Free A French Kiss in London by Melinda De Ross

same. For tonight, at least in dreams they were together.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Linda woke with an odd feeling of hangover and a dull headache. She opened her eyes, but immediately closed them again in defense against the cheerful sunrays that were invading her bedroom. She’d forgotten to lower the shutters. She vaguely asked herself why the hell it was necessary to wake up at sunrise. Then she remembered Francesco. She had to take the sculpture to him, and then have lunch with Gerard and his mother…
    She stood up suddenly, but grabbed her head with both hands, moaning. It was threatening to roll on the floor because of the abrupt, intense pain.
    This cannot be happening. This day is a disaster! she told herself. If I really have to meet Mrs. Leon— was that her name?— why can’t it be on a day when I’m well rested?
    She hated waking up early. However, since she’d met Gerard it seemed she did only that.
    “I doubt he’s worth the effort,” she muttered, addressing Pirata, who had come to give her a morning kiss. Then she smiled, stretching languorously.
    “Hell, the guy’s worth any effort!”
    She winked at the cat, then dragged herself into the bathroom, beneath the showerhead, and ruthlessly turned on the cold water.
    Pirata sat on the toilet lid, washing his paws, listening with the habit’s indifference the curses and unidentifiable noises coming from under the freezing spray.
    She got out of the bath still frowning, but feeling a little more alive. She went downstairs into the kitchen, fed the cat and made herself a strong cup of coffee. Usually, she didn’t even have coffee in the house, because she didn’t drink it. But Mrs. Adams did, so…Seeing as desperate situations demanded desperate measures, she mentally thanked Mrs. Adams and sipped away.
    Taking her mug into the bedroom, she faced the closet, trying to imagine what she should wear for her first encounter with the mother of a man with whom she had a more or less sexual affair.
    Who are you trying to fool? You’re in love with him, head over heels. By all appearances, he’s fallen for you too.
    After a long analysis, she decided on a blue cotton dress, with a bow tied around the waist. The skirt was wavy, reaching a few inches below her knees. It resembled a bit the notorious dress that Marilyn Monroe had worn in the movie Seven Year Itch , where the diva had stood atop an air duct and let her dress flutter up, exposing her underwear. That scene had made history.
    Linda smiled wickedly.
    The dress made her look respectable and serious, but not excessively conservative.
    “Only the color is different,” she said to her other self in the mirror. “And the cup size.”
    Sighing, she changed into jeans and a black tank top, and carefully placed the dress on a chair. She put on a pair of sunglasses that covered half of her face, then went downstairs.
    From where she’d set it in the hallway, she retrieved the woodcarving she intended to take to Francesco and walked down the hall, into the garage. She placed the artwork, wrapped in butcher-paper, on the passenger seat of her car. Following a short debate, she fastened the seatbelt over it, laughing by herself.
    “It’s like I’m transporting the Crown Jewels,” she said amused, as she drove to the gallery.
     
    “You are a treasure, bella mia !” exclaimed Francesco, analyzing ecstatically the small wood piece. Did you make this in a single day?”
    “Yes. I had inspiration,” she answered, staring at the sculpture of Apollo, which dominated the room. Indeed, the features she had carved herself on the Apollo’s wooden face did resemble those of Gerard’s. The statue reigned in the middle of the room, imposing, as though defying the entire human kind with insolent superiority. “I was afraid you would have nowhere to put it,” she went on.
    “Ah, bella mia , there’s always room for brilliant works,” he said in his rich voice. “Annarita, come here, my dear!”
    From the