CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

 

I should have stayed mad at Salvatore. It would have made the day so much easier, and I wouldn’t have had the struggle of liking him and not having him as we went on with his day of surprises for me.

He was enjoying the whole thing, giving me smoldery eyes and sultry smiles and swoony Italian phrases I didn’t understand, while being friendly and teasing and warm, all at a safe distance.

He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

And was laughing about it.

He’d had us stop along the Ponte Vecchio, which was just about the most perfect bridge I had ever seen, and just enjoy the breeze off of the Arno. We’d talked and slowly I’d felt myself finding the comfort with him again that had been so easy only yesterday. It was a heavy subject, too heavy for a day like today, but someday we would have to talk about my insecurities and tendency to believe the negative over the positive.

We did, however, talk about the flirting.

After the fourth woman on the Ponte Vecchio had said something to him in Italian that had been unmistakably suggestive, I’d groaned and steered him back to the scooter, telling him I couldn’t handle one more of those, and he needed to stop smiling about it.

“My friends have always found that amusing,” he reminded me with a mischievous smile.

I did not return it. “This particular friend needs you to either be less attractive or make it clear that you are not interested in their attentions.”

That had really delighted him. “Is my friend Claire jealous?”

My elbow to his ribs had ended the conversation rather quickly.

Or so I’d thought.

He’d had me sit in front of him on the scooter that time, telling me where to go and terrifying me with letting me drive, though his hands were beside mine the entire time.

And then he’d started the Italian again.

I’d only caught some phrases, but it was enough to ruffle me. “Mi piace che sei geloso.”, “Voglio passare la vita con te.”, “Dammi ragione per sperare.”, “Permettemi di essere il tuo!”

By the end of that ride, I was barely seeing straight, let alone able to drive. We were not going to be riding in this position anymore, especially if he wanted us to arrive anywhere in one piece.

We pulled up to another gorgeous building, one that looked more like a palace than anything else.

“What’s this?” I asked as he turned off the scooter.

“La vostra tua ispirazione,” he murmured into my ear.

I jerked away with a shiver. “Stop that!” I wiped at my ear as if he might have been an irritating gnat flying around it. “Say it in English.”

He grinned. “Your inspiration.”

“What, is that what you call yourself?” I snapped as I tossed the helmet at him.

He hooted a laugh. “Your words, not mine.” He gestured to the house. “This is the Palazzo Pitti and the Boboli gardens.”

“I’m not familiar with them,” I said with a frown, staring up at the magnificent facade. “It’s huge.”

“There are several museums and collections in it,” Salvatore replied as he came up beside me. “I thought we might start in the gardens with our picnic and then you could choose which parts of the house we see.”

I turned to look up at him. “Picnic? You didn’t bring any food.”

He grinned at me and tapped my nose. “I am the Duca di Brista, Tesoro. I called ahead and they prepared one.”

I gaped as he took my hand and tugged me along behind him. I knew that influence could do many things, having arranged for several outrageous allowances myself, but I had no idea that a Monterran duke could have any influence at all in Florence. “How does that even work?”

“I called, they arranged.” He shrugged easily. “Semplice.”

I hit his arm hard. “Not what I meant! You’re Monterran!”

“My cousin is a man of some distinction in Italy,” he replied with a laugh, looking the slightest bit sheepish. “He is always willing to use his influence on my behalf.”

“Of course he is,” I muttered.

That earned me a hard look. “You do the same thing, and expect the same thing. No judging, fatina.”

That, at least, was true.

“No judging,” I agreed.

The kitchen staff at the palace, or wherever the food had come from, had outdone themselves. Our “picnic” had been a table in a quiet grove near a fountain, and the amount of food in the basket would have fed a dozen. But there was so much by way of variety that we wound up eating at least half of everything. I had to try it all, and Salvatore was more than willing to help me with it. It was really a beautiful setting, and would have been utterly romantic.

If we were being romantic.

Which we weren’t.

I took a moment after eating to make a quick sketch of the fountain, with Salvatore leaning over my shoulder to watch me work. He’d been respectful and honest, but also surprisingly inquisitive. His praise sounded sweet and sincere without being flattering and over-the-top, which I appreciated, and as I finished, he started laughing to himself.

“What?” I asked, smiling at the sound.

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling slightly as he looked back at me. “I was just wondering when you were going to finish the drawing of me.”

My smile vanished as I stared at him. “The what?”

The look in his eyes was too knowing. “That day of our countryside walk. You started drawing a picture of me. I want to know when you would finish it.”

There was no way he could know about that. I hadn’t let him see my sketchbook and it had never been out of my possession.

But that smug smile…

He knew.

“How did you know about that?” I asked weakly.

His grin spread and he winked. “I didn’t. That was a guess. I just hoped you had.” He held out his hand to head into the palace and I took it with a moan of despair.

“It’s all right, cuore mio,” he soothed, rubbing my hand. “If I had your skills, I would have hundreds of pictures of you by now. But all I have are memories, and they are more than enough.”

My heart decided to do a jig in my chest, and I prayed the gallery within the house would be worth my inner torment.

As it happened, it was a glorious place. The Palazzo Pitti was huge and had so many galleries and collections within its masterful walls that I stared at the options with a gaping mouth, completely paralyzed and unable to choose anything. Salvatore just laughed and steered me off to the Palatine gallery first.

It had some truly magnificent pieces of art; portraits, landscapes, and religious or mythical themes dotting every wall, nearly every surface. It was not arranged like any other museum I had seen, where there was organization by theme or style or time period. Here it was almost completely random, a true collection of various pieces for whatever reason.

I would have thought that such a thing would have bothered me, seeing how I tended towards organization and order in all things. But somehow, I enjoyed the variety and almost chaotic nature of the arrangement.

It was free. Like the art itself.

Not that I would have arranged a museum or gallery like that myself, but it did give me pause. Not everything had to be in perfect order and clean lines, especially when it came to art.

And there was so much to see! Incredible and intricate pieces, beautiful reminders of the Renaissance and all it left as its legacy, and I suddenly found myself wishing I had ages of time to spend studying every piece

“All of these pieces belonged to the Medici family,” Salvatore said as we walked into yet another room. “Part of their private collection. And there is more of it upstairs in the Royal Apartments. Most people consider the rooms themselves to be works of art, you know.”

I glanced up at him in suspicion. “How do you know all that?”

He pretended to look offended. “I know things.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You looked it up.”

“I did not,” he protested firmly. Then he smiled. “I called yesterday and spoke to someone here who could recommend the galleries we should see and give me insight to impress you with.”

That was oddly adorable, and I beamed up at him. “Thank you for trying. It’s very sweet.”

Salvatore shrugged, though his smile told me he was very pleased with my comments. He slid his hand into mine, and I let him. Why not? He was trying and he was being sweet, and if he wasn’t flirting with other girls…

Well, I was only human.

“How did you know I would love this place?” I asked him as we moved into the Room of Iliad, craning my neck to see it all.

He was silent for a long moment, long enough that I had to look back up at him. “I just knew,” he finally said.

“That’s not an answer,” I scolded, squeezing his hand.

That made him smile. “But it is the truth.” He pulled me close and murmured into my hair, “Ti voglio bene. Non finisce mai l’amore che ho per te.”

I bit back a sigh and let myself lean against him. “I don’t know what that means,” I reminded him.

He chuckled softly. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“What if I want to know now?” I asked him, trying for a grin even though I was going to pieces inside.

“Learn Italian,” he told me with a wink. “Then you’ll know exactly what I’m saying.”

“And why?”

Again he was silent, musing as we walked the room, the art no longer drawing me in as much as he was. “Well,” he answered, his voice surprisingly rough, “you should already have a fair understanding of the why.”

I frowned at that. I should know what? That he found me attractive? That he wanted to spend time with me? That he thought about me enough to plan out a day of brilliant art I adored and called ahead to arrange things for us?

I wasn’t sure what any of that meant.

But I was finding it harder and harder to stick to my resolution. Just friends was starting to feel more like a punishment for me than a safe boundary to save me.

I could be strong. I could wander this beautiful gallery of Renaissance works that belonged to one of the most powerful families in Italy in a house that also belonged to them with a gorgeous Monterran who had arranged this entire day with me in mind, without completely losing my mind, self-respect, and worst of all, my heart.

I could.

“Oh, there he is.” Salvatore pulled me along quickly. “I arranged for a private tour guide to take us through the rest of the gallery and the Royal Apartments upstairs to give us more of the real story. He’s supposed to be the best, and believe me, I asked.”

I couldn’t. Oh, I couldn’t. A private tour of this exquisite gallery on top of everything else?

I was living in a dream and I did not want to wake up.

Ricardo, as it turned out, claimed he could trace his family back to the most powerful members of the Medici family, though he could not name who they were when pressed. But he absolutely insisted that he was, and that the same powerful blood flowed through his veins if I were ever to be free and interested.

Salvatore growled something in Italian at the old man, who wheezed a laugh and responded in kind, which made Salvatore snort with laughter. I could only presume it was inappropriate, which made it even more hilarious. Even I could laugh at the way they were laughing.

We followed Ricardo for a while, who also happened to claim an artistic ability for himself, though his art was sold down by the Arno every Saturday morning for roughly twenty Euro. But he would be happy to make me a better offer if there was a piece I liked more.

Under his influence, the Palatine Gallery and Royal Apartments came alive for us, more than it had before. I could almost see the members of the Medici family coming in and out of the rooms, barely glancing at the art they knew so well. I was jealous of their good fortune, and not only because of the splendor in which they lived. They most likely had no idea how brilliant the artwork they had meticulously collected and cultivated was. It would have been a perfectly commonplace sight for them, nothing to get excited about and certainly nothing for anyone to see.

Salvatore was almost as riveted as I was on the pieces, asking thoughtful questions and encouraging Ricardo’s overly elaborate stories, keeping his hand in mine or a hand at the small of my back the entire time. I loved being close to him, knowing he was loving this as much as I was, even if he might have been mostly ignorant.

Surely he couldn’t fake all of this.

Surely he felt… something.

Because I was feeling everything.

And I needed him to feel something, if not everything, too.

He led me out of the gallery when we had finished, back to the scooter, where I held him tighter than I had before, letting myself sink into him and hold him the way I had been dying to.

I had no idea where we were going, and I didn’t care. I was with him, and that was all I wanted.

We pulled into a stop with dozens of other tourists, and I dreamily followed Salvatore up what felt like a long way. I didn’t even ask where we were going, and he didn’t tell me. We just walked up and up, passing others who were meandering or pointing at various things in the distance. I didn’t see any of it, I just let myself be led and let go. Let go of control, of doubt, of fear, of bitterness, resentment, pride… Anything that had gotten in the way or could get in the way, I let go of.

I just wanted to be for a while.

With him.

Finally, we slowed and I glanced up to see a towering replica of Michelangelo’s David atop a monument. It was powerful and stirring, the Piazzale Michelangelo, and we slowly made our way around it, Salvatore translating the Italian on it for me.

Then I saw it.

My breath caught as a complete panorama of Florence was stretched out before me, the late afternoon light casting stark shadows and illuminating other aspects of the city that any other view might have missed. The colors were bright and vibrant, and the city seemed like something out of a dream, more of a photograph or a landscape from a gallery like the ones we had seen than something real and tangible.

It was stunning.

“I had to get you up here,” Salvatore murmured, coming up next to me. “You had to see this. I thought about getting a canvas and easel and some paints, but I had no idea what to get you. I just wanted to see what you could do with a view like this.”

I suddenly ached somewhere deep inside, longing for exactly what he had described. This scene would have been amazing to try my hand at, though I would never have been able to capture it completely.

“It is a real shame,” he sighed heavily. “I am so sorry I couldn’t arrange that for you. You would have done a magnificent job.”

There was real regret in his voice, and it settled everything for me.

Absolutely everything.

I turned and looked at him, hardly able to catch my breath. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“About what?” he asked, still looking out over the view.

“Being friends.”

He froze, then blinked slowly and turned to look at me, raising one perfect Monterran brow in question.

I nodded almost frantically. “I want the more.” I slid my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for an equally frantic kiss, almost sobbing with the relief of feeling his lips on mine. I arched up, straining on my tiptoes to find a way to get closer to him, giving up any pretense of restraint or distance.

He let me lead, and let me break off a moment later, though there was a short moan of agony when I did.

I touched his face, stroked his jaw, and drummed my fingers on the back of his neck as I sighed. “Give me more.”

“Senz’altro!” he murmured, cupping my face and kissing me back, now taking a much more active role, as well as all control.

I let him. I happily gave up all control of this kiss to his skilled and most excellent care, letting him wring all of the tenderness and sweetness from me that was possible and then some. I linked my fingers behind his neck and let myself be kissed at his leisure, kissing him back in equal measure. There was no frantic passion, no mad race to the finish. It was a slow, leisurely, lingering kiss that could have gone on for hours and days without either of us noticing.

When we’d had our fill, he pressed his brow to mine, smiling in my favorite way. “Well, I must admit I am relieved. The rest of the evening would not have gone nearly so well had it been forced to be strictly platonic.”

I leaned back, my hands still around his neck. “What’s next?”

He stroked my cheeks, grinning. “Next we find a place to get dressed up, and I take you out on the town.” He kissed me quickly. “Please tell me you brought sexy heels like I asked.”

Now it was my turn to grin, and I made it as devilish as I could. “Oh, don’t you worry, my dear Duca di Brista. I will probably need your arm to steady me all night.”

Salvatore groaned and leaned his head back in apparent delight. “My arm and all the rest of me are at your service, fatina.”

And with that, he hurried me back down the hill to the scooter, where I held him tightly, and we rushed back into the Oltrarno district, where our reservations were.

I was quick to change, surprisingly nervous and fluttery in my tight navy dress. I’d opted for long sleeves and a short skirt, grateful this was a good summer for my legs. They would never look as lean and taut and towering as Thalia’s, but with my nude heels, a good four, if not five, inches, they would look as good as was humanly possible for me. It would have to be enough.

I came out of the bathroom and held my breath, heading towards him. He was leaning against a table in the small restaurant, his head down. He wore a grey suit, but no tie, the collar of his white shirt hanging open at the throat. He had gone from an attractive man to something unspeakably gorgeous. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to forget whatever he had planned for the night and just be with him.

He looked up at my approach, and the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

I had to revise my previous thought; at that moment, I wanted nothing more than him.

“Claire…” he breathed, straightening up from the table, his eyes wandering over my form.

I blushed from my head to my toes, feeling more self-conscious and yet more alive than I ever had in my life. “Will I do?” I asked, turning to show him the back of the dress.

It was mostly backless but for a strap across the top, and I happened to know my back looked pretty fantastic these days.

Salvatore made a choking sound, which I took to be an agreement, and I turned back to face him, smirking to myself.

He swallowed hard. “Tu sei la cosa più bella che abbia mai visto,” he managed to say, though his voice barely sounded like his.

I could only catch the word bella, and I knew what that meant. “I’m not sure what you said,” I told him, coming over and unnecessarily fixing his lapel. “But I think my response ought to be ‘Thank you’.”

He nodded once, still looking dazed. “And I thank you, bella. Grazie. Grazie mille.”

I could have melted against him for all time, but I settled for rolling my eyes and patting his chest. “Andiamo, Romeo. Take me away for whatever you have planned.”

“As you wish, fatina,” he replied, settling his hand on my waist. “But first…” He leaned in for a kiss, which he kept very controlled and very gentle, and still it stirred me deeply.

There was no ice in me now.

There was nothing but heat.

Our dinner was at a sweet Tuscan restaurant owned and operated by a local family with a rich Florence history, and they gave us what they considered the “Tour of Tuscany” in the form of a meal, or several meals. By the end of it, I was more concerned about how I would look in my now very tight dress than I was about what the rest of the evening would hold. I felt like a whale, and I was quite sure someone was going to ask me about my pregnancy once we left this place and went on with the night. But it was delicious and a perfect meal to end our day.

It was a short walk from our restaurant to the concert we were attending at the Church of Santa Monaca, or Chiesa di Santa Monaca, where a small symphony and several local opera singers regaled us with classic numbers from their favorite Italian composers. I had been to several shows and operas over the years, and I couldn’t even say this was one of the better ones I had attended. But there was something special about it. I was here with Salvatore in this glorious church in this incredible city, and I was different.

I was not at all the same woman I was when I had arrived. There was very little about her that remained at all. I smiled now. I laughed. I drew whenever I could, and saw the art in everything around me.

I had found something here after all.

And found someone.

Except he had been there all along.

I was very quiet on the scooter ride back to the villa, my arms tight around Salvatore. I leaned my head against him, loving the way he felt, and the way I felt…

Then I surprised myself by turning my head and kissing his neck, just where his neck and shoulder met, and just a little bit.

He stiffened slightly, so I did it again, smiling to myself.

He turned to glance at me. “Don’t do that when I can’t reciprocate,” he ordered.

I shivered and hugged myself somehow closer, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Then hurry up.”

He pushed the scooter faster, making me laugh.

Soon enough, we were back at the villa, but instead of going straight in, Salvatore took my hand and led me around back to the terrace. The stars were glorious in the pre-moon sky, dancing merrily in the heavens.

He removed his jacket and tucked it around me, then pulled me back against his chest, gently pressing his lips along my cheek and neck at random intervals. I pulled his arms tighter around me, resting against him as I looked up at the skies.

“Tomorrow is the last night,” I murmured.

He hugged me close and smiled against my neck. “Yes, it is.”

“There is supposed to be a farewell kiss at midnight.”

He nodded slowly. “So I’d heard.”

I hummed to myself. “I wonder who I’ll be kissing.”

I felt Salvatore’s low chuckle behind me. “I don’t know. He’d better be worth it, though.”

“I never kiss with anything less,” I insisted with a sniff.

His arms tightened even more. “Do you think they will make a big deal out of it?”

I snorted. “Absolutely. Probably has to be the best farewell kiss of our lives or imaginations or something.”

He sighed, and I sighed with him. “That is a lot to live up to.”

He wouldn’t have any trouble with that, and my knees weakened at the thought of it. “Well,” I said, trying for an off-hand tone, “we’ll just have to see what happens.”

“I guess so.” He kissed my neck again, this time with some insistence, then placed his fingers under my chin to tilt my head back. “Non posso vivere senza di te, Claire Sutherland. Voglio passare la vita con te.”

The words were lost on me, but the tone set fire to my bones and I reached my hand back to his hair, pulling him closer with a sigh. “I don’t know what that means,” I whispered, “but I like the way it sounds.”

He grinned and nuzzled against me softly. “It’s even better to say, believe me.” He kissed me then, and there was no more time for talking.

I didn’t mind. I could say everything I needed to just like this.