Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  “I think I’ll leave that kind of thing to Giselle.”

  Kate paused with a Mentos midway to her mouth. “Every woman with a grand home should follow your lead.”

  The mayor looked at his watch and said, “I should get going. And before I forget, please come to dinner Wednesday night. Elene won’t take ‘no’ for an answer now that you’re out and about.”

  “I’d love to. I’ve just bought a new dress.”

  Vincenzo opened his eyes and joined the outer world, but continued to favor the inner one. He knew he didn’t radiate love as powerfully as his father, but Vincenzo wasn’t overpowering Vatican treachery, he was only meeting a cardinal he’d known since he was a boy. As he stepped from the helicopter onto the cardinal’s helipad, he tried to turn his back to the rain. But the propellers were whipping the droplets every which way, and he was soaked before he took two steps. Monsignor Laventi beckoned from a covered stairwell, and Vincenzo hurried across the deck toward him. Once out of the elements, they embraced warmly. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

  Laventi said, “Cardinal Arguelles is honored by your visit, Vincenzo.”

  “I was passing through, and he’s been on my mind lately.”

  “You and your father are so good in that way. Many people think of others, but you always tend to your friendships.”

  They took an elevator down to a sedate office with wood paneling salvaged from an old monastery. Cardinal Arguelles stood at the window watching the storm. “Ah! Vincenzo! Mio fratello!” He crossed the room to hug him. “I was worried. You should not be traveling by air on a day like this.” He planted a kiss on each of Vincenzo’s cheeks.

  “You’re so thoughtful, Guido,” Vincenzo said as Laventi took his coat.

  “Something hot to drink? Tea?” the cardinal asked.

  “Grazie.”

  Monsignor Laventi rang for tea and, while bowing his way out the door, said, “Excellence, the count has had premonitions of you.” He passed an incoming servant bearing a tray as he left.

  “Been on your mind, have I? Anything specific?” He indicated a seating area where the servant was setting out an ornate silver tea service.

  Vincenzo knew he had to remain vague for the time being, so he stalled as he settled himself and accepted a cup. “Not premonitions, but you’ve been on my mind lately. What have you been up to, my friend?”

  “Well, a paper I’ve written with Cardinal Klerk of Angola is about to be published. We’re getting some ruffled feathers as word spreads. But feathers ruffle easily these days, I find.”

  Vincenzo reached out and took Guido’s hand. He felt a strange energy and disquiet that didn’t match the promising words. Vincenzo sensed a snarl of confusion. It sent an uncomfortable sensation across Vincenzo’s arms and across his chest. He released Guido’s hand. He wondered if his father would know what he’d just sensed, but even his father couldn’t read minds. He felt twinges of doubt whenever he used this ability Veronas were born with, because he knew his real gift was financial healing through donations. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to support the Pope like the Veronas before him.

  Vincenzo listened patiently to the cardinal as he rambled, and they each drank two cups of tea. Finally, he got to the point of his visit. “Well Guido, I’m encouraged by your forward thinking. I share your hope for more tolerance and understanding in the Church.”

  The old man leaned forward. “I look for ways to be courageous for the betterment of mankind. We must be bold for the sake of what is right and what needs to become accepted, even if it is willfully misunderstood by the majority.”

  Vincenzo’s phone pinged with a text from his pilot:

  LIGHTENING STORM APPROACHING RECOMMEND DEPARTING

  “I’d better get going so I can beat the next storm back to Venice. I’d like to call on you soon and ask for your support in a bold endeavor that won’t be popular…”

  “Vincenzo, I am always aligned with you. I am not afraid of being unpopular.”

  “I’ll need the support of courageous cardinals, those who think like we do on progressive matters.”

  “You have me and my allies behind you. Always.”

  “Grazie.” He hesitated, but then had to say something after what he’d felt. “If you don’t mind my saying, you look a bit worn down. Make an appointment with your physician, will you, Guido?”

  “Ah, always concerned for others. I will. Grazie.”

  When Vincenzo touched down in Venice, he went to the apartment. He found Leonardo in their living room working on his laptop. The expression on his classically handsome features switched from work focus to welcoming interest. “You’re back.” He passed a hand over his dark curly hair and then raised his arms to stretch. “How’d it go with Cardinal Arguelles? Do you think he’ll support our coming out?”

  “I’m encouraged. He’s trying to bring progressive initiatives into the Church.”

  “I’m glad you’re home. We haven’t had any time to ourselves all week.”

  “Let’s tell everyone we have an all-night accounting session and come back here after dinner.”

  “I like the sound of that. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” Leonardo came over and started unbuttoning his shirt and, as so often was the case, one thing led to another. Thirty minutes later, they lay spent, the only light in their bedroom coming from occasional slashes of lightning.

  “So, tell me. Is Cardinal Arguelles our ally?”

  “Sì…” Vincenzo hesitated.

  “What? Is he, or isn’t he?”

  “He’s sympathetic to the need for tolerance on several issues and promised he’d align himself with me if I were to stand up for something bold, perhaps even unpopular.”

  “But?”

  “There’s something wrong with him.”

  “Wrong? Like he’s ill?”

  “Could be. I felt something strange when I touched him. His energy is…off.”

  “Have you ever felt that sensation before?”

  “Not quite. The closest thing was what I sensed before Edmund had his aneurysm.”

  “Oh, no. I’m going to pray he lives to help us.”

  They took a hot shower together, got dressed, and then met up with Vincenzo’s bodyguard in the building’s lobby before heading to the palazzo. Upon arrival they went to the parlor for a drink with the family before dinner and found it empty. Vincenzo asked a maid where everyone was.

  “Your father is in his library, la contessa and Yvania are in the kitchen. His Holiness has left for Austria. Giselle and Ivar are in their rooms getting ready for dinner, and I just saw Markus go toward the conservatory.”

  Vincenzo told Leonardo, “Wait here, I’m going to check on Markus.”

  As he entered the conservatory, he heard Markus before he saw him. Obscured by a bank of flowering vines, he was saying, “That sounds good. Rent, plus one-month security, and your commission…let me know. I want to move into either studio soon.”

  Vincenzo didn’t want to push Markus, so instead of confronting him he went to Giselle’s room where he found Nigella zipping her up. He tried to look jovial, but he could tell by Giselle’s expression that she read his mood perfectly.

  “You look beautiful tonight, darling.” He turned to Nigella. “May I have a moment alone with my wife?”

  She gave a shyly conspiratorial look. “Certo.” She hurried for the door and closed it lest she see any intimate grappling.

  Vincenzo said, “Did Markus tell you he’s moving out?”

  “He mentioned that he wanted to.” Her tone was casual but guarded.

  “Wh…why didn’t you tell me? I don’t need this right now.”

  “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it. We don’t get much privacy, you know.”

  “While Markus and Ivar are still working at Verdu Mer, he and the Czerneys should stay here.”

  “Are you actually starting to believe your own cover story? It makes no sense for him to live under your roof. You just want him here
to keep me happy.”

  It was true, but it sounded so manipulative when she said it. “How is that bad?” he countered.

  She arched an eyebrow. “It’s exhausting. He drives me…wild. I can’t keep my thoughts straight when my body is drawing me to him like a magnet. V, the sexual tension has just about worn us out.”

  “I get it.” He was ashamed he’d put her in this awkward position. “Let’s have a talk with him. He’s in the conservatory.”

  They found Markus, who gave her a smile before turning a look of inquiry on him.

  Vincenzo said calmly, “You and Giselle were going to discuss your desire to move out. I’d like to be a part of that discussion, if I may.”

  Markus paused before responding. “Vincenzo, this is the most stressful situation for me…I cannot even find the words.” He didn’t sound angry, he sounded tired. “It is no way for Giselle and I to live. You are preventing me from marrying the woman I love, and asking us to twist our lives to protect you. I am out of patience, and she should be, too.”

  “I only need a little more time, and then you two can be together. I swear it. I think it’s great for you to rent a work studio and spend time there together. I know you need that, and you both need your art. Could you still live here till I…come out?” Vincenzo could hear the pleading in his own voice.

  “I’d be up for that,” Giselle said. “Markus?”

  Markus gave a series of little nods and then, ignoring Vincenzo, he fixed Giselle with a sultry look. “Da. I have found two workshop studios that I like. I will take the one my realtor gets the best deal on, we will try spending time away from the palazzo…and make some art.”

  Relieved, Vincenzo said, “Grazie, Markus. You’re a good friend to me even though it’s not by choice.” He looked at his watch. “Now, let’s get to the parlor before they wonder where we are.”

  Giselle had selected a cozy corner of the parlor to play a game of connect-the-dots with Markus as they waited for Raphielli Scortini to arrive. The family was relaxed and enjoying their drinks and conversations. Giselle bent over the neat rows of dots on the paper and gripped her pencil as she carefully placed her line. “Now I’ve got you!”

  Markus leaned across the table and flicked the tip of his pencil, making a box, jotted an ‘M’ inside it, and then proceeded to fill the rest of the sheet with boxes. She thought he looked like a boy as he looked up at her, his blue eyes playful, but his sexy accent made her stomach clench.

  “It appears you were mistaken.” He traced his finger seductively along the row of M’s and then licked his lips. “Do you want to make another paper for a new game while I put my mark in all of these boxes?”

  She leaned close and whispered, “Lucky boxes.”

  Just then Raphielli arrived, and Giselle was temporarily stunned. Oh mon Dieu! What is she wearing? Somebody has to help this girl dress properly without hurting her feelings.

  At the shelter, she’d worn a long black skirt that had been laundered into shapelessness, and an enormous faded black cardigan over a baggy white blouse. Now, she was wearing a neon purple circus tent with thick horizontal orange stripes. The tent had an oversized cowl that had swallowed her chin, the sleeves hung from her shoulders like bells, and her petite buxom figure was obscured. She looked heavy and somehow lumpy. Her shoes appeared to be orthopedic nursing shoes of russet leather with rubber soles. She’d gone from frumpy to outlandish.

  Juliette gave Raphielli a hug and little cheek kisses. “My dear, we are so happy you have joined us for dinner.”

  Gabrieli came over and took her hand. “Raphielli, I hope you received my note.”

  She beamed at him. “Oh sì, my lord, I’ll keep it forever.”

  He hugged and then released her. “I’m not a lord,” he chuckled. “And I owe you my life. So you, more than anyone, have earned the right to call me by my Christian name. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Gabrieli.”

  Juliette led her around the room. “This is my son, Vincenzo, and his best friend, Leonardo Trentori. Leonardo is Vincenzo’s accountant and one of the world’s top financial experts. He has been part of our family since he and Vincenzo were five years old. They work day and night doing banking that is mostly secret…always together…like brothers.”

  The boys offered nods and smiles saying, “Nice to meet you.”

  Juliette brought Raphielli to where Giselle and Markus sat. “This is Markus Shevchenko, an artist whose work Giselle is studying. Until recently, he was in France assisting her with one of her sculptures. Now, he is consulting on the windows for Verdu Mer and staying with us. Markus, this is Raphielli Scortini. She founded Porto della Donne, the women’s shelter where Giselle and I volunteer.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” He inclined his head.

  “What a wonderful accent you have.” A pretty blush rose in her cheeks. Giselle could see that Markus was having the same effect on Raphielli that he did on most women.

  “Do I not sound Italian to you?” he asked, his expression innocent.

  “What?” She looked confused for a beat and then burst out with a laugh so loud and genuine it made him laugh, too. “Oh! Ha! You sound Russian. Are you?” She asked.

  “Ukrainian.” He chuckled.

  “Ah.” Her brows went up. Obviously, it was exotic to her.

  Giselle moved forward and gave Raphielli a hug. “Glad you’re joining us.”

  “Ciao, Gigi,” Raphielli said, smiling.

  Juliette drew her over to the Czerneys. “This is Ivar Czerney and his wife, Yvania, also our guests during the Verdu Mer project.”

  “Oh, so you’re in building?” She asked.

  Ivar stood up behind his walker and reached for her hand. “Markus and I are showing the Venetians how to make special windows for the homes. We are teaching how to make the Crimean style of glass. Very special and very beautiful.”

  “Well, if Giselle designed the homes, and they’re getting special windows, I think everyone in Venice will want to live in Verdu Mer.”

  Gabrieli spoke up. “Sì, for over two hundred years the neighborhood was the poorest area in Venice. We’re thrilled to be underway with the gentrification.”

  “I hear all the residents were relocated into housing around Venice, and the Vatican is paying their rents until they can return to their new homes.”

  “Sì.”

  “Won’t the new homes be too expensive for them?”

  “Not at all. Costs will be the same as what they were paying before. It’s a gift from the Vatican, a controlled rent.”

  “Wow!”

  Yvania approached Raphielli. In her wooden clogs, she was only about two inches shorter than Raphielli, so she didn’t have to throw her head back and look up to speak as she usually did.

  “So, you are the brave girl who warned of Salvio’s plot to kill the count?”

  “Sì.”

  “You are strong girl. I see this.” Yvania hugged her, then petted her shoulders affectionately.

  “And you are the strong woman who…”

  “Da, I am knocking your husband on the head.” Giselle couldn’t believe she said that. Yvania’s expression wasn’t exactly contrite as she leaned in and said, “I tell you, you are better off now he is dead.”

  Juliette diplomatically changed the subject, as any good hostess would when one guest awkwardly takes credit for killing another guest’s husband. “Raphielli, you look so pretty this evening.”

  Raphielli’s face lit up at the compliment. “This is a new dress. The material is called ‘jersey.’”

  Yvania plucked a bit of fabric at Raphielli’s wrist between her thumb and forefinger. “Very warm, I am thinking. Also, you look like a big party in it!” Yvania sparkled her fingers out in a little jazz-hands gesture.

  Giselle bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the little gnome who could get away with saying anything…and frequently did.

  “Raphielli, would you care for a drink?” Vincenzo offered, waving
a hand toward the glittering shelves behind the carved wood bar.

  “Ah, I don’t know about alcohol.”

  “What would you like, then? I think I can make anything you’d fancy.”

  Giselle watched Raphielli and her big tent make their way to the bar.

  “We had a luncheon at the palazzo, and our party planner, Marilynn Bergoni, made the most delicious drink. It was sweet lemon nectar, crushed lemon verbena leaves, and seltzer,” she said.

  “Oh, you had the best party planner in Venice then. It must have been a great luncheon.” Juliette said.

  “She and her designer Domina transformed our rooftop and it was the best party ever. Especially since Salvio stormed off shortly after it began and didn’t return till all the guests had gone home.”

  Juliette asked a servant to get lemon verbena from the kitchen, while Vincenzo started muddling sugar into lemon juice.

  When dinner was announced, they all took their drinks into the family dining room. After they were seated, Vincenzo said, “You’re in for an experience, Raphielli. My mother and Yvania inspire each other’s cooking, and together, their dishes are remarkable.”

  Yvania nodded. “We are creating the whole new world of food. Soon we will have a cookbook together.”

  The first course was a vision in oranges, reds, and greens. “These are orbs of pumpkin in brown butter on a bed of braised chard,” Juliette explained proudly.

  The conversation waned as everyone enjoyed the delicate, rich flavors. It was the hush of a happy table. A servant appeared at just the right moment to offer a second slice of warm bread to sop up the outrageous butter sauce.

  Raphielli turned to Giselle. “So, when you’re done at Verdu Mer, are you going back to France to work on another sculpture?”

  “Uh-huh, I’m itching to get back to sculpting. I go a bit stir-crazy when I’m not creating art.”

  “You work in Paris?”

  “No, I prefer working at my childhood home.”

  “Where is that?”

  “A little place on the edge of the Champagne region called Gernelle. It’s nestled against the Ardennes Forest. You’re welcome to visit anytime. Do you ride?”

  “Ride?” Raphielli gave her a vacant look.