As the NordicTrack shifted gears, her thoughts drifted to the Italian stranger residing in her cottage. “Don’t. . . . go. . . . there. . . . Janet!” She quickly shook off that naughtiness and focused on the grueling uphill run. What is it about him that intrigues me so? She pondered this as she pushed through the eight-mile-per-hour ten-percent-incline segment.
The workout flew by, perhaps because her thoughts kept wandering back to Mario. Had she found this new motivation to tone up because of this exotic stranger? She knew the allure of the opposite sex often provided her an adrenaline rush that made even the most challenging tasks achievable. Lately, her energy levels had been dwindling due to a lack of excitement in her life, but this handsome stranger had clearly sparked a renewed vigor within her.
“Aaaaaaah!” she screamed as the timer counted down the last seconds. 4. . . . 3. . . . 2. . . . 1. . . . Beep. Beep. Beep. “Yes!” She pumped her fists in the air as the treadmill slowed to a halt.
Grabbing her towel, she wiped the sweat off her face and stepped off the NordicTrack with a sense of accomplishment. Her legs felt sturdy, her body vibrant.
Must be all the adrenaline, she chuckled to herself. Or perhaps it’s estrogen, she mused, laughing at the thoughts that came to mind.
Her exhilaration following the vigorous workout was a welcome relief after a long day at work. Not that her job was a serious source of stress, but maintaining a regular fitness routine was her secret weapon against the work-related tension that crept in over the long-term. Emerging from her home gym, she made her way down the hallway to the bathroom and splashed her face with icy water. The chill was invigorating.
As she glanced out of her second-story bathroom window, she spotted Mario inside the cottage hunched over the dining table, engrossed in his notebook. A substantial wad of cash lay next to his backpack on the table. She narrowed her eyes at it, feeling curious. Rather than deter her, this unexpected sight only heightened her interest in the handsome Italian.
Five minutes later, Janet found herself at the door to the cottage, ostensibly to check on her new short-term tenant. Although her intentions were more calculated than a simple check-in. She didn’t want to come across as intrusive, or bothersome, or . . . desperate.
Why was she behaving so oddly around Mario? What emotions was this attractive foreigner stirring within her?
Shaking her head, she decided to abandon her plan at the last moment, turning away from the cottage door. As she did so, the door swung open, revealing Mario on the verge of leaving.
“Aaah!” they both exclaimed, startled by the unexpected rendezvous.
“You scared me,” Janet admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Scusi,” Mario apologized, genuinely shaken. After the series of traumatic incidents he’d experienced months ago, the last thing he expected was to find Janet—or anyone else for that matter—at his front door.
“Whew,” Janet exhaled, catching her breath. “I was just coming over to check if everything was okay with the cottage.”
“Sì. Bella. Uh, yes, good. Would you like to come in for . . .” Mario gestured towards the kitchen. “Err, water, no gas.”
“The gas isn’t working?” Janet’s face fell, embarrassed that the stove wasn’t functioning. “I’ll get it fixed, I’m sorry.”
“No, no. Scusi. I mean water, like from sink, with no . . .” He paused, searching for the right word. “No fizzy?”
Mario was struggling to find the term for noncarbonated water. He found it peculiar that in the United States people paid almost a dollar a bottle for something you could get from your tap. Rome boasted some of the finest drinking water in the world, and was fascinated that people would pay so much in the stores for a simple luxury that was readily available.
“Oh. Got it. Water. Yes, please.”
As they stepped inside the cottage, Janet noticed that nothing had really changed from when she had shown Mario the rental the day before.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She settled herself before looking around the room. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Mario responded, his demeanor shifting into a comfortable mode. As a priest, he had often been the recipient of confessions, a trusted ear for those seeking solace. He found it intriguing that even in his civilian attire, people seemed drawn to him, ready to unburden their secrets. Janet, however, was unaware of his past vocation.
“What do you do?” Janet asked, her curiosity piqued by the wad of money she had seen through the window. Was he involved in the mafia? He seemed too awkward for that.
“I recently am fired from work,” he confessed, zipping his backpack closed. “I hope this will not be problem. I have plenty money to pay rent. Promise.”
“No, no. It’s not a problem. I didn’t mean to pry,” she quickly reassured him, feeling her awkwardness creeping in again. “You just seem . . . interesting. I want to know more about you.”
Mario was at a loss for how to explain his complex situation. His life was in turmoil, and he was not adept at deception—Roberto had reminded him of that fact often enough. Perhaps that was why he’d become a priest—he was incapable of lying and therefore people were drawn to him, eager to share their deepest secrets.
Roberto’s past wisdom came to Mario like a sage speaking from the beyond. She doesn’t want to know about you. She wants to tell you about herself. Trust me. She’s into you, Mario.
After a moment of awkward silence, Janet broke the tension. “I’m making snapper for dinner tomorrow night. Would you like to join me?”
Mario felt a surge of validation—Roberto had been right! She was interested in him. “Yes, I would like that. Grazie.”
“Great. Dinner will be ready at eight o’clock. You don’t need to bring anything. I’ll take care of it all.”
“Grazie.” Mario smiled, a warm feeling spreading through him. Janet’s interest in him stirred up emotions he’d never experienced before. As a priest, he had taken a vow of celibacy for life, but the Vatican’s attempt on his life had changed everything.
Feeling this desire for another person made him realize why Roberto had always made such a big fuss about it. Mario had never felt this way before. It felt . . . nice.
Chapter 88
May 10, 2000
Wednesday, 6:35 p.m.
Naples, Florida
Mario found himself nestled in the bustling heart of Kinko’s, a copy center sporting an abundance of technology amidst the otherwise quaint town of Naples. Huddled at a computer station, his fingers danced over the keys, navigating to the search engine Roberto had sworn by. His search on dogpile.com was precise, just a name and a location: “Trevor Muldoon, Naples, Florida.”
Trevor Muldoon, the acclaimed author, will be our honored guest for the AOL Chatroom interview series on the evening of Monday, May 15th, 2000 at 7 p.m. EST.
The interview promises an intimate discussion where Mr. Muldoon will announce his latest World War II thriller. It is set to hit the shelves on June 6th.
