Family Ties

“It’s a reward for the sprained ankle and being a very brave girl about everything you do.” What he said brought tears to her eyes. “I’ve never known anyone who handled so much and does so much and does it well. I’d just love to get you to handle a little less, so we have time for us,” he said gently. This was a great place to learn. She felt completely removed from real life, even the kids, although they knew how to reach her and where they were. And she had promised herself not to talk about them constantly for the next three days.

They walked on the beach that night before they went to bed and swam in their private pool. They both wore bathing suits since they hadn’t crossed that bridge yet, and they talked for hours in the moonlight, and when they finally went to bed, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to share a bedroom. She lay in Tom’s arms, totally at ease with him. She was shivering a little, but it was anticipation, not terror, and neither of them was disappointed. It was exactly what they had hoped it would be, two halves coming together as one whole. They both felt as though it was meant to be.

They sat on their terrace naked afterward, holding hands and kissing, and swam in the pool again, naked this time, and then they went back to the bed where they had discovered each other and lay cuddled close all night. They slept like children and woke up early and made love again. It was noon when they ordered breakfast on their terrace, and they went for a walk on the beach afterward. They were in and out of the ocean all day and had dinner on their terrace that night. They made love in the pool. They laughed at silly things. And Annie told him about losing her sister while Tom held her. They talked about their childhoods, their hopes, their disappointments, their dreams. They learned each other’s bodies and it really was a honeymoon. It was the foundation they had needed, the time away from everything.

By the end of three days their bodies had meshed together, their hearts, and their souls. Annie had never been as comfortable with anyone in her life, and Tom felt more married to her than he had to his wife. They had been so different and had had so little in common. That had been all about passion and it burned out very quickly. This was about something so much deeper. Annie felt as though they shared one soul. What they shared defined kindred spirit or soul mate. She never wanted to leave, and they had to tear themselves away on Sunday. Annie told him she would never be able to thank him enough for what he’d done by giving them this vacation.

They sat on the terrace on Sunday morning, trying to figure out where to go from here. The children she had raised were adults now and certainly old enough to understand his spending a night or weekend with her, although they both suspected it would be more peaceful at his place. They talked about living together at some point, and he asked her how she felt about marriage. She wasn’t sure she cared. That had stopped being a goal or even a possibility for her a long time ago, although it was an option again now. In the end, they decided to play it by ear and see how things went. And they made a vow to each other to at least try not to let everyone intrude on them, and to make their relationship a priority. She didn’t care about how much he had to travel for work. And he said he was fine with her work and the kids, as long as there was room in all of it for him too. Their relationship would start in earnest when they left the Turks and Caicos, and they left the villa hand in hand. They both looked back at it and smiled, knowing that they would never forget it. It was the place where their love was born.

On the day Annie and Tom had left for the Turks and Caicos, Lizzie was in her office at Vogue, doing research for a story for the June issue. She had a temporary assistant who buzzed her on the intercom to tell her that she had a call from someone named George. Mr. George, she corrected herself. It sounded like a hairdresser, and Liz had no idea who it was. She started to tell her to take a message, then picked up the call herself. It was faster than explaining it.

“Yes? Liz Marshall,” she said in her official voice. The voice that answered her had a heavy Italian accent but spoke English fluently. She didn’t know who it was at first, and then he introduced himself again. Alessandro di Giorgio, the Roman jeweler who had saved her hide at the shoot in the Place Vendome. That had been more than a month before.

“Oh, hello!” she said, embarrassed not to have recognized him. “What can I do for you? Are you calling from Rome?” She had promised him advance copies of the piece, but they weren’t ready yet.

“No, I’m in New York,” he explained. “I’m just calling to say hello.” A lot of jewelers kept in touch to keep themselves foremost in her mind, so she wasn’t surprised to hear from him, although she had never had direct contact with him until she met him in Paris. And she hadn’t heard from him since.

“What happened with the emir’s wife? Did she buy any of the other pieces?” She remembered that he had brought the pieces to Paris for her.

“She bought all five pieces that you photographed. She’s very excited that they’re going to be in Vogue.” Liz recalled that it represented five or six million dollars’ worth of jewelry, which was very impressive. But di Giorgio was an important name.

“What are you doing in New York?” Liz asked politely. He was a pleasant man, and he had certainly helped her out.

“I’m looking at a store, but I can’t decide if we should open one here. It’s always been a debate between my father and myself. He thinks yes, I say no. I prefer to stay more exclusive and in Europe. He wants to open in New York, Tokyo, and Dubai.” He laughed then. “In this case the elder is the more modern in his thinking, and I am more conservative. I don’t know. Perhaps we should open here. I am here to look at some stores that are available. And I called to see if you would like to have lunch, if you have time. Will you be in the city this weekend?” Liz liked to get away on weekends when she could, but most of the time she was working, on research or shoots. Sometimes she worked a seven-day week. And she had hoped to go skiing that weekend, but her plan had fallen through.

“Actually, I’ll be here,” she said pleasantly.

“Are you free for lunch on Saturday? I’m staying at the Sherry-Netherland, and Harry Cipriani downstairs is very nice.” It was one of her favorite restaurants, and one of the most fashionable in New York. She smiled. He made it sound like a little bistro that happened to be in his hotel.

“I’d like that. I’ll meet you there.”

“I can pick you up if you like,” he suggested.

“I live downtown, it’s too far away. I’ll just meet you at the restaurant.” He was very gentlemanly and had courtly old-fashioned manners that were rare in the States, but she liked it. It gave her the feeling that he was protecting her. She’d had the same feeling about him in Paris.

Liz met him the next day at Harry Cipriani, in black pants, a black sweater, and towering Balenciaga heels. He was a lot taller than she was, and they made a striking couple as they walked into the restaurant together. He had been waiting for her outside. She wore her long blond hair down, and she was wearing a vintage lynx coat that she had bought in Paris. They looked very glamorous together, and Alessandro spoke to the headwaiter in Italian, in a deep rumbling voice that sounded like most of the men Liz had met in Rome and Milan.

He was fun to talk to and told her endless stories about their stores and the business, some of their famous clients who had done outrageous things over the years. None of it was mean-spirited, and he made her laugh all through lunch. They had a great time together, and it was four o’clock when they left the restaurant.

“Would you like to see the stores I’m considering?” he asked her. They were all on Madison Avenue and not far away. They walked a block over to Madison, and there were three of them, all with huge spaces and enormous rents. He didn’t fall in love with any of them, and she didn’t either. There was something very cold about them.

“My aunt is an architect. You should have her design something for you,” Liz suggested offhandedly. It was more in jest than a serious suggestion, but he looked as though he liked the idea. And then as a casual aside, Liz said that she had grown up with her and she was like a mother to her.

“Your parents left you with her?” He seemed surprised. She hadn’t mentioned it over lunch, but they hadn’t shared any personal details. She knew he was single and had a sister who was in the business too. She handled publicity, not design.

“My parents died when I was twelve,” Liz said simply. “My aunt brought up my brother, my sister, and me. I’m the oldest.” He looked deeply touched as she said it.

“That must have been terrible for you,” he said sympathetically, “to lose your parents at such a young age. I can’t imagine it. I’m very close to my parents and my sister, my grandparents. Italian families are like that.”

“So are we. I’m very close to my aunt and siblings.”

“She must be a very nice woman to have taken care of you. Does she have children too? Your cousins?”

“No. She’s single. She never married. She was too busy with us. She was twenty-six when it happened. She’s been great to us.” He looked enormously impressed and very touched by what she’d told him. They walked back down Madison Avenue, and it was five o’clock by then. She thanked him for lunch, and he offered to take her