She was texting a message to her patient’s daughter, explaining about her car being left in the driveway and someone coming to pick it up, when Vanni began to talk. He spoke to someone named Jake whom he asked to retrieve Emma’s car. When it came time for him to say where to deliver the vehicle, Emma leaned forward, trying to get his attention to give him her address. He remained turned in profile to her, however, and crisply supplied her street address as if it were his own. She was a little mystified that he’d been able to see the address, given how dark and rainy it’d been that night he’d followed her home.
On his next call he began speaking in fluid French. She stared out the window as the urban landscape passed by her, her entire attention focusing on the sound of him. At first, she tried to see if she could pull out any words that she might comprehend. When she couldn’t, she found herself relaxing to the sound of his voice: the rich resonance, the rhythmic cadence, the foreign words blending together into a sensual anthem that both lulled her and created a tickle of excitement along her skin and at her core.
She cast a sideways, covetous glance at him, wondering all the while what she’d gotten herself into. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up crashing and burning like a novice behind the wheel of a superfast, high-tech Montand car.
For the hundredth time, she repeated a mantra for caution inside her head.
She was so caught up in the sound of Vanni speaking French that she forgot to be nervous about where they were going. That all came to a halt when he turned the sedan onto the grounds of a cemetery. Her anxiety started to amplify as he finished his call and deftly maneuvered the sedan on the narrow road winding through lush trees and grounds. Neither of them spoke, a hushed somberness seemingly overtaking them both.
He drove directly to a lovely spot atop a small hill. There was a lagoon with swans floating serenely on it to the right of Emma. He parked behind a hearse, three other luxury sedans, and a Nissan. In the distance, Emma caught a glimpse of the coffin down the small hill to the left of them topped with a lush, colorful flower arrangement. Her anxiety ratcheted up several degrees when she saw the pinched expression of Mrs. Shaw as she ascended the slight rise to the road. A handsome older man with a mane of silver hair followed her along with a younger, dark-haired man.
Emma got out of the sedan and went around the back to join Vanni, feeling more and more out of place by the second.
“Where have you been?” Mrs. Shaw asked Vanni with barely subdued anxiety as she approached him.
“There was something I needed to take care of,” Vanni replied coolly, hardly sparing her a glance. He grasped hands with the silver-haired man and then the younger one with the Mediterranean good looks. The latter grasped him with both hands, a concerned look on his face.
“You okay?” the young man asked in a quiet, confidential tone. Here was a friend to him, Emma immediately realized. She was glad of it. Vanni struck her as so alone sometimes, like a secluded prince.
Vanni just nodded. He put out his hand toward Emma in a beckoning gesture. She saw Mrs. Shaw’s face flatten in disbelief when she turned to see Emma approach their small group. “Niki, Uncle Dean, this is Emma Shore. She’s the nurse who took care of Cristina during her last days. Emma, this is Dean Shaw, my mother’s brother. He’s also the chief financial officer of Montand Motorworks. He used to work for my father as well. And this is my good friend, Niki Dellis.” Both men greeted her warmly and took her hand in greeting. Niki’s expression was amiable, but sharp and curious. Emma decided Dean Shaw had a nice smile.
“And of course you’ve already met my aunt, Vera Shaw.”
Well, here was some news, Emma thought, hiding her shock. She’d had no inkling Mrs. Shaw was his aunt. Vera Shaw was nowhere near as welcoming as her brother or Niki Dellis had been.
“We should begin,” Vera told him tensely. Vanni nodded significantly down the hill. Vera and her brother started ahead of them, Emma following between Vanni and Niki. She glanced up at Vanni when he took her hand as they went down the slope. She didn’t require him to steady her balance, but she did appreciate his touch. This was an extremely awkward situation for her.
One look into his impassive features and stormy eyes and Emma knew it was a thousand times worse for him. Her self-consciousness diminished almost to nothing upon seeing his carefully controlled emotional state.
There were only three other people attending the simple service beside her, Niki, Vanni, Vera, and Dean. Two extremely well-put-together, very thin women already stood on the far side of the casket. They looked like they might be in their early fifties, but Emma’s instinct told her they were older and just well-preserved by plastic surgery and regular, opulent spa visits. Friends of Cristina’s most likely, she assessed, although they certainly hadn’t bothered to visit her when she’d been ill. A middle-aged man was there as well, and Emma realized he was the presiding minister when Vanni nodded at him, and he began to speak.
It was a short, simple ceremony, but the beautiful surroundings and the luminous summer afternoon seemed to bless it as special. Vanni’s and her handclasp had broken when they reached the bottom of the hill, but Emma was highly aware of him s
tanding next to her. She sensed his tension level like a storm silently building on the horizon.
As the minister spoke, Emma glanced curiously around. The paradox of Vanni’s feelings for his stepmother was obvious here as well. The carved mahogany casket with gold fastenings was of the highest quality, and the flower arrangements were lush and stunning. Emma noticed that a large gravestone next to Cristina’s gravesite was also decorated with fresh flowers, as were two others next to it. Did those graves belong to Vanni’s father and mother?
Was it usual for a husband to be buried next to both his wives? Emma thought it odd, but didn’t have enough experience to know. And to whom did the fourth grave belong?
The minister led them in a prayer, and Emma cast her gaze downward. At the word forgive, Vanni jerked ever so slightly next to her. Without thinking, Emma grasped his hand. She tilted her head up slightly and saw that his stare was on her, the message in his eyes weighty, but unreadable.
* * *
The realization slowly dawned on Emma that it wasn’t just her who seemed awkward at the funeral. Everyone there seemed tense, as if there were a million unspoken words zooming around their bowed heads, words Emma herself couldn’t comprehend any more than she had Vanni’s French. It was odd that Vanni’s maternal aunt and uncle attended his stepmother’s burial, but perhaps they were just there to support Vanni? The two well-groomed ladies barely showed any emotion at all during the service, except perhaps shameless curiosity as they stared at Vanni, and occasionally at Emma and Niki.
Poor Cristina, to have her life memorialized in such a stilted, emotionless fashion.
As the small gathering began to dissipate at the end of the ceremony, Vanni reached in his pocket and withdrew a crisp handkerchief from his suit and handed it to Emma. She saw the MGM monogrammed on the edge of it. Emma looked at him in confusion, but then realized her cheeks were wet.
“Thank you,” she said thickly a moment later, blotting her face.
“Someone should cry for her,” he said simply. His eyes were dry and clear.
After she’d dried her face, he took her hand and started to lead her up the hill. He paused when Niki approached them.
“Niki, would you mind?” Vanni nodded down at Emma significantly. “I’m going to . . .” He faded off and gestured with his head toward the graves. Emma was confused, but Niki seemed to immediately understand Vanni’s request. Niki took her hand with a smile. He asked her in a friendly manner about her work, and Emma answered distractedly. When they got to the top of the hill, Emma looked back. She saw Vanni kneeling in front of the third grave from Cristina’s coffin, his strong profile rigid. Was it his mother’s grave? After a few seconds, he stood and placed his hand on the gravestone. Emma could almost feel how cold and hard it felt against his fingers and palm before he broke the contact and turned and walked away.
* * *