“Of course. Grazie di tutto.” She got up, crossed the big room, and tugged the ornate bell pull to summon Dante.
“It’s been my pleasure, Raphielli.” He picked up his bag as the door opened.
“Dante, show the doctor out,” she said.
“So good to hear you speak, signora.” He inclined his head and smiled. “Domina and her decorating team have arrived. They are in your new suite.”
“Grazie.” She wound the scarf around her neck and tied it gently as the doctor followed Dante out.
Alphonso was waiting for her in the hall. “It’s so good to hear your voice again. Does it hurt?”
“No, but I sound weird.”
“You sound like a sultry movie star.”
“Not like a frog?”
“Not one bit.”
“Let’s see how my new suite is coming along.”
“I get a chance to meet the talented Domina? Absolutely!”
“Her name should be Dynamo—she’s so energetic. She never comes this early, I wonder what they’re doing today.”
Raphielli could barely contain her excitement as they headed off to see the rooms that would become her new suite. During her recovery, she’d lain flat on her back in her awful bedroom planning two things: a beautiful new bedroom, and how to break free from the Dour Doublet. It was time to start living a life she loved.
As they approached the entrance to the new suite, she could hear music playing and the decorator’s exuberant voice calling out rapid orders. “Eh, eh, eh! Per tutto il tragitto contro il muro, no, non insieme, metterli a parte.”
When they entered the freshly painted ivory space, Domina’s face lit up. “Ah! Raphielli!” She arched a questioning brow. “Have you made a choice?” Domina sashayed toward her, moving on her high heels like she was dancing a samba. Her bracelets jingled and her heels sounded like castanets on the polished marble floor. Domina’s hair was a wild aura of long black curls like Raphielli’s, but instead of being trapped in a demure bun, Domina’s was unrestrained and outrageous. She ushered Raphielli to a worktable with samples of fabrics, wood chips, and rug swatches.
“What have you chosen for the drapery?” Domina held her palm up and flicked her fingers expectantly.
Raphielli had never been asked her opinion before—she’d never even selected her own clothing, for heaven’s sake—so choosing drapes was more difficult than she’d anticipated. She pulled a swath of beaded aqua fabric from the rack.
Domina looked pleased. “Perfetto! Curtains with this embellished silk will make a shimmering wall of seafoam blue-green—it’ll play beautifully with the water just outside! Ah! You’ve missed your calling, Raphielli! You should be a designer. È la verità!” She picked up another, darker fabric. “This will be the lining, and I have just the tiebacks in mind!”
Raphielli savored the feeling of validation. “Domina, I would—”
“You can speak?” Domina flung her arms around Raphielli. “Ah! Grazie a Dio! I’m so happy for you!”
Domina’s eyes darted to her neck, and out of habit Raphielli reached up to make sure her scarf was in place. “I was going to introduce you to my friend, Alphonso Vitali.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alphonso.” Her eyes traveled appraisingly up and down, apparently like what she saw.
“The pleasure is mine.” He said quietly.
Raphielli admired him as he turned to look around the room. The morning was stormy, but the light coming through the thirty-foot-tall windows made his caramel skin glow.
He said, “It’s hard to believe we’re in the Scortini palazzo.”
“Grazie.” Domina stroked the drapery fabric and continued to look him over. “I’d love to redecorate this entire palazzo. The rooms I’ve seen are so dismal.” She made an apologetic face at Raphielli for the slight and continued, “But I swear, this property is so big I could never finish.”
“This suite is all I need right now,” Raphielli said. “It’s my first day back at work, so we have to get going.”
Domina shook her head. “It’s great that you founded a shelter, but why do you have to work there? It must be depressing—like a hospital.”
“I love being with the women and children. It’s nothing like a hospital, it’s quite intimate, we only have space for ten residents at a time.”
“Hmm a boutique shelter?” Domina’s phone pinged. “Ah! Look at the time! Mi scusi! I have to get your curtains ordered and inspect the upholstery for the sofas before my next meeting. My guys will finish placing some furniture today and install the motorized blinds. The electronics guys are installing hotspots in the rooms on my list, so we’ll have better reception.” She stepped over to give Raphielli a peck on each cheek. “You know, now that I’m interior designer of the mysterious Palazzo Scortini, my phone never stops.”
Raphielli laughed, but it came out as a strange honking sound like a goose. Hmm, maybe no laughing yet. She watched Domina hustle about in her agile fashion, made all the more impressive as her ultra-tight skirt kept her thighs stationary while her hips, knees, calves, and feet were furiously active.
Domina continued, “I don’t want to be late for my next client. He’s new money. But then, compared to your estate, everyone’s money is new.” She gathered her things and practically skidded to the door. “Where is that adorable Guiseppe?” she teased. “I know he secretly loves me.” Juggling her supplies and briefcase, Domina disappeared in a storm of curls, calling loudly, “Oh, Guiseppe, is today the day you ask me out?”
Alphonso came to stand beside Raphielli, and they watched sunbeams shine through gray clouds over the dark lagoon. “It’s a new beginning for you.”
“Sì. Soon, I’ll wake up to feel the sun on my face and my prayers will be answered.”
“The sun on your face. Most people would think a young woman like you prays for other things.”
I do. I pray for don Petrosino to keep my husband in purgatory forever.
Giselle sat in her bathrobe watching Nigella moving about the dressing room. Since she spent most of her time in France, her Venetian maid was over the moon whenever Giselle came to stay in Venice with her in-laws. Nigella went over to the rack of clothing she’d selected for the day.
“It’s so good to be dressing you again. When you’re away I look after our guests and I miss you so much.”
“Well I’ll be here for a while,” Giselle said. “What clothes have you pulled?”
“The storm isn’t supposed to let up today, I’m sorry to say, so here are some layered options. This blouse is new. It’s made of heavy silk shantung that’s been sueded so the inside feels like flannel. There’s also this nice…”
Giselle was just going to work at the Verdu Mer construction site, so she pointed. “The shantung looks warmest. I’ll wear it with those leggings and the all-weather boots, the ones that look vaguely equestrian. I’ll wear that lined khaki raincoat.”
“Right, I’ll deliver it to the cloakroom when we’re done here.”
While helping Giselle dress, Nigella prattled on. “I’m so excited you’re doing the Vanity Fair project. Imagine, two photo shoots! La contessa says she’s going to have a picture from your glamour shoot made into a portrait for the main hall.”
“Mm-hmm, I’ve agreed to wear an antique dress from Juliette’s family, so it’s a pretty big deal for her.” Giselle shrugged into her pants. “And the Verona tiara will come out of the vault for a few hours.”
“When I heard you’d agreed to pose for photos, I thought it was a joke.”
“It would’ve been, but it’s a campaign that challenges rich women to support global causes.”
“Were you asked because you donate all the money when you sell your sculptures?”
“Uh-huh.”
Giselle tried to be patient while Nigella fussed with her fine blonde hair. Finally Giselle just stood up. “That looks great. I’d better run or I’ll be late for breakfast.”
She hurried out of the room an
d down the palazzo hall. While arriving late for breakfast had been de rigueur growing up in Gernelle, it never happened at her in-law’s table. Even if a guest was willing to disrespect Count Gabrieli and Contessa Juliette, no one would dare show up late with Pope Leopold XIV at the table.
The Blue Room where the family took breakfast was a considerable distance from Giselle’s bedroom. She broke into a light trot, grateful for her natural speed and long legs as she banked down capacious hallways, past the occasional suit of armor and the benign gazes of Verona relatives in life-sized paintings and marble busts. Arriving in the breakfast room, she tried to pretend she was merely feeling energetic and hadn’t just run an undignified dash.
“Buongiorno, all! What a wonderful morning, even with the dreary weather outside.” She took her usual seat at the table beside her husband, Vincenzo, who acknowledged her slightly manic energy a quizzical look. The room was suspiciously silent. A cappuccino was set before her and she glanced around the table as plates were served. Her eyes went to Markus, whose ice-blue eyes were regarding her with a look that melted her from across the table. She admired his closely trimmed blonde hair and crisp grey work clothes as she squeezed her thighs together and blinked at him innocently. She looked to the Czerneys, who brimmed with Eastern European good health even though Ivar had started relying on his walker more lately. As usual, they seemed to be in good humor. “What?” She sipped slowly and eyed the bodyguards by the door who, if possible, looked even more alert than usual. Giselle looked to her father-in-law, Count Gabrieli, and his best friend Pope Leopold XIV. Both were tallish and healthy, but where Gabrieli’s thick black hair and tanned face looked younger than his fifty years, Papa’s responsibilities were aging his appearance lately. Still vigorous at seventy, he seemed to have another grey hair and another line on his face every time she saw him lately.
Gabrieli picked up his fork and knife, cleared his throat, and busied himself with the frittata that had just been placed before him. “The police are making a statement today about the Scortini investigation.”
Papa tapped an official Vatican folder next to his plate. “The police presume Salvio to be dead.”
Vincenzo startled at the name and his cast clunked the table beside Giselle. Hearing that name, she pictured running alongside Vincenzo as he was wheeled through the hospital, his arm at an odd angle and his head dented.
Her mother-in-law’s polished voice was unusually strident. “Well, he is dead.” She signaled for her full plate to be removed, and it was whisked away. “The canals will give him up, the police know this. Gabrieli, Casimir, you both know this is the truth.” Juliette’s voice cracked.
Giselle almost never saw Juliette in this state. Her face was tense, and her regal posture had gone rigid. She fixed her husband and the pontiff with looks that were simultaneously warning and pleading, then self-consciously dabbed beneath her lashes with a perfectly manicured finger to catch an errant tear before passing her hand over her smoothly curled Sophia Loren-esque chestnut hair.
Giselle had never heard Juliette use the Pope’s Christian name. Only Gabrieli did that.
Papa said, “Forgive me, Juliette, I do not mean to upset you,” and then turned to look at the count. “Gabrieli, I have been thinking about the family’s safety protocol.”
“More than my new bodyguard?” Vincenzo spoke up. “What more do you have in mind?”
Gabrieli’s attention was fixed on the Pope. “Casimir, your interest is duly noted but, as the premier of Venice, I refuse to hide from my neighbors because of one unbalanced man…who is dead.”
Giselle had lost her appetite. When a servant approached with her breakfast, she held a hand up to decline it.
Juliette’s head swiveled in her direction. “Giselle, what is it, dear?”
She set her cup back in its saucer. “The topic of conversation has left me feeling a bit curdled.”
Yvania gave her an understanding look from behind her cats-eye glasses. “I agree this is no subject to begin the day. You will all be refreshed out in the air. Juliette, I will have leetle bit more coffee, and then I am ready for our trip to the fish market. I love market day!”
“Ah, me too.” Juliette brightened, responding to Yvania’s passion for cooking and food.
“Goot! And today we will make the fried leetle snacks.”
“Sì, cicchetti.” The contessa turned and looked out the windows. “The acqua alta has submerged the area by the market, so you will wear your waterproof boots, sì?”
“I am ready!” Yvania swung her short legs out from under the table to reveal bright red Wellies that came up to her knees. Her newly colored dark blonde hair—courtesy of Juliette’s stylist—was wet, so she’d either just come from outside or the shower. It was hard to tell, coiled in her ubiquitous top-knot as it was.
Giselle pictured Markus’ stout little babushka chugging along next to Juliette, who towered over Yvania, especially when Yvania wasn’t wearing her usual wooden clogs. During the acqua alta season, Juliette wore beautiful rubber boots with high heels and walked gracefully atop the temporary wooden platforms.
Giselle glanced between Markus and Vincenzo as the two men avoided eye contact. She would like nothing better than to drag Markus away from the Verona household and spend the day making love, but that had proven nearly impossible in the six weeks that they’d been staying with her in-laws in Venice. She had a busy day ahead of her, so she’d settle for losing herself in work. “Yvania, I’m going to take your advice. I should be getting over to the Verdu Mer site.”
Pushing her chair back, she started an exodus as Markus, Ivar, and Gabrieli followed her lead and stood. They were all going to the construction site, too.
The Pope said. “Verdu Mer will be busy today. There is a lot of interest in the new model home.”
Ivar came to life as he grabbed his walker and used it for the few steps over to his wife. “Da, today I meet with Architectural Digest. They are doing a story on our windows.” He bent down and kissed her cheek.
Yvania signaled for more coffee, and a servant poured it. “This reporter, can he be using the Cyrillic characters for your name so everyone back home can know it is you?” She was proud of her husband, who should be enjoying his retirement at their home in Paris instead of taking on a Herculean city project in Venice.
Giselle and the men stopped at the cloakroom and bundled up before departing. As they stepped out the front door, they were blasted with a wet gust that almost knocked Ivar back into the foyer. He leaned onto his walker and Giselle tightened her grip on his elbow. “I am fine. It is just the coming of winter that makes my leg stiff.”
Gabrieli turned to Ivar. “Let’s take the boat. The calles are too slippery to walk this morning. We’ll cruise right up to the new model unit and I can drop you and Markus off before Giselle and I head on to the construction office.” They were just moving toward the stone steps of the water garage when Vincenzo poked his head out the front door and called to her, “Darling, can I have a word?”
“Of course.” Giselle left Ivar in Markus’ capable hands and went back up the steps.
Vincenzo called to the group, “I’ll drop her at Verdu Mer on my way to the office.” He pulled her inside, then into the cloakroom and closed the door.
“Hey, I’m sorry the topic at breakfast upset you.” He looked at her, a worried expression darkening his beautiful face. There was a good reason he was on the top of so many “sexiest man” lists. His features were perfection, with soulful dark eyes, and he dressed to kill.
“Ahh, you can’t control what people say, and…it’s not just that.” She fingered a gold-filigreed cape hanging next to her in the little room.
“I know.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“Do you? Because, V, every day in limbo here…just gets more stressful.”
“I’m feeling the same stress, but compounded by–”
“Save it.” She held up a hand. “I’m not in the mood to be understanding, and I don�
�t want to fight with you, sweetie.”
“I appreciate you and Markus being so patient.”
“We’re almost out of patience. You don’t know what we’re going through. You’ve always had Leonardo. It’s been in secret, sure, but you’ve had the love of your life by your side since you guys were four.”
“Five, and I get your point.”
“I don’t know why I just found mine at twenty-two, but I can’t be your beard anymore. You have to come out of the closet so I can marry Markus.”
“We never thought this day would come so I need time to prepare.”
“We were trying to graduate high school when we hatched our life’s plan.”
Vincenzo reached for her hand and placed something in her palm. A key. “Get some of your frustration out. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
“We’re getting tired of being beholden to you and Leo for letting us use the apartment when we want to be alone.”
His face transformed into a devilish expression, and he looked like himself again. “Oh?” he mocked, dark eyes seductive beneath his lashes. “You don’t want a chance to get your hands on your hot Eastern bloc fidanzato? You don’t need the key, then.” He reached for it.
She tucked it behind her back.
Vincenzo’s expression returned to the look of contrition he’d been wearing for weeks now. “I’m working on a plan to come out of the closet. I promise.”
“Come ‘mere.” She pulled him to her in a hug. “Part of why I’m out of sorts is…I want to be hard on you so you’ll tell your parents and Papa. But hearing Salvio’s name reminded me that I almost lost you and…the memories are too fresh. Now, I hate myself for being so wishy-washy.”
“I’m a hundred percent, and once this cast comes off, you’ll have one less reminder of the attack. Don’t worry about me.” He touched the side of his head where Salvio had cracked his skull lightly. “Now, go get some one-on-one time with Markus.” He kissed her furrowed brow. “I’ve got a meeting with a cardinal this morning who may help us.”
“Good luck.” She pushed the cloakroom door open and they both came out of the closet.
Storming Venice Page 2
