me.”
“Affirmations are positive statements. A benevolent kind of thought control. For example, here’s one:
“And what’s this ‘Remember to breathe’ crap?”
“It’s not crap. It’s a reminder to stay centered.”
“Whatever that means.”
“It means staying calm. Refusing to be buffeted by every gust of wind that blows your way.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Sometimes boring is good.”
“Uh-huh.” He tapped the page. “ ‘Inspirational reading.’ Like
She let him have his fun.
“ ‘Be impulsive.’ “ He arched one of those exquisite eyebrows. “That’s gonna happen. And according to this schedule you should be writing now.”
“I’m planning.” She fiddled with the button on her blouse.
He folded the list and zeroed in on her with eyes that were far too perceptive. “You don’t have a clue what you’re going to write about next, do you?”
“I’m starting to make notes for a new book.”
“About what?”
“Overcoming personal crisis.” It was the first thing that popped into her head, and it seemed a logical choice.
“You’re kidding.”
His expression of disbelief made her testy. “I do know something about it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m overcoming my own.”
“I must have missed that part.”
“That’s your problem. You miss a lot.”
His irritating sympathy was back. “Stop pushing so hard, Isabel. Take some time off, and don’t try to force everything. Relax and have a little fun for a change.”
“And how would I do that? Oh, wait, I know. By going to bed with you, right?”
“That’d be my choice, but I guess everyone has a different idea of entertainment, so you can pick your own. No, on second thought, it’ll work out better for both of us if you let me do the picking.”
“Time’s a-wasting if you’re going for that run.”
He settled deeper into the chair. “You’ve been through a lot these past six months. Don’t you think you deserve a little breathing room?”
“The IRS wiped me out. I can’t afford breathing room. I have to get my career back on track so I can earn a living, and the only way I can do that is to work at it.” Even as she said it, she could feel little fingernails of panic trying to dig into her.
“There’s more than one way to work.”
“Your suggestion would be to do it on my back, right?”
“You can get on top if you want.”
She sighed.
He rose from the chair and turned toward the olive orchard. “What are Massimo and Giancarlo doing down there?”
“Something about a new sewer or a well, depending on the translation.”
He yawned again. “I’m going for my run, and then we’re both talking to Tracy. And don’t argue unless you want the untimely death of a pregnant woman and her four obnoxious kids on your conscience.”
“Oh, I’m not going to argue. I wouldn’t miss watching you go up in flames for the world.”
He scowled at her and took off.
An hour later she was changing the sheets on her bed when she heard him return and disappear into the bathroom. She smiled and crept to the door. It wasn’t long before she heard him yowl.
“I forgot to tell you,” she called out sweetly. “We don’t have any hot water.”
Tracy stood in the middle of the bedroom she’d taken over. Suitcases, clothes, and assorted toys littered the floor around her. While Ren leaned against the wall frowning at both of them, Isabel began separating the dirty clothes from the clean.
“Do you see why I divorced him?” Tracy looked red-eyed and tired, but still luscious in a mulberry bathing suit and matching cover-up. Isabel wondered how it felt to have such effortless beauty. Tracy and Ren were a matched set.
“He’s a cold, unfeeling son of a bitch. That’s why I divorced him.”
“I’m not unfeeling.” Ren definitely sounded unfeeling. “But I told you, with Isabel’s delicate nervous condition…”
“Do you have a delicate nervous condition, Isabel?”
“Not unless you count a major life crisis.” She dropped a T-shirt into the dirty pile, then began refolding a stack of clean underwear. The children were in the kitchen with Anna and Marta, but much like Ren, they’d left signs of their presence everywhere.
“Are the kids bothering you?” Tracy asked.
“They’re terrific. I’m enjoying them very much.” Isabel wondered if Tracy understood that her children’s various behavior problems were almost certainly rooted in the tension they’d picked up from their parents.
“That’s not the point,” Ren said. “The point is that you barged in here without any warning and-”
“Will you think about someone other than yourself for once?” Tracy threw down a GameBoy, disturbing Isabel’s carefully folded pile. “I can’t lock up four active children in a hotel room.”
“Suite! I’ll get you a suite.”
“And you’re my oldest friend. If a person’s oldest friend won’t help her when she’s in trouble, who will?”
“Newer friends. Your parents. What about your cousin Petrina?”
“I’ve detested Petrina ever since we were debutantes. Don’t you remember how she tried to hit on you? Besides, none of those people happen to be in Europe right now.”
“Which is another reason you should fly home. I’m no expert on pregnant women, but I understand they need familiar surroundings.”
“Maybe in the eighteenth century.” Tracy made a helpless gesture toward Isabel. “Could you recommend a good therapist? Twice I’ve married men with stone where their hearts should be, so I obviously need help. Although at least Ren didn’t screw around on me.”
Isabel moved the clothes she’d folded out of the line of fire. “Your husband’s been unfaithful?”
Tracy’s voice grew unsteady. “He won’t admit it.”
“But you think he’s having an affair.”
“I caught them together. A hot little Swiss miss from his office. He… hated it when I got pregnant again.” She blinked hard. “This is his revenge.”
Isabel felt herself developing a good solid dislike for Mr. Harry Briggs.
Tracy tilted her head so that her hair fell over one shoulder. “Be reasonable, Ren. I’m not moving in here forever. I just need a few weeks to get my head together before I have to face everybody back home.”
“A few
“The kids and I’ll spend all our time at the pool. You won’t even know we’re here.”
“Brittany Briggs, you come back here!” Tracy rushed after her, hips waddling. “Brittany!”
Ren shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that’s the same girl who used to throw a fit if her maid woke her before noon.”
“She’s a lot more fragile than she’s letting on. That’s why she’s come to you. You realize, don’t you, that you have to let her stay?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” He grabbed her arm, and she barely had time to snatch her straw hat from the bed before he pushed her out the door. “I’ll buy you an espresso in town and one of those pornographic calendars
