Love/Forty Page 11

  She didn’t want to seem unsophisticated and ask him what kind of sports car he drove because the one thing she was positive of is that this was an expensive automobile and if she ran around in the same circles as he, she would have known. Definitely expensive. Probably a Ferrari, she thought looking for the emblem. She would at least recognize the insignia.

  “I forgot to tell you that I received the photos you sent,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your place is beautiful and I can’t wait to see the paintings up close when I come to visit you.”

  “Thanks for helping me select them. They are perfect and the condo is beginning to look like a home.”

  They raced alongside the Mediterranean, on a narrow, winding road he maneuvered as though he could have driven blindfolded, then with one quick turn he pulled into a driveway, stopping before double gates. He shifted gears and stopped long enough to punch numbers on a keypad. Many things ran through her head and kept her occupied. She hadn’t said one word, but only listened to him chat about the tournament and repeat how much he wished she had been there.

  The Edwards’ home sat back from the road, nestled in surrounding foliage, glistening in the afternoon sun. The gray stone structure with stark white trim was softened with large windows, some open to allow in the fresh air. Vines with tiny melon-colored flowers covered the rooftop and hung sporadically over the front of the entrance.

  She felt a bit relieved they were meeting his parents in their home and not in a restaurant. Being in a crowded, noisy place would make having a conversation difficult. She would depend on small talk to help keep her mind off how being with him made her feel now that Max wasn’t with them, and she tried not to think about what might happen later when his parents left and she and Dante were alone. Did he have expectations that they’d sleep together?

  Any apprehensions about meeting his parents dissolved the moment the door to their villa opened and they emerged smiling, waiting to greet her before she had even stepped out of the car.

  Before introductions, she was kissed on both cheeks and embraced by Mark and Julia Edwards, taken by the arm, and led across the courtyard. Dante grinned, carried her tote bag, and opened the double-leaded glass doors, giving her his signature wink as his mother escorted her inside.

  “We are delighted to meet you, Mercedes. Your brother and Dante told us so much about you and I’ve been impressed with the stories of your career choice. Can’t wait to hear about your exciting life,” his mother said. She took her tote bag from her son and asked, “Would you like to take a few minutes to freshen up before lunch?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  Mrs. Edwards led her down a long hallway into a guest room with its own private bath and said, “Take your time. There’s no hurry for Mark and I to leave and we want to get to know you and want you to enjoy your visit.”

  “I’m sure I will. Your home is beautiful. I’ve recently purchased a condo and all of a sudden, I’m interested in decorating.”

  “When you’re done in here, I’ll give you a tour if you’d like.”

  “I would, Mrs. Edwards, and I appreciate your hospitality. I didn’t know I’d have the pleasure of meeting you and the ambassador until I was on the plane or I would have brought a hostess gift.”

  “Not at all required, dear, and please call me Julia. Dante has been extremely pleased and concerned at the same time about his plot to bring you to France—he was worried you might be upset.”

  “I admit I didn’t know what to think at first, but my brother thinks the world of him, and we had a wonderful time together in Arizona. One would have to be insane not to be excited about this surprise adventure and being whisked off to France on a first date. Usually this only happens in the movies,” she completed, smiling.

  “I’m relieved you feel that way. We haven’t seen him this excited except at a tournament. Darn! Now, the secret’s out; I’ve divulged your competition. Tennis! Take your time, dear,” she said, as she hurried out of the room.

  Mercedes’ heart pumped at full pace and seemed as if it might have skipped a beat or two. She needed to gather herself together and fast. The excitement she felt awoke the deep longing she held inside about one day realizing her dreams. Most of her life she conformed to the wishes of others in her quest to be accepted and loved.

  To this day, in her career, whenever she meets interesting and wealthy sports figures, she fully enjoys visiting their different countries, their homes, their lifestyles, pretending she is part of that scenario. She wanted that fairytale life she dreamed of as a child.

  But reality had a habit of rearing its head when she’d find herself back in her tiny studio apartment she could barely afford. Now that she had made a name for herself and was able to purchase her loft, maybe her dream might come true even if today only lasted until midnight.

  She didn’t share these private dreams with anyone, but at this moment, she believed they had come true.

  She brushed her teeth, freshened her makeup, and put a little hairspray on to smooth a few frizzies back in place. After taking a deep breath, she felt a little relief and was ready to delight in whatever Dante had planned for the rest of the day.

  She returned to the living area that she found charming and bright. Every piece of furniture, sofa, loveseat and chair, looked most inviting. She was afraid if she sat in one, she’d fall asleep and sink deep down in one, like Alice In Wonderland. Thankfully, much to her surprise, the Edwards’ led her outside on the patio for lunch. A gentle breeze from the sea helped her feel rejuvenated as she breathed in the salt air.

  The view of the Mediterranean, although not panoramic, was pleasant. The patio was designed in a circular pattern with pavers. They sat on large comfortable chairs with thick cushions arranged around an umbrella-shaded table, and Dante had turned on the gas firepit to help create the perfect scene and atmosphere.

  Mercedes admired the beautiful ceramic pots filled with colorful flowers and aromatic plants, like oregano, basil, and rosemary that scattered and adorned the patio.

  “This is such a pleasant and beautiful place. How lucky you are to live here,” Mercedes commented.

  “We chose this particular area because this is where you will find fields of lavender and sunflowers that you see in magazines and travelogues. They are breathtaking to behold, plus there are many other plants indigenous to this area that we use to create our perfumes,” his mother said. “We were fortunate to find this lot and build our own house.”

  Mr. Edwards brought out a large pitcher of iced tea and tall glasses filled with ice, along with a saucer of lemon slices and a bowl of sugar.

  Mercedes smiled because she knew Dante must have told them she not only preferred iced tea, but also liked lots of sugar, ice, and lemon. She remembered that not all Europeans used a lot of ice in their drinks.

  The conversation flowed nicely and she found that every time she looked at Dante, she caught him staring at her and she wondered if his parents had observed the same thing. His feelings were as visible to her as a neon sign. She at least began to feel more comfortable in spite of the fact her cheeks remained warm, but not from the sun. Maybe his parents thought pink was the color of her complexion.

  They chatted about her flight and she remarked about the championship match. “Your forehand and backhand angles across the court were perfect, but killers for your opponent. I gasped a lot. I worried each time that the ball might hit the net because you hit it too low or perhaps be out of bounds if it landed on the other side. Don’t think I could ever cut an angle that sharp and close to the net. Amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you play, Mercedes?” his dad asked.

  “Only on occasion.”

  “Now that’s not true,” Dante said. “Max mentioned you might play mixed-doubles this fall in an exhibition in Arizona, and he invited me to sign up for a match.”

  “That’s true. I did suggest we might participate in the charity matches.”

  “Then you�
�re not simply a weekend player like some golfers I know,” his dad said smiling at his wife.

  Dante explained to his parents that she was once a junior champion. “I looked up her records and her International Tennis Number had her marked to become a high-ranking professional.”

  He told them about her injury, and she demonstrated how her hand became crushed backward by her racquet. They discussed her accident and shared their sympathies. On the whole, she had the impression they were pleased she knew enough about tennis to be able to support and share his interests. You had to love the game as much as the player if you hoped to become involved in a relationship.

  She looked across the table at his parents and all of a sudden thought they looked upon her visit as a pre-engagement get together. What had he told them? They weren’t even what the tabloids referred to as an item. They still hadn’t been on their first date alone, yet.

  She began to squirm, feeling uncomfortable, and the heat in her cheeks began to rise, when his mother rescued her and said, “Come, Mercedes, let me take you on a house tour before we have lunch. You must be starving.”

  Both gentlemen stood when she and his mother stood to go inside. She almost bowed her head and curtseyed as though this were a scene out of a Jane Austen novel. She even made a slight sound and held back a chuckle.

  His mother educated her in French Country furnishings after Mercedes remarked how beautiful and elegant the rooms were. “I’m impressed with the different fabrics and colors that you’ve incorporated in your decorating and how well everything goes together,” Mercedes said. “I had to get some help from a decorator.”

  Furniture painted off-white, lime green shutters on the windows. Soft colors, pastels, and patterns all mixed together professionally. Some of the floors were tiled and some were hardwood, with dhurrie and sisal rugs scattered here and there.

  Refined, charming, and elegant was how Mercedes would describe the décor. The master bedroom had a large antique sleigh bed and two huge armoires. The bed was covered with a comforter and a spread in different patterns with pillows of yellow, blue, and pink hues.

  All the doorways were arched, and each room had recessed windows and cushioned seats decorated with throw pillows. In the hallway off the living room was an alcove that housed two armchairs and a baby grand piano.

  “Do you play, Julia,” she asked?

  “Yes. But not as well as Dante.”

  Mercedes raised her eyebrows. “He never mentioned he played the piano.”

  “I doubt he gets much time anymore. Although I do believe he purchased a piano for his home in Florida. I don’t think it has been delivered yet. He bought one of those baby-baby grand’s, which also plays music on discs. We have to get to the States soon to visit. I love to fly into New York for a few days to shop and go to the theater before we head to Florida. You’re lucky to be in the heart of all the nightlife. Maybe we can get together when we come, if you’re free.”

  “I’d like that, very much. Dante can give you my phone number or email address and you can contact me when you make your plans.”

  “Something new to look forward to, then,” Julia said as they continued on the house tour.

  Mercedes admired the stonewall and fireplace in the living room with built-in bookcases on both sides, and the elegant toile valences in yellow and blue, trimmed with fringe, that were draped across the alcoves and hung casually almost to the floor. The extra touch of the beamed ceilings gave this fairly new home the look and feel of old French.

  Julia showed her a plant of wild bergamot, whose oil was used for making perfume. There were many interesting and lovely items in the house that interested Mercedes, but she’d need more time to admire everything.

  The entire place had the Provençal look she had only seen in magazines, the painted furniture and plastered walls in soft colors and organic pigments, a pastiche of hues and patterns, matelassé linens and throws and informal flower arrangements throughout the home. This charming, beautiful villa along the seacoast was hidden from the road, and unless you knew where you were headed, you’d drive right by the entranceway without even noticing.

  The guest room had a reading alcove with long double windows that opened onto a small patio with a fountain, a bench, and large colorful garden containers filled with flowers. The door to Dante’s room was closed, and his mother only mentioned that he had his own suite.

  The kitchen was long and wide, separated in the middle by an island with a large farm sink and a stovetop with eight burners built-in, where family and friends could sit on stools at either end, or across from one another and visit or even participate in the cooking.

  “This is a fabulous home, Julia. Do you get to spend a lot of time here?”

  “Yes, a good portion of the spring and summer. We stay in Italy most of the winter, outside of Rome, mainly to be near the larger airport because we travel quite a bit.”

  “I think I would be sad to have to close this house every winter.”

  “True, but living in a big city is exciting, too! Don’t you like living in New York?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to become a New Yorker, but I spent most of my life in Florida. And, I do miss the warm weather in the winter.”

  “When your weather gets too bad, at least you can head south for a break. Shall we join the men and have lunch?”

  “Yes. And you were right, I’m starving.”

  “Well, I hope you enjoy what we’ve prepared. The menu was chosen especially for you by Dante.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A quaint lunch on the patio felt as if they dined at a bistro in the heart of Paris. Julia prepared and served an escargot omelet and a salad with spring Russian vegetables sprinkled with violets, served on either Limoges or Sevres porcelain luncheon plates. In spite of her guesses, Mercedes didn’t lift her plate to look on the bottom to satisfy her curiosity, but she was tempted, and pursed her lips to keep from releasing a chuckle.

  His mother confessed while spending many years in the Foreign Service and being spoiled with gourmet chefs at her beck and call, she spent time in the kitchens with the chefs. Plus, she attended a few seasons of cooking school along the way. Mercedes had a feeling Julia Child had nothing on this Julia.

  Conversation remained light and she enjoyed Dante’s parents without feeling overwhelmed, except she thought if he expected the same type of menu when he came to dinner at her place, he’d be sorely disappointed. She thought maybe she might need to have Mario Batali’s restaurant cater her promised Italian dinner. She thanked God she lived in New York City with wonderful restaurants at her fingertips. Something, until lately, she hadn’t been able to afford.

  When the car and driver arrived to take Dante’s parents to the airport, he brought out his luggage. “My tennis equipment and suitcase are going to be loaded on the plane. I need to take them with us back to the States when we leave,” he explained.

  Mercedes decided that his room must have been crowded with all his equipment, which is why his mother didn’t open his bedroom door. She couldn’t believe how much luggage he had, which also explained the larger car and driver, and why they weren’t going to drive his parents to the airport.

  After saying goodbye to them, they closed up the house and got in the car. Dante turned in the opposite direction from the airport.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought you might enjoy a day at the market, walk about town and do a little sightseeing and get another look at how I might spend my time, unless you’re tired and would rather go back to the house?”

  “No, going to the market sounds like fun. I’m game,” she answered and figured shopping would be a safer recreation than being alone with him in the house.

  When they pulled into a parking space at the market, she laughed. “I had no idea.” The streets were closed to traffic. Tables that were spread out on every inch of sidewalk and pavement loomed in front of them, bustling with shoppers.

  “What do you think of the Br
ocante?” Dante asked, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I pictured a little farmers market interspersed with a few merchants selling jewelry or something homemade, like jam.”

  “You’ll most likely find those items here, too,” he told her, offering his hand to help her out of the car. “This is the flea market.”

  The picturesque village was magical and abundant with fresh fruit and cheeses, flowers, seafood, clay figurines, and books, a large variety of locally grown olives, clothing, purses, and dishes. Everything!

  She walked about with Dante, holding hands. The local folk, while acknowledging him, smiling and saying some words in French, left them alone to shop and browse the vendors’ tables at their leisure.

  They stopped at a table filled with heirloom china. Mercedes looked at Dante and asked, “If I purchase a few things for my family, would you mind bringing them to Max to take to my parents?”

  He nodded. “No, I don’t mind at all. Even if Max is out of town, I plan to go to his agency and meet the staff and I would also offer to take the gifts to your parents, in person if need be.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he answered.

  After choosing porcelain asparagus serving plates for her mother and Faith, she bought a hat for her dad and Dante found a great hat for Max to wear to the summer tournaments to protect him from the sun. She spent twenty minutes choosing colorful, hand-painted tote bags while he patiently watched her every move, smiling.

  “These will be wonderful to take to the beach or grocery store or the open-air market this summer, and thank you for not complaining while I shopped, Dante.”

  “I brought you here, especially remembering how much fun we had in Scottsdale, running in and out of souvenir shops. I will at least know you enjoyed your short visit, which is what I had planned, except for tonight’s dinner which is the big surprise.”