Breathing Room (35 page)

She pulled her nightdress to her thighs, and he saw a thin scratch on her calf. "Brit'ny kicked me while she was sleeping and cut my leg with her toenail."

He needed a drink. He didn't want pixie-haired little girls coming to him for comfort in the middle of the night. During the day it was different. He could detach and observe. But not at night, when he already felt a thousand years old. "You'll live. Go back to bed."

"You're crabby."

"Go see your mom and dad."

Her dark brows slammed together. "They locked their door!"

He had to smile. "Yeah, well, life's tough."

"What if I saw a spider?" she said indignantly. "Who'd kill it?"

"You would, pal."

"Nuh-uh."

"You know what I used to do when I was a kid and saw a spider?"

"Stomp on it hard."

"No. I'd scoop it up and take it outside."

Her eyes grew round and horrified. "Why'd you dothat? "

"I like spiders. I had a pet tarantula once." It had died, of course, because he'd stopped taking care of it, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Most spiders are pretty nice bugs."

"You're weird." She squatted down to pick at some chipped blue glitter nail polish on her big toe. Her vulnerability worried him. Just like Isabel, she needed to toughen up.

"Time to cut the crap, Stef. That spider stuff is old news. You're smart, and you're strong enough to handle it without running to Mommy and Daddy in the middle of the night like a big baby."

She gave him the haughty look she'd learned from her mother. "Dr. Isabel says we need to talk about our feelings."

"Yeah, well, we all know how you feel about spiders, and we're tired of hearing it. You're doing some kind of emotional transfer thing anyway."

"That's what she said. Because I was worried about my mom and dad."

"You sure don't need to worry about them now."

"You don't think I should be scared of spiders anymore?" She looked both accusatory and skeptical, but he also thought he detected a hint of hope.

"You don't have to like them, but stop making them so important. It's better to face what's scaring you than to keep running from it."

Hypocrite. When had he ever made himself face that decades-old emptiness inside him?

She scratched her hip. "Did you know we get to go to school here?"

"I heard." Jeremy had apparently led his sisters in a rebellion against Tracy's homeschooling attempts, which had ended up with Harry writing a check to the local officials so the kids could attend the school in Casalleone until they left at the end of November. When Harry had asked his opinion, Ren had pointed out that they already spoke enough Italian for minimal exchanges, and he thought it would be a good experience for them.

"Are you going to marry Dr. Isabel?"

"No!"

"Why not? You like her."

"Because Dr. Isabel is too nice for me, that's why."

"I think you're nice."

"That's because you're a pushover."

She yawned and slipped her hand in his. "Tuck me back in bed now, okay?"

He gazed down at the top of her head, then pulled her to his side for a quick squeeze.

"Okay, but only because I'm bored."

*

They all gathered in front of the villa the next morning to see the Briggses off, even though they weren't going far. Ren slipped Jeremy a couple of CDs he knew the kid liked, accepted a sticky kiss from Connor, admired Brittany's final cartwheel, and gave Steffie a last-minute pep talk about not being a wimp. Isabel stayed busy, talking to everyone but him. He wasn't surprised she was still pissed. In her world the fact that he hadn't mentioned the arrival of the script counted as a major betrayal.

As the car disappeared down the lane, she waved at Anna, then turned to head back to the farmhouse. Marta was moving in with Tracy to help take care of the kids, and Isabel would be alone there. As he watched her walk toward the path, the roll he'd eaten for breakfast settled into a hard lump in his stomach. He might as well get this over with.

"Hold on," he said. "I've got something for you."

She turned. He took in the black sweater she'd knotted around her waist, the sleeves neatly crossed. Everything about her was tidy, except her feelings for him. Hadn't she figured out yet that she'd gotten caught up in the lure of the forbidden? And she wasn't the only one.

He picked up the script he'd left between the rails of the balustrade, carried it over to her, and held it out. "Take it."

She didn't say anything. She just looked at it.

"Go on. Read it."

She didn't get sarcastic as he would have. Instead, she nodded and tucked it under her arm.

As he watched her walk away, he reminded himself he was doing the right thing. But, God, he'd miss having her in his life. He'd miss everything about their time together...except the nagging certainty that he'd somehow corrupt her.

He spent the rest of the morning in the vineyard so he could avoid smoking his way through the nearest pack of cigarettes. As he listened to Massimo, he tried not to think about which scene Isabel might be reading at that moment or how she'd be reacting to it.

Instead, he watched the old man glance at the sky and ruminate on all the disasters that could still transpire before the next day'svendemmia – a sudden squall, an early frost that would turn the ripe fruit into dripping slime.

When he could no longer handle Massimo's gloom, he headed back to the villa, but it felt depressingly empty without the kids running around. He'd just decided to go for a swim when Giulia showed up looking for Isabel.

"She's at the farmhouse," he told her.

"Would you give this to her? She wanted me to call Paolo's granddaughter again and ask about the gifts he sent. I talked to Josie last night, and this is everything she remembered."

Ren took the piece of paper she held out and studied the list. It was made up of practical items, things for the house and garden: clay pots, a set of fireplace tools, a bedroom lamp, a key rack, bags of dried porcini, wine, olive oil. He tapped the paper with his finger.

"This lamp...maybe the base..."

"Alabaster – and too small. I asked."

"It was worth a try." He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Even though he had no belief in the statue's powers, he didn't like the fact that he hadn't been able to help them find it. As the current lord of the manor, he somehow felt as if he should have come up with a way to get it done.

After Giulia left, he headed for the pool to swim some laps. The water was chilly, but not cold enough to numb him, something he would have welcomed. When he got tired, he flipped to his back, and that was when he saw Isabel sitting by the umbrella.

She'd crossed her ankles and tucked them off to the side. Her straw hat shaded her face, and the script lay in her lap. He dove under, then resurfaced as far away from her as he could get in a cowardly desire to postpone the inevitable. Finally he pushed himself up onto the deck and grabbed his towel.

She watched him come toward her. Normally her battle to keep her eyes from drifting to his crotch would have amused him, but today he didn't feel like laughing.

"It's a great script," she said.

Apparently she'd decided to lull him before she went in for the kill. He played the world-weary movie star, sprawling down next to her, tilting his head back, and shutting his eyes against the sun. "Yeah."

"It's not too difficult to figure out why you didn't want me to see it."

A surly attitude was the quickest way to bring this to its ugly conclusion. "I'm not looking for any lectures."

"I won't give you any. This isn't a film I'd stand in line to watch, but I know I'll be the exception. The critics are going to love it, and so will audiences."

He popped open one eye. Instead of coming at him directly, she was setting him up for a sneak attack.

"I can see why you're excited about it," she went on. "This part is going to push you to your limits. You're at the place in your career right now where you need that."

He couldn't take any more, and he shot out of his chair. "He's a child molester!"

She blinked her eyes. "I know that's not what you signed on for, but it'll be an amazing performance challenge." She had the balls to smile at him. "You're sublimely talented, Ren, and you've been waiting your whole career for something like this."

He shoved a chair out of his way and headed across the pool deck. At that moment he almost hated her. She was so relentlessly reasonable, so unmercifully fair, and now he was going to have to spell out the details. "It seems to have escaped your attention that I was spending all that time withTracy's girls because I've been using them for research."

"Yes, I figured that out."

He whirled on her. "Steffie and Brittany! Those great little girls. Don't you understand?

I've been trying to get inside Street's skin and see them through his eyes."

The brim of her hat shaded her face, so he thought he mistook her expression. Then she shifted her head, and he saw he hadn't been mistaken at all. Her eyes were filled with sympathy. "I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you."

Right then he lost it. It wasn't enough for her to rip his skin off. She had to gnaw at his bones, too. "Goddamn it!" He hated her goodness, her compassion. He hated everything that set her apart from him. He had to get away, except his feet wouldn't move, and the next thing be knew, she had her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Poor Ren." She lay her cheek to his chest. "For all your sarcasm, you adore those little girls. Getting ready for this part must be awful."

He wanted to push her away, but she was balm to his wounds, and he drew her close instead. "They're so damn trusting."

"And you're completely trustworthy."

"I've been using them."

"You're scrupulous about your work. Of course you need to understand children to play the part. You haven't been a threat to those girls, not for a second."

"God, I know that, but..." She wasn't going to walk away. In the back of his mind he knew that meant he'd have to start all over again. But not today, not right now.

It defied logic, but he wanted to talk to her about it. He took a few steps back, putting just enough distance between them so he didn't have to worry about corrupting her. "The script... It's much better than Jenks's original concept. There are times the audience will actually be rooting for Street, even though he's a monster."

"That's what makes it brilliant and horrifying."

"It shows how seductive evil can be. Everybody who sees the film is going to have to look inside themselves. Jenks is brilliant. I know that. I just..." His mouth seemed to dry up.

"I understand."

"I'm turning into a goddamn wimp."

"Don't swear. And you've always been a wimp. But you're such a wonderful actor nobody's figured that out."

Isabel had hoped to make him smile, but he was too caught up in his inner turmoil for smiles. This explained why he'd been so prickly lately. As much as he wanted to play the part, he was also repulsed by it.

"It's Street's film," he said. "Nathan, the hero, is basically white wallpaper."

"You've never had any problem detaching from your characters in the past, and you won't have a problem detaching from this one."

She'd intended her words to comfort him, but he looked even more troubled.

"I don't understand you," he said. "You should hate this. Aren't you the big proponent of only sending good fairy dust out into the world?"

"That's the way I want to live my own life. But nothing's simple when it comes to art, is it? Artists have to interpret the world as they see it, and their vision can't always be beautiful."

"Do you think this film is art?"

"Yes. And so do you, or you wouldn't be putting yourself through this."

"It's just... I wish... Hell, I wish my agent had forced them to put my name over the title."

His bluster didn't fool her, and her heart ached for him. The fact that he was so obviously conflicted might mean he'd finally gotten tired of skulking down dark alleys. Maybe he'd be ready to play someone heroic when this was over. It was time he moved past his narrow view of himself, both as an actor and as a human being.

Now, however, his gaze held nothing but cynicism. "So you're giving me absolution for the sin I'm about to commit."

"Making this film isn't a sin. And I'm hardly in a position to offer absolution."

"You're the best I've got."

"Oh, Ren." She walked over to him and reached up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "When are you going to start seeing yourself for who you are instead of who you think you are?"

"Man, are you ever a pushover."

She reminded herself she was his lover, not his therapist, and it wasn't her job to fix him, especially when she hadn't made a dent in healing herself. She began to take a step backward, but he snagged her arm, his grip so tight it almost hurt. "Let's go."

She saw something that looked almost like desperation on his face. He pulled her to the farmhouse, to the bedroom. She knew that something was wrong, but she caught his fever anyway and tore at her clothes as urgently as he tore at his.

As they fell onto the mattress, she drew him upon her. She wanted him to drive away the premonition that it was all coming to an end faster than either of them could stop it. He gripped her behind the knees and spread her legs. Her orgasm was shattering but not joyous – a shadow racing across the sun.

*

Renwrapped a towel around his waist and headed down to the kitchen. He'd expected a lot of reactions out of her after she'd read the script, but acceptance – not to mention actual encouragement – hadn't been on the list. Just once he'd like her to behave the way he expected, but the fact that she never did was one more reason he couldn't seem to get enough of her.

He'd begun to feel something like...the word "panic" crept into his head, but he pushed it away. He didn't do panic, not even at the end of the film when he was enduring a predictably violent death. He just felt...unsettled, that was it.