“Holy moly,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 17
LILLIAN
Tuscany, 1986
A flat tire outside Siena caused a bus tour group to cancel a morning visit to the winery, which left Lillian with nothing to do.
“Take the morning off,” Matteo suggested. “Your next group doesn’t arrive until two. Go for a swim in the pool.”
“Are you sure?” Lillian asked. “I could help out in the shop.”
“For what purpose? There are no customers.” He waved her away. “Trust me, this place will be crawling with tourists in July. You should take advantage while you can. That’s an order, soldier.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
A half hour later, Lillian was stretched out on a lounge chair in her blue bikini, reading a novel and sweating under the hot Tuscan sun. All the hotel guests were elsewhere, wandering around the shops in Montepulciano or driving to Florence in their air-conditioned rental cars, so it was blissfully quiet on the estate.
When it grew stiflingly hot, Lillian got up and dived into the deep end of the pool. She swam laps while she thought about Freddie in Paris. What was he doing at that moment? Writing? Walking around the city? Did he miss her? Or was she out of sight, out of mind?
Moving through the cool water, she reached the far end of the pool, turned, and pushed with her feet to propel herself back in the other direction.
Her thoughts changed direction as well. An image of Anton sitting on her sofa the night before—drinking rum and talking about covered wagons full of the “stuff of life”—materialized in her mind.
She had never known a man who spoke that way about relationships. After he had gone, she’d slipped into bed and opened the window to look out at the clouds passing in front of the moon. The rain-scented air refreshed her body and soul, but she couldn’t sleep, so she had spent the next hour comparing Anton to Freddie.
It wasn’t a fair comparison. Anton was ten years older, more worldly and experienced in life, wealthier, and devastatingly handsome and sophisticated. Freddie wasn’t un handsome, but he was thin and lanky, neither wealthy nor sophisticated. He was her husband, however, and Anton was someone else’s husband, not to mention a father to two children. That was where Freddie won the day—because they were lawfully wed—and Lillian worked hard to remember her wedding vows as she struggled to fall asleep.
Now, out of breath from swimming fast and hard, she climbed out of the pool and padded across the deck to her chair, where she twisted her long hair to squeeze out the water. It dripped heavily onto her toes, splatting onto the hot cement.
The temperature was scorching hot, so she didn’t bother to towel off and decided instead that it would be best to remain wet. Sitting down and inching back on the blue seat cushion, she put on her sunglasses and reached for her novel.
Moments of hot, sticky stillness elapsed. A bumblebee flew by. Church bells rang somewhere in Montepulciano, high on the hilltop.
Lillian tried to focus on her book in the sweltering heat, but she was distracted constantly by thoughts of Anton. He came into her mind like a cool breeze.
Lowering her book to her lap, she allowed herself to daydream. She found herself recalling the first time she had set eyes on him, moments after the crash, when he wrenched the car door open and peered in at her. Is everyone all right?
A movement caught her eye just then. She sat forward on the lounge chair, her heart lurching in her chest, because it was him walking casually toward her, down the grassy slope to the pool, smiling the entire way. Lillian swallowed hard and raised her sunglasses to the top of her head. Heaven help her, he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen in real life. On that morning, he wore a baby-blue T-shirt and navy shorts, his jaw unshaven. He was covered in sweat. The T-shirt stuck to his chest and shoulders. All her senses began to hum, and her pulse quickened.
As he drew near, Lillian noticed he was wearing work boots.
“Hello there,” he said, opening the wooden gate to step onto the sunny pool deck. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“My morning tour got canceled,” she explained, quickly reaching for her cover-up and slipping her arms into the short sleeves. He was her boss, after all. She shouldn’t be parading around the workplace in her bikini. “The bus had a flat tire outside Siena.”
“That was bad luck.” He flicked the iron latch on the gate to close it behind him and walked toward her. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The water’s nice, though.”