Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(24)

She was also affectionate.

I knew this right off (though it was impossible to miss) because she threw herself in Sam’s arms like she hadn’t had dinner with him yesterday evening but instead hadn’t seen him in two decades and she didn’t do the cheek touch, switch, cheek touch business. Instead she kissed his cheeks back and forth and back and forth and back again, alternately babbling at him in Italian.

“Luci, girl, you know I do not understand one f**kin’ word you’re sayin’,” Sam informed her, his arms having gone from a close hug to his hands at her waist and he set her firmly away with a practiced hand that gave me a strong indication this was a familiar dance.

She grinned up at him and admonished, “I’m always telling you, Sam, you need to learn Italian.”

“Why?” he replied. “This is the second time in my life I’ve been here.”

Sam had only been in Italy twice?

Hmm. Interesting.

“Because,” she returned.

“That’s a reason?” Sam asked when she said no more.

She rolled her eyes, wisely gave up before she lost to Sam, and I had a feeling not many people won with Sam, including stunning ex-models.

Then she turned to me and cried, “Kia!” very, very loudly and threw herself in my arms so forcefully, I went back on one of my delicate gold heels and my arms automatically folded around her, mostly so I wouldn’t tumble backwards.

Then she kissed my cheeks back and forth and back again while babbling Italian and I let her because she was my hostess so I figured pushing her off would be rude and also she was Sam’s friend so pushing her off would definitely be rude.

She finally stopped, pulled back but grasped my upper arms and shook me gently while her eyes went from top-to-toe to toe-to-top and back again and she cried, “Bella!” Then, not letting me go, her head jerked to Sam and she noted in her sexy, throaty, Italian accented English, “Oh Sam, so much better than the last one.”

I blinked once again.

Sam’s head tipped back and he scanned the ceiling.

Luci turned to look at me.

“Cara,” she said low, “I did not like the last one.” She leaned into me and whispered, “She wore Burberry…” she paused then said with deep meaning, “obviously and profusely.”

“I don’t own any Burberry,” I assured her with the God’s honest truth.

“Oh Burberry is delightful,” she declared, letting me go but sliding an arm around my waist and propelling me into a huge room with beautifully tiled floors and lush, plush but comfortable looking furniture scattered around that practically begged you to collapse on it and have a nap and huge, arched, opened doors that led out to a flower bedecked terrace with a view to the lake. “But obvious is bad any way you can be obvious and profuse is definitely bad no matter how you’re profuse, no?”

Clearly, Luciana went to the same How to Be a Sophisticated and Chic Woman Class as Celeste but missed the day where they taught you not to accost people even in a friendly way and also the day where they taught you not to blab about your friend’s exes or, at the very least, former dates within seconds of meeting his current one.

“Well,” I started, “profuse being bad as in, you’re faced with a box of chocolates you really like, then eating so much of them it makes you sick so you never do something that idiotic again then, no. Profuse as in, using a heavy hand while spritzing perfume, then, yes.”

Luciana threw her dark mane back and laughed a throaty laugh and I noted around fifteen men turned their heads to watch. Then I turned my head and looked over my shoulder to see Sam talking to a white-coated waiter.

I hoped that meant champagne, I was thinking I was going to need it.

She stopped us in a pocket of privacy and turned to me, dropping her arm and asking, “So, Lago di Como, how are you liking my home?”

“It’s beautiful,” I told her and meant it.

“Sì, bella,” she murmured, her eyes moving over my face and I got the impression she was complimenting me but I didn’t have the opportunity to react to a stunningly beautiful woman implying I was the same.

No.

Instead, for the first time I had the opportunity to take her in fully and she was stunningly beautiful but the rest was a complete and total farce.

She was kidding herself if she thought she was hiding the pain in her eyes.

And I was learning a good deal about kidding yourself since I’d been doing it for years.

And for some reason I didn’t know and even later, thinking back, I didn’t get, before I could think better of it, my hand shot out and caught hers. When it did, I gave it a firm, warm squeeze and, just as quickly as I did it, I let her go.

I realized my mistake and wished I could take back my gesture when the sorrow so close to the surface suffused her face, I watched her swallow then she turned her head, buried it shallowly below the surface again, clapped and cried, “Bravo! Champagne,” at an approaching Sam who was carrying two flutes filled with champagne.

I made a mental note to tread more cautiously with the effusive but clearly fragile Luci as Sam made it to us. He gave me mine, gave one to Luci and then slid in beside me, his long arm curving at a slant down my back starting high at my side and ending with his fingers curled in at my hip. I felt funny standing there like that and I had three choices, pull away (which would be rude), put my arm around Sam (which, uh, no way in hell I was ready for that) or lean into him.