In Shayna’s opinion, the underappreciation was what killed her father. He had fallen ill several months before and couldn’t get well again. Deciding it would be best to stay awhile at their smaller home in Switzerland, Leonardo had arranged the trip. Settling in nicely, Shayna had expected him to make a full recovery in a few weeks at most. Instead, he grew sicker and weaker as the days passed.
Preparing for bed one night, Shayna overheard her mother telling him he had picked a fine time to fall ill. The girls would both be having their coming-out parties within two years. How were they supposed to afford the fancy affairs if they were fatherless? Shayna listened, horrified as Gianni berated him, even accusing him of getting sick on purpose.
Shayna cried herself to sleep, unable to comprehend why her mother would say such horrible things to the man she purported to love. The next day, Alexandria asked what was wrong and Shayna related the story with tears in her eyes.
Unmoved, her sister had answered, “Mother is always right in these matters. Especially about Father. If he dies, we’re in financial trouble with our coming-out parties to think about so soon. You should be planning who you’re going to marry, Shayna.” She had walked out, shattering Shayna’s perception of the family unit.
Their father died two weeks later.
Gianni, Alexandria, and Shayna traveled back to Italy for the burial and services, absconding to Switzerland again afterward for a time of solitary mourning.
Gianni gave a short, succinct speech about the sorrow of their recent loss and receded into the throng of clucking women, filling their ears with all sorts of tales about the stay in the Swiss countryside. The gossip mill would be well-fed before the night was over.
Alexandria didn’t make a spectacle of herself with the men, she was the main attraction, as always. Shayna remained on the sidelines as much as possible, keeping an eye out for her mysterious visitor, hoping he would return. But he did not, and she was disappointed.
The festivities died down a few minutes after midnight, and Gianni appeared at Shayna’s side as if she were a cloud of smoke, appearing from nowhere.
“Hello, Mother. Your speech went well.” Shayna held tight to her manners, praying her mother wouldn’t push her to being rude about the party again. They’d had all the disputes over it Shayna could stand. It was done now and could not be changed. She was willing to let it go.
“Yes, it did. No thanks to you, of course. Where have you been?” Gianni’s smile was stiff and forced, but no one would notice from a few feet away, it was her talent to always seem gracious, pleasant, and content even when she was far from it.
“I stepped to the terrace to get some fresh air earlier. As I told Alexandria, the perfumes in here are stifling. How do they stand it?” Shayna laughed in the light, trilling way her mother had taught her. A proper laugh.
“Yes. If this is the worst you must ever endure, dear, you are indeed the luckiest person alive. Don’t embarrass me further; go mingle with your sister. Get the attention of one or two of the young gentlemen. Whatever you can manage would be most appreciated. It’s embarrassing for you to shun all of them after they have traveled out of their way to come see you and Alexandria.” Gianni gave a hot, measured, warning look to Shayna and piped out the proper laugh as she laid a gentle hand on her arm, pushing her in that direction.
Trying to remember how she was supposed to answer and act, Shayna curtsied to her mother, couldn’t execute the correct laugh, her throat was too tight with anger, and said, “Yes, Mother.” Unable to manage more, she turned away. If she kept speaking, she might yell at Gianni about how disgusting it was to flirt with strange men only because they had money.
Shayna walked away feeling like a woman of ill repute, a lady of the night selling her wares to survive. This was nowhere near the truth of the matter, but she was certain the emotional turmoil was close.
Alexandria opened her fan and dipped behind it, fluttering her sooty lashes, speaking in dulcet tones to Guillermo Rossi. An older gentleman, who bragged about owning the largest shipyard in Italy and stuck his chest out every time there was mention of his fortunes. Shayna couldn’t imagine why he was single. Close to fifty, the man still had no heirs to his legacy. He was far too old for either Ricci girl, but someone forgot to tell Alexandria.
Waiting for her to emerge from behind her fan, Shayna took the first opportunity to pull her cunning sibling away from the group of drooling, half-drunk men.
“I’m sorry gentlemen, if you would excuse my sister, she’s a bit awkward in the company of men still. I’ll be right back.” She reached out and caressed a younger man’s arm seductively and said, “Don’t disappear while I’m dealing with her, promise?” She winked at a third man who reddened.
Her back to the group, Alexandria’s expression turned feral, deadly. “What, Sister? You better have a good reason for pulling me away from Guillermo,” she said through clenched teeth. “I think he’s close to asking to court me; or maybe to marry me.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you know how old he is?”
The eldest Ricci daughter looked over her shoulder, giggled, and gave Mr. Rossi a little finger wave. “Yes, Shayna. Everyone knows his age. What about it?”
“He’s much too old for you.” She whispered though she wanted to yell and shake sense into her sister.
“They’re never too old. Are you daft?” She flapped her hand and rolled her eyes. “Have you learned nothing? You get them when they’re old and rich; ripe for the picking and you’ll undoubtedly outlive them. You must be smart enough to get him to leave all his money and possessions to you in his will. Never have to marry again, if you play the game right.” She dropped a conspiratorial wink and leaned closer. “Even if you give him an heir, he puts a provision in the will, so you’re taken care of for the rest of your life, and you still win, dear dumb child.” She flirted over her shoulder again at one of the ogling men.
“You are insane, Alexandria. I can’t do it. I simply cannot.” Shayna was shocked beyond words. Her sister was ruthless, cold-blooded, and heartless as a viper. Where did that put Shayna in a cruel world of deceit, manipulation, and ulterior motives?
“Mother sent you, didn’t she?”
“Of course.” Shayna turned to leave, but Alexandria stopped her.
“Do you see the young man all the way at the end there?” She tipped her head in the direction of the group and to the left.
Shayna nodded. She thought she might have met him before they went to Switzerland.
“His name is Carlos Baldacci. His family is rich. He’s only twenty and almost as socially awkward as you are. If you want to please Mother and help me, go strike up a conversation with him. Talk about anything, and you don’t have to flirt with him at all. He’s deep in his cups and won’t remember most of it by tomorrow.” Then she did something she rarely did anymore, she beamed at Shayna. It was genuine. The kind of expression between sisters who are doing something they should probably not be enjoying so much.
Catching Shayna off guard with her one-sided smile, Alexandria left her standing there, wondering what to talk about with the baby-faced, tipsy Carlos.
Shayna made her way across the room. Huffing great long sighs which puffed out his cheeks, he pushed a splay-fingered hand through his shoulder-length, wavy black hair.
Shifting from one foot to the other, he noticed Shayna making her way toward him. Casting furtive glances between Shayna, Alexandria, and the nearest terrace door, he forced a sheepish grin as he turned, teetering, back to her.
Not wishing to answer to her mother later for not doing as she was told, Shayna braved up and returned Carlos’ jittery smile. If his wobbly stance was any indication, it would be a short conversation.
Straightening his clothes and rubbing down his hair, Carlos prepared to introduce himself to Shayna as she strode forward wanting the party to end.
Chapter 3
Luca discarded his cape and hat as he walked into the house. The
candle and matches sat atop the mantel. At first, he fumbled but finally managed to grasp them. The flame emitted a warm glow that jigged yellowish against the oaken wall.
With his hair mussed into a ruff, he shook his head and trudged along, painting the interior with brief strokes of false twilight. Attending the party uninvited had set the tone for his night. Slumped at the table, he brooded over his folly.
Shayna had spotted him; not in the light, but close enough to give him shivers.
The guttering flame bobbed and jiggled, reminiscent of the swaying torch flames. The firelight had danced over her delicate features, lending her an ethereal beauty. A timeless goddess destined to walk among mortals, igniting lust in men and envy in women.
Leonardo was gone, but that didn’t mean anything; the odds Luca would be introduced to Shayna had not improved. With no flourishing businesses, and only his modest winery, he doubted his chances would improve any time soon.
The parcel of land on which his house sat, and his vineyard grew, was a gift from his father. The only one Giuseppe had ever given him. Hard work had paid for everything else, including the house.
The Riccis, on the other hand, earned nothing through manual labor, and they didn’t look favorably on those who did. Although Luca could trace his lineage for hundreds of years, his family was not old money. The Bianchis had amassed meager wealth, which left them too rich to be peasants and too poor to be affluent.
Leonardo Ricci and Luca’s father had forged a deal. The Bianchi winery made wine for Mr. Ricci’s estate. After a few years of good, reliable production, he helped Giuseppe acquire exclusive contracts with other prestigious families in Tuscany. Without his influence, the elder aristocrats would not have agreed.
Even at a young age, Luca understood the deal would make his father wealthy.
And, it had. Money flowed into the household, padding the coffers.
Acceptance into the gilded tier of society Giuseppe had struggled for remained forever out of reach, but tantalizingly close. It had not come with his new wealth. The Bianchi family were laborers and the upper crust would not allow them to mar their pristine territory.
Francesca, Luca’s mother, satisfied with a life of hard work, honest money, and true love had never cared for the highborn in Tuscany. A matter she and her husband argued about often. And Luca fell somewhere in the middle, indecisive throughout his childhood. As he got older, and he liked to think wiser, he was pleased with his life. Except for one thing.
Over the last five years, Luca had done everything in his power to gain Shayna’s attention. Oftentimes, his father scoffed at the idea, telling him to find a good mate among his peers, and leave the nobles to their tea parties. What good would Shayna be as a winemaker’s wife?
If she didn’t have a single skill as a vintner, he wouldn’t mind. Her love would be enough for him.
Long years ago, he had decided she would be his, and he wouldn’t give up on his dream now. Within a year, she would be on display, paraded around like someone’s prize horse. For sale to the highest bidder. The rites of passage for rich girls were humiliating in his mind.
Luca couldn’t let that happen. Shayna deserved better, and he intended to give it to her.
No matter what he had to do, he would make Shayna Ricci his wife.
After rubbing his arms briskly, he stood and eyed the fireplace and then passed it by to take down a thick quilt his grandmother had made when he was younger and toss it on the bed before going back to the kitchen.
Using the candle to light a lamp, he sat at the table recalling Shayna’s look of sadness and how hard she tried to hide it. Something in her eyes, a hollowness he had never seen before, hinted at restrained tears and restless nights. The pall of her father’s death clung to her, robbing her of her previous vitality.
They had gone together like cheese and wine, his mother used to say. And it was true. He remembered the way Leonardo doted on his youngest and how she looked at him as if he hung the moon. Luca would take all her sadness, if he could.
Behind his closed eyes, he saw Shayna gazing down at him from the terrace. How he had wanted to return, proclaim his love, and make promises he couldn’t keep. If he swore to keep her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed, it would be a lie. Rather than have her live in regret when he couldn’t achieve his promise, he had turned on his heel and trekked out of her sight.
A distant meow pulled Luca from his lovelorn thoughts. The mewling continued and moved closer. The feral cat Luca had taken in, Rosalyn, had accepted his kindness, and his house. There were other cats about, but none came into the house or begged entrance. Only Ros.
Luca opened the front door, and she trotted inside as if she were co-owner of the house. In a way, he supposed she was.
“Hello, my little strut-about. Have you had a good time running the rats out of my grapes? Meet any new boys?” Luca bent to pet the dark gray cat, and she favored him by arching her back into his hand and purring.
Either she was expecting, or hunting was good because she grew fatter by the week. Looking up at him with bright golden eyes, she made her patented sound, a meow mixed with a purr, which produced a funny trilling.
He envied the simplicity of the animal kingdom. They didn’t care if one had money. Never did a creature turn away affection for fear of what its peers might think.
A few steps into the kitchen, she stopped and looked back to make sure Luca was following like a good human. He was.
Amused by her sassy attitude, he always let her lead the way. Every night, she expected cream and Gorgonzola.
“I have it waiting for you. This is probably what’s increasing the padding around your waistline. You have your snack late and go straight to sleep.” He gave her the cheese and milk.
Rosalyn lapped and munched, and then curled up to take her nightly bath on the padded window seat. Luca watched her absently, allowing his mind to wander through the dreary landscape of his thoughts.
Giuseppe often teased him about his choice of female companionship. The cat blunted the sharp edge of his loneliness, but he didn’t expect his father to understand.
More emptiness could be staved off, the elder vintner would quip, if Luca would agree to hire help around the house. A woman to clean the house, keep things in order, and cook.
Luca always shook his head. He saved every cent to put toward his upcoming life with Shayna. The future he was determined to build with her. Resourceful by nature, he had always done his own cooking and cleaning. Never taking to the social life of most young people, he had nothing better to do with his time in the evenings than to cook, clean, carve, and spoil Rosalyn.
His workshop had sat unused for the past month. Attached to the house, and accessible via a door in the kitchen, it was a place of secret hopes and happiness for him. Often, he carved by its fireplace until dawn.
Stored in the loft of the shop were table legs with intricate designs scored into them, dolls which would sit or stand, newel posts he planned to install as soon as Shayna accepted his hand, and the frame for their marriage bed.
He might not be able to afford the most expensive furniture, but he could fashion beautiful pieces she would love as much, if not more than purchased items made by strangers’ hands.
Francesca often commented on the intricate beauty of his carvings. She never missed an opportunity to remind him he could supplement his income by selling his creations or open a shop and own two lucrative businesses, if he chose.
Luca had thanked her, hugged her tight, but refused to sell his works of art.
A year ago, Francesca had stopped to visit with him on her way home. She had dropped in and caught Luca in the workshop, carving designs into one of the table legs.
“But why would you keep the dolls? There are so many of them, Luca.” Francesca’s eyes narrowed and her brows arched as she surveyed the toy figures hanging on the wall.
“Someday I’ll have children who will love them and play with them. And one day, they wil
l pass them to my grandchildren, who will also adore them.” The thought of future generations taking joy from his creations put a warm feeling in his chest.
“Oh, Luca. Would you get your head out of the clouds and find a suitable wife right here, please?” She gestured toward the village with both hands, brow furrowing. “You speak of having babies as if you have infinite years ahead to do it, but you don’t. Have children while you are young enough to keep up with them.” Hands on hips, she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Trust me.”
Exasperated, he resisted the urge to assert his logic as it would be an exercise in futility to argue with her. Nodding, he watched her walk to the other side of the shop. She traced a doll’s face with the tip of one finger.
Turning back to him, she smiled shrewdly, the skin bunching at the corners of her eyes. “And, you know Scarlet is quite fond of you. She would make you a fine wife, hardworking, steady, able-bodied, and her wide hips...built for bearing children.”
Laughing, Luca shook his head. “And she looks like a sturdy, industrious, man.”
Francesca swatted him, failing to hide her grin. “You shouldn’t say such things about her. She’s a good girl, and I’m sure she would be loyal and faithful; just a jewel.”
“I’m sure she would be, Mother. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” And he was. But not much.
The discussion had been a year ago and Luca felt the same way about Scarlet. Shayna had ruined him for other women.
Unable to sleep, he donned a thicker shirt and retreated to the workshop. After he sorted his materials and set up another project to carve for Shayna, Luca went to the loft. He had hidden the cradle upstairs, not wanting another lecture from his mother, or to see the disdainful looks from his father, who would look at the piece of tiny furniture, shake his head, and walk away as if greatly disappointed.
His only progeny. Unmarried and childless in his twenties. His son, who spent his spare time carving out cradles and dolls in preparation for a future which would never happen.
Gentleman in the Shadows Page 2
