Gentleman in the Shadows

by Karen Sommers

  Maria stepped to the table and snagged another grape, popped it into her mouth, and walked toward the door. “You’ve got a good start right there on the table. Take her some grapes. Speak to her about Carlos. Explain your feelings to her. Who knows? Maybe tonight will be the last time you have to suffer his companionship.” She left the door open when she walked out.

  Shayna stood in the center of her room, debating what Maria had said. The woman had never guided her in the wrong direction before. Surely, she knew more about Gianni and Alexandria than Shayna knew. If not firsthand, then by the gossip of the staff who served them.

  The grapes sat in the middle of the table, sunlight glinting off them. She pulled a small bunch from the basket and set out for her mother’s room, hoping to find Gianni before she changed her mind about speaking with her.

  Gianni’s suite was positioned at the end of the long corridor. Shayna walked through evenly spaced, alternating shadow and light. The high, small windows didn’t allow as much sunlight into the hallway as did the larger ones inside the rooms.

  Each time she stepped into a shadowy patch, images of the mysterious man at the party and Luca Bianchi tried to merge in her thoughts. Shayna was positive they were the same man by the time she reached her mother’s door. It made her giddy, and her mind raced with the implications. If the man was Luca, how long had he hidden his feelings for her? Since they were children? Or, had he been watching her somehow since the terrace, and fallen in love with her?

  She had feared learning the identity of the mystery man would shatter the fragile bubble of magic in which the encounter was ensconced, but if the man was indeed Luca, the fascination remained. The romance of it lived on, intact as she pondered the new set of questions.

  Shayna’s heart was gladdened, and she hoped there would be no foul outcome to her visit with Gianni to make her mood dark again.

  Standing before the great wooden door of her mother’s suite, Shayna breathed deeply several times to calm her nerves and muster her courage. Her first knock on the thick wood was timid. Shayna followed this with a more confident rap on the door, making her knuckle sting a bit.

  Hearing movement behind the door, Shayna put on a smile, and replayed how she would open the conversation without causing conflict. All her preparations were for naught. Alexandria opened the door and her expression said she was in a mood.

  Chapter 9

  Alexandria stood in the open doorway, pale and drawn. She looked confused by Shayna’s appearance there, as if she were expecting someone else.

  “Shayna.” She let go of the door but didn’t step aside.

  Not liking the dark circles under her sister’s eyes or the pinched set of her mouth, she didn’t move to gain entry. “Is mother in her room?”

  “Yes.” She glared and wrinkled her nose as if disgusted.

  “Are you ill?”

  Alexandria scowled and huffed at her, rolling her eyes as she stepped out and pulled the door almost all the way closed. “We need to talk. Mother doesn’t think you’re old enough, or strong enough, to handle the truth about our situation, but I believe you are. It’s time you know some things. After you speak with her, meet me in my room. And don’t mention this to her.” She looked down at the bunch of dark purple fruit in Shayna’s hand and scoffed. “We live in Tuscany and you’re carrying grapes as if they are a rare gift. You are strange sometimes.” She shook her head and flounced off with a little less verve than usual.

  Shayna eased the door open and listened for sounds from Gianni’s rooms. She heard nothing. “Mother? Are you in here?” She stepped into the anteroom and strained to hear any response. Still, there was only silence.

  She called out a little louder, as she tiptoed into the bedroom. Fabric swished, from the direction of the bed. With the heavy drapes closed, and the only illumination came from the thin, bright beams shooting up to the ceiling from the top of the thick curtains.

  Whispering, she asked, “Mother, are you sleeping? I brought you something.”

  Her mother sniffled. She said, “Shayna, I really don’t feel like taking gifts or having company right now. I’m sorry.” There was another sniffle.

  “Are you ill? Do you need anything?” Shayna’s chest tightened. Her eyes adjusted to the severe dimness as she edged forward. She had never seen her mother like this. She could scarcely see her now; a thin, diminutive figure, lost in the sea of covers on the large bed, dark hair spilling onto the white pillow.

  Gianni’s laughter was weak. “Oh, yes, Shayna. I’m terribly ill. I’ve been sick for a long time and there’s no cure for it, I’m afraid.”

  The vice around her upper body tightened another notch, and she rushed to the bed. Gianni lay in the middle of the huge bed and Shayna could barely reach out and touch her when she sat on the edge. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mother? Did Father know?”

  This time her chuckle was stronger and less sarcastic. After a moment, it morphed into genuine laughter. “I’m sorry, Shayna. I’m not that type of ill, dear.” Gianni struggled to a sitting position and propped against the ornate headboard.

  What other kind of sick was there which had no cure? Was her mother lying to cover up her ailment because she thought her youngest was too weak to handle the truth?

  Gianni said, “If you need, you can pull the drape back a little so you can see. I prefer the darkness when I feel this way, although Ziti says it’s not good to sit in the dark at these times.” She barked laughter; it was bitter, short, and raspy.

  Shayna pulled a panel aside a couple inches. The light was blinding white and bright as it burned into the room. She squinted and heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry, Mother. It wasn’t so intense out there a few minutes ago.” She sat on the edge of the bed again.

  Gianni’s eyes were puffy, and her nose was red. Her tousled hair hung in loose, tangled curls. Otherwise, to Shayna, she looked as healthy as ever. She didn’t appear weak in any sense of the word.

  “It’s all right. Now, you see? I’m not sick in the way you took me to mean it. So, don’t worry about my health.”

  “But what other kind of sickness is there, Mother? I don’t understand.” She took her mother’s cool, smooth hand in her own.

  Sighing, Gianni leaned away from the headboard and pulled her hair over her right shoulder, tugging at the tangles with her fingers. “Let me see, there is homesickness, heartsickness, lovesickness. Shall I continue?”

  “Which one do you have that causes you to cry in the dark?” Shayna wasn’t being sassy; she wanted to know; her curiosity piqued.

  “Shayna, I am suffering from the sickness one feels through the years. I’ll always suffer from it. It was of my own making and still I can’t let go.” She sniffled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “At least I didn’t ruin your life.”

  “What do you mean? You haven’t ruined anyone’s life.” Her mother always insisted on the drama of a situation and dragging it out, wringing every ounce of emotion from it, while successfully skirting the subject.

  Gianni, still pulling her fingers through her clumped tresses, nodded. In an uncharacteristically quiet voice, she said, “Yes, I have. I ruined Alexandria’s life before it began. Your father and I didn’t think about it when we married. We thought we were fixing the problem, you see. But we fixed nothing. His family hates me, your father’s despises me, and my own turns their backs on me.” Gianni scuttled to the other side of the bed, flung back the cover, and stood. A wraith in the darkness.

  “Mother, what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense to me at all. How could you have ruined Alexandria’s life before it got started? Father’s family doesn’t hate you.” She stopped short, remembering the arguments between her father and Paolo. Her blood chilled a little and goose flesh crawled over her neck and down her arms. The question was on her lips as she looked across the expanse of bed.

  “Shayna, please leave now. I must prepare for dinner tonight. Carlos Baldacci will be here, and I
expect you to be civil to him. He wishes to be your suitor.” She flapped a dismissive hand and averted her eyes.

  “Mother?” Shayna stood on tingling legs.

  “No. You save your questions for another time. Not now. There is business which needs attending.” She strode toward the small dressing room which adjoined the bedroom.

  “I don’t want him calling for me, Mother. He’s a hideous person to be near, and I can’t entertain him more than this evening at dinner, and this once only for your sake.”

  Gianni stepped into the other room and vanished from view. “You and your sister need to be searching for wealthy husbands. Think of your future, Shayna.” She poked her head back into the room, raised an eyebrow, and pointed at her for emphasis. “If Alexandria can come to terms with that haggard, self-righteous Guillermo, you can handle Carlos, I think.” She was gone again, back to choosing clothes and perfumes.

  “Alexandria sees this all as a game. She enjoys keeping Grandfather Rossi trailing along behind her like a hungry puppy. I don’t enjoy such things. I find them appalling.” The venom dripped from her words in measured doses.

  Gianni came back into the dim bedroom. “Just so you know, she was in here with me earlier; she’s sick at heart about the courtship, and you should watch your tongue. Like it or not, you will show him the respect he deserves. She doesn’t like the man any better than you do, but she knows he’s the best choice for her future.” With her hands on her temples, she groaned. “Because of our hasty actions all those years ago, your father and I ensured she would have hardships such as this. Even if we didn’t realize it at the time, and no matter if it was caused by a stupid accident. Don’t judge her. She is one of the strongest women I know. She keeps much inside you don’t know about. Help her, if she needs it, but don’t be so hasty to pass judgment on her.”

  Exasperated, Shayna huffed. “Mother, I really—“

  Gianni stepped close and put her finger over her daughter’s lips. “I don’t feel like discussing this any further tonight. Please, go prepare for the evening meal. Thank you for the grapes, too.” She plucked two from the bunch and popped one into her mouth, smiling. “If you have more, bring them to dinner so everyone can enjoy them.”

  “You didn’t bother to ask where they came from.” Shayna let her mother guide her toward the anteroom.

  “From our vines near the ridge, right?” The second one disappeared.

  “No. From the market.

  “Oh, wonderful. You went out today?” There was a smile in Gianni’s voice.

  “Yes. I bought them from Luca Bianchi.” She twirled to face her mother.

  “Giuseppe’s son?” She clasped her hands in front of her and plastered on a smile, the epitome of strained patience.

  “Yes. They are from his father’s vineyard. They’re the prettiest grapes I’ve ever seen.” Thinking of Luca made her happier.

  “Yes. Leonardo had business with Giuseppe years ago. They always had the healthiest and the most-manicured vineyards in all of Tuscany.” She sighed and chortled, flapping a dismissive hand at Shayna. “Dinner at seven.” She shut the bedroom door, leaving Shayna in the anteroom.

  Looking around the empty room, replaying the odd conversation, she let the episode settle in her mind. As usual, she walked away from a discussion with her mother bearing more questions than before.

  Exiting the suite, Shayna brooded about having to entertain the nauseating little man, Carlos, at dinner. She pulled a fat grape from the vine, bit it in half, and savored the sweet burst of juice.

  Be civil? Fine, but I’ll never encourage his attentions, she thought sourly.

  From Alexandria’s room, yells emanated, followed by screams of outrage and an enormous crash. Bottles, cans and jars crashed to the floor, clattering and shattering.

  Shayna, frightened by the sounds, ran toward her sister’s suite with her heart hammering. She could distinguish Alexandria’s enraged voice but didn’t recognize the other. Bursting through the door without a single thought to her own safety, she stopped on the threshold.

  Someone had flipped over the dressing table. The contents were scattered and broken on the stones. The other voice was Ziti’s and, as Shayna stood mere feet away, Alexandria’s piercing screams drowned out the maid.

  Alexandria, red-faced and tousle-haired, turned her burning gaze to her sibling. “What do you want? I am not in the mood for you right now. Please excuse yourself back to...to...your suite, the hallway, Mother’s rooms. I don’t really care. Just leave.” Her cheeks burned a deeper shade of red.

  “I heard a crash and screams. I only thought to see if you are safe.” Shayna looked at Ziti and then to Alexandria. “Are you all right, sister?”

  “Sister? Sister implies equality. There’s none of that to be had between you and me. Don’t call me sister. Leave.” She bent forward at the waist with the force of the screamed last word and pointed vehemently at the door. Ugly veins stood out on her forehead and neck.

  Shaken, Shayna backed toward the doorway. In the face of such untamed, raw emotion, she was scared. She had never been frightened of Alexandria before. As a child, she feared her sister might knock her to the ground for an offense. Or she might tell Mama and Papa she had committed a deed which would earn her a scolding or a smacked rear end. But she had never been afraid of her as a person, only the transitory things she might do to cause momentary grief.

  Closing the door as she stepped into the corridor, Shayna glimpsed an article of clothing go flying across the dressing room toward Ziti. Alexandria let loose with another tirade.

  Poor Ziti. How on earth did she stand there poised, serene, unmoved by the terrible tantrum focused on her. Shayna hadn’t seen fear on Ziti’s face. As if the outburst was everyday business, simply a downside to her position.

  Unflappable, she thought, shaking her head.

  Shayna returned to her suite. Her sister’s words rang in her head. Why would Alexandria spit such venomous words at her? She had done nothing to incite her rage.

  If she was so upset about Guillermo, maybe she should rethink her choice for a financially secure future rather than take her ire out on the closest targets.

  She would have gladly given up the moon-faced Baldacci boy to Alexandria, but she knew being the less important sister, and Carlos being wealthy but not as rich as Guillermo, had marked him for her and not the eldest Ricci daughter.

  Shayna sighed and walked into her suite, suddenly tired to her soul.

  Chapter 10

  The grapes sat on the table inviting thoughts of Luca Bianchi. A smile touched Shayna’s lips as she fingered the grapes, thinking of his bumbling actions when he’d caught sight of her at the market. Luca was a handsome man, indeed. His smile could melt ice along with hearts of women.

  The gentleman in the shadows at the party still preyed upon her mind, as well. Why thoughts of Luca had pulled his image forth, she didn’t know. Further comparison between the two left her again uncertain whether the two were the same person.

  Opening her armoire, Shayna debated on which dress to wear to dinner. “Oh, if only I had the terrible responsibility of choosing between the beautiful Luca Bianchi and the gentleman in the shadows. That would be distressing.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and feigned a swooning female pose for the entertainment of the empty room. Giggling, she stood straight again and selected a dress from the armoire.

  It was the least appealing one from her collection. One she rarely wore, disliking the design, the way it pulled here and flounced there and plunged up top. Not to mention the terrible color reminded her of the burnt orange which, as a child, she had seen a dog regurgitate after gnawing on a toad until it died. The wide strips of green silk framing the outfit did absolutely nothing to make it more endearing. Shayna placed the hideous creation on the bed, laughing at her own mischief.

  Going through her overly large collection of shoes, she found a pair. Like the dress, she didn’t wear them because they were revolting. She
placed them near the end of her bed. The red silk covering of the shoes had been hand painted with tiny, perfect, exotic flowers. She couldn’t remember from where, or what the name of the flowers was, only that she’d always thought them ugly. The red-under-flowers design clashed magnificently with the straight lines of the dress.

  Maria would arrive soon to make sure Shayna was prepared when dinner was served. Shayna remembered the way poor Ziti stood there weathering Alexandria’s tantrum and shuddered. How and why would Alexandria treat the maid so harshly? Was she trying to force Ziti into quitting her position? She’d caused others to walk out. Moreover, she had to know Ziti was the only person who could deal with, or the only person on the staff that would willingly subject herself to, her outbursts and temper tantrums.

  Why would Ziti put up with it? Even Gianni couldn’t deal with Alexandria when she was in a mood. Though it vexed him to have to, Leonardo could calm the girl. Some days Shayna would have paid any price to understand her sister and mother. On other days, she became so frustrated she didn’t want to understand them at all; she only wanted to be away from them until they settled down and returned to normal. Today was a mixture of the two.

  Gianni’s story, or partial story, had intrigued Shayna. Alexandria’s words on top of the insinuation Gianni had let hang in the air without explanation roused Shayna’s curious nature.

  Unable to fathom what truths might be revealed in the complete, unedited, unfiltered back story of Gianni and Leonardo, Shayna left her room. A piano sat in a room which hadn’t been used in years. The room was in the center of the castle which meant no windows to see the outside. If she walked to the connector doors, farther down the hall, she could enter the central part of the house and the room that had served as her and Alexandria’s playroom many years ago. Shayna now sat at the piano, feet daintily poised on the pedals, fingers brushing over the ivory keys, as she tried to remember how her favorite tune began. It had been more than a year since she’d played anything, another thing of which Gianni disapproved.