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“Ah, Signorina Bellamy,” the desk clerk said when I gave him my name, “we have been waiting for you.”
He smiled too warmly, as though he’d been expecting me for dinner and his wife and kids planned to surprise me with a birthday cake.
I presented him my Visa debit card and tried to shake the suspicion he knew more about me than he should.
He handed me back my card with a room key and offered to send someone called Antonio to take my bags to my room. But since my “bags” consisted only of my over-the-shoulder carry-on, I declined.
“You can go straight to the terrazzo,” he said. “You will like what you see, I promise you.”
I shivered with apprehension for no reason I could identify. I sensed no menace — not that I had excelled at that skill to date — but I hoped some gut level fight or flight instinct would kick in soon. No doubt I would need it when I caught up to Marco.
“Please. Have a look.” The clerk gestured to the doors. “The sunset is beautiful. A glass of wine helps to enjoy the view.”
I pulled in a deep breath through my nose. Certainly I was being ridiculous. What threat could sunset and wine bring?
Adjusting the strap over my shoulder, I nodded my thanks and agreement and headed for the terrazzo.
The sliver of unease buried beneath my skin vanished the moment I crossed the threshold. From the street side the hotel looked small and charming. But from the terrazzo it became clear the hotel had been built on the side of the hill. Only a blue heron perched on the stone wall enclosing the tiled terrazzo impaired the view of the Mediterranean.
I thought I had seen enough of the sea on the crossing, but I could not stop myself from walking across the Tuscan gold tiles and gazing out at the splendor. Earlier the sunlight had flashed like priceless gems from wave crests. Now each swell shimmered in illuminated pastels. Monet’s lavenders and peaches, pinks and deep yellows glowed on the surface of the water, reflecting the masterpiece sunset stretched across the sky. I treated myself to one wistful moment of pretending I had reached Sardinia as a journey’s end, nothing more than a traveler come to rest her soul. But it was only a moment.
The scent of citrus and sandalwood washed over me before his words cut through me. “Why don’t you tell me about the necklace now?” he asked.
I whirled on him, the carry-on slamming uncomfortably into my back. God help me the first emotion to rise to the surface of accompanied the thought “thank God he’s all right.” As it was, I fought my face for control of the smile that threatened to show, fought the urge to swoon with relief, instead playing his words over in my mind.
He knew about the necklace. Or, more to the point, he knew I wanted it back, enough to follow him across the south of France to get it.
I searched his eyes, nearly stepped back from what they showed. He held no mask in place, nothing to keep his eyes clear of emotion. No pinching indicated anger, no wide-open pop indicated surprise, no constriction of the brow belied consternation. Only directness, with the slightest hint of...
“Good to see you got out of Ahnshen’s okay,” he said. His chest rose with every breath he took.
“You, too,” I said, still too breathless for my liking.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I would have thought I was the last person you wanted to see.” He waited, it seemed, for me to assure him he was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the words. “There’s a lot you haven’t been telling me,” he said softly.
He moved a half-step back, turned his head and looked at me sideways, appraising. He swept his hand out to his side, the motion encompassing the whole of the terrazzo. “This looks like a good place to lay some cards on the table, huh? What do you say, Ardis? Care to give honesty a try?”
“You think we stand a chance at being honest with one another?”
He squinted against the setting sun as he considered. “Then let’s eat. A bottle of wine and a nice meal — I doubt either one of us has eaten anything decent in days — and that way the evening won’t be a total loss.”
I knew this act. I’d seen in before. Recognition tingled across my skin. This act played cousin to the routine he had pulled in Monte Carlo, when he’d angled me into offering to finance his Marco chase. He had the helpful and innocent approach down cold.
I should have walked away; perhaps I was a fool for not. But I got it into my head I could beat him at his own game, make him tell me more than I was willing to tell him. And if I failed... I’d be no worse off. Besides, I couldn’t deny — if only to myself — how good it felt to be near him again.
I drew a deep breath and looked away from him, hiding my face in case any of my true feelings showed. “Fine.” Shifting the carry bag against my shoulder I caught the eye of the maitre d’ hovering at the entrance and nodded.
He led us to a table near the wall and I sat with the sea to my right and the setting sun to my left. The linen tablecloth warmed my palms, and I relaxed enough for the moment to appreciate the aroma of spice and fried fish that lingered on the air.
Opposite me, Tate’s face was half in sunlight, half in shadow.
I gazed unseeing at the single-page menu and asked, “How did you know to come to Sardinia?”
He sighed, set his menu at the edge of the table, but did not respond.
“Did Ahnshen tell you? Or did you know all along this is where Marco would come and lie to me about it?”
“Ardis, there’s -”
The waiter arrived to take our order. I let Tate fumble through his request before making my order in Italian that had gone moderately rusty in the years since college.
Whatever hint of warmth and kindness had settled in Tate’s eyes before the waiter arrived disappeared by the time we completed our orders and the waiter brought them to the kitchen.
Tate leaned in, arms folded, elbows on the table. “Let’s be clear. I didn’t lie to you. Ever.”
I sat back in my chair and laughed. “Oh please,” I said between chuckles, “do you get anyone to believe that line?”
Tate huffed and shook his head. “Huh. I underestimated you. Damn.”
“Sure. And I suppose you’re this stellar judge of character, right?”
“No better or worse than you it seems.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, cut his gaze to the sea. Long moments passed while he gazed out at the water.
I fought the stupid thoughts that kept creeping to the forefront. I wasn’t supposed to be aware of how the low rays of the sun cast seductive shadows across Tate’s face, and I wasn’t supposed to be soothed by the familiar fragrance that clung to him. I was supposed to be focused on Tate the betrayer, on Tate who was after Marco and my necklace and not above using me to get to both of them.
Disappointed by my own foolishness, I closed my eyes, shook my head. If I stopped looking at him... yes, it was easier to be angry with him, hurt by him, if I didn’t have to look at him. And I needed to hold on to those emotions — the anger, the pain. Anything else begged madness.
The waiter slid a basket of aromatic rolls onto the table as he passed by, their doughy fragrance mingling with all the other scents on the air. Saliva pooled beneath my tongue.
“Tell me,” Tate said, gaze fixed on the sea, “how do you intend to get the necklace back from Marco?”
I took a breath, prepared to lay conviction behind my words. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
He turned his head a fraction, peered at me from the corner of his eye. “Will you?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I’ve come this far.”
He nodded. “So have I.”
“And how do you plan to get the necklace?”
His smile, this time, was broad. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
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