“So now you are a mind reader in addition to a stalker.” Maria crossed her arms in front of her chest, but the action only caused Franco to rest his gaze on her bosom. She did her best to remain composed and willed herself silently not to blush again.
When he looked back up into her face, he said, “You should attend our next meeting. We’re having one tomorrow night at seven o’clock. Many other women will also be present. We can really use all the help we can get.” Franco took a pen out of the satchel bag he wore across his body and quickly scribbled on the back of the leaflet she had discarded earlier. “Here’s the address.” He handed the leaflet back to Maria.
She paused for a moment before taking it. Franco gestured with his head to the opposite side of the market in the direction of a young woman who looked to be no more than eighteen years old. She was walking slowly, casually peering at the produce on the vendors’ tables. But as she leaned in to get a better look, she discreetly dropped a leaflet into the basket of an unsuspecting shopper.
“So that was who dropped the leaflet into my bag. She’s quite good. I had no idea.”
“Actually, it was me. By the way, I love the perfume you are wearing.” This time, Franco’s lips broke into a wide grin.
He was having fun with her. Although she didn’t quite know why she was pleased that he had noticed her perfume, she was also becoming irritated by his smugness.
“I see my earlier assessment of your being a stalker was correct.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be going. I am glad you are safe and well. Buongiorno.”
Maria walked away before he could return her good-bye. She quickened her step, but it was no use. In seconds, Franco was by her side again.
“That is good to know that you were worried for my safety, signorina. I was also worried about your safety—so much so, that I returned to your property the next day to make sure that you weren’t walking through the sunflower garden alone again.” Instead of smiling arrogantly this time, he merely stared at her with concern evident in his eyes.
Maria was taken aback, but then realized his ploy. “You did not return to my house. Do you take me for a fool?”
“Of course not! I told you earlier you are smart, and I meant it. But I sensed when we met that you don’t frighten easily. That was why I thought you might not heed my words of caution.”
Again, she was taken aback. She had never met anyone so observant before.
“Thank you for your concern. You are right. It takes a lot to frighten me.”
“But you should be afraid. As I mentioned when I first met you, these are very uncertain times.”
Maria nodded. “Yes, yes, I do realize that.”
“I must admit, even though I was relieved you weren’t out alone again in your father’s garden, out of fear for your safety, a part of me was disappointed because I wanted to see you again. So you can imagine how pleased I am to have run into you today.”
Maria looked over to the young woman whom Franco had pointed out. She was still dropping leaflets into shoppers’ bags.
“I know you must be on your way. Will you come to the meeting tomorrow night?”
Maria paused for a moment before responding. “I cannot make any promises, and I must give it more thought. This is not a matter that can be decided at a second’s notice.”
“Naturally, I understand. I hope to see you there. If not, I’m sure our paths will cross again. Arrivederci, Maria.” He took her hand and softly kissed it before taking his leave.
Maria watched him as he headed in the direction of the young woman who was helping him. Once he reached her, Maria noticed how their heads came close together as they engaged in what looked like an intense discussion.
Throughout her walk home, Maria could not stop thinking about Franco. He had managed to amaze her with his insight into her mind and feelings. There was no way she would attend their meeting. It was too dangerous, and if Papà found out, he’d never let her out of his sight again. But she had to admit she was curious. Maybe she should tell her brother about the meeting? But no, he would only tell her to steer clear. Although she was Michele’s senior by five years, he often acted like he was the older sibling, and he’d always been very protective of her. He would then want to know how she had met Franco, and she could never tell Michele that while everyone was taking his or her siesta, she was walking alone in the sunflower garden. For Franco wasn’t the first one to have warned her recently against taking walks alone through the garden.
Well, she had several hours to decide if she would attend the meeting tomorrow night. Franco had managed to intrigue her. She wondered if his work with FAF involved more dangerous activities, other than his writing and publishing his anti-Fascist newspaper. There was something innocent about him although she knew that was ridiculous. She could tell he was at least a few years older than her, which would make him in his early to mid-thirties. Naturally, he was an experienced man. But he seemed . . . good. That was the only way she could put it. Even with his smug comments, she could tell he had morals, especially after he admitted he’d gone back to the sunflower garden to ensure she was not there. He’d risked getting caught again to make certain she was safe. There was no doubt he was also very courageous for standing up for his ideals and speaking out against the opposition, knowing he was risking imprisonment and perhaps worse. For all of these reasons, Maria knew he was a conscientious person. But she also knew that when it came to revolution and fighting for what you believed in, even the good were forced to commit acts that might go against their moral code.
CHAPTER 12
Anabella
Siena, 1970
As Anabella grew up, she learned from her mother everything about roses and growing them. Their farm had expanded when the school next door was sold, and Signora Ferraro bought the adjacent property. Though Anabella loved the rose farm, recently she’d begun to feel restless. She often wondered what else there was outside of their sheltered world. Her only foray beyond their small village was when she and Mamma went into Siena to sell their roses to the flower vendors who lined the Piazza del Campo. Anabella always tried to take in as many of the sights and sounds as she could. She stared at the people, especially the college students who hung out in the piazza, and wondered what it was like to live in such a bustling city. But what fascinated her the most were the young couples she saw. They seemed to be everywhere in Siena, and they were always locked in embraces and kissing. Many of the couples looked younger than her, still in their teens. Recently, it had dawned on Anabella that she was twenty-six years old and had yet to be kissed by a boy.
Mamma had not been feeling well lately, complaining of being more tired than usual, so she hadn’t been accompanying Anabella to Siena.
“You are a grown woman now after all. You don’t need your mamma by your side every waking minute.” Mamma had said this in a playful manner.
Sometimes Anabella wondered if it were really her mother who needed her more than the other way around. When Anabella was a child, Mamma had repeatedly said that Anabella needed her in order to learn and thrive. But Anabella had always sensed that her mother needed her just as much, if not more.
In the month since she had first talked to Dante, she’d visited him at the Piazza del Campo. Anabella had tried to resist walking over to where Dante sold his drawings and paintings, knowing Mamma wouldn’t approve. But her curiosity had been too overwhelming. She’d wanted to see if he had created more works of her, which he had.
When she looked at the drawings, and especially the paintings, which felt so lifelike, Anabella felt almost as if she were seeing herself in a mirror, mainly because Dante had captured her likeness so well. But the Anabella in his creations was much different from the real one who greeted her each morning in the mirror when she washed her face and brushed her hair. For when she looked at the woman in Dante’s works, it was as if she were seeing facets of herself that were only just now beginning to reveal themselves, wherea
s the Anabella she saw in the mirror had nothing new to reveal; it was the same Anabella.
There was something alluring about the woman in Dante’s works. She seemed from another world, and there was this knowing look in her eyes and even her smile—a confidence Anabella herself had never seen or felt. She’d never believed she was insecure. But just as soon as this thought popped into her head, Anabella remembered that Easter Sunday when she was a teenager and had felt uncomfortable after the Mazzeo sisters pointed out that her dress was no longer in fashion.
She liked the Anabella that Dante depicted. Part of her wanted to take one of the paintings home with her, although she could never be so presumptuous and ask Dante if she could, especially since she knew he needed them to make a living. She could purchase one, but how would she explain the painting to Mamma? Mamma would think Dante was a creep, and Anabella wouldn’t blame her, since she’d wondered the same thing about him when she first saw she’d been the subject of his works.
Each week when she visited him, Dante asked her if he could take her to a nearby café for an espresso, but she’d always declined. Today, however, she was going to accept—that is, if he asked her again. Her heart began to pound against her chest as she contemplated the possibility that he might not ask her. After all, she had said no every time he asked. Surely, he would soon get tired of asking.
Anabella had taken extra care with her appearance that morning. She’d brushed her hair to the side so that it draped over her right shoulder and across her right bosom. She had secured it with two jeweled combs that Mamma had given her for her birthday. And she’d dabbed a few drops of perfume on her wrists and neck—something she only did when she attended church with Mamma. She had prayed her mother wouldn’t notice the fragrance as she walked by her, before she left the house. But Mamma had been at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, and had briefly looked up to say good-bye before returning to her paper.
As Anabella entered the Piazza del Campo, she felt even more nervous. Part of her wanted to rush over to Dante and see if he would ask her to go to the café. She could not take the anticipation any longer. But she knew that would seem strange, since she only went to visit him after she sold her roses. Besides, she wanted to be done with work so that she would not have to worry about unloading the flowers. So she made her rounds quickly to the different vendors.
“Anabella, sei bellissima oggi!” Many of the vendors complimented her appearance. Her cheeks colored, but she was glad they had noticed, for if they thought she looked beautiful, hopefully Dante would as well.
She saved two of the pink roses from the last bunch she sold. Breaking off most of their stems, she tucked the roses into her hair combs. Before heading over to Dante, she walked over to the table of a merchant who sold mirrors, brushes, and perfumes in crystal bottles. Pretending she was interested in one of the handheld mirrors, she quickly took a look to ensure she had placed the roses perfectly in her hair. She smiled shyly at the old lady selling the wares and placed the mirror back down on the table before she took her leave. She could hear the old lady curse at her under her breath for not buying anything. Anabella giggled softly to herself. She was beginning to feel like the Anabella from Dante’s drawings and paintings—daring rather than her usual shy, meek self.
As she made her way toward Dante, she saw he was sketching a little boy who sat on a stool. The boy’s father kept reprimanding him to stop fidgeting. Dante worked quickly. Anabella waited, not wanting to disturb him. After he was done with his sketch and the boy’s father paid him, she walked over. His back was turned to her as he was putting his money away.
“Ciao, Dante.” Anabella’s voice sounded shaky to her. She hoped Dante didn’t hear how nervous she was.
He looked up, his face immediately beaming when he saw her. “Anabella! Che bella sorpresa!” He smiled, instantly easing some of her nerves.
“It isn’t really a surprise since I have been stopping by every week for the past month now.” She laughed softly.
Dante looked pleased that she had made a joke. Usually, he did most of the joking—and even talking—when she visited him.
“That is correct, but you are here earlier than you normally are.”
“I was able to sell my flowers quickly today.”
Something flickered in Dante’s eyes. Did he realize she had rushed so she could see him sooner? She felt her cheeks warm. Bending over quickly so he wouldn’t notice, she pretended to look at one of his drawings of Florence’s Ponte Vecchio.
“I like how you are wearing your hair today. You should wear it like that more often.”
Anabella looked up. He was staring at her intensely.
“Grazie.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she stood up and glanced over to where a puppy was chasing a pigeon.
“Do you have to go home soon?” Dante’s voice sounded guarded.
Her heart leaped. He was about to ask her to go to the café again.
“No. Since I am finished with work early today, I have time. Besides, Mamma has been taking longer naps since she hasn’t been feeling well. She won’t notice if I arrive home later.”
Dante raised his eyebrows. She thought she could detect a hint of a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “I see. I hope she is not too ill?”
“I don’t think so. She has been more tired than usual lately. I keep telling her she needs to let the workers do more of her work. But she is stubborn. Thank you for asking.”
“Well, we should not let the day be wasted. How about we finally go get that espresso at Café San Lucca?”
“I would like that.” Anabella smiled, and this time she didn’t pull her gaze away from Dante’s. She could detect a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. Was he just as nervous as she was?
“I will just be five minutes as I pack my paintings and drawings and take them to my car, which is parked just outside of the piazza’s entrance.”
“That is fine. Please, take your time.”
Dante whistled. It sounded familiar to Anabella and like one of the operas her mother played on their record player, but she wasn’t quite sure which one. She was about to ask him when he said, “I painted a new work of you this past week.”
“You did?” She didn’t know why she sounded surprised. He’d had at least one, if not more, new works of her every week she’d visited, although she hadn’t noticed any on display today.
“Si. I didn’t bring it because I am still working on it. It’s my largest painting of you yet.”
Anabella nodded. She wanted to ask him what it looked like, but she refrained.
“Don’t worry. You will see it soon enough.” Dante laughed.
Anabella was taken aback that he’d been able to read her thoughts. “How did you know I was thinking about what it looked like?”
“Your face showed disappointment when I said I didn’t bring it with me today.”
A few minutes later, they were seated at Café San Lucca. In addition to espresso, Dante had bought almond and hazelnut biscotti for them.
Anabella glanced at her surroundings and at the café’s patrons. She had never been in a café before. Everyone was talking animatedly, laughing, or gesticulating feverishly with their hands. The café’s walls were decorated with gilded wallpaper. And the aromas of freshly brewed espresso and just-baked pastries were heavenly. She stared at a young woman whose ankle was interlocked with the ankle of the man she was with. Their chairs were pulled so close together that she could have just sat in his lap. The woman smiled and batted her eyelashes at the man as he whispered in her ear. She noticed Anabella staring at them, and she frowned in her direction.
Anabella didn’t realize why she seemed angry with her. She was just admiring how pretty the girl was and had been curious about how close she was to the young man she was with.
“Are you all right?” Dante lowered his head so that his gaze met Anabella’s.
She glanced once more to the young couple before returning her attention to Da
nte.
“Si. That woman looked at me as if she were angry.”
“Ah! Yes, those two. They should keep their business behind closed doors instead of forcing the rest of us to watch them. She probably thinks you’re after her man.”
“Why would she think that?” Anabella’s eyes widened.
Dante laughed and placed his hand over Anabella’s. “I was just kidding. But then again, women can be very jealous, especially when they think they’ve found their Prince Charming—although I’m not so sure that man could be anyone’s ideal Prince Charming.”
“I suppose she was also mad because I was staring at them. I didn’t mean to. I was just curious.”
Dante looked at her thoughtfully. “It is all right. We all get curious, and what better place to stare at people than in a café? You just have to learn to be a bit more discreet, that’s all. I am always staring at people. It’s research for my art.”
“Research?”
“How can I capture emotions in my portraits if I don’t study people in everyday life and see how they act in their environments? I am always observing and registering everything I see in my mind.” Dante pointed to his head.
“Is that what you did when you dreamed about me? You made yourself remember your dreams and what I looked like in them so that you could paint me accurately?”
“Si.”
Anabella took a sip of her espresso. It was much stronger than the espresso Mamma made.
“The espresso is very good, but I think my mamma’s biscotti are much better.” Anabella took a bite out of her biscotto.
Dante laughed. “You are so honest.”
Anabella stopped chewing, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. There is nothing wrong with that. Your candidness is so refreshing. People often put on a façade, rather than being their genuine selves. But with you, everything I see is what I get. I do not have to wonder if what you are saying is really how you think and feel. I like that. It’s a compliment.”
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