months ago. They have amazing stuff, don’t they?”
Gwyn agreed, then, as she set a pot of water to boil and the conversation lulled, she screwed up her courage and said, “I, um, lived in Charleston before I came here. I’m not trying to pry,” she hurried to add. “I just thought I should tell you that I couldn’t help but be aware of all the coverage about your husband. Um, first husband, I mean.”
Lauren’s expression smoothed to something very grave, gaze sliding away to hide her thoughts. “It was a heartbreaking time.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Gwyn said quickly, feeling it was the decent thing to say to the widow of a war hero, but it wasn’t why she’d brought it up. She wasn’t asking the big question that had been on everyone else’s mind at the time: had Lauren slept with her husband’s best friend the night she had learned her husband was dead? The answer to that was outside throwing rocks into the lake, as far as Gwyn could tell.
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it except... Is it bad taste to ask how you handled all the attention?” Gwyn asked.
Lauren smiled with empathy. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? People so love to judge.” She opened a cupboard and drew out a box of linguine noodles. “I guess you make peace with whatever you’ve done to get yourself into that situation and accept that you can’t control what others think or say. It’s what you think of yourself that matters.”
“I’m obsessed with what other people think,” Gwyn admitted glumly. She had a childhood full of starting new schools, being teased for being first to wear a bra, then constantly being underestimated because she was smarter than anyone expected from a girl with good looks.
Her mother had nursed the same sort of angst, having quite an inferiority complex due to an orphan’s upbringing. Sometimes Gwyn wondered if that had been her mother’s reason for moving so often—part habit, but also a continuous attempt to reinvent herself in hopes of ever-elusive acceptance.
For Gwyn, landing this job in Milan had been her first step in believing she really was good enough and smart enough to earn respect on her own merit, but she was seriously struggling to believe in herself now.
And while she could dismiss the dim views of strangers and comfort herself with the knowledge she hadn’t done anything to deserve the humiliation she was suffering, she was acutely sensitive to what Vito might be thinking of her.
Why? Why couldn’t she shrug off his judgment of her?
Because he affected her on every level, she acknowledged. Because he had literally controlled how she felt in the car today, working ecstasy through her. If he had the power to make her feel good, he also had the power to devastate her.
She started to blush, feeling the heat rise from deep spaces to become a hot glow on her cheeks. Such power. She wished she could get him out from under her skin!
“My turn to pry,” Lauren said, handing Gwyn a bag of mushrooms, scanning Gwyn’s guilty pink cheeks with interest. “This thing with you and Vito. Have you really been seeing him? Or is it just for show?”
“What?” Gwyn said dumbly, nerveless fingers nearly losing the featherweight of the bag.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Lauren said with a teasing twinkle in her eye. “I’m being nosy because he’s one of my favorite people, but I realize there are things at the bank that can’t be discussed. Believe me, I know.” She made a face of long suffering. “But...” She sent Gwyn a cagey look as she moved to the sink. “I have a feeling that if he’d been seeing you before this story broke, I would have known.”
“What do you mean?” Gwyn asked, knocked off balance by something she couldn’t identify. Was she suggesting Vito acted differently around her? Lauren had only seen them together for a minute and a half before they’d come inside and the men had gone to the beach.
“I don’t know. There’s
Gwyn agreed, then, as she set a pot of water to boil and the conversation lulled, she screwed up her courage and said, “I, um, lived in Charleston before I came here. I’m not trying to pry,” she hurried to add. “I just thought I should tell you that I couldn’t help but be aware of all the coverage about your husband. Um, first husband, I mean.”
Lauren’s expression smoothed to something very grave, gaze sliding away to hide her thoughts. “It was a heartbreaking time.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Gwyn said quickly, feeling it was the decent thing to say to the widow of a war hero, but it wasn’t why she’d brought it up. She wasn’t asking the big question that had been on everyone else’s mind at the time: had Lauren slept with her husband’s best friend the night she had learned her husband was dead? The answer to that was outside throwing rocks into the lake, as far as Gwyn could tell.
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it except... Is it bad taste to ask how you handled all the attention?” Gwyn asked.
Lauren smiled with empathy. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? People so love to judge.” She opened a cupboard and drew out a box of linguine noodles. “I guess you make peace with whatever you’ve done to get yourself into that situation and accept that you can’t control what others think or say. It’s what you think of yourself that matters.”
“I’m obsessed with what other people think,” Gwyn admitted glumly. She had a childhood full of starting new schools, being teased for being first to wear a bra, then constantly being underestimated because she was smarter than anyone expected from a girl with good looks.
Her mother had nursed the same sort of angst, having quite an inferiority complex due to an orphan’s upbringing. Sometimes Gwyn wondered if that had been her mother’s reason for moving so often—part habit, but also a continuous attempt to reinvent herself in hopes of ever-elusive acceptance.
For Gwyn, landing this job in Milan had been her first step in believing she really was good enough and smart enough to earn respect on her own merit, but she was seriously struggling to believe in herself now.
And while she could dismiss the dim views of strangers and comfort herself with the knowledge she hadn’t done anything to deserve the humiliation she was suffering, she was acutely sensitive to what Vito might be thinking of her.
Why? Why couldn’t she shrug off his judgment of her?
Because he affected her on every level, she acknowledged. Because he had literally controlled how she felt in the car today, working ecstasy through her. If he had the power to make her feel good, he also had the power to devastate her.
She started to blush, feeling the heat rise from deep spaces to become a hot glow on her cheeks. Such power. She wished she could get him out from under her skin!
“My turn to pry,” Lauren said, handing Gwyn a bag of mushrooms, scanning Gwyn’s guilty pink cheeks with interest. “This thing with you and Vito. Have you really been seeing him? Or is it just for show?”
“What?” Gwyn said dumbly, nerveless fingers nearly losing the featherweight of the bag.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Lauren said with a teasing twinkle in her eye. “I’m being nosy because he’s one of my favorite people, but I realize there are things at the bank that can’t be discussed. Believe me, I know.” She made a face of long suffering. “But...” She sent Gwyn a cagey look as she moved to the sink. “I have a feeling that if he’d been seeing you before this story broke, I would have known.”
“What do you mean?” Gwyn asked, knocked off balance by something she couldn’t identify. Was she suggesting Vito acted differently around her? Lauren had only seen them together for a minute and a half before they’d come inside and the men had gone to the beach.
“I don’t know. There’s
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