Widow - Anne Stuart [48]
“You’ve gotten fat,” Gia said.
Charlie only shrugged. “Maybe by Pompasse’s standards. But I don’t live by them anymore.”
Gia had a desperate expression on her face, and Charlie could see her mentally searching for something to replace it with. “Maguire thinks you’re fat, too,” she said.
Charlie made the mistake of laughing. “I don’t care what Maguire thinks. I told you, have him.”
“He isn’t yours to give. He doesn’t want you, he wants me….”
“Wonderful. Then maybe he’ll leave me alone.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she realized what a mistake they were. Gia had wanted everything of Charlie’s, whether it was precious to her or not. She wanted Pompasse, she wanted Charlie’s clothes and jewelry and bedroom, she wanted the attention of any man in the vicinity. For her to realize that Maguire had expressed any kind of interest in Charlie was to seal his fate.
Though why the hell should she care if Gia attached herself to Maguire? If anything, she should encourage her. The two of them deserved each other, and that way maybe she’d get some peace.
Gia stretched and climbed off the bed with her usual feline grace. “I’m pleased you approve. I’ll go find him.”
“I’m so glad you’re not wasting time with an extended period of mourning,” she called after her.
It was a cheap shot, but Charlie’s usual calm had deserted her that day, and she wanted to lash out at someone. Unfortunately it was far too effective. Gia froze in the doorway, and her olive skin paled as her huge almond-shaped eyes filled with tears.
“I shouldn’t have said that….” Charlie said, taking a step toward her, but by that time Gia had whirled around and left.
Leaving Charlie alone, guilty and ready to weep herself.
Even beyond the grave Pompasse was having a destructive effect on her life, she thought, throwing herself down on the rumpled bed that Gia had recently abandoned. She’d been in Tuscany less than two days and already she’d turned angry, upset and uncertain.
Though in actual fact, it was Maguire who was disturbing her. Not Pompasse.
Even if he hadn’t let her go completely, she’d escaped. She mourned the passing of a great artist, she mourned the death of someone she had once revered. But her heart wasn’t broken. He was old and it was his time.
She just wished a bolt of lightning would strike Maguire to make things a little more comfortable.
However, Gia in full form was comparable to a bolt of lightning. He wouldn’t know what hit him, and she’d manage to keep him out of Charlie’s way for as long as it took him to finish his work.
So why wasn’t she feeling happier about it?
12
Maguire wasn’t particularly pleased coming out from his shower to find Gia Schiavone in his room, wearing a skimpy outfit of shorts and a halter top. Granted, she was gorgeous enough in a dour, Mediterranean fashion, and normally he would have been tempted, but for some reason all he could think about was Charlie.
Gia pushed back her dark hair and smiled at him, with more warmth than she’d shown so far. “Hi, there,” she purred.
He grunted something in reply, about to order her out, when his common sense stopped him. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he arrived, a fact that had not bothered him in the slightest. But she would know a lot more about Pompasse’s recent activities than Charlie would, and he’d be a fool not to find out everything he could, particularly when she seemed so willing.
He summoned a half smile and sat down on the end of the bed, reaching for his shoes. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked in a wry voice.
“I thought we should be friends,” Gia replied. “I haven’t been very nice to you. It’s been a very sad time for me, losing the great love of my life.”
“You mean Pompasse?”
“Of course I mean Pompasse,” she snapped, some of her melting sorrow vanishing in irritation. “I adored him, worshiped him, gave him my youth…”
“Honey, how old are you? Twenty? Trust me, your youth isn’t gone.”
“Twenty-four.”
“Still a child,” he said. “And don’t worry—if you’ve been standoffish