The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Wednesday, June 9, 5:55 p.m.

“The heels feel weird. I feel weird,” Zara said as she stared at her grandmother and sister, who both grinned at her like proud parents sending their only child off into the world.

“Finally, you look like a real woman,” Nonna said.

“We knew she was under there somewhere,” Gina said. “She was just buried alive.”

Zara glanced at the sleek black dress and would never admit it but liked the way it skimmed her legs. And the dress accentuated her breasts in a seductive but not obvious kind of way. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders in soft curls, and her makeup, thanks to Gina’s expert application, highlighted her eyes. “I have to admit, you ladies know your stuff.”

“Of course,” Nonna said. “We have done this before.”

Gina glanced at the clock. “He said he’d be here at six?”

“Yes.”

“It’s five minutes to six. Is he going to be late?” Gina asked. “Because no creation of mine waits for a man. Ever.”

“He’s always been very punctual,” Zara said. “He’s never early or late.”

“He will come to the door,” Nonna said. “No honking of the horn, no?”

“Correct,” Zara said. “He said we’d do this old school.”

“Excellent,” Gina said.

A car pulled up at one minute to six, triggering the dogs into a barking frenzy. No one was going to sneak up on her ever again.

Gus led the charge to the front door with his tail wagging. The other two followed, as if between the three they’d had a meeting and decided he ran their pack.

“I’ve walked the dogs, and they should be good for several hours. I’ll return in time to walk them before bedtime.”

“I’m still capable of walking dogs,” Gina said. “I’m not an invalid.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Gina shrugged. “Good. Don’t ever.”

“The big dogs are old and slow,” Zara said. “And Little Sister is pretty easy, though she’s starting to pull on her leash more.”

“The girl has sass. I like it,” Gina said.

“We’ll be fine,” Nonna said.

The front doorbell rang, and Nonna and Gina both sat a little straighter. Zara turned to hurry, but it was Nonna who said, “A lady does not rush.”

“Make him wait,” Gina said.

“Why?”

Both Nonna and Gina shook their heads.

“Because no man gets excited when he hears a herd of buffalo racing toward him,” Gina said. “Anticipation, darling.”

Zara smoothed her hands over her skirt and straightened her shoulders as she walked slowly in the new sandals. The chances of her making it an entire evening in the shoes were slim, but she had already tucked a pair of flip-flops in her purse.

Eagerness bubbled as she reached for the door. It reminded her a little of prom night fourteen years before, only when she opened the door, the man standing there looked nothing like Ron Tolliver, who’d had acne and long greasy hair.

Nicolas was dressed in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and no tie. His hair was slightly damp around the edges, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. She tried not to imagine him standing naked under a hot spray of water. He was holding a large bouquet of flowers.

When his gaze swept over her, appreciation flared. “You look lovely.”

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” Zara said.

The dogs clamored on the other side of the door. “No one is going to let you get away without saying hi.”

“I want to see them.”

She thought he would hand her the flowers but to cover her bets asked, “Are those for me or Nonna?”

“Sorry, they’re for Nonna.”

“Don’t be sorry. She’ll love you for it.” If she could have fallen for a guy, it would have been one like Nicolas Bernard. Christ, if only he had not given his heart to Catherine.

He petted all the dogs, who circled around him as if they had not seen him in years, and then made his way to the living room, where Gina stood behind Nonna.

He moved directly to Nonna, kissed her on the cheek, and gave the flowers to her. “For you.”

Nonna’s face softened, and she blushed. “You are quite the charmer.”

Gina smelled the flowers. “Yes, you are.”

Nicolas looked at Gina and gave no hint that he knew she was so ill. “Which of you dressed Zara?”

“It took a village,” Gina said. “But Nonna and I led the effort.”

“Excellent job, ladies,” he said.

“Nonna,” Gina said. “Can I put those in water?”

“In the blue vase this time.” She referenced the vase she had purchased weeks after moving to the United States. “Flowers in a vase makes a house a home,” Nonna always said.

“I know the one,” Gina said.

Nicolas glanced at Zara, looking at her in a way that was so sweet and charming it scared her.

Gina reentered the room with roses artfully arranged in the vase that Zara had seen so many times filled with flowers. Gina set the vase on the coffee table in front of Nonna, who leaned forward and gently touched a petal.

“If you two don’t leave now, Nonna is going to steal Nicolas away,” Gina said.

“Are you two sure you’ll be okay with the dogs?” Zara asked.

“Yes, we’ll be fine,” Gina said. “Go.”

Zara picked up a sleek black purse borrowed from Gina. “See you soon.”

“Not too soon,” Gina said.

Nicolas walked Zara outside, the dogs following. When she closed the screened door behind her, they stared as if they had been abandoned. “Such drama.”

Nicolas opened her car door and waited as she gathered her skirt and climbed into the Jeep’s front seat. He carefully closed the door. Quickly, he moved around the car and slid behind the wheel. Zara looked toward the house and saw Gina and Nonna staring at them through the open window.

“Thanks for giving Nonna the flowers,” Zara said. “That was sweet.”

“She’s a lovely woman.”

“With a very fascinating past.”

“Really?”

“I’ll share over dinner.”

“Now that’ll be a conversation starter. I was wondering if I should begin with current events, the weather, or apartment hunting in DC.”

“If not for Nonna’s fascinating history, my fallback would have been the dogs. Always the dogs.”

He grinned. “Then we can thank Nonna for conversation and also the way you look. You really do look fantastic.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, Zara.” His voice turned husky. “Really terrific.”

Zara fussed with the folds of her skirt. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“There’s an Italian restaurant in Church Hill. Seemed fitting.”

“I love Italian.”

“I thought you might. Tell me about Nonna’s history. I’m not sure I can wait until dinner.”

“You’ll have to rely on the weather until we get to the restaurant. This story is show-and-tell.”

“Now there’s an opener.” He turned on the radio, and they chatted about the dogs, the weather, and Nonna until a silence settled between them. “Gina looked good.”

“That’s Gina. She’ll always want to look her best. I’ve asked her to get a second opinion.”

“Wise. You never know what you’ll learn.” He had done the same with Catherine. In fact, they had gotten several opinions that had reaffirmed the grim prognosis.

“I always admired how you handled yourself with Catherine,” he said. “You treated her like she was normal to the very end. Not everyone was able to do that.”

“Lots of practice.” How many times had she been alone with her patients in the middle of the night with no family or friends around? She became their family, their link to the living, and in those moments they confessed their darkest fears.

He slowly shook his head. “I feel like I failed her at every turn.”

“You didn’t. She said so often enough.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and again the silence settled.

“I’ve broken my rule of keeping it light,” she said.

He held up a hand. “I’m the one that brought Gina up.”

“It’s hard to ignore.”

“We made it all of six miles, and we’re almost at the restaurant.”

She forced her body to relax into the seat. When she had worked for Nicolas and cared for Catherine, she’d had an easy camaraderie with him. They had joked about sports, the best brand of chicken nuggets, and whether bourbon should be served with or without ice. A layer of professionalism had been a constant and in some ways had allowed each to be themselves.

Now that the layer was gone, she was not sure how to act around him.

Relief washed over her as he pulled into the parking lot of the Italian restaurant. They walked in together, side by side, not holding hands or brushing shoulders as lovers might but close enough to suggest some kind of connection.

The host showed them to a table in the corner, and they were soon sipping a very nice bottle of red. Anxious to fill the space with non-cancer-bucket-list stuff, she reached into her purse and pulled out the small black box. She set it on the table between them. “Have a look.”

Interest sparked in his gaze, and he opened the lid. Inside the emerald broach sparkled. “Wow. Where did you get this?”

“It was in a wooden box buried in the steamer trunk. It contained a journal, identity papers for Enzo Mancuso, a picture of Riccardo Ferraro, and this broach.”

“Damn, Zara. The emerald is massive. Do you have any idea who this belonged to?”

“The journal was kept by a woman named Isabella Mancuso, Enzo’s widow. According to Isabella, the broach belonged to Signora Bianco, a wealthy Jewish woman. Signora Bianco refused to leave the city even after Isabella warned her about possible roundups in October 1943.”

“Do you know what happened to Signora Bianco?”

“She was found dead in her bed the morning after the roundup of the Jews on October 16, 1943.”

“Suicide?”

“I think so. She had heard tales of the concentration camps.”

“Shit. What a hell of a choice.”

“Isabella also hid Signora Bianco’s grandson and granddaughter-in-law, and she helped them escape Rome. That broach belongs to the Bianco family, but I have no way of finding them.”

“I might be able to help you with that,” he said as he turned the broach over in his hands. “Dad’s firm has many international connections. I’ve also read that there were records kept of the roundups, and it might be possible to discover if the family survived the war.”

“That would be fantastic. It would mean a lot to me to finally know what happened to them. I’m starting to feel as if I know Isabella.”

“Has Nonna talked about any of this?” he asked.

“No. I’ve asked her straight up if she’s Isabella, but she always deflects. Telling me about the journal was a huge step for her. She never once talked about her time in Rome or how she met my grandfather. Gina said our father always knew there was more to his story than they were telling him.”

“What did Isabella do in Rome in the mid-1940s?”

“She worked in a dress shop on the Via Veneto.”

“Very fancy area. Still very expensive.”

“The shop was called Sebastian’s, and it was a couture shop that served many wives and mistresses of the Italian royalty and the German elite. Isabella spoke three languages, including German. And she made it clear she was handing off information to a priest connected to the Resistance.”

“Damn. Are you sure Isabella and Nonna are one and the same?”

“She won’t confirm or deny.”

From her purse, Zara removed the picture taken of her, Gina, and her father and grandparents. “I found this in the junk drawer in the kitchen.”

He studied the picture. “You were a cute kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “Curly hair and glasses. There were talent scouts that wanted Gina to model for them when she was a kid, but not me.”

“You were cute then, and you look fantastic tonight.”

When his eyes rose to hers, warmth slid through her body. “Thanks.”

“What was the occasion for the picture?” he asked.

“It’s the day my grandfather received a medal from the government for his service. Nonna said he was a spy.”

“Wow. Do you know what he did?”

“No. And Nonna is still very hesitant to talk about it.”

“It’s that generation. They did what they had to do and then moved on and never talked about it. I could also ask around about your grandfather,” he said. “My father has connections that extend to the OSS days, the precursor of the CIA.”

“That would be great.”

“Happy to do it.”

She leaned forward. “I think my grandparents were badasses.”

He grinned. “You might be right.”

Dinner of handmade pasta with a rich tomato sauce, freshly baked bread and butter, and a side salad calmed more of the nerves fluttering her belly. Nicolas and she regained the easiness they had once shared, and talk shifted to sports, living in Virginia, and the work Nicolas would do for the law firm.

When he escorted her out of the restaurant two hours later, she was smiling, more relaxed than she had been in years. In the car, as she clicked her seat belt in place, she turned to him and said, “Thank you. This was really fun.”

“It was fun,” Nicolas said, sounding amazed.

“Surprised?”

He chuckled. “I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

“Me either.” Pent-up energy rolled under her skin, leaving her restless. “I don’t want this to get weird between us.”

“How so?”

“I want to kiss you.”

“A kiss won’t make it weird.”

Instead of giving voice to all the reasons she should not follow her feelings, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He tasted of wine, tiramisu, and the extra something that made her heart beat faster.

He raised his hand and cupped the side of her face, threading his fingers through the soft curls of her hair. “You taste great.”

“You too.” She deepened the kiss. Her hand pressed to his chest, and his heart beat rapidly under her fingertips.

“Is this for Gina’s bucket list?” he asked softly.

“No. Just for me.”

“My hotel is close by,” he said carefully.

“That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks.”

He drove the half-dozen blocks to the downtown high-rise hotel, valet parked, and led her across the lobby’s tiled floor. They rode the elevator in silence, and when the doors opened, he took her hand in his and escorted her to his room. A swipe of the key, and they were inside. The large window overlooked the city lights that glowed softly on the James River, meandering through the city.

She dropped her purse on the small desk and kicked off her shoes as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. She moved toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her toward him.

Energy pulsed desire through her body, blocking out the outside world. Her problems would be waiting as they always did, but for now they were quiet.

Still kissing her, he unbuttoned his shirt as she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. His attention shifted to the red lace bra and panties, and his gaze darkened. “This night is full of surprises.”

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Gina,” she said, more to herself.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

The moon glistened over their bodies as he lowered her to the bed and carefully pushed down the straps of her bra. He kissed her jaw, neck, and the tops of her breasts.

She slid her arms along his shoulders and his back, amazed at how sculpted his muscles had become over the last two years.

As he kissed the valley between her breasts, she arched toward him and threaded her fingers through his thick hair.

An inner voice reminded her that he would never really love her. This night was going to be amazing, but it would be fleeting. No expectations. But that was okay. She had now. And that was enough.