Arrhythmia Read online

  Just to be on the safe side. You never knew, right?

  This dude was slowly but surely driving me insane. One day, in an attempt at wit, I’d asked him if his name could perhaps be translated as “hubris.” He had destroyed my pitiful burn with an erotic look and cooed, “Desiderio means ‘longing.’”

  Of course, I had promptly checked his allegation. I’d been shocked to learn it was true.

  Longing. Or desire.

  I had to admit that the name sort of fit. At least hormonally speaking, with respect to his drool-worthy appearance . . .

  I told myself to calm down immediately and turned my attention back to the lovely wallpaper waiting to be hung in Frank’s dining room. I carefully studied the instructions for applying the adhesive while the lord of the manor stood next to me with a skeptical look on his face.

  Frank didn’t quite know why he was so dubious about wallpaper. Making a face, he told me that the only place he had ever seen it was his grandmother’s house. He couldn’t say what made that so terrible. When I brought up the possibility of a traumatic childhood memory, he laughed me off and told me that he had nothing but wonderful memories of his grandmother and that they involved a lot of candy and some serious spoiling. Everything had been the way it should be with a grandmother. It was just that he had always found the wallpaper hideous.

  I didn’t let his flimsy excuse make me lose my cool, and I studiously ignored his wrinkled brow. The pattern on the wallpaper matched the new design of the dining room too well for me to give up easily. Also, the up and down of painting the living room had really gotten on my nerves, and I’d decided that hanging wallpaper would be a lot less strenuous.

  “OK, we have to mix the powder with water until it becomes a paste,” I summarized for Frank. “After that, all you do is spread it on the wallpaper and stick it on the wall. Sounds easy, right?” He seemed unenthused, but I ignored him. “We should probably cut the strips just a little bit long and then trim the edges on the top and bottom with a carpet knife. Or do you think we should cut it exactly? But what if we mismeasure? No, it’s better to leave some room for error.”

  Frank grunted something that sounded like “whatever.” I continued to keep my cool despite his bad mood.

  “If you mix the paste, I’ll start cutting the first lengths,” I said, pressing the packet with the powder into his hand.

  “How much water?” he asked joylessly.

  “It’s written on the package,” I replied impatiently and unrolled the wallpaper with great pleasure.

  It was gorgeous!

  The paper was a soft beige and adorned with silvery, shimmery baroque ornaments. It would go perfectly with the vintage look of the new furniture.

  My good taste prevailed, and Frank’s mood seemed to lift with every strip we pasted on the wall. Maybe he didn’t want to spoil my fun as I worked, stepping back every so often to regard my emerging masterpiece.

  The first wall was done in no time, and I was asking myself why we hadn’t been wallpapering instead of painting all along. My arms and nerves would surely have thanked me.

  “What do you think? Not too shabby, huh?” I beamed at Frank.

  He nodded benevolently. “I must admit, I thought it was going to be worse.”

  “Worse? Don’t you like it?” I asked in shock. “Oh no, I was so sure that you would once you saw it on the wall. Is it the color? The pattern? Or both? I’m so sorry! But the adhesive hasn’t dried yet, and that means that we can still pull it off, OK?”

  Frank grinned, amused by my growing hysteria, and stuck a stray scrap of wallpaper on my forehead. “Calm down, Lena. I love it.”

  Relieved, I removed the wallpaper from my head and applied it to Frank’s cheek.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I never would have thought that wallpaper could look so cool.”

  “Men,” I sighed, shaking my head while I fought off Frank, who was trying to stick the paper on my mouth.

  We monkeyed around some more, trying to stick as many scraps of wallpaper on each other as we could, until we faced each other, out of breath and with wallpaper adhesive in our hair.

  “Time out!” I pleaded with a giggle, as I was clearly at a disadvantage and already looked like an envelope covered with stamps. “I give up.”

  “You’re just giving up because you’re losing. That’s what it is,” Frank said triumphantly.

  “Bullshit! Just you wait until I’ve caught my breath. Then I’ll turn you into a roll of wallpaper.”

  He jeered and picked a piece of wallpaper off his neck. His expression turned pensive. “Say . . .”

  Frank was interrupted when my phone started vibrating on the table. I grabbed it but didn’t accept the call.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. His serious tone had aroused my curiosity.

  “Go ahead and answer that first.” He nodded toward my buzzing phone.

  Was he relieved or was that just my imagination?

  I studied him carefully as I took the call. “Hello?”

  “Lena?”

  “Hi, Vera. This is my cell phone. Who else do you think is going to answer it?” I said dryly.

  “Who knows? You might have lost it and some celebrity might have found it and I might be talking to a movie star!”

  “A celebrity? Here in Wollbach? Sure.”

  Frank, who could not figure out this conversation, took the second package of adhesive and disappeared in the bathroom.

  “Yes, exactly,” Vera prattled on. “Where are you anyway?”

  “At Frank’s.”

  “What? Again?” The connection made a noise. “Are you guys still not finished with the renovations?”

  “Listen, Better Homes and Gardens takes time!”

  “Apparently.”

  I stopped short. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “No, no, of course I do,” Vera immediately said. “I was merely making an observation. Say, what kind of shift do you have next Saturday?”

  “I’m off. Why?”

  “Because it’s my birthday, you asshole!”

  Shoot! “Of course it’s your birthday. Do you think I don’t know that?” I asked indignantly. I was glad that Vera couldn’t see my facial expression contradicting my statement. I forged ahead. “But that doesn’t mean you have to know what shift I’m working, do you?” Frank returned to the dining room and shook his head with exaggerated disdain. I punched him in the shoulder and wandered into the living room.

  “Of course I need to know, because I want to invite you to The Goose for dinner. We’re going to Go afterward to celebrate.”

  “Ooh, that does sound good,” I said and really meant it. “Count me in. What time is dinner?”

  “Seven thirty. Do you want us to pick you up?”

  “No, no. It’s not far. I can walk.”

  “As you wish. And please let Frank know.”

  “Will do. How about having coffee again one of these days?”

  “Thursday?”

  “You got it. See you then.”

  “Ciao!”

  I put away my cell phone and made a mental note: Buy birthday present for Vera.

  Man, sometimes I was pretty lousy in the best friend department. I slunk back into the dining room with a guilty conscience.

  “Vera has invited us to The Goose next Saturday at seven thirty,” I told Frank.

  “To celebrate her birthday. And afterward, we’re going to Go.” Frank finished my sentence with a smirk. “I know.”

  Of course, he was already informed.

  “And how do you know, if you don’t mind telling me?” I asked.

  “Sebastian.”

  “I see. OK, then. Uh, please don’t tell her that I almost made other plans, OK? Otherwise, she’ll be insulted again for days on end,” I pleade
d.

  He grinned mischievously. “How much is my silence worth to you?”

  “A Glock, a shovel, and the prospect of a life sentence.”

  “Jeez. In that case, I’d better guard your secret,” he replied quickly, eyeing me as though I were actually an unpredictable psychopath.

  “There’s a good boy. By the way, what were you going to say before?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His slightly twisted face betrayed the fact that he knew exactly what I was talking about. Now I was getting really curious.

  “A while ago, just before Vera called. I believe you started with: ‘Say . . .’”

  “Oh, that.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which was standing on end from all the adhesive in it. “Well, I just wanted to know . . .”

  “Hmm?” I pressed him when he didn’t finish.

  What was the matter with him?

  Frank looked around helplessly.

  “All right,” he began again. “I was just wondering if . . . if I really need new drapes in here.”

  Huh? I looked at him in bewilderment.

  “Your old drapes are blue. With yellow circles on them,” I said slowly.

  “Yeah, but you know, I kind of liked that pattern.”

  “Frank, blue with yellow circles. This isn’t a nursery!”

  “Hm.”

  “I don’t know what got into Birgit to make her choose something like that.”

  Frank timidly raised his finger. “Uh, I was the one who chose them.”

  “Aha. Well, that explains everything.” I possessively placed my hand on his shoulder. “And it demonstrates how desperately you need me as your interior designer. There is no room anywhere in the world where these drapes would look good. Just trust me.”

  He gave in a little reluctantly, and I was still shaking my head later when I got home.

  Blue with yellow circles. Please!

  Chapter 12

  I had a night shift again a few days later. With Desiderio, of course. Right from the start, I began to get strange little skips in my usually very regular pulse when he greeted me with the most alluring smile I’d ever seen. I instantly recalled my EKG plan and resolved to go ahead with it as soon as Desiderio headed to the doctors’ lounge. I didn’t even want to imagine having to explain my symptoms to him!

  The outpatient clinic was empty. It was Tuesday and there was no full moon, which meant things should stay quiet. As soon as the day shift left, I sat down at the computer at the nurses’ station to input some patient data. Surgery dates, wound-care documentation . . . in other words, the usual. I took my time in order to avoid Desiderio’s handsome face.

  After a while, I sensed a slight tingling on my neck. I knew that someone was watching me and, moreover, I knew exactly who it was. I’d been paying close attention to the sounds around me, so how had he suddenly appeared without so much as a swish of clothing? Was it possible for someone to move so stealthily? Had I somehow ended up in a vampire story? That would explain my uncanny attraction to Desiderio. His charm was unnatural.

  But what was he planning now? Why was he standing there, silently watching me? Was he planning to bite me? And if he did that, would I fight him?

  Lena!

  OK, back to reality. There were no vampires, and I would most certainly defend myself.

  Or not?

  Of course!

  What was he trying to achieve with his slinking? Maybe he was trying to scare me. That seemed the most likely explanation. Right after vampire.

  But I was going to flip the script.

  “What do you want?” I asked without turning.

  I could practically hear Desiderio’s grin. “Do you mean in general, or specifically at this moment?”

  Idiot.

  “I mean, why the hell are you creeping up on me like that?”

  “I just wanted to see if you’re still tense when I’m not around.”

  I spun around in a flash. “I’m tense?”

  Desiderio leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and winked at me. “Most of the time.”

  “You’re confusing tense with annoyed,” I explained.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re the one who has the two mixed up.”

  “So you think you know me better than I know myself?”

  He just casually shrugged his shoulders. “At least I know you better than you think I do.”

  My eyebrows wandered up my forehead. “I see. The great psychoanalyst has spoken.”

  I turned back to the monitor in order to stop looking at a loose lock of hair on his forehead that was driving me crazy.

  Behind me, I could hear Desiderio sit down at the kitchen table. A rustling noise had to be him spreading the day’s newspaper out in front of him. Did he really have to be in here?

  I doggedly tried to ignore his presence and resume my work at the computer. The clicking of the keyboard, at which I was pecking a little harder than necessary, filled the room for only a short while before I was interrupted again.

  “Have you ever been to Italy?” Desiderio asked, completely out of the blue.

  My fingers hovered over the keys. I briefly considered lying to him before answering, “Yes, but that was a long time ago.”

  “How long?”

  “Almost seven years.”

  “That’s not so long. Where exactly were you?”

  I thought for a minute. I finally forced myself to answer as neutrally as possible. Perhaps I could manage to carry on a normal conversation with this impossible man.

  “All over, really. Rome, Venice, Milan . . . but I spent most of my time in Sicily,” I recounted, staring stubbornly at the monitor.

  “Wow, how long did your trip last?”

  “Five months.”

  “That long? Fantastic. How old were you?”

  “Seventeen. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday in Palermo.”

  Desiderio reflected briefly. My shoulders instantly tensed.

  “Palermo is amazing. I was there, too, once. What did you like best about Sicily?”

  I was so relieved that he didn’t want to know the specifics of my trip that I gave myself over to enthusiastic honesty.

  “The espresso. Oh my goodness, I haven’t had such good coffee since. Hm . . . Un caffè lungo, per favore!”

  Desiderio laughed. “German coffee can only be described as swill once you’ve tasted real Sicilian espresso.”

  The disarming nature of the conversation made me turn around in my chair.

  “Where exactly is your family from?”

  My question obviously pleased him. “My roots are in Verona. But it’s a little more complicated than that, if you’re interested.”

  I even managed a smile, surprising myself.

  “Go ahead.”

  He accepted my invitation with a gleam in his eyes. “Well, my father was born in Verona and grew up there. My mother is a Wollbach native and met him during a trip to Italy. Both tell me that it was love at first sight. They ended up getting married, and my father moved to Germany for my mother’s sake. I mostly grew up here, but we spent all our vacations in Italy. And when I started college, my parents decided to spend their well-earned retirement in Italy and emigrated.”

  “You don’t have any siblings?”

  “No.” He raised his hands apologetically. “I’m a spoiled only child.

  “I was about to say.”

  We briefly grinned at each other.

  “How about you?” he inquired. “Do you have siblings?”

  “Two half sisters, but we’re not close, in several respects,” I said, and hesitated a little. “My family is a little complicated.”

  “I have time,” Desiderio said encouragingly.

  “All right, then.” I leaned back
and tried to find an appropriate way to start. “My parents are originally from Munich and moved here because of my father’s work. I was born here. My parents got divorced when I was twelve. My father went through some kind of midlife crisis and disappeared to France with a significantly younger woman. It was only years later that he contacted me again and I learned I had two younger sisters. I’ve only met them once, and we don’t have much of a relationship. I talk to my father on the phone exactly twice a year: once on my birthday and once on his. No, don’t make that face. It’s all right. I never felt life would have been better with a real father—at least for me. My mother was devastated when he left and was a pretty desperate single mom for many years. She probably didn’t have an easy time with me, but anyway . . . She never had another real relationship here, and her job as a sales clerk was more than a little frustrating.”

  I paused and became lost in my memories. Patiently, Desiderio waited for me to continue my tale. At some point, I cleared my throat and gave him a crooked smile.

  “But now it’s love, peace, and harmony again. My mom is living in Hamburg, working at her dream job as an editor at a renowned publishing house, and she’s finally found a really nice partner. We don’t see much of each other, but our relationship is the best it’s ever been.”

  Desiderio had listened to my story with the utmost attention.

  “How long has your mother been in Hamburg?” he wanted to know.

  “Uh, I’m not sure. It’s been a few years” was my flimsy answer as I scratched my chin.

  His look grew penetrating and ever more unpleasant. He could tell I was leaving something out, and he was unsure whether to press me for more information or tactfully accept my silence.

  Much to my surprise, he decided to go the tactful route.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to go to Hamburg either,” he agreed, breaking the tension.

  I responded gratefully, “Well, I wouldn’t have minded moving to Verona!”

  “Medical school in Italy? Oh no. If I had been accepted, I would have gone to Switzerland. Italy? Munich was a much better choice. Once a Bavarian, always a Bavarian.”

  I laughed out loud. “Such patriotism!”