Sweet Christmas Kisses (42 page)

“Is it true, Joanna?” Her father hadn't bothered to lower his voice.

“I don't want to discuss it,” she answered in Italian, hoping he would answer in the same language, so they could keep a bit of privacy – what little remained.

Her father threw up both hands, his instant bad temper boiling over like hot milk on a stove. “I don't know why you behave like you do, Joanna.” At least he said it in Italian.

Joanna lowered her head between her shoulders.

“Anybody would think you hate Hugh, when you've been swooning over him for years.”

“Dad.” Joanna's nerves were like a thin line, about to snap. “I told you.”

“He's good-looking, he's a successful lawyer, and it's not as if you can afford to wait, Joanna.” Her father frowned. “You're over thirty already.”

“Having the wrong person by your side can be make you feel lonelier than being on your own.” Joanna suppressed unexpected tears.

“Rubbish.” Her father shook his head. “I think you're too picky. Go back to him and make up. He's crazy about you.”

That did it. The thin line snapped. Joanna swiveled around and glared at her father. “Hugh jumped into bed with a singer he'd only known for twenty-four hours, two weeks after he proposed to me. Give me one good reason why I should go back. Just one.” Her chest was heaving.

“Because he's a man.” Her father smiled and lifted both hands in a gesture that mingled excuse with amusement.

“Oh, and because he's a man, I have to condone everything he does?” Joanna made sure her voice dripped with sarcasm as she addressed an invisible third person. “Let me present Hugh to you. Poor guy, he's unable to control his passions, but then . . . “ she shrugged with a fake smile, “. . . he's just a man, you see. What can you expect? You can train dogs, but with a man . . . “ she shook her head in mock dismay “. . . it's take it or leave it.” She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe I should buy him a leash, to keep him under control. A red one with blinking stars on it, so he'll never be out of sight, not even in the dark.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “There you go again, exaggerating. Just because of a small lapse of judgment.” He shrugged. “Oh, I agree, it wasn't nice. But he repented; he told me so himself.” He put a hand onto her shoulder. “Won't you reconsider, Joanna? I think he would be a good husband.”

Joanna's anger evaporated. “Yes, a good husband.” Her voice was flat. “Until the next singer comes along.”

Her father shook his head. “You shouldn't overrate that incident. With men, things are different. It doesn't mean so much to them.”

“I see.” A bitter taste crept into Joanna's mouth. “Well, I can solve that.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and threw her father a challenging glance. “I'll marry a woman instead.”

“Joanna!”

She grinned. “Relax, Dad. I'm kidding. But I won't go back to Hugh. Ever.” She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “Please accept that. There is a point of no return, and I've reached it. When trust is gone, it's pointless. And my trust for Hugh is gone, for ever.”

Her father shook his head. “What about that star - you know, that singer? Is he your revenge?”

Joanna chin dropped. “What? Did Hugh tell you that, too?”

“No.” Her father shook his head. “But I know you.”

Joanna took a deep breath. “No. He is not my revenge. He's . . . “ she broke off. She couldn't tell what Conran was or wasn't to her. He confused her. True, she couldn't deny her intense feelings for him, but this intense attraction, it scared her. She wasn't yet ready to lose her heart again, least of all to a celebrity who had quite a bit of emotional baggage.

“What?” Her father gave her a nudge.

“Nothing.” Joanna turned away from him and focused on the bar.

Tina gave her a smile as she polished a wine glass with her cotton cloth. She didn't understand Italian, but she was used to their emotional outbursts.

Joanna smiled back, a mix of apology and sadness.

Tina moved to the side, exposing a man who sat on a barstool.

Joanna froze.

It was Conran Dark.

She swallowed hard. He'd been married to an Italian before! Had he followed their conversation? His look was enigmatic.

She spoke to him in Italian. “Do you understand Italian?”

A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “I do.”

Her father leaned forward. “Who are you?” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

“I am the singer who kissed your daughter.” Conran answered in Italian. His voice was smooth, cool, and he spoke Italian with a faint American accent.

Joanna closed her eyes for an instant.
Oh, no.
He had not bluffed; his Italian was perfect.

Their gaze met and held.

Was he laughing at her? Or was he just smiling at her, inviting her to join in the joke, to relax and leave it up to him? What did that smile mean?

Damanti senior drew himself up. “So, you kissed my daughter. May I ask your intentions?”

“Dad!” Joanna turned on her father, took his arm, and shook it. “Have you gone crazy?” How could he pretend to be an enraged father straight from the eighteenth century?

“Excuse me!” A loud voice came from the back of the restaurant. “We'd like to pay, please.”

Joanna threw both men a freezing glance before she went to the guests. As she dealt with the customers, she perked up her ears to hear the conversation between her father and Conran, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Cashing the customers out took longer than expected, with the husband first counting out his cash for an interminable time, then realizing they didn't have enough money, then searching for a credit card . . . Joanna had to hold onto herself not to tap her foot. When they were finally done, she was about to hurry back to the conversation, but the guests at the neighboring table wanted to order coffee and dessert, and the lovers asked for another round of coffee.

By the time she finally managed to get back to the bar, her father was sitting next to Conran, both with a glass of Grappa in front of them. They had their heads together like old friends, and Damanti senior was patting Conran's shoulder when he said something that made them both chuckle.

Oh, swell. Now they're buddies?
Joanna exchanged a glance with Tina who shrugged her shoulders.
Just great.

“Here, Cara, did you know Conran used to live in Florence?” Joanna's father smiled. “Just thirty kilometers from where I was born.”

“Lovely.” Joanna handed her black waitress purse to her father and pushed the orders across the bar toward Tina. “Table four wants three zabaillone, Dad.” That would send him back into the kitchen. “I think you can manage without me now. Good night.”

She turned toward the door. “Good night, Tina.” Then she added in a low voice, because she didn't want to be rude, “Good night, Conran,” and hurried outside.

Tonight, the wind had gone to sleep beyond the hills. The full moon gave the familiar road an eerie light, cool and silvery like liquid metal. Every bare branch and every tiny leaf was covered by frost, standing up with tiny spikes. Joanna took a deep breath. The air was pure and crystal clear, and so cold, it hurt her lungs.

The snow crunched below her feet as she turned to the right. Everything seemed surreal, as if the whole setting had been spun from thin cobwebs, as if she was here as a visitor only, not a true part of this world. Joanna took another deep breath. Past midnight, and the world seemed at peace. The five minutes of utter quiet before she reached home would do her good.

She heard steps crunching behind her and turned her head to see who it was.

Conran. For once, her heart didn't do a somersault. It stopped completely.

“Joanna.”

She didn't slow down.

“Wait.” He reached her side.

She glanced at him. He was wearing a thick jacket, zipped close to his chin, with a bulge in the middle. Had he gained weight? The bulge moved and kicked.

He opened the zipper and Dimitri's head popped out.

In spite of herself, Joanna started to laugh. “Hi, Dimitri. Where do you suddenly come from?”

“He was in the car,” Conran looked at the puppy with concern. “I left him a blanket, but he was shivering when I took him for a walk earlier on.”

His solicitude touched something inside her, but she forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. “Why did you go to my father's restaurant?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity.”

“Who told you to go?”

“Nobody.” He pushed Dimitri a bit higher. “I came back from shopping, and as I drove up the street, I saw the name of the restaurant. On a whim, I decided to go and have a drink.”

Joanna glanced back at her father's restaurant. “Marco Damanti. Ristorante Italiano.” The green, white, and red letters above the glass door glowed through the dark like a colorful Christmas decoration.

He looked at her. “I didn't know you worked night and day.”

“This was an exception.” Joanna yawned. “My father's employee called in sick.” She had not slowed down and was now within sight of her house. She felt embarrassed just to think about all the things he had learned tonight. “I don't wish to be rude, Conran, but it's late, and I'm bushed.”

He nodded, then his jaw dropped in utter surprise.

Joanna stopped in her tracks. “What's the matter?”

“I . . . Dimitri has just peed on me.”

She burst out laughing and laughed and laughed until she had to wipe away tears from her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she gasped. “It's just . . . “

Dimitri licked Conran's chin, as though asking for forgiveness.

“Ugh.” Conran wiped his face. He was laughing, too, but a bit rueful. “I'm making a great impression here.”

“Yeah.” Joanna smiled at him. “Come in. You can take a shower at my house.”

Conran shook his head. “That's not necessary. I'll drive home right away.”

“Nonsense.” Joanna opened her front door. “It'll take you half an hour at least.” She held out her hand to him. “Come on in. You've rescued me once. I'm in your debt.” She grinned. “I even have a set of clothes for you; the ones you gave me.”

He laughed and made a rueful gesture with his right hand. “All right. I admit I'm not keen about staying in this condition any longer than strictly necessary.” He opened his jacket and put Dimitri on the threshold.

The puppy put his nose to the floor and made a beeline to the kitchen.

“He remembers the baked beans from last time,” Conran said.

“Don't remind me.” Joanna smiled. “Just go straight through. You know the bathroom is in the back. I'll put the fresh clothes in front of your door.” She cocked her head and gave him a malicious smile. “I won't lock you in, so you'll be able to get them anytime you want.”

Conran looked at her, then at his feet. “I'm sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I think I have to explain . . .”

She held up her hand. “No. You don't need to explain anything.”

His eyes widened. “No?”

She held his gaze. “No.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Fine.”

He came back ten minutes later, his hair still moist. “That's better. Thank you so much.”

Joanna swallowed. She wasn't used to having men in her bathroom. He made her nervous by just being there, as if he belonged here. “Do you want a drink?”

He bent down and caressed Dimitri's head, then looked up at her. “I thought you were bushed?”

Joanna shrugged. “I guess I've crossed that threshold, and now I'm fine. The threshold is usually around midnight.”

He checked his watch that had probably cost more than her Jeep. “But one o'clock is perfect?”

“Yep.” She grinned. “How about you?”

“To me, the worst time of the day is two in the afternoon.” He straightened and smiled at her. “If I don't pull myself together, I wake up with my nose on the piano keys, snoring gently.”

She opened the fridge. “You don't snore.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Trust me. I know.” She lifted a bottle from the fridge and held it out to him. “I can offer you orange juice. Or . . . let me see . . . water?” She bit her lip. “Maybe there's still a bottle of red wine somewhere. I believe my father must have left it when he . . . “ She closed the fridge and started to rummage around in a cupboard to her left.

“Orange juice is fine.” He sounded amused.

She turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “You're laughing at me.”

He laughed. “I'm not.”

“What's so funny?”

Something crossed his face, an expression she couldn't place. Tenderness?
Stop dreaming, Joanna. Not likely.

“I enjoy being with you.” He said it simple, without moving, sincere.

It took her breath away. “I . . . “ she swallowed. “I like to be with you, too.” It hit her like lightening. That was it. As simple as that. The core of her attraction. She liked being with him. She could be herself, could be rude, clumsy, open-hearted, whatever. He accepted her like she was. Not like Hugh, who had always asked her to control herself, to consider the consequences, to make sure she conformed to the expected standard of a lawyer's wife. She smiled at him, tentative, not sure if he had noticed the lightning inside her, the suddenly shifted ground.

He leaned with his back against the kitchen table and looked at Dimitri who had chosen to sit on his feet as usual. “I'd like to tell you something.”

She nodded. “Shoot.”

He looked at her for a moment, his clear-cut face outlined in the soft light of the kitchen. “How much do you know about me, Jo?”

Joanna could feel her face going red. “I . . . I googled you.” It felt like a sacrilege, as if she had been stalking him.

He put his head to one side. “And what did Google say?”

“It listed some facts.” She shrugged. “Didn't tell me anything about you.”

He smiled, then looked at the puppy again that had snuggled against his legs and was preparing to go to sleep. “Did it list my friend's accident?”

“Yes.” Her throat felt dry.

His face closed as if someone hat put shutters onto a house. He stared into the distance. “He didn't want to go.”

“Who? Your friend? Dimitri?” Joanna's heart started to beat hard.

“Yes. He hated water. Some irresponsible fortune teller had told his mother that her son would drown one day, and she kept him from water all her life.” Conran pushed his hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture. “I made fun of him. Oh, he took it with equanimity; he was used to making fun of himself.” Conran spread out his hands and stared at his fingers as if he had never seen them before. “I told you Dimitri was a clown. That's what he called himself, making fun of it. In fact, he was an entertainer.”