Just then Leonardo let himself in and shut the doors behind him. Juliette said, “Leonardo, tell me the truth. Has my son, uh, ah…compromised you?”
“No, he could never do that,” Leonardo answered in a dignified voice. “We’ve been in love since we were boys.”
“Since we were boys,” Vincenzo finished with him.
Juliette countered to her son. “But with his private injury…you took advantage of a broken boy?”
Leonardo shook his head slowly. “I healed, and have all of my natural functions.”
Juliette’s expression brightened with relief for a beat, and then anguish swept over her face again. “I will not stay here and listen to this.”
Gabrieli pointed at the seat next to Vincenzo. “Leonardo, sit down. We need to have a conversation on the gravity of what you both have done. Juliette, dear, let me talk to the boys. Go get Casimir. He’s in the chapel. Markus, please take Giselle and get her something to eat. Tell the cook to hold dinner for His Holiness, la contessa, myself, and the boys.”
In that moment, Giselle was no longer part of the family. She felt a pang of sadness and knew that she had to let Vincenzo stand on his own, so she followed Markus out.
It was a bizarre dinner. The servants were on edge, unable to hide the curiosity in their eyes. Ivar, Yvania, Giselle, and Markus were overjoyed about the pregnancy, but couldn’t say anything that might upset the household. The staff was already evaluating the happy moods of these four against the sudden, tragic mood of the Veronas. The Pope made a brief appearance at the table to give blessings to Giselle and the baby before disappearing to have a conversation she was sure he never imagined he’d have with his family.
CHAPTER
13
In the early morning hours, Markus gave up trying to sleep. The text that he was a father kept flashing before his eyes, and then he’d relive the shock of Juliette catching them mid-grope—lashing out in a primal reaction he hadn’t imagined she was capable of—and the emotional scene that played out when Vincenzo arrived. Now as he lay alone in the richly decorated bedroom, it seemed like he’d just taken part in a high-bred version of American exploitation TV.
He tossed back and forth, unable to find comfort in the sumptuous bed, feeling selfish because, now more than ever, he wanted to spend the night with Giselle—to hold her, make love to her, and celebrate their child. That would have been disrespectful to the Veronas, so he kicked at the sheets as he stared up at the dark outlines on the frescoed ceiling and hoped this would be one of the last times in his life he’d be forced to sleep without her.
Finally, he gave up and climbed out of bed to do the routine of calisthenics and stretching that he did most mornings. Then he showered and considered a trip to the studio workshop. But he didn’t want to risk being late to breakfast where, no doubt, he would learn the family’s plan.
He arrived in the breakfast room and saw evidence that he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept. Vincenzo sat staring blankly and, while his posture was as impeccable as always, everything else about him was listless. He looked like a ghost that might disappear if someone made a loud noise. He didn’t seem to notice Yvania and Ivar, who sat in their usual places sipping coffee with an air of reserved normalcy. He was proud of them, but expected nothing less from this couple who he suspected had seen it all in their lifetimes. Juliette, Gabrieli, and the Pope were not present, and their empty chairs looked ominous, as if their absence was a personal rebuke.
Approaching the table, he asked, “Has anyone seen Giselle?”
“Good morning, Markus.” Vincenzo’s voice was hollow. “She’s in my father’s study. He and Papa would like you to join them.” He turned and addressed a servant who stood by the wall. “Please escort Markus.”
So, instead of taking a seat, Markus followed a servant down a series of unfamiliar palace halls and entered a room of opulent masculinity—gold edging on the immense desk, brilliant chandeliers heavy with crystals, and books that looked like they belonged in the lost libraries of antiquity.
Gabrieli approached him, gave him a reassuring embrace, and murmured, “Ah, Markus. We’ll do right by you. I promise.”
He sounded awful, like he had something lodged in his throat. Even though he felt reassurance from the embrace, Gabrieli’s words put Markus on edge. Until that moment, he had not doubted that they would let him and Giselle leave for France.
He let the count usher him to a seat next to Giselle where she sat across the desk from the Pope. She looked lovely in a soft grey dress, her hair in a loose twist and, as always, she smelled intoxicating. He bit back the urge to ask her how she was doing. This tense scene wasn’t the place for private confessions.
The Pope looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I do not know how much you know of my relationship with the Verona family…”
Markus made a tiny movement with his head and one hand to show “a little.”
“Well then, I will tell you that waiting for a brief period of time before we acknowledge Vincenzo’s nature is absolutely critical.”
“Holy Father, please…” Markus began.
The Pope raised a hand. “We understand Giselle is anxious to return to her home in France with you, and that can be arranged. Her job at Verdu Mer is done, and first and foremost she is an artist. No one will find it unusual that she is returning to her art…with…” His hand floated in a hesitant gesture. “A fellow artist whose technique she is studying.”
Markus waited for some hammer to fall. They could not prevent him from doing as he pleased, but they could exert tremendous pressure over Giselle.
The Pope continued, “There are currently several grave scandals within the Vatican which I can only navigate with the help of the Veronas. To show any weakness within that union would be declaring defeat. We are considering all possible courses of action, here…including having Giselle leave Vincenzo without making any statement as to why.”
Markus interjected, “How could anyone consider that a viable option? That would make her a social outcast. She does not deserve to have her reputation ruined.”
“Vincenzo would marry another woman right away to avoid the perception that it was Giselle’s doing,” Gabrieli said.
“You mean, make it look like she discovered an affair and left him?” Markus looked at Giselle, who apparently had been discussing these options with her father figures, and then at Gabrieli. “You are going to prevent him from coming out?”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves.” The pontiff spread his hands on the desk. “Right now, all we ask is patience.”
Gabrieli said, “We consider your continued patience a great kindness at a dangerous time.”
Giselle gave him a pleading look. “Let’s go to Gernelle and allow everyone a chance to breathe.” Markus nodded.
The Pope rose from behind the desk. “We will send word when we have a proposal for you to consider. Right now, get Giselle and the baby some breakfast.”
By the time Markus and Giselle arrived at the dining room table, Yvania and Ivar were finishing their meal, while Vincenzo’s plate was untouched. Ivar dabbed his lips with a napkin and looked at Markus. “Are you two leaving for Gernelle?”
“Da.”
Vincenzo said, “I knew this would have far-reaching consequences. I just had no idea what they were until they sat me down and told me everything last night. Now that I know, it’s all I was afraid of, and more. That, and my mother seems to have had a breakdown. She’s inconsolable.”
“She will recover. She is strong,” Yvania said.
“I am sorry this is so hard,” Markus said. “How soon can Giselle and I get on a plane?”
“Any time. My jet is on standby for you.”
Markus looked at Giselle. “Would you like to leave this afternoon?”
“I’m ready when you are.” She sipped water and haltingly ate a piece of fruit as if afraid it would come back up. “I’ll call Selma and let her know I’m coming home today.”
&n
bsp; “All right, I’ll have the plane ready shortly. No one outside this room except Leonardo knows what we’re considering. Ippy doesn’t even know, although she’s been asked to cancel all of Giselle’s and my mother’s commitments.”
“I’ll call Fauve and Henri to meet us at the airstrip with my truck,” Giselle said and then looked at the Czerneys. “Will you come with us? Or maybe you want us to drop you in Paris so you can go home?”
Vincenzo spoke up, “They’ve agreed to stay with us a while yet. Ivar will keep the glass classes going at Verdu Mer, and Yvania is our best hope to get Mama back up and around.”
The Czerney’s nodded and Yvania said, “I will get Juliette on her feet and you two will have some time alone.” She glanced at the servants across the room. “To work on new sculptures.”
Markus wasn’t able to say goodbye to the count and contessa, who had sequestered themselves. He packed his bag, and he and Giselle said goodbye to Vincenzo and the Czerneys before heading to the airport. They boarded Vincenzo’s Gulfstream, and in no time the pilot had them soaring over the Venetian islands. Giselle held his hand and occasionally sipped from a thermos that contained a ginger potion Yvania made for her to quell morning sickness.
It wasn’t long before they touched down on the private airstrip near Aiglemont. Markus held Giselle’s coat for her, Giselle took a last sip of her ginger brew before setting it aside, and slipped an arm into one of the sleeves. “Look at that wall of clouds. It’s going to snow.”
He put his mouth next to her ear. “Da, a storm is coming, but we will not care…we will be together in front of a fire.”
“I love the way you think,” she whispered back while shrugging into the coat.
The pilot opened the door and lowered the stairs. Looking out, Markus spotted Fauve jumping out of her Range Rover, and Henri getting out from behind the wheel of Giselle’s grandfather’s truck.
Fauve jogged toward the plane as they came down the stairs. “Hey!” she called to them. “This is unexpected!”
Giselle put her hand up for patience. The icy wind was blowing her hair every which way and snatching at her coat.
Fauve put her gloved fingertips under Giselle’s chin. “Hey, I haven’t seen you like this since…ever.” Apparently, she was disturbed by something in Giselle’s manner, because she was trying to get her to look her in the eye. When Giselle pulled away, Fauve took hold of her chin again. “Shit, babe. What’s up?”
Henri approached calling, “Where’s Vincenzo?”
“Still in Venice,” Markus answered.
“Oh. I’ll put your things in the truck.” Henri moved off to grab the bag the pilot was unloading.
Giselle said, “It’s, um, nothing. Can you and the gang come over tomorrow night? I’ll tell you about it then.” She moved in and gave her friend a quick hug, but when she tried to pull away, Fauve held her tight with their noses almost touching.
“Fuck that, Gigi. Tell me now. What’s going on?” Fauve took her arms from around Giselle and grabbed her by the ears. “Dites-moi maintenant!”
“Aei! Arrêtez!” Giselle pried Fauve’s hands off her ears. “I’m pregnant…and it’s Markus’.”
Fauve’s eyelids fluttered, and she actually swooned for a scary moment. Markus stepped closer, ready to catch her if she started to faint like the maid last night, but Giselle dug her fingernails into her friend’s upper arms through her jacket and held her upright. The two women stared intently into each other’s eyes and seemed to draw strength from their bond.
Markus watched Fauve, interested to see her response. She was incredulous and then hissed, “Are you kidding me? You cheated on Vincenzo? You? You don’t even color outside the lines!”
Fauve looked over at him, shook her head, and then pulled Giselle into a fierce hug. “Oui. D’accord. Okay…okay. We can handle this.” She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself as much as Giselle.
“What’s up?” Henri called.
Fauve straightened, gave Giselle a squeeze, and called over her shoulder, “Nothing, just planning a dinner tomorrow night at Gigi’s.”
Giselle gave her a wary look that said, Oh, boy, this is a long story, and Fauve broke into an evil grin. “So, you’re a slut after all.”
“I don’t know about that, but I colored way outside the lines here.”
“Ya think?” Fauve glanced at Markus again and shook her head. “What the hell? I knew you were too sexy. You with your hot body and cool reserve. I thought you were supposed to be hooking up with Carolette.”
He shrugged. He’d promised Carolette not to tell anyone what had happened between them.
Fauve shook herself. “Well, shit, Gigi. I love Vincenzo, so I don’t know what to think.”
Giselle’s tone became hushed. “For the moment, the family isn’t saying anything.”
“I’m not breathing a word,” Fauve replied and backed up.
Fauve and Henri retreated to their Range Rover and waved as they drove away, heading back to their little hotel and café in Aiglemont.
Markus asked, “Will she tell Henri?”
“No, he’ll leave her alone with her thoughts during their drive home. It’s one of the things I admire about him.”
Climbing into the Tank, Giselle’s nickname for her grandfather’s huge 1943 Renault truck, she started it up and the engine roared to life. As they pulled away from the airstrip and headed toward the château, the sound of Maurice Chevalier singing “Thank Heavens for Little Girls” came from her phone. Giselle pointed at her purse. “It’s Carolette. See what she wants, will you?”
He answered the call. “B’jour, Carolette. C’est Markus.”
“Oh, Markus!” She gave a naughty laugh. “Funny you should pick up. I just had the best dream last night and you were in it. Have you ever made a sex sandwich?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“Oh, well, I’ll tell you about it sometime. Is Gigi there? Fauve just texted we’re all coming over tomorrow night. I want to ask her if I can bring Zelph.”
“Let me check…” He held the phone away from his mouth. “Can she bring Zelph tomorrow night?”
Giselle shrugged as she downshifted and neatly made the hairpin turn onto her property’s private road with a spray of white gravel. “Sure.”
“She says Zelph can come.”
“Ooh fab! I’m gonna call him now. See you at the château tomorrow.”
The estate came into view down the long driveway as twilight approached and the storm arrived. The forest treetops were obscured, and snow spattered across the windshield. He patted her knee and found himself smiling. “Now you will take off all of the masks you wear and return to your natural self.”
“With pleasure. No demands from in-laws, magazines, or consortiums here.”
As they pulled into the courtyard of the imposing white stone château, the front door opened and the property’s manager Selma came out, looking boyish in her faded Levi’s and flannel shirt. She paused on the flagstone veranda until her mother, the château’s caretaker, came outside. Both women were donning heavy coats against the wind that came out of the forest with a howl.
Markus said, “Ah, I finally meet the mysterious Veronique.”
“That’s right. You didn’t meet Selma’s mother when we were here before.”
“No, she was away caring for her sister much of the time I believe, and I only had a handful of exchanges with Selma.”
“Well, now that we live here, you’ll get close to them. Just like the Czerneys are your family, these ladies are mine.”
“All your friends are like your family.” He chuckled. “They are like a big bunch of eccentric relatives.”
Giselle eased the truck to a stop, turned off the engine, and climbed down from the cab.
Selma loped down the manor steps calling out, “Alo, Gigi! Bienvenue, Markus.”
He gave a wave as he got out and grabbed his bag from the bed of the truck. “Alo, Selma, et Madame.”
/> Veronique hurried over to Giselle for little kisses and a hug. “Ah, ma petite, let’s get you out of this weather. I’ve baked your favorite lemon cake and set out your favorite tea. We can share a cup before Selma and I go down to our house.” She tipped her head indicating the lane that curved around behind the château.
Giselle clutched at her wool trench as it flapped furiously. “Ah, c’est parfait. Alons-y.”
Veronique looked into Giselle’s eyes and her mouth dropped open. She touched Giselle’s cheek and clucked, “Oh la la la la. You have news?”
Giselle blushed. “Oui. I have an important secret to tell you.”
They hurried up the grand stairs into the château, down sumptuous halls, past opulent rooms made homey because they were filled with well-worn antiques, and to the oversized kitchen in the back, where Veronique had a fire crackling in the fireplace.
Over cake and tea with honey and lemon, Giselle shared the short version of the story, just hitting the critical points that her marriage to Vincenzo was to be annulled, she and Markus were to be married, and she was already pregnant. Even without the more scandalous details, he could tell it was going to take time for these women to digest the news. Veronique took Giselle’s hand and said firmly, “I’ve known you since you were born. I want what’s best for you. Have another slice of cake for the baby.”
“I knew we could count on you.” Giselle smiled happily and nibbled more lemon cake.
Veronique turned to him. “Welcome to the family, Markus. You’d better be good to her or I’ll set the dogs on you.” She gave him an enigmatic smile.
“I will be a good husband to her all of my life.”
While they took the teacups and plates to the sink, Selma said, “Good thing that new shed around Star Fall is sturdy. With these winds, I was afraid I’d have to do some repairs. The back door was a bit loose and creaking, but I tightened the flimsy slip-bolt mechanism and it’s holding for the moment.”
Storming Venice Page 21
