Rome in Love

by Anita Hughes

  * * *

  Amelia poured tea into a Limoges cup and added milk and honey. She gazed around the living room at the black and gold marble floors and the yellow silk curtains and the ivory silk sofas. She saw the crystal vases filled with yellow and white tulips and the sideboard set with a silver tray of scones and strawberry jam.

  She remembered when she arrived in the Villa Medici Suite and it had all seemed like a fairy tale: the ivory Bentley that picked her up at the airport, the huge bouquet of pink and white roses. She had been so excited about being in her favorite city and filming Roman Holiday.

  Now she glanced out the window at the Dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and the outline of the Roman Forum and felt like she couldn’t breathe. How could she let herself fall in love with Philip? She remembered waking up in his apartment. She saw him standing at the counter, preparing fresh muesli and cut berries.

  She put the cup on a white china saucer and walked to the balcony. She would finish shooting and return to Los Angeles. She would concentrate on reading scripts and finding her next role.

  There was a knock on the door and she crossed the marble floor to answer it.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Sophie entered the foyer. She wore white linen slacks and a yellow silk blouse. Her hair was knotted in a low bun and secured with a gold chopstick. “My father arranged a meeting with Pope Francis and I don’t know what to wear. Should I wear the vintage red Valentino or the turquoise Dior?”

  “You’re meeting the Pope?” Amelia walked into the living room. She sat on a blue velvet love seat and tucked her feet under her.

  “Pope Francis visited Lentz a few years ago,” Sophie replied. “Theo is so excited he keeps changing his tie. I’ve been having the most wonderful time. Last night my father and Theo discussed building a children’s hospital in Lentz. My father offered to donate the land and Theo knows a wonderful architect.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Amelia smiled.

  “Theo asked my father for my hand in marriage,” Sophie continued. “We’re not officially engaged because he wants to propose with my mother’s engagement ring but we started planning the wedding. It will be next summer in Lentz and I want you to be the maid of honor.”

  “You’ll be the most beautiful bride, I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Without you I never would have had the courage to fall in love.” Sophie’s eyes were huge. “I almost kissed Marco for getting me a taxi and I paid the woman at the market thirty euros for a basket of cherries. I want everyone to be as happy as I am.”

  Amelia picked up the porcelain teacup but suddenly her hands shook and she spilled tea on her floral dress.

  “Are you all right?” Sophie asked.

  “Philip asked me to marry him at the masquerade ball. I was too flustered to reply but this afternoon I went to his apartment to say yes.” Amelia wiped her dress. “I found an article he wrote about Amelia Tate pretending to be a hotel maid. Everything was a lie: the night in Portofino and the romantic dinners and the moonlight strolls on Palatine Hill.”

  “He wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t mean it,” Sophie insisted.

  “Adam was going to pay him twenty thousand dollars if I agreed to marry him without revealing my identity,” Amelia explained. “I kept putting off telling him the truth because I didn’t want to lose him.”

  “I saw him looking at you at the restaurant in Trastevere.” Sophie frowned. “He was crazy about you.”

  “Lots of actresses fall in love on the set: Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise. Sometimes it lasts and sometimes it becomes part of the memory of the wonderful people and the delicious foods and the exotic location.” Amelia’s mouth trembled. “I can’t think about Philip.”

  “You can’t turn off your feelings for someone,” Sophie shook her head. “It’s like trying to dam a waterfall.”

  “I loved him and he lied to me about everything.” Amelia let the tears spill down her cheeks.

  “Theo and I are supposed to visit the orphanage in Pompeii.” Sophie hesitated. “I’ll tell him I can’t go and we’ll watch Italian movies with English subtitles.”

  “You must go.” Amelia wiped her eyes. “Pompeii is fascinating.”

  “I told Theo I want separate rooms.” Sophie blushed. “Now that we’re getting married I don’t want to spoil the wedding night.”

  “You two are perfect together.” Amelia tried to smile. “I can’t wait to be the godmother of six towheaded children.”

  * * *

  Amelia walked to the marble bar and poured a shot of amaretto. She watched the sun set behind the Colosseum and pictured Audrey Hepburn in an ivory Givenchy gown accepting her Oscar for Roman Holiday.

  Maybe if Audrey had married James or run off with Gregory Peck she would never have been a famous actress. Amelia thought of all her wonderful movies: Sabrina and Breakfast at Tiffany’s and My Fair Lady and shivered.

  She saw herself gliding down the red carpet in a fabulous gown by Elie Saab or Oscar de la Renta. She imagined standing at the podium, thanking Sheldon and clutching the small gold statue. She pictured Sophie and Theo waving and clapping.

  She finished her amaretto and walked inside. She walked into the bedroom and climbed onto the four-poster bed. She pictured Philip’s dark eyes and smooth cheeks and felt her heart break.

  chapter thirty-one

  Philip knocked on Adam’s office door. He paced around the small reception room and ran his hands through his hair.

  “I was waiting for you to show up.” Adam wore a striped shirt and khakis. “I figured either Amelia turned you down and you’re hungover, or she said yes and you’re deciding how to spend the money.”

  “The proposal was perfect.” Philip entered the office. “Amelia was overwhelmed and asked if she could give her answer tonight. I could tell in her eyes that she is going to say yes.”

  “I’ll call Sergio and tell him the deal is on,” Adam beamed. “Maybe he’ll fly us to his private island to celebrate.”

  Philip stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to write the articles, I’m in love with Amelia.”

  “What do you mean you’re not going to write the articles?” Adam demanded.

  “I’m going to tell Amelia the truth and ask her to forgive me.” Philip paced around the room. “I don’t care if I have to work for my father, I can’t live without her.”

  “What if she says no?” Adam tapped the silver cigarette case and stuck a cigarette behind his ear.

  Philip glanced at the red linoleum floor and the beige plaster walls. He saw the wooden desk and the metal garbage can and the framed photograph of Angelina Jolie. He gazed out the window at the Piazza di Trevi and felt a small pang in his chest.

  “At least I’ll know I tried.” He walked to the door and turned the handle.

  “That’s the problem with women.” Adam flicked the cigarette in the garbage can. “Even when we don’t understand them they make us crazy.”

  * * *

  Philip smoothed aftershave on his cheeks and slipped on a blue blazer. He put his keys in his pocket and grabbed a piece of paper. He was going to write Amelia a note asking her to have dinner at La Quirinale. Then he was going to buy her a bouquet of yellow roses or a silk scarf from Gucci.

  He pictured her expression when he brought out the oval diamond ring. He saw her sparkling brown eyes and wide white smile. He knew she was going to say yes, it was written all over her face.

  He opened the door and saw an older woman with blue eyes and auburn hair. She wore a pale yellow Chanel suit and white sunglasses. She carried a lizard-skin bag and had beige Ferragamo pumps on her feet.

  “Mother, what are you doing here!” Philip exclaimed. “You’re supposed to be in Bermuda.”

  “There was a hurricane, we caught the last plane out.” Lily took off her sunglasses. “I think the jet lag caught up with me, I’m dying for a glass of
water.”

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.” Philip poured a glass of water and filled it with ice.

  “Your father insisted we take a nap but I couldn’t wait to see you.” Lily wiped her brow. “I forgot Rome in August is so humid, it’s worse than New York.”

  “What are you doing in Rome?” Philip sat down opposite her.

  “Your father was going to throw a big party for my birthday,” Lily explained. “But then the hurricane approached and everyone scattered. I suggested we come to Rome, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather celebrate.”

  “Happy birthday.” Philip kissed her on the cheek. “Now I’ll have to buy you a present.”

  “It’s not until tomorrow, one doesn’t want to turn sixty a day early,” Lily mused. “I’m going to buy myself a silk Versace dress and Bottega Veneta heels.”

  “You look wonderful.” Philip nodded. “You could still walk the runway.”

  “That’s why one has children, so they can pay you compliments.” Lily gazed at Philip’s blue blazer and tan slacks. “You’re all dressed up, were you meeting someone?”

  “I have an errand to run.” Philip stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “I won’t keep you.” Lily waved her hand. “I wanted to see if you’d join us for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Philip pictured his father in his three-piece herringbone suit and tasseled shoes and frowned.

  “You can’t say no to your mother on her birthday,” Lily pleaded. “I made reservations at Mirabelle, it has the best view in Rome.”

  Philip gazed at his mother’s glossy auburn hair and remembered birthday parties when he was young. He saw pony rides in Central Park and ice-skating in Rockefeller Center. He pictured the private dining room at Tavern on the Green filled with blue and white balloons and a three-tier chocolate fondant cake.

  “Of course I’ll come to dinner.” Philip smiled. “What time?”

  “I’m so happy!” Lily exclaimed. “Your father can’t eat sugar so there’s no one to share my cake.”

  “We’ll have beef tartar and wild salmon with Parmesan fondue and hazelnut mascarpone for dessert.” Philip smiled.

  “I feel festive already.” Lily stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to visit the boutiques on the Via Condotti and then I’m going to the hotel and take a bath. The bathtub has the most wonderful neck massager, when I step out I feel ten years younger.”

  * * *

  Philip put the glass in the sink and heard the door open. He turned around and saw Max clutching a brown envelope. His cheeks were pale and he had fresh stubble on his chin.

  “You just missed my mother,” Philip said. “They flew in to celebrate her birthday, I have to join them for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “These are the rest of the photos of Amelia.” Max slid the envelope across the table. “I thought you might want them.”

  Philip opened the envelope and saw a photo of Amelia strolling along the Via Veneto. There were pictures of her trying on leather sandals at Prada and white sunglasses at Fendi. There were photos of her and Sophie eating gelato at Caffé Greco and sitting on the steps of Saint Peter’s Basilica.

  “She has the loveliest smile,” Philip sighed. “I’m going to ask her to dinner tonight, I know she’s going to say she’ll marry me.”

  “She was here yesterday evening,” Max said slowly.

  “She was here?” Philip raised his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mirabella is considering divorcing the count, we had to see a lawyer,” Max replied. “Amelia saw the stack of photos on the dining room table.”

  “What did you tell her?” Philip asked.

  “I said I was thinking of starting a photography business.” Max shrugged. “Then she saw your article on the desk, she made me tell her everything.”

  “What do you mean ‘everything’?” Philip said slowly.

  “That you saw her photo at the press conference and recognized the maid who fell asleep in your taxi.” Max gulped. “I said it was my idea to write the series of articles and Adam offered to pay you twenty thousand dollars.”

  “You told her that?” Philip sucked in his breath.

  “She asked about the ring and I said you borrowed it.”

  “How could you?” Philip spluttered. “I just came back from the office. I told Adam I couldn’t write the articles about Amelia, I’m in love with her.”

  “She locked the door and said she wouldn’t leave unless I told her the whole story,” Max said miserably. “I feel like one of those medieval knights, I want to die on my sword.”

  Philip paced around the room and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not your fault, I should never have lied.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were in love with her,” Max moaned.

  Philip pictured Amelia in her pink satin evening gown and white silk gloves. He saw her large brown eyes and small pink mouth.

  “I didn’t realize until a few days ago.” He jumped up. “I have to go see her.”

  “I told her to wait and you’d explain everything.” Max put his head in his hands. “But she said she never wanted to see you again.”

  * * *

  Philip entered the Hassler and crossed the black and gold marble lobby. He pictured Amelia’s creamy skin and slender shoulders and felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He strode to the elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

  “Excuse me.” Ernesto rushed over to him. “This is a private elevator, it is only for hotel guests.”

  “It’s me, Ernesto.” Philip turned around. “I need to see Amelia.”

  “Mr. Hamilton,” Ernesto said stiffly. “I’m afraid you can’t use the elevator.”

  “I know Amelia is staying in the Villa Medici Suite.” Philip pressed the button. “I must talk to her.”

  “Please come to the concierge desk,” Ernesto insisted. “Or I will have to ask you to leave.”

  Philip glanced at Ernesto’s slick black hair and gold uniform. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed him to the marble concierge desk.

  “You don’t understand.” Philip leaned over the desk. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding and I need to speak to her right away.”

  “Miss Tate left instructions that she did not want to see you,” Ernesto replied.

  “It’s all a mistake.” Philip rubbed his forehead. “If I can just talk to her I can explain.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ernesto turned to his computer. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “You can give her a note.” Philip grabbed a piece of paper.

  “She said she does not want any more letters.” Ernesto tapped on his keyboard.

  Philip wanted to reach across the counter and grab a hotel key. He wanted to race to the elevator and shut the doors behind him.

  “Ernesto, have you ever wanted something so badly you’d do anything to get it?” Philip searched his pockets and drew out a twenty-lire note.

  “Our conversation is over.” Ernesto glanced at the money. “I must assist other guests.”

  “I’ll buy you a plane ticket to New York,” Philip implored. “You can visit the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building.”

  “I do not want to alert security,” Ernesto threatened.

  Philip’s shoulders sagged. He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “Miss Tate is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, don’t you want her to be happy?”

  Ernesto glanced up from his computer and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I cannot discuss Hassler guests.”

  * * *

  Philip sat in a Louis XIV chair at the Hassler Bar. He reached into his pocket and drew out the black velvet box. He snapped it open and stared at the oval diamond ring. He put it on the table and signaled to a waiter.

  “A dry martini please,” he said. “No ice.”

  * * *

  Philip entered Mirabelle and scanned the dining room. Wide windows overlooked the Vati
can Gardens and the Villa Borghese. There were thick ivory carpets and crystal vases filled with white and yellow lilies. Philip saw tables set with gold inlaid china and gleaming silverware.

  “There you are,” Lily beamed. She wore a silver Dior evening gown. Her hair fell smoothly to her shoulders and she wore a diamond necklace around her neck. “Your father just gave me his present, isn’t this necklace lovely?”

  “You look beautiful.” Philip kissed his mother on the cheek. He wore a white dinner jacket with a black tie and black slacks. His hair was brushed over his forehead and his cheeks glistened with aftershave. “You get younger every day.”

  “It’s my new hair color. The stylist said it’s the same color Sophia Loren wears.” Lily patted her hair.

  A tall man in a white dinner jacket approached the table. He had thick gray hair and gray eyes and a cleft on his chin. He wore a gold Patek Philippe watch and black leather Bruno Maglis.

  “Philip, I’m glad you could join us.” John held out his hand. “I was sorting out the wine with the maître d’. I asked him to uncork a bottle of 1986 Chateau Margaux.”

  “You didn’t have to bring your own wine,” Lily murmured.

  “It’s your sixtieth birthday.” John sat on a high-backed velvet chair. “I’ve been saving this bottle for years.”

  “Your father had a whole birthday weekend planned.” Lily turned to Philip. “A golf tournament at Southampton and a tennis match at St. George’s and a dinner dance at the Elbow Beach Resort. Then it started raining and everyone left on their private jets.”

  “You should come to Bermuda next August.” John tore an olive baguette. “The strongest business relationships are formed on the eighteenth hole of the Port Royal Golf Course.”

  Philip glanced at his father’s steel gray eyes and flinched. “I’ve never been able to swing a golf club and I’m allergic to mosquito bites.”

  “I’d much rather celebrate my birthday in Rome,” Lily interrupted, her cheeks flushing. “You must try the fresh goose liver with cherry brioche, it’s a house specialty.”

  Philip watched while the waiter served creamy onion soup and rack of lamb with a raspberry crust. He gazed at his father meticulously cutting his meat and his stomach clenched.