This takes place after Section is shut down.

*********************

All of his intel said this was the place, but getting out of the cab, Michael momentarily hesitated.

Before him was the bright turquoise blue Mediterranean. Hundreds of feet below him waves crashed on the rocky shore; over his shoulder, buildings and trees clung to the rocky face of the earth. There were some restaurants facing the sea -- everything faced the sea here -- and the vegetation was lush and green. Michael looked over his shoulder at the hotels clustered on the rock, then, nearly sick with apprehension and blood loss, he paid the cab driver and slowly made his way into the entrance of Number 44, his laptop clutched in one hand.

The registration desk of the Hotel Lucia was on the top floor; Michael pressed the elevator button and leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. The elevator finally shuddered open and he cautiously got in and pressed six. After a long wait, the doors finally slid open onto a patio that looked out to the sea.

Michael stepped out and slowly made his way to the railing.

He was far away, but he could still hear the roar of the sea below. Now that he was higher up, he could also see the distinct line in the ocean where the shore dropped away, giving way to the ocean. It was pale blue close into the shore; then dark, bright blue farther out. There was something comforting in the color of the water, something familiar, and he involuntarily relaxed, feeling, for perhaps the first time in days, relatively calm. The patio was littered with umbrellaed tables and pots of healthy geraniums; some of the flagstones had been dug up to let a tree or two through. One, heavy with lemons as big as grapefruit, had branches nearly touching the ground and Michael absently picked a lemon, holding it to his nose to catch the fresh, sun-drenched scent of citrus.

He felt a little dizzy, but whether it was from the height or the fact that he had a slow-seeping wound in his side, he wasn’t sure. No one was around. The patio, which he would have supposed would have been full of people having a late lunch or early tea, was empty except for a few curious birds pecking around for crumbs left over from breakfast.

Finally, Michael turned around and went inside. There was a bar -- deserted -- and the front desk -- also deserted. No bell to ring, and really, he didn’t want to ring for anyone. Slowly, he made his way around the desk and went into the back of the hotel.

Somewhere, someone was singing. A wave of dizziness swept over Michael; he leaned heavily against the wall, then, once it passed, inched his way toward the voice.

He reached the kitchen. A radio was playing -- that was the singing he’d heard. Two large, industrial range stoves stood along one wall with a small work sink; a door opened to a small outside courtyard, bringing in the smell of tangy ocean air and green growing things. The window was open too, and the breeze billowed the curtains first inward, then outward. Under the window was a large double sink. And under the sink were a pair of blue-jean clad legs.

All around the legs were tools: a wrench, a hammer ... forceps. Unable to stand any longer, Michael pulled out a chair tucked under the kitchen table and collapsed into it, swinging the laptop to the tabletop.

In quick Italian, the person under the sink said, “Aldo ... can you hand me the small wrench? I’ve almost got it ...”

Michael didn’t move.

“Aldo --?”

The blue jean legs wriggled out a bit, then Nikita sat up. Her chin dropped and her eyes opened wide. “M-Michael?”

“Hello, Nikita.”

Slowly, Nikita stood, her face paling. She wiped her grimy hands across the seat of her pants, and watching him warily, she said, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a long time, Nikita,” Michael said softly.

“Five years.”

“Yes.”

“Are you still ... with Section Seven?”

“No.” He didn’t say anything else, and Nikita, not coming too close, pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

She cleared her throat. “Have ... have you come to take me back to Section?”

“There isn’t a Section anymore.”

Nikita absorbed this information silently. He felt her eyes studying his face, his hands. He wore a black jacket -- always black -- so she couldn’t see that blood stained his coat. But her eyes narrowed slightly, and she said flatly, “You’re injured, aren’t you?”

With a sigh, she rose, and going to the other sink -- the one which functioned -- she scrubbed her hands to her elbows, dried them off and efficiently but gently, helped him out of his coat. He winced as she tugged it off, then, still not saying anything, she began to unbutton his shirt. He took an involuntary gasp of air, and Nikita, sighing, got a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his shirt off.

She surveyed his make-shift patch-up job. “When did this happen?”

“Two days ago.”

She sighed again. “Two days ... you know what that means, Michael: it’s sure to be infected.”

“The bullet went through,” he said, faintly.

“Sure, it did,” she said skeptically. She touched the wound again and he shivered. “Michael, this isn’t going to work with you sober.”

“I’m not taking any medication --”

“Yeah, you are, too. But first, you’re going to get drunk. And since we don’t have a lot of time, this’ll have to do.” Nikita slapped a slender bottle half-full of yellow liquid and Michael blanched.

“What is it?”

“It’s 38 percent alcohol, that’s what it is.” She poured him a small glass full and he took a cautious sip.

“It’s sweet,” he said, outraged.

“It’s Lemoncello; it’s made out of lemons, sugar and alcohol. Drink up.”

Michael drank; Nikita watched his eyes, and when he was sufficiently impaired, she began peeling away layers of blood-soaked bandages. He woozily watched her lay them on the table; he didn’t feel the cool water she washed his wound with, and he didn’t really pay attention to what she was saying, either; her voice was soothing and familiar, and he felt his eyes began to slide shut.

Somewhere, a door banged and a child’s voice pierced through Michael’s fog.

“Mami -- Mami, I’m home -- I brought my grades --”

He felt Nikita’s hand guide his hand to his side, and he obediently held her work in place while she went to the door. He wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t understand what she said, though. “Wait for me in your bedroom. I don’t want you to come in here now.” Her Italian is good, Michael thought, feeling proud and nauseous at the same time.

A small voice answered her in Italian, “I want to come in --”

“I said no. Now go on --” Nikita’s voice was gentle, but firm. “I’ll come get you in half an hour.”

“But I want to tell you about the last day of school. And I’m hungry --”

Nikita closed the door, quickly gathered a bottle of milk and the cookie jar and thrust them out at the waiting child. “Here.”

“The whole jar?”

“Go. Stay in your room, love, and I’ll come in a few minutes. I want to hear all about it, but not right now.”

Finally, the child left and Nikita, after locking the interior door and the courtyard door, sat back down with Michael. She gently lowered his hand and continued her work.

“Nikita.” It was hard for him to talk, and he had to force the words out of his mouth. His tongue felt ... funny. Numb. Like the rest of him. With great difficulty, he mumbled, “You have a child?”

She looked up briefly, layered more gauze on his side and said briefly, “Yes.”

“I always thought ... you’d make a good mother ...”

“Mmmm ... that’s debatable, since I just gave her a whole jar of cookies.” She taped the last of the gauze on and sat back. “How does that feel?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

She smiled. “Good.” She stood and gathered up the bloody bandages and the duct tape he’d used to tape himself up and deposited the whole mess, along with his shirt and jacket, in the garbage. Michael watched her, dazed, as she dug around in the garbage, hiding the evidence of her handiwork. “I can’t let her see this -- blood upsets her,” Nikita explained lamely, seeing his expression. When she came to help him out of his chair, he clung to her.

“Tell me about your little girl.”

Nikita hesitated. “Later,” she said firmly. She put an arm around him, opened up the back door, and they stepped into the warm sun. “Can you do steps?”

“Okay,” Michael agreed hazily, and Nikita slowly guided him through a laundry room then back outside to the patio at the front of the hotel. She led him up a flight of stone stairs. Ivy clung to the rock face to their right; to their left, the ocean stretched out to the horizon. He noticed at the far end of the patio the elevator doors opened and some people, laden with shopping bags, chatted and meandered across the flagstones, stopping to admire the view.

They reached the top of the stairs and Nikita propped Michael against the stone wall. She got out her Z-key, unlocked the door and led him in. “It’s our honeymoon suite,” she said, her arm still around him. “It’s quiet and secluded and no one will bother you.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed again. Nikita leaned him against another wall, folded down the bed, and, while he was still upright, helped him off with his pants. Then she sat him down on the edge of the bed, pulled his shoes, socks and pants off and gave him a gentle push backward.

Michael’s head hit the pillow and his eyes slid shut. He didn’t see her pull the shutters on the two windows and he didn’t see her give him one last, speculative look before she shut the door firmly and locked him in.

***************

Sometime, very late at night, Michael woke, unsure of where he was or what time it was. The only things he knew for certain was, he had to go to the bathroom and his side and head hurt like hell. He groaned and tried to sit up.

Something scratched at the door, then it swung open. A pencil-thin flashlight pierced the darkness. “Michael, it’s me ...”

“Nikita?”

“I wanted to check on you before I went to bed. How do you feel?”

“Sober.”

She helped him out of bed and pointed him to the bathroom; when he was finished, he came back into the bedroom.

One of the lights was on, and Nikita had opened one window. The honeymoon room was large; the ceiling was low, but the floor was tile and cool on hot nights. The sea below looked like a large black mirror, reflecting the moon above. Nikita had laid out a light meal, and she pulled out a chair for him. “Thank you,” Michael said.

“You’re welcome.” No wine this time -- she poured him some icy lemon-flavored water and pushed a plate full of cold cuts, cheese and bread toward him. “Eat.”

He ate in silence, and finally, when he was full, he remarked, “It’s a strange thing, eating dinner with a dead woman.”

She stiffened and took a drink of her water.

“You want to tell me how you ended up here?” Michael asked.

From her shirt pocket Nikita pulled out a candy bar and broke it evenly down the middle, giving half to Michael. “Okay,” she said finally, “But you have to tell me why you’re here, first.”

“Long version or short version?”

“I’ve got all night. You choose.”

Michael looked out the window, gathering his thoughts, then said finally, “After you died ...” his voice stuck, and he took a long drink of water. “After you died,” he repeated, matter-of-factly, “Some changes were made in the Sections.”

“What kind of changes?”

“Oversight uncovered some discrepancies that, at first, seemed insignificant. Then they realized the discrepancies were just the tip of the iceberg and they called me in to testify.”

“Testify against whom?”

“Section One.” Michael took another drink. “It was decided to close it down.”

“Just Section One?”

“All of them.”

Nikita stared at him, eyes wide. “But how ... how did you get out? I thought when something like that happened ... everyone was canceled.”

“Because of the nature of the discrepancies, most operatives were reassigned to other government agencies,” Michael said. He broke off another piece of Parmesan and took a bite.

“I can’t believe that,” Nikita said.

“It’s true. Birkhoff manages the IS systems for the government.”

“The agencies don’t even work together.”

“They don’t,” Michael agreed, “But he ensures their systems are tight. Since he’s been in charge, they’ve not had any incidences of hackers ... either governmental or otherwise.”

“Operations?”

“He’s with the CIA.”

“He must hate that.”

“He’s ... different now, Nikita.”

“Different how?”

“He’s improved their operations, of course. He’s dating someone. He’s ... happy.”

“What about Madeleine?”

“She’s with the agency, too. She’s their top profiler. Very useful.”

“Walter?”

“Walter,” Michael said softly, “Is why I’m here.”

Nikita raised her eyebrows, and when Michael didn’t say anything, she asked, “He’s dead? Is that why you’re here?”

“He saw you six months ago in Naples.”

Nikita blinked. “It took you six months to find me?”

“You aren’t exactly ... easy to find.”

“I didn’t see him,” Nikita said, sounding sad. “Where --?”

“In the old city.”

“I try to avoid big cities. But ... I went to Naples to buy sheets,” she said slowly. “There was a hotel going out of business and we needed some sheets for the Lucia. So I went in to see what I could get. Then, I ... I did some shopping in the old city. Spices, I think I was looking for spices, and they have a good shop there for things like that. I hardly ever go into Naples ... what was Walter doing there?”

“Vacation, I think.”

“So ...” Nikita took another drink of water and looked at Michael across the table. “If you aren’t here to bring me back ... why are you here, Michael?”

“I had to confirm his report,” Michael said. “But ...”

“Yes?” Nikita prompted.

“I wanted to see you.”

“It is too bad,” Nikita said, sounding sad, “That you didn’t want to see me five years ago.”

“I did,” he said, voice tight.

“What do you mean?”

“Nine months after I was transferred ... I requested a transfer for you, too. They granted it. But you were on a mission. After you got back, they said, you could come to Seven. But the mission lasted longer than it was supposed to.” His voice had fallen to almost a whisper, and he swallowed. “Then, I heard your team was ... that there were no survivors. I checked the data twice. I sent someone to check the area. They didn’t find anything positive. I decided you died because of the transfer request. I thought for some reason, they didn’t want to let you into Seven. That if I hadn’t requested you, you would have made it out alive.”

Nikita reached across the table and laced her fingers tightly through his. “I waited for you,” she said softly, “I thought you’d come. But you didn’t ...”

“Why didn’t you contact Section?” His voice sounded more accusing than he wanted it to, and Nikita bit her lip.

“I was going to. But then, things happened and I ... I couldn’t, Michael.”

“What things?”

Nikita bit her lip again, withdrew her hand and said carefully, “I didn’t know about your transfer request for me. If I had known, I would have contacted you. But Michael, by that time, you’d been gone for a year. Even when you were gone on missions, you always contacted me some way. I didn’t hear from you ... what else could I think? I thought ... I hoped ... that you were happy ...”

“In Section?” he asked, incredulous.

“I don’t know what Seven was like,” Nikita said defensively. “For all I knew, it was totally different from One. Then they sent me to Yugoslavia. Then to Kosovo. We were going to assassinate -- well, it doesn’t matter. The mission went sour and we ended up in a mine field, no transport, no food, no nothing.”

“What did you do?”

“Our com units weren’t working. We’d lost most of the team when they stepped on an undetected land mine. It was me and one other guy ... do you remember Jennings?”

Michael nodded.

“So,” Nikita said tiredly, “There we were, me and Jennings, in the middle of a Kosovar field, no one around, not even locals, because they’d all been killed. Well, most of them.” Nikita swallowed and, her voice thick with emotion, she said, “We could see a farmhouse. So Jennings said he’d go first. I was to follow his footsteps. That way maybe we’d make it without getting blown up.”

“And did you?”

“I did. He didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “But the worst was, no one was at the farmhouse. I kept hearing something ... a cat or something. So I went back outside ... and I found the owners.” Tears pooled in her eyes; she blinked furiously and said stiffly, “They’d been shot. Probably days before. I don’t know why their baby wasn’t killed too, but it wasn’t. I guess they just left it to die, I don’t know. She was so little and so skinny, I never expected her to live, Michael.”

“How old ...?”

“She was about two then.” Nikita swiped at her eyes and her voice steadied. “The only words she could say clearly were her name, Milla, and Mama and Papa.”

“What did you do?”

“I took her inside, cleaned her up, found a little bit of food the soldiers had left, and we waited for you. Then the food ran out and I got scared because a farmhouse ... it was a perfect target for soldiers, and there were a lot of them around, looking for food, for valuables ... not that there was anything valuable there ... so we started walking. I decided the best thing to do was to get her to a refugee camp and then I’d call Section.”

“Why didn’t you contact me?”

“Michael, it wasn’t like I could pick up the phone and call. My cell phone was gone. None of my com devices worked. I didn’t have a computer, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered; there wasn’t any power and all the phone lines were down in that part of the country. But I figured I’d leave Milla at a camp and find the nearest UN worker and get through that way.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“The first camp we found ... it was awful, Michael. The first thing I saw was a huge mass grave. They’d had a typhus outbreak and were trying to bury everyone fast. If I’d left her, she’d have died. So we went to the next camp. It was better, but not much. She was so little, I couldn’t just leave her. So I stayed with her. And when they shipped us out, I went along. I tried to call you several times. But all the codes that I knew were changed. I couldn’t get through. ”

“No one questioned you at the refugee camps?”

“No one else had papers or identification cards or anything, either,” Nikita said. “It wasn’t hard to tag along.”

“You could have left the child with someone else. A social worker, someone. Then made your way to a substation and come back in.”

“I couldn’t. Michael, she needed me.” Though she didn’t say anything else, Michael heard her implied statement And you didn’t.

“So you were deported,” Michael encouraged her.

“They took us to Italy. They processed us, gave us some money, and I headed for the nearest orphanage. By now, two months had gone by and I knew that when I got back to Section they’d have to retrain me, which I wasn’t looking forward to but I was prepared to do. But I also didn’t think another week would make a lot of difference one way or another, so we started checking out orphanages. None of them would take her.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You won’t once you see her,” Nikita said, offering no explanation. “But by that time, we were near Sorrento. The Lucia needed a housekeeper and I needed the money, and Milla was getting tired of going all the time; I was afraid she’d get sick. It was pretty here, and I thought ... I hoped someone would want to take Milla for their own. So I got a job here.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?”

“Pretty much,” Nikita shrugged. “I never really expected to stay here long. I always expected I’d go back to Section. But then Aldo retired ... he’s the owner ... and he sort of gave me the hotel because his kids didn’t want it, and then Milla started school last year ...”

“If I’d known where you were, I would have come sooner,” Michael said softly.

“I didn’t even think you cared,” Nikita said simply. Then she got up, kissed the top of his head, and headed for the door. She stopped short suddenly and turned back to him. “Michael. The person who shot you --”

“Mistaken identity,” he said briefly, and when she narrowed her eyes, he elaborated, “I know I wasn’t recognized.”

“How?”

“Because he accused me of impregnating his wife. Then he killed himself.”

She still looked skeptical, and Michael sighed. “The last woman I was with was you.”

“That was five years ago. I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.” Michael’s eyes slid away from hers. “He was crazy, Nikita. This is the first time someone’s shot at me in four years.”

“Where did this happen?”

“New York.”

“And why didn’t you get medical attention there, instead of bleeding across the Atlantic and all through Italy?”

“Because,” he said simply, “You were here.”

Nikita shook her head at his obvious foolishness and left his room, shutting the door with a quiet snap.

It was only after she’d left that Michael realized she’d brought his laptop to him; he’d left it in the kitchen. Michael opened it up and turned it on. She’d searched it thoroughly. She’d been in every file; that must have taken her a good chunk of time, Michael thought. She hadn’t changed anything, but she’d looked at everything, even the encrypted files. Michael smiled faintly, shut the machine down and replaced it in the carry case.

A lot can change in five years. It’s not the years, it’s the mileage. Well, Section put a lot of miles on him; he was still physically fit, but his hairline was a little further back and instead of being dark, there were definite streaks of silver laced through his hair. Nikita was younger than he was; she still looked the same to him. When he’d heard of her death, he dreamed constantly of her; gradually, the years passed and the dreams faded. They’d started again when he’d met with Walter.

How were Nikita’s nights? Did she dream of him? Did she still wake up with Section nightmares? Sometimes Michael still did.

Michael sat at the table, looking out over the sea. Then, finally, he went back to bed.

***************

He drempt of building a house. He was up high on the ridgepole, hammering together the frame for the roof. His hammer sounded sharp in the chilly air; Michael shivered and half-woke.

The hammering continued, and confused, he sat up in bed. His door opened and a small brown head poked through. In clear Italian, the child asked, “May I come in?”

“Yes,” Michael answered.

She was small for her age. Nikita said Milla started school last year, which would make her seven this year, but she was wiry and short and the minute he saw her, he understood what Nikita meant about no one wanting her.

Gypsy children, dirty, runny-nosed and light-fingered, littered the streets of large European cities. They stole your pocketbook in the blink of an eye; like cockroaches, they were everywhere, running, laughing, shouting, being a nuisance, begging for money and stealing it when they could. And this child, with her sharp features, dark hair and eyes and tawny skin, looked exactly like those children.

Well, not exactly. Unlike the children in Rome and Naples, she was well-fed. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks pink. Her hair, though it was curly and wind-blown, was cut short and pulled back from her face with a bright pink ribbon, Alice-in-Wonderland style. Her sundress, a cheerful flowery print, was clean and fit her -- it obviously wasn’t a hand-me-down or hand-me-up, and her sandals, while worn, weren’t worn out.

“Mami says you might be hungry,” she said, smiling. “We don’t have room service, so she sent me.”

“Thank you.” Michael sat up gingerly. “My name is Michael.”

“I know. I’m Milla.” Her eyes fastened on his bandage. “What happened to you?”

“I had an accident.” Remembering that Nikita had hidden the old bloody bandages and said something about blood frightening Milla, he glanced down, but there hadn’t been any seepage during the night.

“Where are your pajamas?”

“I don’t ... have any,” Michael admitted, and she looked at him as if to say, What kind of person doesn’t have pajamas?

“Mami sent you up some clothes, too. She said yours had been lost by the airline.”

“Yes,” Michael agreed.

Milla sat the basket on the table and unpacked it, then put the dirty dishes from the night before in the basket. “When you’re finished, Mami says to come down.”

“All right,” Michael agreed. He watched Milla go to the door, and she looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a piercing look that reminded him of Nikita. Then she slipped out the door and he heard her sandals slapping on the stone pavement as she went down the stairs.

******************

When Michael finally made his way downstairs, it was nearly noon. This time, the patio was occupied by one elderly man holding a cat. His walking stick rested against the arm of his chair, and Milla crouched at his feet; Michael was too far away to hear what they were discussing, and when Milla saw him, she stood up. “Mami’s in the laundry. Do you want me to show you where it is?”

“You can just tell me,” Michael said.

“Beyond the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

The old man looked at him, amused, and Milla flushed. “I’m sorry. This is Aldo. He’s my grandpa. Aldo, this is ... Michael.”

“Greetings, Michael.” Aldo didn’t stand, but he held out his hand and Michael shook it.

“Greetings,” Michael returned.

“How long will you be staying with us, Michael?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps long enough for us to get you some proper clothes, eh?” Aldo laughed, and Michael looked down at himself. Nikita had found him clothes, true, but the shirt was obviously a work shirt, old and nearly worn out, and the pants were not only too loose, but too short. He wore his work boots, which looked decidedly out of place.

“Perhaps,” Michael agreed with a smile. “So ... you live here?”

“Next door,” Aldo said, still smiling. “I can’t get away from the Lucia. I’m too old to run it anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can keep away. Eh, it’s a hard thing when you know you’re too old for the life you lead, my friend.”

“True,” Michael said. “In fact, I’ve often felt the same way.”

“Have you now? But you’re a young man, you shouldn’t feel that way quite yet ...”

Getting bored with the conversation, Milla picked up the cat. Near her feet was a discarded doll; the cat sat passively by while Milla undressed her doll, then, when Milla picked up the cat and began putting him in the doll’s clothes, the cat threw a desperate look to Aldo. “Gently, Milla, gently,” Aldo said, and Milla, apparently deciding a dress was enough for now, let the cat go. He gimped across the patio looking embarrassed, and a few minutes later, Nikita appeared, holding the cat.

“Milla!” Then, Nikita saw Michael and smiled. “Good morning, Michael,” she said in English. Her eyes ran down his figure and she smiled even wider. “I’m almost done. Would you like to go shopping today? If you feel up to it ...”

“All right.”

Nikita undressed the cat and handed him to Milla. “You can come too, Milla,” she said in Italian. “We’ll probably eat lunch in town and then spend an hour or so shopping.”

“I want to stay with Aldo.” Milla frowned. “And I thought we were going swimming today.”

“You can go if someone asks you,” Nikita said. “But you must be careful and go with your cousins.”

“How about Gabrielle?”

“You can go with Gabrielle,” Nikita agreed. “Or with Stefan, if he can go. Do you want to call ...?”

“Okay.” Milla scampered inside and Aldo smiled at Michael.

“Gabrielle and Stefan are my grandchildren,” he explained. “We all live close, here in Sorrento. When Nikita came to us, she fit right in with the rest.”

“How many grandchildren do you have?”

“Let’s see ... 18 at last count, right Nikita?”

“That’s right,” Nikita smiled. She turned to Michael. “Thank goodness, they all live close by; Milla goes to school with them and her best friend is one of Aldo’s grandkids. I don’t know what we would have done without them.”

Milla skipped back outside, smiling. “Stefan and Nino and Gabrielle and Antoinella and me and Sylvia and maybe Dolce’s kids are all going in an hour.”

“Good.” Nikita smiled at her. “Eat before you go. We’ll be back in a few hours.” She turned to Aldo. “Thanks for watching the store, Aldo. We won’t be long.”

“Eh, take your time.” Aldo held his cheek up for Nikita’s affectionate kiss. “We’re only expecting one couple today, anyway ... and it will be a sad day when I can’t register guests.”

“It will, indeed,” Nikita agreed. She kissed Milla and, looping her arm through Michael’s, they went to the elevator.

***********************

They ate a nice leisurely lunch; Michael denied the Lemoncello with a faint shudder, and Nikita, lips twitching, suggested gelato for dessert instead.

They walked down the narrow streets, licking their cones, looking in store windows, chatting about inconsequential things. Michael came away with several shirts -- only one black -- and a couple of pairs of pants. At Nikita’s insistence -- “No one wears boots like that here, Michael” -- he purchased a pair of cheap handmade sandals which felt odd on his bleached white feet.

Nikita bought a new swimsuit for Milla. “Hers is going in the seat,” she sighed, and after dropping by the pharmacy for some antibiotic and more gauze for Michael, they started back.

“You’ve still not told me exactly what you do, Michael,” Nikita said, throwing the car into gear.

“I’m a contractor.”

“For whom?”

“Private sector, mostly. Sometimes I work with different government agencies, too. I’m a strategist,” he said simply. “People have problems and they hire me to fix them.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Different kinds. Security issues. Mergers. It’s a little like what Madeleine does, in a way, but she predicts what individuals will do. I predict what corporations will do. My job is to predict the other side’s next move.”

“So, you get inside the other side’s head ... Section’s not really dead, then.”

“As an organization, it’s gone. But the things we used to do are still being done ... just in a different way, and legally.”

“And you’re completely out of the business? I don’t understand why someone hasn’t recruited you or killed you yet,” Nikita said. “It’s not like you left the field with a lot of friends.”

“There are still a few enemies of ours out there, but it’s a volatile field, Nikita. High mortality rate. The past few years we worked together, I wasn’t out in the field much anyway. Birkhoff keeps tabs on the few people who might recognize me; I steer clear of them.”

Nikita concentrated on the road; it was very curvy and hugged the mountain. “Where do you live?”

“Where I can.”

“That sounds so ... lonely, Michael.”

“It’s not too bad.”

She pulled into the parking garage, which was tucked under tons of rock, and got out. “Michael.”

“Yes, Nikita?” He pulled the packages from the back end and Nikita, looking cross, took half of them away from him.

“Please don’t pull my stitches out,” she muttered. They walked out into the sunlight and into the foyer of the Lucia and Nikita punched the button for the elevator. She cleared her throat. “If your schedule permits it, we’d be happy if you stayed for awhile with us.”

The elevator arrived and Michael and Nikita stepped in. Nikita punched the top button. “What about Milla?” Michael asked.

“She’s used to people coming and going,” Nikita shrugged. “Once, we had a down-on-his-luck painter stay for three months here. Instead of payment, he did the fresco in the bar.”

“What if I wanted to stay longer?”

Nikita’s eyebrows raised. “Longer than three months? How much longer?”

The elevator arrived and the doors slid open into the blinding sunlight. Nikita flipped down her shades and Michael answered vaguely, “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Nikita said crisply, “When you figure it out, let me know.” The heels of her hand-made sandals snapped furiously across the pavement; Milla, still in her damp swimsuit, was sitting in the sun on the patio stroking a cat. When she saw Nikita, she jumped up.

“Did you buy me anything?”

“Yes, we did.” Nikita bent down and Milla’s arms went around her neck. “Did you have a good time at the beach?”

“Yes ... but I’m hungry and I ate all the cookies.”

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got in the kitchen.”

Michael watched them walk toward the hotel; he felt an inexplicable sadness. Then Nikita turned around and called to him, “Michael? Do you want to come?”

Michael nodded and slowly followed.

*****************

Two days later, Michael was underneath Nikita’s sink. Crouched on the floor near his feet was Milla, a wrench in her hand.

“Hand me the wrench, Milla.” He blindly held out his hand and Milla put the tool in his hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” she answered automatically. “How long are you going to stay here?”

“Until your mother throws me out.” Michael gave the bolt one more twist and grunted.

“You may be here a long time, then. She almost never throws someone out. Unless they’re really loud. You don’t even talk much.”

Michael grunted again and felt along the floor for the washer. Milla’s quick fingers lit on it and handed it to him. “She’s not my real mother. I just call her that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t have a father, really.”

“Yes, I know,” Michael said, and perhaps since he wasn’t looking at her and sounded absent-minded, Milla continued.

“They’re both dead. My parents, I mean. Mami found me and kept me.”

“I’m sure ...” Michael paused and gave another hard twist to the bolt he was working with, “That you make her very happy.”

“Do you think so?” Milla screwed a wrench open and shut, open and shut. “Sometimes she’s happy. But I wish there was someone else. Besides me and Mami.”

“There’s Aldo. And your cousins.”

“Someone besides them. Someone just for her.” Milla was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Last year one of the cousins graduated from school. He was going off to University. And his Mami said to my Mami, ‘It’s always lonely when they leave.’ Do you think that’s true?”

“I suppose so,” Michael answered.

“I don’t want Mami to be lonely. Uncle Vito wants to marry her.”

“Does he?” Michael responded casually, but he gripped his wrench tighter.

“He’s Grandpa’s youngest. He’s really handsome, all the girls say so. But I don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s sneaky. He says things that are pretty, but he’s mean to the cat.”

“Well ...” Michael gave the wrench another twist, “You shouldn’t trust someone who is mean to animals.”

“I don’t want her to be lonely,” Milla said, her voice troubled. “But I don’t want Vito to live with us, either.”

“You’re still a little girl, Milla. And if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about your mother marrying someone who was cruel to cats. She knows better.”

Michael finished finally and slid out from under the sink. He’d thought he was alone with Milla, but Nikita stood quietly in the doorway, so he said, “Want to try it out?”

She slowly came into the room, ran her hand over Milla’s messy hair and twisted the faucet. Water gushed out -- not unusual -- but this time, it also drained. “I think you fixed it.”

“Good.” Michael washed his dirty hands under the running water and dried them on a tea towel.

“Michael ... I need your room. We’re having a bunch of people coming tonight for a wedding, and Dulcie needs to clean yours up for them.”

“All right,” Michael said slowly.

“Mami ... are you throwing him out?” Milla hugged Nikita’s legs tight. “He can have my room. I can sleep with you.”

Nikita ran her hand through Milla’s hair. “Milla ...”

“Please, Mami? He’s really quiet. He won’t be any trouble. Will you?” Milla cast a look at Michael and he smiled.

“I should probably go, Milla. Sooner or later I’ll have to go to work.”

“Later,” Milla said, “Go later. And stay longer with us. Please?”

“Milla, don’t ...” Nikita started. “I’m sure Michael has things to do; he can’t stay with us forever.”

“Please ...” Milla begged. “I can move in with you until a guest leaves. Then Michael can have his own room ... don’t you want to stay, Michael?”

“It’s up to your mother,” Michael said, and he turned away to put up the tools. It would be easier for Nikita to say no if she didn’t have to see his face.

“All right,” Nikita said, and Michael nearly dropped his wrench. “If Milla wants to give up her room, it’s all right with me.”

************

Nikita and Milla had the two smallest, most unattractive rooms in the hotel. Their apartment, if you could even call it that, was near the kitchen and laundry room and consisted of three rooms and a small bathroom, all shotgun style. Nikita’s room was in the back, with one small window opening onto the kitchen garden. Next came the common room, which was big enough for a television set, some bookshelves and a couch, then Milla’s room, which had a small window and a brief view of the sea. It was big enough for a narrow bed and a small wardrobe, but nothing else.

“We don’t spend a lot of time here,” Milla explained to Michael. “We stay out in the lobby or on the patio. We just sleep here.”

Michael nodded and helped Milla strip the bed and put clean sheets on. Then, since they were already at it, they changed Nikita’s bed and Milla went through the apartment, gathering dirty towels from the bathroom, dirty clothes here and there and showed Michael where the laundry room was.

“We almost have enough for a load of wash,” she said.

There were three huge washing machines in the laundry room as well as a large ironing table. Dulcie, the one maid in the whole hotel, was frenzedly ironing sheets in preparation for the new guests.

“I thought you were supposed to be cleaning the rooms,” Milla said.

“I am -- there’s too much to do and not enough time to do it -- and the maid service can’t come today --”

Michael shrugged. “I can help.”

Dulcie smiled briefly. “It would take more time to show you what to do than it would for me to do it myself.”

“I can iron.”

“Well ... are you sure your mother won’t mind?” she asked Milla.

“Oh, no,” Milla assured. “He’s staying for awhile. She won’t care. She’s already cleaning rooms one and two.”

“Come on, then, Milla, I can use your help.” Dulcie showed Michael how to turn the iron off and on -- it was elderly and peculiar -- and she and Milla raced off to clean rooms.

Michael stayed in the laundry room, peacefully ironing sheets. There was a huge open window; outside, a bird called out and he could hear the crashing of the waves. From up above, he occasionally heard Milla’s voice chattering to Dulcie. But he couldn’t hear Nikita.

***************

Somehow, Nikita, Dulcie and Milla got all the rooms cleaned and ready. Nikita blinked but didn’t say anything when she learned Michael spent the good portion of his afternoon ironing sheets. She was really to tired to argue; it had been a long day, and none of them would get to sleep before midnight.

The Hotel Lucia had a big kitchen but they seldom served full meals. The exception was when someone rented out the entire hotel for a wedding, which actually happened quite often. There were only 15 rooms in the entire hotel, but there were other hotels up and down the mountain road, and often families rented out several for their guests. When this happened, the Lucia, in addition to serving breakfast, also served dinners at odd hours. The wedding party was responsible for hiring a chef; now, the rented chef was ruling the kitchen with his cleaver in one hand and a fish in the other.

Generally, Nikita helped out in the kitchen for weddings. Sometimes Milla did, too, but more often than not, she manned the front desk with Dulcie, who generally stayed late to help. But now, since there was Michael, Dulcie, who was exhausted, was allowed to go home and Michael, with Milla perched on the desk beside him, directed people to the patio, where drinks and snacks were being served.

Out on the patio, pretty people in summer clothes chatted, drank, ate. Long tables covered in white linen were set with rented silver; flowers bobbed and swayed in the breeze. All the hotel’s rooms opened onto the patio; the upstairs ones, like the honeymoon room, had narrow steps descending onto the yellow flagstones. Small globe lights outside the doors shone in the dimming light. With the yellow buildings, the red roofs and doors and the bright blue Mediterranean that was gradually turning black, it was picturesque and Michael could see why it was a popular place to have a dinner party.

“Does this happen often?” Michael asked.

“A wedding?” Milla asked. “Often enough, I guess. I think we have a few more this month. We have lots in the summer and hardly any in the winter. They’re fun. Everyone is happy. And we get good left overs afterwards.”

The last of the guests arrived; hired girls went among the seated guests, serving dinner. Milla craned to see what they were having. “It’s a fish, I think,” she said, squinting. “I don’t know what kind. That won’t keep long; maybe they won’t have much left.”

Michael stayed with Milla until Nikita appeared, looking pinched and tired. “Time for bed, Milla.”

“But I want to stay for the cake.”

“I’ll save you some for tomorrow’s breakfast, okay? Come on ...”

Michael stayed put, and in a while, Nikita returned. “They’ll stay up late. The guests, I mean. You can go to bed, too, if you want. I know you must be tired.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Please don’t irritate your wound, Michael.”

“I’m not. I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself, then.” Nikita went back to the kitchen; Michael stayed at the desk and when sleepy guests finally began going to their rooms, he passed out their keys. At half-past midnight, Nikita came through, locked the doors and made sure Michael was comfortable in Milla’s tiny bed.

By 1 a.m., everyone was asleep.

**************

Sometime during the night, Michael woke up as he was half-way across the common room in Nikita and Milla’s apartment. Somewhere, Nikita was screaming; he fell over the coffee table and burst through Nikita’s door.

Nikita was sitting up in bed, bathed in sweat; Milla had turned on the light and was trying to wake her up, frantically shaking Nikita and sobbing with fear. “Mami -- Mami -- wake up -- Mami --”

“Hush, Milla --” Michael lifted her aside and grabbed Nikita, folding his arms around her, rocking slowly. “Nikita ... wake up, Nikita ... it’s a dream ...”

She shuddered and burst into tears, her arms tight around him. “I dreamed -- dreamed -- Milla! Where is Milla?”

“I’m here, Mami,” Milla said, her voice small and scared. She stood at the end of the bed, hands held tight together, and when Nikita saw her she began to cry even harder. “M-mami?”

“Milla,” Michael said quietly, “I want you to go sleep in your own bed. I’ll stay with your mother tonight, okay?”

“She’ll be all right?” Milla’s eyes were very wide and frightened.

“She’ll be fine. We’ll leave the doors open and you can call her if you need her. All right?”

“All right,” Milla echoed uncertainly. She darted forward and kissed Nikita, but after she left, neither Michael nor Nikita said anything. Nikita’s crying gradually slowed; Michael’s arms around her relaxed. He rested his cheek on top of her head, and when she finally stopped crying, he handed her a tissue. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“I dreamed they came for me. But instead of me, they got Milla,” she said, her voice dull and worn-out. “I couldn’t stop them. They made her stand on top of the terrace and they shot her --”

“Section?”

“Yes ... then they took me back.”

“I told you, Nikita,” Michael said gently, “There isn’t a Section.”

“I’ve trained her,” Nikita said wretchedly, just as if he’d not spoken. “Did you know that? I’ve trained her to look for hiding places, no matter where we are. I’ve trained her to stand as still as a mouse, to not make a sound. When she was tiny we made games out of it -- who can be a statue for the longest amount of time, that kind of thing. Most parents make their children memorize telephone numbers and addresses in case they get lost. My child can find her way around a city -- even a big one, like Naples or Rome -- in a day, if she’s got a map. She’s only seven, Michael. But she knows what she can and can’t eat if she’s by herself and in the country. One time, when she was five ... we’d been here for about three years then ... I left her alone over night on Capri. I was worried sick about her. She thought it was a game, and she was so proud when she met the hydrofoil the next morning ...”

“Nikita ... shush ...”

“You said I would have made a good mother. All her life, I’ve been preparing her for abandonment,” Nikita whispered. “I’ve been preparing her for when Section would come for me. Or someone worse.”

Michael didn’t know what to say, and finally, he said, “I got a phone call this morning. The day after tomorrow I’m supposed to meet someone in Verona. It’s a night meeting; I thought I’d take the train up during the day. But maybe I should leave tomorrow.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“Not to me. But it might to you. I didn’t mean to ... upset you, Nikita, by coming here. I just wanted to see if it was you and if you were all right. If you needed anything.”

“Such as ...?”

“I don’t know. Money, a new identity ...”

“What I want, you never could give me.”

Michael was silent again, and Nikita lay down with a sigh. Then she started to cry again. “I loved you so much. So much. And you never came ...”

She was turned away from him; Michael curved his body around hers, tucking his arms into an achingly familiar way around her. She sobbed herself to sleep.

***********

When Michael woke up, he felt an unfamiliar weight across his legs. He opened his eyes slowly. Nikita was still holding on to him, her fingers wrapped tight in his pajama top. Not for the first time he was glad he’d bought them when they went into town, because down at the foot of the bed was Milla. Her bare legs were stretched over Michael’s and the cat was in her lap.

“What time is it?” Michael whispered.

“Late,” Milla whispered back. “Aldo is minding the desk. I got up early and told him Mami didn’t feel good and that you were too tired.”

Though their voices were low, Nikita stirred. Milla’s mouth snapped shut. Nikita turned into Michael, looped a leg around his and pulled him close, burying her head in his shoulder. She smiled in her sleep and whispered his name; Michael didn’t move, but his eyes stayed on Milla. She watched, fascinated, and once Nikita slipped back to sleep, Milla said, “You need to stay here.”

“I need to leave,” Michael told her. “Soon. Today.”

“Will you come back?”

Nikita moved again in her sleep. This time, one clumsy hand turned Michael’s head towards hers and she kissed him full on the mouth, a deep sensuous kiss, the kind he’d dreamed of for ... well, five years. But in his dreams, he’d never imagined an audience, much less a little girl.

Extremely embarrassed, Michael disentangled himself from Nikita and sat up. Nikita curled herself around his pillow and mumbled to herself, but she didn’t wake up all the way. Milla’s eyes were round as saucers. She got off the bed, cradling the cat like a baby in her arms. “You’d better come back,” she said. Then she turned around and stalked out of the room.

Michael stood up carefully and stretched. His neck was stiff and his body, unaccustomed to being with someone else, felt tight. He looked at Nikita, curled up in the bed, one hand by her face. I never should have come. It was wrong and selfish of me to do this to her. I should leave, right now, and never come back.

He was half-way to the door when he turned around and went back to the bed. “Nikita. Nikita, wake up.” She stirred, opening sleepy eyes. “Nikita.”

“Michael.” She looked a little surprised to see him standing there in his pajamas, but then he saw her remember last night. “Oh, no. What time --”

“It’s okay. Aldo is watching the front desk. Milla fetched him this morning.”

“Milla --”

“Is fine. I just woke you up to tell you two things.”

“Okay.” She sat up and arranged the sheet over her legs, then yawned. “What?”

“The first thing is, Nikita, I have to go to Verona. I think I should go early. The second thing is, I’d like to come back ... if you’ll let me.”

Nikita bit her lip.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you this,” Michael said. “If you decide that I shouldn’t come back, just tell me. Milla told me about someone named Vito. I don’t want to ... mess anything up. Just tell me, and I promise I won’t bother you again.”

She didn’t say anything and she didn’t look at him. Finally, Michael turned to the door. “Good bye, Nikita.”

“Okay,” Nikita answered softly, still not looking at him.

“Okay, I should go, or okay, I can come back?” Michael said, needing to be perfectly clear on what she wanted.

“Okay, you can come back. If you want to.”

Michael stood at the doorway for a few more minutes, too surprised really to move. What he wanted to do was go to her, kiss her, make love to her, tell her all the crazy, silly things people said in bed. Instead, he nodded and said quietly, “I’ll be back in a few days, then.”

“Okay.”

He turned away from her then, and left her sitting cross-legged in her bed. He closed the door softly and nearly fell over Milla.

“Are you listening at people’s doors?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Milla said, unashamed.

“It’s a bad habit, Milla.”

“It’s the only way I ever learn anything.” She got up and walked with him to her bedroom. “You said you were coming back. You will, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Soon?”

“Within the week.”

“Good. Because Vito’s coming back and I think you need to be here.”

“Milla ...”

“Just be sure to come back,” Milla ordered. Then, finally, she left him to dress in peace.

******************

Michael’s meeting in Verona went smoothly. Physically he was feeling much better; his wound had healed, the infection was clearing and his business engagement looked promising. At their suggestion, he went to their Venice office, had another few meetings and ate several good meals. The deal was firming up. First, though, he’d meet with the owner of the company, who lived in Conegliano, a tiny town at the northern part of Italy. Before he boarded the waterbus to the train station, he sent a postcard to Nikita from Venice, one of the handpainted ones, very pretty, with a gondola and a canal.

He’d never sent her a postcard before. As he slipped it into the post box, he felt suddenly very light. There were a lot of things they’d never done before. Maybe, just maybe, this time they’d have a chance.

***********************

Michael’s taxi rolled to a stop outside of Number 44. The sky was still faintly light; it was dinnertime here, and the restaurants bordering the sea were crowded. He shouldered his bag, hoped his postcard had arrived, and walked into the lower vestibule of the Lucia to call the elevator.

It was slow tonight. Or maybe he was just impatient. When he finally got to the top floor and the doors slid open, Michael stepped out quickly, and just as quickly, something attached itself to his legs, effectively stopping his progress.

He looked down. “Milla?”

“Quiet,” she hissed, and Michael obediently shut his mouth. He silently put down his small suitcase and picked Milla up.

“What are you doing up so late?” he whispered, now that he was able to converse with her comfortably.

“Where have you been?” she scolded.

“Didn’t you get my postcard?”

“It was very nice,” she said, “But you might have hurried a little bit.”

“What’s wrong?” His arms tensed around the little girl. “You mother -- is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Milla said crossly, squirming. “Vito’s back and I don’t want him here. If you’d been here sooner, you could have chased him away.”

Michael had a sudden vision of himself, armed with a stick, chasing away Nikita’s suitor. “Don’t be silly, Milla. Your mother’s affairs are just that -- hers. I have no intention of chasing anyone away.”

Milla crossed her arms stubbornly, staring at Michael. The effect was somewhat ruined because her legs were twined around his waist and his arms were folded under her, supporting her slight weight. “How long can you stay this time?”

“I don’t know. A few days. It depends.” Michael sat her on her feet and took her hand, shouldering his bag. “If I get this job, it will mean I’ll be based in Italy and I can come more often. Why?”

Instead of answering, Milla stopped short. Out on the patio, Nikita and a man Michael supposed was Vito were sitting at a table, a bottle of wine between them. The remnants of a meal were scattered across the table. Nikita faced Michael, more or less; she was staring out into the darkening sea, a dreamy expression on her face, and her dinner partner, with wild gestures, was describing something that he evidently thought was very amusing. His laughter rang across the stones, and a few crucial seconds later, Nikita’s followed.

She’s not even listening to him. All she’s doing is watching the scenery.

Michael slowly put down his bag, and Milla dropped his hand. “Don’t you think,” she said wistfully, “That she’s pretty?”

“Very pretty.”

“Don’t you think her eyes are just the color of the sea? She’s nice, too ... she let you stay and didn’t even charge you ...” Milla’s voice took on a desperate quality, and Michael turned his attention to the little girl. He squatted down and tilted her face to his.

“What do you want to say, Milla?”

“If I tell you, you’ll go away.”

“I very much doubt that.” Michael waited and Milla squirmed, not meeting his eyes.

“Do you like cats?”

Michael blinked at the change of subject, but answered easily, “It depends on the cat. Why?”

“I just wondered. What about rats?”

“I have a difficult time feeling affection for rats. Or mice.”

“That’s why we have cats. Mami doesn’t like rats either.”

“I know.”

Milla looked at him then, a piercing look much older than her years and pulled away from him. Michael rose.

“Milla ... when you are ready to tell me, you can.”

She gave a short nod, and together, they crossed the patio slowly.

*************

“Mami! Mami, look who is here.” Milla pulled Michael along, and Nikita smiled.

“Good evening, Michael. Vito, this is Michael. Michael, Vito.”

Vito rose, extended his hand, and Michael shook it genially.

“Sit down with us. Would you care for some wine?” Nikita asked easily. “Milla, love, run and fetch Michael a glass, will you?”

Milla brought the glass and then, to his surprise, climbed into Michael’s lap. “Milla --” Nikita began to admonish.

“She’s fine,” Michael said easily. Milla reached for the wine, intending to pour it in the glass; Michael’s hand steadied hers as the dark liquid swirled in the bowl.

“So, how do you know Nikita?” Vito asked.

“We’re old friends,” Michael said, his eyes locking with Nikita’s across the table.

“I’d not heard about you --” Vito started to say, but Michael smoothly cut him off.

“We lost track of each other,” he said casually.

“Vito just got back from Spain,” Nikita said, steering the conversation to a safer topic. She leaned forward; the flickering candle, safe under a glass hurricane, jerked and flickered in the night air. The light glinted on Nikita’s hair and threw shadows across her face. “He goes every year for business. Where are you going next, Vito? Brazil?”

Settled comfortably in Michael’s arms, Milla muttered softly, “Wish you’d stay there,” and Michael frowned down at her. Behave yourself. She frowned back at him and was quiet.

“If I can,” Vito was saying. “Brazil, then back to Sorrento ... where the people are the friendliest and the most hospitable ...” he raised his glass and toasted Nikita. Then he turned his attention to Milla. “Even if they are gone half the night ...”

“I was looking for something,” Milla said with great dignity.

“I’m sure you were, my little gypsy ... but is that any way to treat me, after my invitation for Thursday?”

Nikita smiled, and explained to Michael, “Vito got circus tickets for the children for Thursday and they had an extra for Milla.”

Vito smiled at Milla, “But I’ll have to keep an eye on her, eh? Wouldn’t want her running off to join the other gypsies, would we?” Vito smiled at her, and Michael could feel Milla tense up in his arms. “So, what have you been doing today? Getting a few lira from unsuspecting tourists, hmmm? What was the take today?”

“Don’t tease her, Vito,” Nikita admonished gently, but Milla was deeply offended.

“I’m tired,” she announced. “Good night, Michael.” She reached up, and to Michael’s total surprise, she kissed him on the cheek. Then she climbed down. “Good night, Mami.” Another kiss, this one accompanied with a fierce hug. She turned to go, but Nikita called her back.

“Milla ... you’re forgetting someone ...”

She hesitated, then turned back, but she wasn’t close enough to kiss him. “Good night, Vito,” she said politely.

“Good night, my sweet gypsy,” Vito smiled at her.

Michael stayed at the table for perhaps another ten or 15 minutes. Vito showed no sign of leaving, and finally Michael said, “I should be going to bed, too. Is there an extra room available --?”

“Of course.” Nikita smiled at him. “Let’s see ... it’s only Wednesday; we have lots of rooms available, but why don’t you take either one or four? We won’t be using either of them for a week, unless someone unexpected shows up. That way, you won’t have to move your things ...”

“All right.”

“You can help yourself ... you know where the keys are.”

Michael slowly walked into the hotel, collected a key, and started toward his room. But then he stopped and, instead, went down the short hall that led to Nikita and Milla’s rooms.

“Milla?” The suite was dark, but it wasn’t quiet. “Milla?”

The crying stopped. Sounding extremely cross, Milla called out, “What?”

“May I come in?”

“Okay.”

Michael went to her room and found her, a small bundle of misery, sitting in the middle of her bed. She wiped her hand across her nose, and Michael shook out a handkerchief and handed it to her. With as much dignity as she could summon, Milla blew her nose and handed it back. Michael carefully tucked it back into his pocket and sat down on the bed.

“There’s a girl at school who has a new step-mother. She says her step-mother makes her watch the new baby and makes her do all the laundry instead of sending it out like normal people and she makes her cook. And she yells at her.” Milla frowned. “I wouldn’t mind watching a baby. Aldo’s kids always have a baby around somewhere; they’re fun sometimes. And I can do laundry and cook a little. But I don’t like it when Vito says mean things to me.”

“What mean things?”

“He calls me a gypsy. He says I steal money. That’s the only way the hotel stays in business; he says I steal money from the guests. He says I take their jewelry and cameras and sell them for money. He acts like it’s a joke. But it’s not nice.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t do it to be mean.”

“He does, too.” As an afterthought, she said, “He teases the cats, too. He pulls their tails. Once Homer bit him good -- all the way down to the bone, and it got infected.”

Michael smiled. “You don’t have to act so pleased,” he admonished gently.

“Served him right,” she sniffed.

“It was kind of him to get the extra ticket for you,” Michael reminded her.

“It wasn’t kindness that made him do that,” she argued.

“Milla ... why don’t you turn over and I’ll scratch your back.”

Milla flopped over. “Mami does this to me sometimes.”

“She used to do it to me, too,” Michael said.

“She put you to sleep?”

“Many times.”

“You told Vito you were old friends.”

Sensing they were treading on dangerous ground, Michael said lightly, “Yes, very old.”

“Friends are good. My best friend is Sylvia. Sometimes she sleeps over. Maybe if you slept with Mami, she wouldn’t have nightmares. Why don’t you?”

Michael said briefly, “It’s a matter of invitation.”

“But --”

“Milla, did I ever tell you about my great-grandmother?”

“No,” she said sleepily, and Michael continued to rub her back slowly.

“She was a gypsy. From France. She was very beautiful, like you will be one day, and she told fortunes in carnivals, that’s how she made money. And her son -- my grandfather -- played in a four-part gypsy band. People hired them at parties, for dinners ...”

“Really?”

“Mmmm ...” Michael’s voice got lower, and he said softly, “They traveled all over Europe. They had a van, a bright red and gold painted caravan and a horse named Dennis who pulled it. They traveled with the rest of the tribe, and everyone had a job ... one woman washed clothes, one woman cooked the food, one man caught rabbits and whatever he could for dinner ... and every night, when the campfires were burning out, they played gypsy music that you could hear for miles around ...”

He paused. The only sound in the room was a gentle snore, and Michael rose soundlessly and went to his own room.

******************

Michael had arrived in Sorrento on Tuesday. On Wednesday morning he worked on a few proposals and sent them out.

Nikita pasted stamps on his proposals and glanced at the addresses. “You’re only sending stuff to Italian firms?”

“I like Italy,” Michael said simply.

He spent the rest of the day helping out. He ironed sheets; he taught Milla a card trick, then, somehow, she talked him into helping her bathe a cat, which he thought was a useless proposition but Milla insisted was necessary.

On Thursday, Michael got a call from the company he hoped to work with. Could he come to Naples in the evening? Michael assured them he could, and packed his small bag, then spent the morning and early afternoon helping out at the hotel.

Milla spent the afternoon at the circus and when she came in, she was high on cotton candy and Coca-Cola. Vito brought her upstairs, looking, in Michael’s opinion, a little worse for the wear.

“Mami! You should have seen the animals! Tigers -- This woman rode a tiger and then they made it jump through fire! And there was a woman dressed in nothing, just a little swimsuit, who flew through the air --!”

“I’m glad you had a good time --” Nikita smiled distractedly at Milla, but Thursdays were busy because people were arriving for the weekend. The phone rang and more guests crowded around the front desk.

Perhaps it was Vito’s fault for letting his guard down and for taking her to the circus in the first place. Or maybe it was Nikita’s fault for not listening properly. Maybe it was Michael’s fault for not anticipating the whims of an overly excited, highly imaginative seven-year-old.

The only warning he had was a voice, somewhere up above him, announcing, “The Magnificent Milla ... queen of the stage and air ...”

Michael had been standing on the patio, about to help one of the guests with her luggage. He looked up, trying to locate Milla. She stood on the railing of the honeymoon suite, balanced precariously on the thin metal. She took a step.

“Milla! Come down from there!” Michael called.

“Milla --” Vito called out a second later.

Milla smiled down at them and took another step, her arms held wide for balance. Then her face changed; she wavered; and before Michael could get to her, she plunged to the courtyard below.

It happened so fast, but for Michael, it seemed like it took forever. “Milla!”

Her little body twisted in the air. Dear God, Michael thought, did Nikita teach her how to fall?

By luck, Milla landed not on the stones which would have surely killed her, but on one of the umbrellas that covered the tables on the patio. The umbrella bent, tossing Milla out on the pavement head-first. There was a sickening thud. Someone screamed. A guest?

“Milla? Milla?” Michael smoothed her hair back. Blood covered the yellow stones; he felt her arms, her legs, her torso.

“My God -- Michael --” Nikita, face pale, rushed into the gathering circle. “Milla!”

Milla’s eyes opened, darting first to Michael, then to Nikita. “My head hurts,” she said, then she sat up and burst into tears.

“Hush, baby ...” Nikita cradled her in her arms. Milla’s tears turned to screams.

Michael dragged them both up and caught Vito’s eye. “Get the car. Call Aldo. Tell him to mind the desk and get him to call the hospital.”

*****************

Vito’s car was small; Michael wondered rather distractedly how he’d fit seven children in it. Remains of the circus were still sticky on the seats. Nikita sat in the back holding Milla, still screaming. Michael folded his long body into the front seat and Vito drove. When they were almost there, Milla’s screams faded into whimpers; her eyes went glassy.

“How’s her head?” Michael twisted around to look in the back seat.

“She’s lost a lot of blood. Head lacerations are the worst about that -- I’ve been applying pressure --”

“You’re hurting me, Mami,” Milla said sleepily.

“I know, baby, but we have to keep the blood inside you,” Nikita shifted Milla, still keeping the pressure on the back of her head. Blood covered Milla’s pretty yellow dress and Nikita’s white shirt.

They finally got to the hospital. Michael took Milla and Nikita inside while Vito parked the car; when the nurses saw all the blood, they immediately ushered them into a small room and a doctor looked at Milla’s head. “Just a few stitches,” he said cheerfully. “And maybe an X-ray to make sure there’s not concussion ...”

Nikita paled and swayed; Michael and Vito were shown to the waiting room. From their seats they could hear Milla’s screams as the doctor deadened her scalp.

“I hate hospitals,” Vito sighed.

Try Med Lab, Michael wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

Vito checked his watch. Michael sat placidly in his molded seat, listening, waiting. Milla’s screams stopped; that was a good sign, he thought. Then Nikita came out. “They want to do an MRI,” she said.

“Well, that shouldn’t take long,” Vito said cheerfully. “She’ll be fine, Nikita ... lucky she’s got a hard head.”

“Lucky,” Nikita echoed hollowly. “They’re taking her now. I’ll ... I’ll be back when it’s over. They won’t let you come. Just me.”

Vito kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Nikita. The doctors here know exactly what to do ...”

“I have to go.” Milla, a small child in a large wheelchair, was rolled out into the waiting room. She looked tired and cross and bloody; Nikita went to her, and together with a nurse, they went through large swing doors.

“How long do you think they’ll be?” Vito asked.

Michael considered. “If they have to sedate Milla, it could be awhile.”

“Sedate?”

“It isn’t an invasive procedure,” Michael said, “But it’s not pleasant, either.”

“How long do you think --?”

“Awhile.” Michael settled into his chair, prepared to wait it out.

For the next few hours, Vito fidgeted in his seat. He made four calls on his cell phone. He got up and walked around the room. He talked to the nurses, to other people waiting. He picked up a newspaper but didn’t read it.

Michael just sat.

Finally, Nikita came back. The blood on her shirt had dried to a dark wine color, but she looked more cheerful. “They won’t know the results until tomorrow, but they want to keep her overnight for observation.”

“But she’s all right?” Vito asked anxiously.

“They think she’s fine.” Nikita looked at Michael and suddenly put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Michael, I completely forgot! You had a business engagement in Naples!”

Michael checked his watch. “I can still make it.”

“You should go.”

“So should I,” Vito started. “I have a dinner to go to ...”

“Go on,” Nikita encouraged. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll leave you the car, in case you need to go home for something. Share a cab, Michael?” Vito asked, handing his keys to Nikita.

“I don’t know if either of us has time,” Michael said congenially. They left the emergency room together.

A cab pulled up to the curb. “Go ahead and take it,” Michael said generously. “I’ll catch the next one.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Vito clapped him on the shoulder and scrambled in; Michael waved him off.

Another cab pulled up beside Michael. He nodded the driver on, then went next door to a tobacco shop and purchased a bag of snack food. Then he went back into the hospital.

************

Milla had a double room, but so far, no one shared it with her. Nikita sat in a chair; Milla was asleep. “Nikita?”

She jerked around. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought food.”

Nikita blinked. “But -- the business appointment --”

Michael shrugged. “I canceled.” He took out a bunch of grapes and offered it to her; she broke off a few and ate them, spitting the seeds into her hand.

Michael took off his jacket, then unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“What are you doing?” Nikita said suspiciously.

“Offering you a clean shirt.” He took it off, shook it out and handed it over.

“Thanks, Michael.” He politely turned around and Nikita changed clothes. “I have to wake her up every two hours.”

“It’ll be a long night, then.” Michael sat down in a chair and took a new pack of cards out of his pocket. “What did the technician say?”

“They’re pretty sure she’s concussed. It’d be odd if she weren’t. The scans and X-rays they took should show whether she’s got any clots, though.”

“You’ll have a difficult job keeping her quiet for the next few days.”

Nikita groaned and rubbed her eyes. “And we’ve got a full house at the hotel. Oh, no -- Aldo!”

“I already called him,” Michael said calmly. “He’s getting one of his daughters to help out and Dulcie agreed to stay over tonight. You might consider hiring someone else full-time.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Nikita frowned. Michael handed her the deck and she shuffled, then sighed. “Poker?”

“Whatever.”

She dealt their hands and they began the game.

************

“Milla? Milla, wake up. Milla ...” Michael spoke quietly and shook her shoulder. Two irritated brown eyes popped open.

“Go away.”

“Wake up, Milla. Sit up for me.”

She sat up. “Where’s the nurse?”

“She’s been delayed.”

“Where’s Mami?”

“Hush. She’s sleeping.” Michael stood aside so Milla could see Nikita, who was sprawled on the opposite bed. “Do you remember what day it is?”

“I want to go back to sleep.”

“First tell me what day it is.”

“It’s ... it’s Thursday.”

“Good,” Michael smiled at her, and Milla smiled back. “Can you remember what you ate for breakfast this morning?”

Milla thought. “Pudding?”

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe ... some bread?”

“It’s okay, it’s not important. Do you remember yesterday? What did we do in the morning?”

“You taught me a card trick ...” she spotted the deck of cards spread out on the chair. “Are you teaching Mami?”

“No, we were playing a game. What else did we do?”

“We washed the cat.”

“Which one?” Michael continued asking her questions; her short-term memory was affected, but only slightly. He gave her something to relieve swelling that the nurse had left and let her go back to sleep.

***************

Michael shut his eyes for a few hours near dawn. When he woke up, the room was full of people: a nurse taking Milla’s temperature, a doctor with Milla’s chart in his hand and a lab technician. Milla frowned at them and Nikita was trying to talk to them all at once. Michael yawned, stretched and got up.

“How do you feel?” he gently palmed Milla’s head.

“I want to go home,” she said mulishly. “I want to go home NOW and see my cat and have a big red tomato with honey on it. And a piece of bread with Nutella.”

“If that doesn’t make you sick, I don’t know what will,” Michael smiled. “I wish I could go with you.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to go to Naples for a meeting.”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know, Milla. Probably in a week or so. Maybe longer if I get the job.”

“But -- but -- you can’t go; you don’t have a suitcase,” she said.

“I’ll stop by the hotel and pick it up on the way out of town.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll give your mother the address in case she needs me.” Michael bent down and kissed Milla’s cheek. “Try and be good, Milla.”

“It’s very hard,” she frowned.

“Sometimes it is,” Michael said, “But it would mean a lot to me if you tried.”

The room had gradually emptied. Nikita smiled at Milla. “The doctor says we can go in a couple of hours. They want to do one more X-ray, then we can go home.”

“I don’t want another X-ray. And I’m NOT getting in that thing again. It was scary.” Milla crossed her arms stubbornly.

“You will do,” Nikita said firmly, “exactly what they want you to do, and you won’t complain.”

“I --”

“Milla --”

Michael interrupted them. “I have to go.” He gave Milla a piercing look. “Remember what I said.”

Nikita walked him out into the hall, shutting the door behind her. “Michael ... thanks for everything.” She licked her lips nervously, then said slowly, “When you told Vito we were old friends ... I guess I didn’t realize how nice it is to have an old friend. I don’t have any old friends. Except you. Thank you.”

Michael nodded. Together, they turned away, then, at almost the same time, they turned back, but Nikita, not anticipating Michael’s move, started forward. She ran into him, and Michael, without thinking, pulled her to him, hip to hip.

He hadn’t been lying about it being five years since he’d been with someone. He felt a flash of panic: Had he forgotten ...? His lips brushed hers; so familiar ... she opened her mouth to protest and he took advantage of the opportunity.

He kissed her, one arm linked firmly around her lower back so she couldn’t get away, and the other hand cradling the back of her head. So long ... he’d often dreamed of kissing her again, especially after her death, but it had been so long ...

His world narrowed to only Nikita and himself. Outside noise faded; he didn’t hear the intercom or people passing by or breakfast carts rolling down the hall. It was just Nikita. Blood pounded in his head; he deepened the kiss.

He felt her relax against him. One hesitant calloused hand crept to his scruffy cheek, then to the nape of his neck. The focus of Michael’s world suddenly tightened. He felt her bones fuse into his; one of them groaned, but Michael, for the life of him, couldn’t tell who. Slowly, slowly, he withdrew, his arms relaxed around her, and he opened his eyes.

Nikita blinked at him, looking decidedly dazed. She looked as disheveled as he felt. Michael bent forward and kissed her again, just a brief press of his lips on her mouth. Then he turned around and, trying to walk in a straight line, boarded the elevator to the ground floor.

He didn’t see Nikita slump against the wall for balance.

***********

The deal was on. Part of Michael was pleased; the contract was for six months. But to get the project started, he would have to be on site for six weeks.

While he was gone, he was inundated with postcards -- all with pictures of the Hotel Lucia on the front -- from Milla. Her words were ill-formed and crooked, and a lot of the time, Michael couldn’t make out what she was writing. Nikita never wrote, and Michael cursed himself for kissing her. It was obviously a mistake, though, at the time it certainly hadn’t felt like a mistake ...

Michael wrote back to Milla, knowing she couldn’t decipher his writing and would need Nikita’s help. He’d never written love letters before, and really, these weren’t traditional love letters. But he poured his heart into the words.

I’m sitting here in a cafe near my hotel. They have a cat, Milla, who is black and white. You would like him. His owner has put a red collar with a bell on him, which I think embarrasses him. He keeps looking at my plate. Now he has jumped up to the chair across from me to get a better look. I had better share with him or, when I am looking the other way, he will steal my fish. I hope your head is better and that you are minding your mother.

The last card he received, telling of Milla’s plans for summer camp, bore a small message on the bottom in Nikita’s careful script.

We’re saving a room for you.

*****************

When Michael arrived at the Lucia, he thought at first he’d gone to the wrong hotel.

Instead of an empty patio, the place was crawling with people. Mostly Germans, hot and tanned brown, drinking copious amounts of beer and iced drinks. The stones rang with laughter and at least four different languages, including Italian. Michael looked around for Milla, but she was apparently busy with her own activities, and finally he went to the front desk, where Nikita was politely dealing with an irate guest.

“I’m sorry about the leak,” Nikita said to the blustering guest, “We’ll have it repaired this afternoon, if possible. In the meantime, I’ve made a reservation at the Hotel Vesuvius, right up the street -- I can call you a taxi cab if you want --”

“Can’t you move me to another room --?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any more rooms --”

“But I thought,” Michael said, his voice quiet but commanding, “You were saving a room for me.”

Startled, Nikita looked up and smiled. The irate guest narrowed his eyes. “I was here first,” he started, but Nikita interrupted him.

“I’ll just call the cab and you can get settled in at the Vesuvius -- and Michael, if you feel up to fixing a backed-up toilet, be my guest.” She dialed for a taxi, and Michael, his face perfectly serious, turned to the guest.

“You’re lucky,” he said solemnly. “The last time I was here, I had to bathe a cat.”

The guest looked shocked, and when a car horn sounded down below, Michael smiled and picked up the other man’s luggage and helped him downstairs. When he came back up, Nikita noticed him tucking money in his pocket.

“You got a tip?” she asked, amused.

“I’m a very good porter,” Michael informed her.

“How are you at plumbing? The plumber says he can’t come till Saturday.”

“What’s the job pay?”

“Free room and board.”

“I’ll take it.” Michael picked up his own bag and Nikita bit her lip.

“But, Michael ... I wasn’t kidding about the room. We’re totally booked up, and the room with the toilet ... I don’t really think you’ll want to stay there till it airs out. Should I call over to the Vesuvius to get you a room there? Or, if you want ... Milla’s at camp ... if you want, you could stay in her room.”

“She wouldn’t mind?”

“Are you joking? She thinks you hung the moon.” Nikita smiled at him again and he started down the short hall that led to Nikita and Milla’s apartment. “The plumbing tools are in the laundry room,” Nikita called after him.

**************

Nikita hadn’t been exaggerating about the smell, and as Michael began to tinker with the toilet, the generator pump chug-chugging in the corner and a fan going full blast to air out the room, he reflected that if anyone had told him five years ago that today he’d be on the floor of a hotel bathroom in Sorrento trying to unstop a potty, he would have thought they were insane.

A lot can change in a few years, he thought. He made a minor adjustment and with a whoosh and a gurgle, the toilet emptied and began refilling.

Intensely grateful that he wouldn’t have to undo pipes or crawl around under the floor to locate the blockage, Michael stood and washed his hands. He waited for the tank to fill, then he flushed the toilet again just to make sure.

When he put away the tools, he ran into Nikita. “You fixed it?”

“So far,” he said.

“You’re so well-rounded, Michael,” she smiled and patted his arm. “Now, if you will be so kind as to hand me the wrench ... the knob popped off the stove again and it won’t turn off.”

Michael handed her the tool. “You really ought to think about hiring someone else, Nikita.”

“Maybe I’ll think about it ...” She turned toward the kitchen.

****************

The rest of the week was crazy. Guests came and went, rooms were turned in a few hours, the washing machines never stopped. Dulcie began sneezing on Saturday and by Sunday was a mess; Nikita sent her home and called the agency for a replacement. “The last thing we need is for everyone to catch cold,” she said to Dulcie. “It’s Sunday; everyone will leave this afternoon; Michael and the new person from the agency will help me.”

By late afternoon, the last of the guests left. Every sheet was dirty; the laundry room was piled with damp towels; and there wasn’t a drop of orange juice left in the refrigerator. Nikita collapsed in a deck chair and groaned. “Thank goodness we have a few more days till the hotel is full again. I checked the reservations; tomorrow and Tuesday we’re completely empty and on Wednesday we have three rooms let.”

“Is it always like this?”

“In the summer it is. In the winter it’s dead.” She put her arm over her face to block the sun.

“How do you manage?”

“Dulcie. And one of the restaurants downstairs lets me use one of their waiters in the summer for a bartender. When it’s really crazy, I can rent someone from the agency in town. Then, there’s always Aldo.”

“I haven’t seen him the past few days.”

“He’s on vacation. Like everyone else in Italy.”

They were quiet for a minute, then Nikita opened her eyes and smiled. “But it’s worth it when you get to wake up every morning to this view.”

“It is nice,” Michael agreed, his eyes on her face. “Nikita.”

“Mmmm ...?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Doing?”

“Do you have plans?”

“No ...”

“Would you like to go out with me and let everyone else wait on us for a change?”

“Okay,” she said, sounding pleased. Then she bit her lip, uncertainly. “Michael, I’m sorry I’ve taken advantage of you the past few days. Thanks for helping me out, though; I really appreciate it. The only thing I’m sorry about is, Milla wasn’t here.”

“When does she get back?”

“Next week.”

“It must be lonely for you when she’s gone.”

“Sometimes it is. Usually I’m too busy to miss her, though. And Vito usually ... well.” She got up, smoothed her faded sundress and stretched.

“‘Vito usually ...’ what?”

“Oh, he takes me out, keeps me busy,” she said vaguely. “Or he did. But I don’t think he will anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because this time when I told him no, I think he actually listened. When do you want to go?”

“Go?”

“Out to eat,” Nikita reminded him. “I’m awfully tired. Is 8 o’clock too early for you?”

“No, that sounds perfect,” Michael said slowly.

“Good.” Nikita turned to go to her rooms.

“Nikita --”

“Yes?”

“Never mind,” Michael said. “It’ll wait.”

“Okay,” she smiled, then she went to get ready.

****************

The air was warm and still light -- sunset took a long time in the summer here -- but by the time they were finished with dinner, the sky had turned to a dark, dark blue and the sidewalks were humming with traffic and tourists. They stopped to make an order for the following week at one of the candy shops Nikita patronized, and she half-heartedly picked through some children’s sandals for Milla. “She’ll have to choose,” Nikita said finally, “She’s too picky by far and I’m sure to choose the wrong pair.”

“Wonder where she picked up that trait,” Michael teased softly and Nikita looked surprised.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she grinned back. “The little beast.”

“She’s a sweet child,” Michael said.

“Sweet and spoiled,” Nikita amended. “Though having Aldo’s kids around helps. They don’t let her run the show, that’s for sure.”

“Wonder how she’s doing at camp?”

“We should get a letter tomorrow,” Nikita said. “She’s only been gone a week and mail here is unpredictable. Last summer, she was really too young to go, but Sylvia, who is a year older and scared of her own shadow, wouldn’t go without her; Milla ended up being the only kid without poison ivy. She said she told the rest of them that it was a dangerous plant but they didn’t listen.”

Michael chuckled. “So your survival skills were put to use, after all.”

“I only hope it’s the only one she ever needs,” Nikita said sadly.

They walked slowly through the warm night, hands loosely linked. They stopped for gelato at a crowded stand; people nodded and spoke to Nikita and once again Michael marveled at the new life she’d made for herself. They finally went back to the hotel, full and tired.

No one else had checked in, and they said good night to the girl from the agency and called her a cab. Nikita locked the elevator -- now, no one could come up without buzzing in from downstairs -- and they went through the hotel, checking and making sure everything was in order. The last thing she did was call the maid service she used sometimes and request a team come to the hotel tomorrow morning. “I just don’t have the energy -- or the people -- to do a good job. Thank goodness the maid service has a key to the place; I want to sleep in,” she yawned, hanging up the phone.

At her bedroom door, Nikita said, “Thanks, Michael.”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“I didn’t mean just for the food. Though that was good, too,” she said. “When I first saw you ... I admit, I wasn’t really happy. Not just because I was scared that you were going to take me back, but because I’ve tried really hard to forget parts of my old life. Sometimes I even tried to forget you.”

Michael waited, not saying anything.

“But I’m glad you found me,” Nikita said slowly. “I never thought I would be, but I really am.”

Michael still didn’t speak, and finally Nikita said, “Good night, Michael.”

“Good night.”

************

Michael tossed and turned. The past three nights he’d fallen to sleep quickly, but now he couldn’t get comfortable. He told himself it was because he was too tired to sleep.

He turned over again. His feet hung off the end of Milla’s bed, and grinning at him from a bookshelf was a rag doll. He frowned and turned over and closed his eyes. It was a tiny bed and when he turned over the springs squeaked, something he hadn’t noticed before. He just didn’t belong here.

Michael sighed, and taking his pillow, he went into Nikita’s room.

“Nikita.”

She mumbled in her sleep and Michael sighed. Now that she was sleeping alone, she took over the entire bed, spread out like a starfish. He moved an arm and a leg out of the way, put his pillow into place and lay down. She muttered dark, unintelligible words and scooted over; Michael curled around her, pushed her hair out of his face, nuzzled her neck that smelled faintly of soap and lemons and sun, and finally went to sleep.

**************

The phone rang, a sharp sound in the quiet early morning air, and Nikita jumped for it. Unfortunately, Michael was in the way; she reached frantically for the phone, her elbows on his chest, and lay across him at a right angle. He let out a grunt.

“Hello?” She shot him an irritated look and he subsided. “Yes, all the rooms. I know, I should have called earlier, but I forgot ... yes ... yes ... no, just strip them and I’ll do the sheets later ... thanks, Tonio, I appreciate it.” Nikita replaced the receiver and looked down at Michael.

“Have you given any thought to hiring someone else to help out?” Michael asked.

Nikita sighed. “I’m going to have to. I can’t keep asking Aldo to come over at odd hours; Milla’s running around like an wild Indian; and I keep waking up with strange men in my bed.” She fixed him with a piercing glare. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I belong here.” He extracted his arm from underneath her, then laid it across Nikita’s back.

“Is that so? This is the second time I’ve woken up and found you in my bed. Is this becoming a habit?”

Nikita was wearing a worn-out large T-shirt but no underpants; Michael’s warm hand slowly went up her hip to her back. “I would like it to be,” he said honestly.

Nikita licked her lips. “How many times have we had this discussion, Michael?”

“Many times.”

She lightly traced his profile with her finger. “I’m not marrying you. You have rotten luck with wives. And I can’t do casual. Neither can you. And there’s Milla. I won’t have people moving in and out of her life like ... like hotel guests.”

Michael kissed her finger as it passed his lips. “I think I’m moving here.”

“What?” Nikita snatched her hand away from him. “Here? Where? Sorrento?”

“Here. With you. And Milla. I tried to stay away, but I can’t.” Michael reversed their positions suddenly; Nikita settled onto her back and Michael, propped up on an elbow, stared down at her seriously.

“Would this be permanent?”

“Yes.” Michael watched her face, trying to gauge her opinion. “But only if you agree.”

“Permanent as in ... this-is-where-I’m-staying-for-awhile or permanent as in changing your business cards?”

Looking a little embarrassed, Michael said, “I already placed an order for new ones.”

“Is this just a way to get free room and board?” She licked her finger and smoothed his eyebrow.

“Yes ...” He bent down and kissed her eyebrow. Then her eye socket.

“You have to be absolutely sure,” she sighed, her eyes closing and her hands knotting in his short hair.

“I am ...” Michael kissed her nose, then a cheek.

Nikita pulled him closer and kissed him slowly on the mouth. “ ... this seems so familiar ... but it’s not ...”

Michael’s hands were under her nightclothes. “We’ve never,” he said distinctly, “Had the luxury of time. Or privacy.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Nikita chuckled, then as Michael touched an especially sensitive spot, she gasped. “It’s nice to know ... we aren’t on film this time ...”

“Or trying to hurry up before someone comes in ...”

In unison, they said, “Damn Birkhoff,” then Nikita gently ran her fingers over Michael’s rough face. “Did you hate it as much as I did?”

“Section?”

“The way we had to be.”

“Maybe more ...” Michael sat up suddenly, and Nikita’s hand went out to pull him back. He folded her fingers in his. “We have another chance, though. Do you want ... this?”

Nikita sat up and smiled. “I want a new life.”

“You already have one,” Michael pointed out. “The hotel; Milla --”

“I meant with you,” Nikita said, cutting him off. She began unbuttoning his pajama top, then fell against him with a grunt. “I’ve always wanted a life with you. And I want it to start right now.”

“Patience is a virtue --”

“Patience,” she corrected, “Is overrated.”

“I think in this case ... you’re right.”

*****************

Late sunlight streamed over the pale half-walls and streets of the old city of Pompeii. Conversations in different languages pattered off the walls -- Italian, German, English. Tourists gamely walked down the straight streets, looking through gates at houses long ago emptied of human life. The frescoes still were bright; the mosaics that were left still charming; empty fountains, some still with statues in them, sat quietly in the middle of overgrown courtyards.

Milla hopped up on the stones that had, in ancient times, been used by the citizens to cross the roads on rainy days without getting their feet wet. She raced her shadow down the crooked cobblestones, then came back toward Michael and Nikita slowly, balancing on the largest stones in the pavement.

Pompeii was a large city and most of the buildings were still open to visitors. Milla darted in one house, then when Michael and Nikita passed leisurely by, she jumped out.

“Milla!” Nikita jumped, then grinned. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed where they were. “Come away from there, you know you aren’t allowed in there.”

“Because there are dirty pictures on the walls? The guide said they were ... fer ... fer ...”

“Fertility,” Michael supplied, and Milla smiled.

“Yes. Fertility.”

“Never mind,” Nikita said firmly. “I need your help. Can you carry this?” She handed Milla the thermos, and Milla took it cheerfully.

“I don’t like that house, anyway. I like the bachelor’s house. The rooms are bright and pretty. And the floors have designs,” Milla said. “After we eat, can we go and look at it?”

“Maybe,” Nikita said. “If there’s time before the concert.”

Content with her answer, Milla walked beside Nikita. “Did you bring the cat food, Mami?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good. These poor cats ... nothing to eat but nasty mice and bats ...”

“Bats?” Michael looked surprised.

In English, Milla crooned to herself, “Cats eat mice and bats eat lice ...”

They came to a grassy spot; a large tree shaded the ground and Michael spread out their blanket. Nikita sat down and took off her shoes and Milla began unpacking the hamper. As they ate, other families began arriving; the picnic spot was close to the coliseum, which in the summer was used for local theatrical productions. Tonight it was going to be American music. Nikita thought it would be funny to listen to American tunes at such an obviously Italian place, so they’d come even though school would start tomorrow for Milla and she ought to have been home getting ready for bed.

Milla picked at her sandwich. “Milla,” Nikita said, “Please eat. I packed enough food for the cats and you, too.”

Milla ate her sandwich. She balanced a corn chip on her big toe, then let it fall to the ground, watching with interest as a delegation of ants tried to take the chip home. Michael had been teaching her how to walk on her hands; now, she tucked her dress in her underpants and took a few uncertain steps. “Milla,” Nikita said mildly, “Stop that. You’re showing everyone your everything.”

Milla turned right side up and balanced on one leg, stork-like. “Hurry up.”

The sun was still hot, but it was lower in the sky now. Michael took a last drink of lemonade and said, “Well, Milla, are you ready to feed the cats?”

Milla brightened. “Yes. The poor dears ... no one to care for them ...”

“Mmmm ...” Michael agreed. He got up and offered a hand to Nikita, who rose with a groan. Milla got a container of cat food -- table scraps, really, from the last wedding at the hotel -- and set off toward the yellow buildings. Leaving their scattered picnic, Nikita laced her fingers through Michael’s and they followed at a more leisurely pace.

Michael brought their linked hands up and kissed Nikita’s dirty wrist. Then he kissed it again.

“Michael ...”

Michael swung her around and gave her a great, smacking kiss. Nikita grinned and kissed him back. “Cut it out. It’s in the middle of the day.”

“Daytime, nighttime ... who cares?”

“Well, personally ...” Nikita kissed him again, “I don’t care at all. But I think there might be laws against this kind of thing ... and I don’t know about you, but there are certain things I’m not quite ready for Milla to learn.”

Michael kissed Nikita again, and held her close. They’d come to a couple of evening events at Pompeii; Milla loved it but always fell asleep in Michael’s arms long before the performance was over. “As soon as she falls asleep tonight, let’s go home,” Michael suggested.

“I hate to remind you ... but she took a nap today. She may never fall asleep.”

“We’ll have to wear her out, then. After this, if she doesn’t look sleepy, we’ll make her run back to the coliseum.”

“Michael!” Nikita laughed. “That’s just plain mean ...”

“Self-preservation is what it is ...” he kissed the back of her neck and she shivered.

The day was dying. Above them, the sky turned deep turquoise and what was left of daylight shafted long shadows against the stone walls. Somewhere behind them, lights flickered on for the performance and the orchestra began warming up. Then, in a few minutes, they heard the rumble of a voice on the loudspeaker giving an introduction.

“Milla, hurry up,” Nikita called. “They’re starting.”

Milla evidently spotted a cat. Her voice floated back to them. “Kitty ... here, kitty, kitty ... aren’t you tired of eating rats? Mami packed you some lovely fish ... here, kitty, kitty ...”

Cats ran wild here, thin, suspicious creatures more inclined to scratch than purr. They took refuge behind the iron gates that blocked tourists from certain parts of the city. Some parts of Pompeii were still being excavated, and some parts simply weren’t safe for people. But they were havens for cats, and they slunk in the shadows, watching, waiting for the people to leave at night so they could cat around silent city streets.

“Kitty ... kitty,” Milla crooned, kneeling beside a gate and dropping pieces of deboned fish through the poles.

“Careful, Milla,” Michael admonished.

She looked back over her shoulder. “I am careful.”

Nikita leaned back against Michael, keeping an eye on Milla. The music began, old American standards, and floating out over the old city, a distinctly English voice began singing.

In a mountain greenery Where God paints the scenery Just two crazy people together ...

“Milla, come on, love,” Nikita called. “It’s almost too dark to see.”

“I forgot the flashlight,” Milla said regretfully. “But I can see their eyes in the dark. Oh, Mami, they’re so hungry ... come on, kitty, kitty ... I think I need to take one home.”

“I don’t think so,” Nikita said. “We have plenty of cats.”

“But not like these ...”

“We aren’t taking any cats home.”

Michael bent his head and nuzzled Nikita’s neck. They were standing in deep shadow now, and she turned her head and kissed him possessively.

While you love your lover let Blue skies be your coverlet When it rains, we’ll laugh at the weather...

Michael’s hand spanned her abdomen; she put a hand on top of his and turned back to Milla, holding out her other hand. “Come on, love.”

“They ate every bit,” Milla trotted over, satisfied. “See?”

Nikita turned her head away from the overpowering fish smell. “Oh, Milla, put the lid on ... yes, they were hungry ...”

In an mountain greenery Where God paints the scenery Just two crazy people together. How we’ll love sequestering Where no pests are pestering ...

Milla wiped her fishy hands on her skirt and yawned without covering her mouth. Nikita’s eyebrows raised and she looked at Michael. Milla said crossly, “I can’t see. It’s too dark. I’m going to hurt my toe again.” Last time they’d come, Milla had run too fast on the uneven streets, tripped and stubbed her toe so hard the nail turned black and fell off.

“Come here,” Michael said, and picking her up in one arm, he looped the other around Nikita, giving her one last kiss on her forehead.

We could find no keener Retreat from lifes’ machinery Than our mountain greenery home ...

“Are you tired, Milla?” Nikita asked, and Michael gave her a quick secret smile.

“A little bit,” Milla answered. She put her head down on Michael’s shoulder and her fishy hands around his neck.

In our mountain greenery Where God paints the scenery In our mountain greenery home ...

Michael walked them slowly back to their picnic spot. “Bye, kitties ...” Milla called out sleepily, and Nikita smoothed a hand over her back.

“We’ll come back next weekend, perhaps,” Nikita said.

Milla mumbled something, and as they got closer to the coliseum, Nikita came around to Michael’s other side to look at her. “She’s asleep,” Nikita said, surprised.

“Good.” Michael turned and kissed Nikita again, a long, slow kiss. She put a hand on his cheek and kissed him quickly.

“Let me just gather our things ...” She quickly jumbled their picnic things together and Michael, with Milla in one arm and the blanket in the other, led the way to the car.

The moon had risen, turning all of Pompeii into silver and black shadows. The parking lot was full; Michael put Milla in the back seat, then opened Nikita’s door for her. Somehow, she got tangled up in his arms again.

“Michael ... either we make out in the parking lot ... or we go home ...” she breathed in his ear.

Michael released her. “Let’s go home, then.”