just wasn’t sure if she could explain how.
Still restless, she fluffed her pillow and blew out a stiff breath, stirring the tendrils of red hair that had fallen over her eyes.
She was too tired to sleep. It didn’t make sense, but it was true.
Maybe is if she read something it would help calm her mind, which at the moment was full of racing thoughts, good and bad.
Kara reached for one of the cookbooks on the table beside her. She really wasn’t into cooking—not much opportunity for it in her life—so she figured reading some recipes might put her to sleep.
The top book was full of classic recipes like meatloaf, baked chicken, basic pasta dishes, things she recognized easily. Sticky notes been placed on various pages with neatly written thoughts. She smiled a little as she read the note on meatloaf.
“Use oatmeal instead of Panko. Skip onions to avoid unwanted shift of texture. Use onion powder instead.”
After she’d read half a dozen recipes like this and all the notes that accompanied them, she sank down into the covers, the book still open on her lap.
She fell headlong into dreams where an Italian god with bronze skin took her by the hand and led her into the moonlit waters of Ortigia.
The man’s hands slid down the length of her naked body in the water, his palms were hot on her skin compared to the cold water.
She shivered as the man kissed a path from her mouth to her ear, whispering things in a language she didn’t know.
“Tesoro mio… don’t run from me… don’t run principessa…”
“I have to…” She gasped as the man in the beautiful dream and the beautiful bay vanished. She was now in a dark alley, being stalked by a masked man.
Run… she screamed at her body, but she could only move by inches as the masked man came closer, a knife glinting in his hand…
Angelo still hurt everywhere but he felt strangely happy.
Talking to Kara had buoyed his spirits in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.
Instead of feeling trapped and hurting alone in a hospital bed, he had thought his memories of Italy and his grandmother.
Sharing those with Kara had brought back those sunny memories back, at least for a little while.
He needed to go back to Ortigia soon. It had been far too long.
He was just beginning to doze again when the door to his room opened and a police officer entered. The man’s eyes were a cool blue and his short brown hair was cropped short.
“Mr. Vertucci, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’ve got some questions about the incident now that you’re awake.” His tone was clipped and professional. He pulled out a small notepad and pen from his uniform pocket.
“Okay.” Angelo stopped himself from sitting up, remembering this time that it would hurt.
“I need you to tell me everything you can remember about last night, and the events leading up to and immediately after the attack.”
The officer dutifully took notes while Angelo walked him through the night of the attack, sharing everything he could remember.
“And the girl? What’s your relationship to her?”
Angelo hesitated just an instant. What had Kara told the police? He didn’t remember, so he had to assume she’d told them they were engaged.
“She’s my fiancée.”
“And what address does she reside at?”
“She just moved in with me,” Angelo said with more confidence. He couldn’t tell the officer what her real address was, since he only knew the neighborhood.