Falling for Italy (12 page)

He bent closer to study the contents of the plates. He immediately sneezed when his nostrils were assaulted by the extra-spicy smell of the sauce. He displayed a faint smile, hoping the chicken wasn’t lethal. He wanted to live until he got married, at least.

As though reading his mind, she bubbled out a laugh.

“It’s a bit spicy, but it’s edible,” she said through giggles. “I’m going to get us some cutlery and glasses for the champagne.”

After she’d brought everything, she excused herself to go put the pearls in the bedroom. Giovanni opened the champagne bottle and filled the two glasses. He put on some music and turned off the lights, then lit some candles scattered around the living room.

When she returned he was waiting for her, looking out the window and listening to Michael Bolton’s sexy rough voice singing
When a Man Loves a Woman
.

How much truth those lyrics hid, he thought as he went to her and took her in his arms, gathering her close. His eyes burned into hers as they moved together in a slow, sinuous dance, their bodies fitting so well, yearning for one another, as did their spirits.

He embraced her, and when she let her cheek rest on his chest, his heart began beating faster. They felt so right together. He’d never had this sensation, that his heart was complete. He’d never even realized until this moment that something had been missing from his life. Now his universe felt whole.

He took one of the champagne glasses and gave it to her, then took his own, still holding her close, swaying in the rhythm of a new song that had started—Gary Moore’s
Still Got The Blues
. He kissed her deeply, savoring her lips, her taste, of which he could never get enough. His passion left her breathless and he saw her eyes were blurry with desire, as her body melted against his. He lifted his glass slightly.

“Here’s to us,
amore mio
. To the new life we’ll make together.”

His heart seemed to melt too as she watched him, the candlelight showing her gaze charged with love and passion, with the promises of fulfillment he’d found in this woman—his soul mate.

“To us. I love you, Giovanni,” she whispered, touching her glass to his with a clink, making the frothy liquid swirl and sparkle in the low light. They each took a sip, and then he put down their glasses before sealing her mouth with a galvanizing kiss, as she’d sealed his heart and future the moment she appeared in his life. They were reborn, each lost in the other, bodies and souls merging into one entity. Tonight was their beginning.

Part Two—Conspiracy Of Silence

“Never, ever go near power. Don't become

friends with anyone who has real power.

It's dangerous.”

-Stanley Kubrick-

Chapter Ten

“For better or for worse…”

“For richer, for poorer…”

“In sickness and in health…”

“To love and to cherish…”

“From this day forward until death do us part.”

Sonia stared sightlessly at the waves of clouds through the plane’s window, as she relived the unique experience that had been Gerard and Linda’s wedding. It had been the first and only wedding she’d ever attended and it had left her profoundly impressed. When the bride and groom said the wedding vows to each other, her eyes had filled with tears. She’d gripped Giovanni’s hand hard, feeling as though her own silent vow to him had been said through the other couple’s voices. She couldn’t wait to be there herself, heading to the altar in her white dress, toward the love of her life. The emotion and expectancy on Gerard’s face, the absolute happiness and tears of joy in Linda’s eyes as they gazed at one another facing the priest—all those had made her more emotional than she ever remembered being.

She’d been in an emotional turmoil lately. If she didn’t know she couldn’t get pregnant due to her contraceptive pills, she’d be worried. All these feelings, so new and strange, were overwhelming. But she wouldn’t have exchanged them for the world, she thought, glancing on her right, where Giovanni had dozed off in his seat.

They’d paid a ridiculous amount of money to book emergency flights to Florence—the capital of Tuscany—where Giovanni’s home was. Where
their
home was. He had, of course, shown her pictures of the house, the surrounding property, and pictures of the city, which was a masterpiece of Italian culture. Giovanni had promised to take her to see all the glory of the Roman art, inherited by generations of artists like Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, Donatello, Botticelli and so many others. To her shame, she didn’t know much about Italian culture and art. History hadn’t been her passion, but she was eager to learn and see all the pride of Italy—her new home.

She was trying to see this huge change in her life like an adventure, which in fact was true. She’d often yearned for a change of scenery looking through the windows of her flat. Well, she was getting one, and in style. She’d decided against selling her flat, since they planned to visit Linda and Gerard as often as possible. As for her monumental collection of clothes, she’d taken only her favorite ones, because her fiancé had told her he’d buy her a whole new wardrobe from the best Italian designers. How could she resist that?

After the wedding reception, just before leaving for their honeymoon in Paris, Linda and Gerard welcomed her to the family. Her future sister-in-law had been warm toward her, taking her hands and embracing her tightly, wishing them the best and urging Sonia to take care of her brother. She demanded to know when the second Coriola wedding would be, but they didn’t have an answer for that yet. Soon, she hoped. She was sure of her decision and of Giovanni’s love, so why wait?

God, if someone had told her a month ago she’d be anxious to get married, she would have laughed out loud. How much love had changed her—and for the better…

She glanced at Giovanni again lovingly, taking his hand into her own. He looked tired, but satisfied. Strong. She was entrusting her life into this man’s hands and somehow she was sure he would make her happy.

His chocolate-colored eyes opened slowly, focusing on her as if he’d felt her gaze on him. He smiled.

“Couldn’t sleep,
amore
?”

She shook her head, then leaned toward him, nuzzling his neck.

“Nope. Too excited. If you weren’t asleep, I’d have asked ‘Are we there yet?’ every ten minutes.”

He chuckled, looking at his watch. “It’s 3:45. In a quarter of an hour we should be there.”

“I can’t wait!”

“Me either. I’m anxious to show you the house. Sonia,” he lifted her chin to look into her face, “if there’s anything you don’t like or want to change, just tell me, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“I want you to love our home.”

She sighed dreamily.

“I’m sure I will, my darling. And I’m sure I’ll love Guccio even more.”

She frowned.

“Guccio is rather difficult to pronounce. How about if I just call him G?”

He laughed softly.

“We could try that. But I’m afraid he’ll get confused. He’s had a rough time, poor chap. And now I’ve been gone for a couple of weeks, barely when he started to get used to me.”

She looked at him worriedly.

“It never occurred to me to ask. What did you do with him while you were gone?”

“I asked my housekeeper to take him. Lucia and her husband, Paolo—the gardener and handyman—are a middle-aged couple with no kids. They both fell in love with Guccio and adopted a dog and two cats after seeing how nice it is to have a pet. He’s a smart boy, Guccio. You’ll like him,” he assured her, stroking her hair.

The flight attendant announced their imminent arrival, guiding the passengers to prepare for landing, which proved to be perfectly smooth.

They passed the airport security and checking staff. After that, Sonia found herself swallowed by a sea of people, all talking fast, and she didn’t understand a word of what they said. She actually felt a bit lost and panicked, but Giovanni wrapped a strong arm around her waist in reassurance, making her feel safe. Sensing her distress, he kissed her temple and spoke gently.

“Don’t worry, my love. You’ll get used to it and learn the language in no time. Besides, Florence is one of the world’s most visited cities. Almost everybody speaks English around here.” He smiled into her eyes, his presence calming her gradually.

She returned his smile.

“I know, baby. I’m acting silly. I can’t possibly imagine how you managed to learn to speak English so well.”

“I simply didn’t try,” he replied as they headed to the exit. “I just learned the basics in school, and then from movies, songs, and so on. When I discovered computers, I first learned the technical language. By building my business and discussing with clients, I learned it all gradually. You will learn Italian quickly, I promise.”

She wasn’t so convinced, but felt encouraged anyway.

They took a cab and she listened surprised to Giovanni as he talked to the driver in Italian, probably giving him indications on how to reach his—
their
—house. She tried to tune her ear to catch even a single word, but in vain. She’d heard him speak Italian before, but not so much and so fast. It sounded so melodious and…sensual. To her amazement, she felt a twinge of admiring arousal. God, his tongue can turn me on in so many ways, she thought, shaking her head in private amusement.

She looked in awe through the car’s windows at her new surroundings. The city was splendid, the buildings were beautiful and imposing, with a style and prestige like nothing she’d ever seen—veritable architectural gems. Her heart filled with pride and joy for being—or soon to becoming—a citizen of this treasure city.

Giovanni had told her about
Firenze
—that’s how Florence was pronounced in Italian—and a little about its magnificent history. It was the place where Italian Renaissance had begun, the place that bore the imprint of the finest artists of all crafts and of all times, whose names had made history—Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Brunelleschi, Donatello, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo and so many others. It was also the home of the Medicis, which she knew had been the most powerful and the best-known family in Italian history.

Over the ages, Florentines had influenced worldwide culture, economy, art, religion, and architecture. They managed, with a population of barely sixty thousand citizens, to accomplish more than any other city in the world.

She also knew opera had been invented in Florence, and that around the year 1300, a Pope—she didn’t remember which one—had contradicted Aristotle by saying the universe was made out of five elements, not four—earth, air, fire, water, and Florentines.

She tended to agree. In just fifteen minutes or so since leaving the airport, they had almost reached the center of the city. Giovanni pointed out Brunelleschi’s
Duomo
, perhaps the most imposing and magnificent building dominating the Florentine skyline.

“Its construction started in the year 1200 as an extremely challenging project,” he told her. “The dome was the largest ever built at the time, and the first major dome built in Europe since the two great domes of Roman times—the
Pantheon
in Rome and the
Hagia Sophia
in Constantinople. In front of it is the medieval baptistery, where every Florentine was baptized until modern times. I would’ve liked for our children to be baptized there,” he added, taking her hand and smiling into her eyes.

The thought of having his children provoked an inexplicable shiver to ripple through her entire body, making her stomach flutter with what could only be joy, even anticipation.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, he continued telling her about
The Duomo
.

“The two buildings’ design covers the transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance. In these past years, most of the important works of art from those buildings and from Giotto’s Bell Tower have been removed and replaced by copies. The originals are currently displayed in the Museum of the Works of the Duomo, just to the east of the Cathedral. We have over eighty museums here and I plan to take you to all of them,” he finished, winking at her.

Being so popular on the list of touristic destinations, the city was quite crowded. While the buildings were pretty—some of them modern, some of them elegant villas with an old aristocratic air—they were all close together. So Giovanni had bought a house somewhere in a marginal, upscale neighborhood, where the properties were larger, ensuring more privacy and quiet. He’d told her he disliked crowds. When he was home, he wanted peace and silence. After days of office meetings and hours of talking and planning, he felt the need to detach himself from all that.

She could relate to his mentality perfectly. Although she couldn’t live without crowds, noise, shops and traffic, her flat had been her refuge. Now she would have a house, through the windows of which her lover had told her one could only see the backyard, with over a mile of grass and trees—their own private corner of nature. It sounded like Heaven.

It took over half an hour in the cab, navigating alternately on narrow winding streets and wide highways, but finally Giovanni told something to the driver, indicating a sideway street. There were just a few houses here, at considerable distances from one another. It was obvious this was a residential area. Sonia was impressed.

The taxi stopped in front of a massive, antique-looking iron gate, beyond which stretched a short driveway. They climbed out and Giovanni paid the driver, who got their luggage out of the car’s trunk. Sonia looked around, breathing deeply. The air had a refreshing texture, so much different than the thick, foggy London air. It was warmer, cleaner. A pale December sun glowed above the red rooftop of the two-story house, painted an elegant beige.

So this was her new home. Giovanni pressed a code into the keypad next to the gate and it glided open.

“Welcome home,
amore mio
,” he said smiling, and urged her to move forward to the house. “What do you think so far?”

“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, approaching the old-looking stone sculpture facing the house. Later she discovered it was in fact an artesian fountain, and the sculpture was a well-executed representation of Venus, surrounded by water lilies disposed in a wide circle.

“It’s an extravagancy and one of the reasons I bought this house. It’s over two hundred years old,” Giovanni informed her as they passed by the fountain, walking to the house.

She gaped at him, then at the building. It didn’t look two hundred years old, but she supposed it had been impeccably kept. Bricks, unevenly arranged in places, gave its history even more weight. Numerous rounded, semi-circular windows covered by dark red shutters and windowsills decorated with pretty flowerpots sat close together. She could also see two balconies on the upper floor, with lacy-looking structures that fascinated her.

The short front-walk was a path of worn, elegant stone, leading to the massive dark red front door, which was made from wood. Above it coiled graceful ivy branches, now bared by winter. On each side of the door, two enormous flowerpots holding some exotic-looking shrubs kept the spring touch alive and green, along with neatly tended beds of evergreens.

“It’s like something out of a classy catalog!” she remarked in delight and saw the pleased look on his face. She knew he was anxious about her opinion and her blissful sigh conveyed how much she loved her new home.

He smiled broadly. Taking his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the front door and opened it for her. When she would have stepped in, he stopped her with a gesture. He put their luggage down and swept her up in his arms, laughing when she giggled in joy and confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He kissed her lips, and then replied, “It’s a custom that a new bride should cross the threshold of her new home in the arms of her groom. We’re not married yet, but this is a huge step for both of us,” he went on seriously. “Indulge me, will you?”