Last First Kiss, page 7
“So you crawled out the window?”
Alessia laughed. “Yes, sir, I did.”
How Alessia had just referred to her wasn’t lost on Parker. People frequently called her “sir” by mistake, especially when she was in uniform, but there was something intensely sexy about it when chosen on purpose.
“Let me guess,” Parker said, smiling. “It took about two minutes for your mom to wake up the entire village to find you.”
“That’s pretty accurate. It was a full moon, so at least they had a little bit of light. When they finally found me I was sitting in the field where I’d found that flower, and I’d stacked it and other flowers I’d collected into little piles, with tree leaves, crushed bark, and even a few handfuls of dirt I found in different fields.”
“You had your own little perfume factory going on?”
“Yes, and I’d been working on it for hours, but my mother was not impressed. She scooped me up in her arms, but I started crying right away because she’d mixed up all my flowers.”
“Did you go back in the morning?”
“No. I didn’t have to. My aunt said she’d stay there with me until I was ready to go, and she just sat there watching me, at the edge of the field, even though it was almost dawn when I finally got everything back to the way I’d had it.”
Alessia looked toward the house and Parker pretended not to notice the dark shimmer of tears. She looked almost fragile tonight, with her bare face and wild hair. Her jeans were faded to the color of air, with a rip at the knee that matched her bare face and feet.
Finally, she stood and picked up the glasses.
“Follow me.”
Alessia led her through the open doors into the kitchen, where she opened a tall wooden door that led to a narrow hall. The walls and ceiling were lined in knotty red cypress and the floor was raw stone that looked slick with moisture in places, as if it had just rained. The hall extended about thirty feet before it disappeared around a corner.
Parker listened for a moment and turned toward the end of the hall.
“I hear something.”
Alessia smiled and flipped a switch on the wall. “After you.”
“I’m almost positive this isn’t smart.”
Alessia smiled. “Good instincts, soldier.”
Parker walked slowly down the hall until it curved around the corner and opened into a stone room with a blue-and-white tiled pool at the center, lit with soft blue underwater lights. Just beyond the pool, the stone wall had been carved into a natural rock waterfall. Backlit water rushed over the rocks to the pool, where a sheer mist of silver steam rose silently off the surface. Hidden lights glowed from behind the rocks in the walls surrounding the pool. Two teak benches stood beside the water, stacked with fluffy white towels.
“How is this here?” Parker said, looking up at the ceiling. “We can’t be underground.”
Alessia laughed and opened a small wood-framed refrigerator by the door. She pulled out a bottle of white wine and gave it to Parker with an opener.
“It’s not underground. This house is built into the mountain on the north side, which has natural hot springs running through it.”
Parker cut the foil on the bottle of sauvignon blanc and eased out the cork, then handed it back to Alessia.
“I’m afraid there’s only one glass,” she said as she poured, then handed it to Parker. “So you’ll have to share with me.”
They sat at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, listening to the water tumble down the rock.
“Did your father build this?”
“He did,” Alessia said, watching the light scatter across the surface of the wine. “My aunt had severe arthritis, and the hot springs were always the only thing that made her feel better. As she got older, Da didn’t want her to have to climb up and down the staircases into town to go to the community pool, so he had someone tap into the hot springs behind the house and built this pool for her.”
Parker handed the wine to Alessia. “They must have been close.”
“They were.” Alessia hesitated. “They had a rough start, so it’s always been just the two of them against the earth.”
Parker smiled. “Do you mean ‘against the world’?”
Alessia raised an eyebrow. “The world is not the earth?”
“Fair point,” Parker said, trying not to smile. “I stand corrected.”
“Anyway,” Alessia said, taking a sip of the wine and handing it back to Parker, watching the water move in swirling blue waves over her feet. “Their mother died when my dad was sixteen and my aunt Lucia was fourteen. From then on, they only had each other.”
“Was it sudden?”
Alessia looked into the water for a long moment before she answered. “You could say that.”
Parker looked over at her and had the good sense not to throw words at the silence.
“One day they came home from school and found their mom beaten to death in the kitchen. The wall beside her was covered in blood to the ceiling and the fire poker was still imbedded in her skull when they found her.”
“Jesus Christ.” Parker shook her head and asked the only question there was left to ask. “Did they know who did it?”
“No one had to ask.” Alessia leaned down to touch her fingertips to the water. “My grandfather was gone by the time they came home from school. They never saw him again.”
Parker looked down at the water, searching for words. But there were none, and they both knew it. She pulled herself up from the edge of the pool and brought back the wine bottle, refilling the glass in Parker’s hand before she sat back down.
“So what about you?” Alessia said. “Are you close to your family?”
Parker shook her head, sifting through the possible answers to that question.
“I’m close to my brother, Wes, who runs the coffee shop in our hometown.”
Alessia nodded. “What about your mom and dad?
Parker balanced the wineglass on the stone edge between them. She watched a drop of condensation roll down the side as she spoke.
“Dad left us when I was eight.”
“Left? What do you mean?” Alessia looked over at Parker, her dark eyes reflecting the blue shimmer of the lights in the water. “Did he die?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Parker ran her hand through her hair, glancing back at the door as if she were looking for an escape route from the memory. But she’d lived with it long enough to know that the best way out was through, so she started talking.
“We were getting ready for bed one night, and Dad told my mom he was going out for cigarettes. I just went to bed like usual, but I got up in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen. I didn’t know she was even there until I saw the tip of her cigarette burn red in the dark. She was just sitting there. In his chair at the table.”
Alessia handed her the wineglass. “What did she say?”
“Nothing. She just sat there until the sun rose. She told me to go back to bed, but I fell asleep in the hall, waiting.”
“And he never came home?”
“No,” Parker said. “And she never really did, either. I mean, she was there.” She paused, not sure how to phrase it. “But it was like she gave up or something. She was never the same.”
Alessia’s eyes shimmered in the flicker of the lights under the water, and she ran her hand through her hair. She lifted herself out of the pool and unbuttoned her shirt, then stepped out of her jeans and dropped them by the side of the pool, topped by the gun and holster. Parker forgot to breathe. Her eyes swept the length of Alessia’s body as she sank into the water then settled onto the underwater bench. Her black satin bra was soaked and clinging to her skin. Water streamed down the curves of her breasts in caramel rivulets, disappearing into the center of her bra.
When Parker finally looked into her eyes, Alessia raised a single eyebrow until Parker laughed, then pulled her own shirt and sports bra over her head. She stepped out of her chinos next, leaving only her black boy shorts. She lowered herself into the water beside Alessia, breathing in the salt steam hovering above the water, closing her eyes against the urge to pull Alessia into her body.
“I’m impressed,” Alessia said, her eyes moving over the strong lines of Parker’s shoulders. “Most Americans are shy about the naked.”
“About being naked?” Parker smiled, trying to keep her eyes above Alessia’s breasts. “Well, I guess I’m not most Americans.” She leaned her head back against the pool edge. “You’ll figure that out at some point.”
The water tumbled down the waterfall rocks and into the pool, shapeshifting into a cloud of steam. Alessia pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders before she sank beneath the water and swam to the center of the pool. Parker watched as she stood and the water streamed down her body, her hair dark and slicked against her shoulders. When she swam back to the edge, her bra strap fell down her arm as she pulled herself onto the bench. Parker smiled.
“What?” Alessia said. “Deciding which one to untie this time?”
Parker ran a finger between the ribbon and Alessia’s skin, watching it fall, taking Alessia’s bra with it. It slowed and clung to her wet skin, hesitating just before it slipped off her nipples. Alessia put it on the side of the pool and sank back down into the water.
“So who was it?” Parker watched the pale blue reflection of the water in Alessia’s dark eyes.
Her eyes fell to Parker’s mouth, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “What do you mean?”
“There must have been a girl?” Parker ran both hands through her hair. “Someone must have been responsible for making you appreciate American soldiers like you do.”
Alessia smiled and shook her head. “You noticed.”
“Hard not to,” Parker said, settling back against the stone. “She must have been a piece of work.”
Alessia shook her head, looking down into the water. She was silent for a long moment before she spoke.
“She was, but it wasn’t her that broke my heart.”
Parker hesitated, then pulled Alessia across her lap to face her, hands circling her waist.
“Who was it then?”
Alessia didn’t answer, just brushed her lips across Parker’s so lightly that Parker wondered if it had been her breath. Parker slid one hand slowly up the curve of her back and into her hair. Alessia closed her eyes as Parker ran her tongue up the side of Alessia’s neck, barely touching her skin, then across her earlobe, scraping it lightly with her teeth as she let it go. Then she froze, her body stiffening.
“Wait.” Parker put her hand in the center of Alessia’s chest and held her there, attention hard and focused, listening.
Alessia glanced at the door, her body stone-still.
“Someone’s here,” Parker whispered. “I just heard a door shut.”
“Which door?” Alessia asked as they lifted themselves out of the water. She took the towel Parker handed her from the stack on the teak bench, drying herself quickly and pulling on her clothes.
“I think it was the front door,” Parker said, glancing back at her as she looked down the hall that led to the kitchen. “Stay here.”
Parker finished dressing then walked to the door that led to the kitchen, opening it slowly and scanning the room as she stepped back into the house. Everything looked exactly as it had when they’d come in, but she still went upstairs to be sure the house was clear. The house was silent, eerily neat, and the boards on the stairs creaked under her feet as she walked back down to the front door. It was still locked from the inside.
“Did you find anything?” Alessia said quietly, peering out onto the back patio from the kitchen where the wind swayed the chandelier from its olive tree branch. A lock of wet hair was clinging to her cheek, and her gun was strapped to her side.
“No. Everything appears to be locked from the inside.” Parker walked to the patio door and tried the handle, which clicked solidly against its lock. “But I know I heard that front door close.”
Parker glanced back at Alessia, who was now standing by the antique chair in the living room, Parker’s jacket still looped over the back. Her hand shook as she pulled at the knife holding a photo to the arm of the chair, the red velvet behind it like a faded pool of blood. She handed the picture to Parker and sank into the chair, her eyes wide and motionless, fixed on the empty fireplace.
The photo was of Parker and Alessia under the arbor earlier that evening, taken from inside the house. The jagged slit where the knife had pierced the paper was all that was left of Alessia’s face.
“Ma, I didn’t come in to eat. I’m here to drop yesterday’s deposit at the bank for you.”
Alessia held out her hand for the bank bag.
Giada slid the bag out of her grasp, put a cookie in her hand, and gestured toward the tables.
“Sit. You have time for the breakfast. I bring to you.”
Alessia knew better than to argue, so she slipped behind the counter to make an espresso before she took a seat at a small table by the brick wall. She’d just bitten the edge off the lemon sugar cookie when she saw Father Declan Flaherty come through the door and greet her mother with a kiss.
Four years ago, the arch diocese had sent him from Belfast when their village priest had died suddenly from a heart attack. He’d charmed most everyone within weeks with his fondness for whiskey and irresistible smile, but her mother had declared there was no replacement for the village priest she’d grown up with. Declan was also much younger than their previous priest had been—the same age as Alessia—which was another initial strike against him for Giada. He persisted though, and within a few weeks she was inviting Father Flaherty around for dinner. Even Alessia had grown fond of him; he’d ignored her habit of keeping most people at arm’s length, and they’d grown close over the last few years.
He kissed Giada on the cheek as she handed him a long baguette wrapped in white paper, and on his way out the door raised an eyebrow at Alessia. She sighed as she threw her jacket back on.
“Ma, I’ll be right back,” she said in the direction of the counter where her mother was sliding a platter of rosewater cookies into the glass case. “I promise.”
She squinted in the sudden bright sunshine as she opened the door and wove herself into the foot traffic until she rounded the corner of the building. She knew exactly where he’d be: at the edge of the wide river that flowed behind the café and into the center of town.
Indeed, Declan was there, sitting on a stone ledge watching the wind scatter petals from the flowering trees onto the pewter surface of the water. He lit a cigarette as she sat down beside him and handed it to her without a word. Alessia drew the smoke into her lungs, closing her eyes before she spoke.
“So,” she said. “How is she?”
Declan lit his own cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift toward the river, an undulating reflection of the water.
“She came to confession yesterday.”
“Fabulous,” Alessia said, tapping her cigarette and watching the velvety ash disappear into a gust of wind. “Tell me everything.”
Declan glanced at her with a half smile. “You know that’s not how this works.”
“Fine. I just need to know if she’s okay. Ma’s getting more worried every day.”
“I saw you with your mother at sunrise mass twice last week.” He glanced over at her with a wink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to be there.”
“Don’t count on it.”
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, but the same dark wave always escaped and brushed across his left cheek, making him look even younger than he was.
“She’s fine,” he said, holding her eyes. “Well, as fine as she ever is. But she misses you.”
“Declan.” Alessia looked down and willed the sting of tears behind her lashes to disappear. “You know I can’t forgive her. Not even for you.”
“I know.” His voice was suddenly gentle, and he leaned his shoulder against Alessia’s. “And, saints preserve us,” he said with a quick glance skyward. “I can’t say I blame you.” He squeezed her hand, and Alessia felt him choose every word before he said it. “But I’ve never seen anyone so in need of forgiveness, either.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, until Declan reached over for the last of the cigarette Alessia had forgotten was in her hand, crushing it under the polished tip of his shoe.
“I’ll see if I can get her to pop round the café and at least let your mum know she’s safe.”
Alessia smiled as she stood and buttoned her jacket against the breeze coming off the water. She pulled Declan to his feet and took the arm he offered as they started back toward the street.
“That might be the best plan. Otherwise,” she said, tucking a wild wave of hair behind her ear. “I’ll have to keep coming to mass, and we both know no good can come of that.”
Once she was back in the café, Alessia gathered her things and promised to eat the toasted sandwich her mother had wrapped up and slipped into her bag. She kissed Giada’s cheek and stepped out into the bright sunshine, only to stop one shop down and push open the heavy glass door of her father’s jewelry shop.
Salvatore was behind the counter examining a ring he turned slowly in the light, looking at it through a jeweler’s loop. His silver shock of hair, which always seemed to be at the same urgent stage of requiring a haircut, fell forward and jockeyed for position with his every movement. When the door clattered shut behind Alessia, he glanced up and pushed it out of his eyes.
“Alessia,” he said in a rush, as if he’d just solved the mystery of cold fusion, his head dipping once again to the ring. “You must see this.”
She wedged herself and her bag into the narrow area behind the counter and leaned over to look.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, winding her hair into a quick bun before she took the jeweler’s loop from her father and peered though it for a closer look. It was a square-cut emerald set simply in pale yellow gold, deep green and shimmering on a thin gold band of medieval filigree. The stone reminded her of a lake at nightfall. Still, dark, and endless.
