Free Gaining Visibility by Pamela Hearon Page A

she’d suspected—no woman was impervious to the man’s charms. Julia chuckled and shook her head. “No, I don’t love him. He’s much too young for me.” She estimated the girl to be around seventeen. “And much too old for you, I think.”
    The girl flashed her a sheepish smile. “All the women love Vitale. Mia nonna, mia madre, mia sorella . . . me. All love Vitale.” She pursed her lips and gave a knowing nod, looking wise for her years, and shook her finger meaningfully. “And Vitale, he love all the women.”
    â€œSo look, but no touch, eh?” Julia tried to match the girl’s wise and somber look.
    â€œ Sì. Plenty of look, though.” The sweet face dissolved into a moony smile before she walked back inside.
    â€œDone more than my share of looking already,” Julia murmured, then washed away the admission on a sip of wine.
    One bite of the panini, and she was sure she could live here forever. Gorgeous men, great wines, luscious foods—all works of art. What was there not to love about this place?
    The young server sat a plate on the next table over with four perfectly formed chocolate truffles. They reminded Julia of Hettie. She dialed the number that would ring directly into her mother-in-law’s room.
    Hettie answered on the fourth ring, which was a feat for her.
    As soon as she heard Julia’s “ Buon giorno, ” she opened with, “Gotten laid yet? Remember, it’s got to be by an Italian. Americans you meet on planes don’t count.”
    â€œThe American I met on the plane was a jerk. And the only Italians I’ve met would be better suited for Melissa or you.”
    â€œGo for one of the young ones,” Hettie said. “If you caused one of the old guys to have a heart attack, it could get ugly.”
    Julia tucked that away under needless advice and shifted the subject to the news about her toe and her change in plans. Hettie was sympathetic, but not sappy. “That stone didn’t just fall on your toe. Fate pushed it there, so be ready.”
    â€œReady’s my middle name.”
    Hettie snorted and launched into a tale about Mable Tarrington’s foray into the game room that morning wearing only a smile.
    The time neared for her excursion, so Julia said her good-byes and asked for her check. The girl brought her change along with a small bag.
    â€œFor Vitale. From Rosa.”
    Julia hesitated. “I won’t see him until tomorrow.”
    â€œ Pasticceria . They keep.”
    Julia tucked the package into her tote and went to meet the boat.

C HAPTER 6
    T he tour headed south to Tellaro first, giving Julia a different perspective on the town than she’d gotten yesterday from the hike in the hills above, though just as tranquil. The picturesque pink and orange houses set against the vibrant green backdrop made it difficult to imagine anything but perfect harmony behind those walls. No cancer. No infidelity. Nothing but blissfully happy couples living out their days in peaceful perfection. However, the quick stop the captain made at the spot where Percy Bysshe Shelley’s boat went down, which led to the poet’s drowning, served as a sad reminder of her parents’ death in a boating accident on Kentucky Lake.
    â€œEvery life has stormy seas,” the captain said.
    The poignancy of his statement stung Julia’s eyes, and her throat burned with the bitterness of all she’d lost.
    Across the gulf to the small islands of Tino and Isola, up to La Spezia, and back down to Lerici, the afternoon flew by as quickly as the Italian coastline. Fingers of the Mediterranean grasped the land deeply in places, holding it still as the world revolved around it. Quaint fishing villages rose and fell like the tide, winking into and out of view. Fishing boats with wizened old men smoking pipes. Yachts with bikini-clad beauties—mostly topless. Blue sky and azure water coming