by Belle Ami
Stop it! Whatever had happened in her past life was in the past. There was a reason why she was getting these visions, but she had her own life to live. Pulling on a pair of black leggings and a cream silk, ruffled blouse with a black cinch belt, she followed the aroma of a garlic and tomato sauce to a sparkling white-tiled kitchen with shiny, stainless-steel appliances.
Alex stood at the stove, an apron tied around his waist. Leaning against the wall she smiled as he pinched several leaves from a basil plant on the window sill, rolled the leaves together and chiffonade them before tossing them into the thick, bubbling sauce. He stirred and took a taste. “Much better.”
“You like to cook, don’t you, Stud?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Told ya. I’m irresistible, I’m charming, and I make a mean Marinara.”
“Don’t forget humble.”
He laughed as he sliced open a pack of linguine and slid it into the boiling water. “This isn’t cooking, this is just reheating, but I do love to cook. Good therapy. Especially chopping. You wouldn’t believe the things that come to mind when I’m chopping.”
Why does everything he says and does have such an effect on me? She was fighting to maintain her distance and keep their relationship on a professional level. Intimacy would only confuse things, especially because they were here to investigate a missing masterpiece, not on a honeymoon or a lovers’ getaway. But no amount of self-talk could stop the crazy feelings that flowed through her when she was near him.
Alex’s voice interrupted her musing.
“Why don’t you go find the library? The wine is poured and mixed green salads are on the table. I’ll just finish up in here and bring the pasta?”
“We’re eating in the library?”
“My library serves double duty as my more formal dining room. Either we eat there or in the kitchen. I thought you’d like the library.”
“Wise choice for the bookworm.” She laughed. “Do you need me to bring anything to the table?”
“The bread’s in the oven warming, madam librarian. Can you take it in?”
“Now that’s a job I’m fit for because I’m useless in the kitchen.” She leaned back, placing her palms behind her on the edge of the counter. “When I was growing up, my dad didn’t have time to cook and usually picked up takeout on his way home.”
“If you want to learn, I’ll teach you. You can start as my sous chef. Cooking isn’t such a big mystery. It’s a joy. And something that most Italians, both men and women, love to do.”
“Then I look forward to my first culinary lesson.”
Is this what being in a relationship is? The simple comfort of just being in the kitchen together? She wasn’t much of a cook, but the idea of learning from Alex seemed the most desirable thing on Earth.
She couldn’t stop smiling as she hugged the bread basket to her chest and walked down a long hallway in the direction of the library. Opening the double-wood doors, she drew in a breath. The wall opposite the door featured another picture window, offering a spectacular view of the Duomo. The walls on either side contained floor to ceiling shelves, bursting with books. In the center of the spacious room was a massive carved-wood table with red-velvet upholstered dining chairs. Two, four-branch candelabras hung from the ceiling. In each corner was an art Deco torchiere, providing a warm ambient glow.
On the table were two place settings of fine china, sterling silver, and crystal wine goblets filled with dark burgundy. She set down the basket of bread and wandered to the bookshelves.
Alex entered the library carrying a lidded casserole dish and placed it on the table. “Come on, let’s eat this pasta while it’s hot. You can decide if my library meets your high expectations later.”
“I already found at least a dozen books I’m anxious to crack open. This is an impressive collection.”
“Even though I have a masters in art and work in the art-world, sometimes I feel like I’m all brawn and no brain. Collecting art books is a hobby that comes in handy in my work.” He uncovered the pasta and the fragrance of simmering tomatoes and basil filled the air. Angela leaned forward and inhaled.
“Wow, that smells delicious.”
“It is.” With practiced ease, he served them both. He raised his glass. “Now wine is something I do know about. This is a 1985 Tignanello, a very fine wine.” Holding the goblet delicately by its stem, he swirled the burgundy-colored vintage and inhaled. “Perfect.” He touched his glass to hers. “To finding the painting and sorting this reincarnation stuff out so that we can get on with the joys of living. Like cooking, eating, and getting to know each other better.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She sipped. “Hmm, I could definitely get used to this wine. The prospect of getting to know him filled her with pleasure and loosened her inhibitions.
He began to grate a large hunk of Parmesan over her plate. “Say when.”
She smiled, said nothing, and continued to sip her wine.
He grated and grated and grated, throwing her a questioning glance when she remained silent. “Are you having a little pasta with your parmesan?”
“No, I just love watching you grate.”
“Well, in that case…” He wiggled his eyebrows and flexed his forearms as he gave a final grate. “
She burst out laughing. I love flirting with him…
The meal was delicious. Her heart did a somersault when he broke off a chunk of crusty bread and used it to swirl the pasta around his fork. His passion for food, art, and books matched her own. She wished she could remember kissing him in front of the Medici portrait. Twice. Last night’s kiss had left her breathless. “So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow? Where do we start, detective?”
“I thought we’d check out the Uffizi. It’s closed on Mondays to the public. However, the director is a friend, and I’m sure she’ll be delighted to escort us on a private tour. I texted her and should hear back soon. I’m curious to see your reaction when you see the art in person.”
“Why, what do you think is going to happen when I see it?”
“I don’t know, but it seems like a good place to start. It’s the Medici collection—been at the Uffizi since 1769. It’s likely the wedding portrait was there during World War II.”
“You’re probably right. It would make sense.”
“Exactly. That’s why I think seeing the art in person might trigger some memories.”
She nodded. “A private tour of the Uffizi? You do have pull. And then what?”
“Then the Church of San Lorenzo, where both Giuliano and Lorenzo are buried.”
“Ah, Michelangelo’s masterpiece he never finished. He was called away to Rome for a small project called the Sistine Chapel.”
“You call the Sistine Chapel a small project?” He laughed. “What else do you know about the tomb?”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you when we’re inside it.” She speared a few crunchy leaves of the salad with her fork and popped it into her mouth, savoring the blend of tart lemon juice and smooth, full-bodied extra virgin olive oil. “You are planning on working me hard, detective.”
“I am, but I’d be a terrible Tuscan host if I didn’t wine and dine you properly. All that art is sure to spur your appetite. I thought we’d go to one of my favorite restaurants. At least I know we have one thing in common, we both like to eat.” The mischievous smile that played across his lips made her heart flutter. Oh God, there he goes again. Damn, don’t go there Angela. Hold on to your composure or we’ll never get to the bottom of this mystery.
She whispered, “Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, that you would have me seek into myself for that which is not in me?”
“Okay, smarty pants, what’s that about?”
“Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act II.”
“And what, may I ask, are you referring to?”
“I�
��m not sure. The words just came to me.” Shaking her head, she tried to clear it.
“Am I wrong or is that passage inferring that I’m a mirror reflecting things inside of you which you cannot see.” There was a fire in his eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m confused as to why it came to me.” She turned her fork in a circle, twirling a strand of spaghetti around it. She needed to distract him and herself.
“I think it’s relevant. Maybe something is buried in your subconscious. It’s like what we felt when we kissed. I’m having as much trouble as you trying to figure this out. I’m also fighting an urge to kiss you again.”
“Really?” she squeaked out. The intensity in his striking, different-colored eyes took her breath away. She shook her head as though trying to convince herself she wasn’t attracted to him. Yeah, good luck. “I don’t think I can handle any more confusion right now.” She didn’t want to say anything about how much she wanted him to try. Instead, she popped the swirl of pasta in her mouth.
Alex reached out and took her left hand in his. She felt instant sparks as she stared into his eyes.
“I won’t do anything until you want it, Angela. I promise you, it will be your move first.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your ability to resist me.”
“Let’s just solve this case and get to know each other better in the process. As for resisting you, I’m failing miserably.”
She loved spending time with Alex and swapping stories from each other’s childhoods, but by nine-thirty she could barely keep her eyes open. He marched her straight to the guest room and gave her a light peck on the forehead, before heading to his own suite, which was lucky because one more minute and she would have made the first move. And that would have been a disaster. She was exhausted, emotionally and otherwise from everything that had happened the past few days, let alone the six months working for Scordato. The cool, silky linens welcomed her and in a matter of moments, she fell into a deep, sleep.
Florence, Italy
May 26, 1478
The pains stole Fioretta Gorini’s breath. It was as if her insides were being torn from her. The contractions were so intense she bit right through her lip and droplets of blood stained the bedding. “God, take me now,” she screamed between gasps for air. “Fetch the physician, Katerina, something is wrong. And have Alphonso bring Leonardo.”
Wave after wave of pain wracked her body. The wait for the doctor was interminable. Katerina rushed into the room. “He’s here, Mistress.”
The doctor looked as if he’d come from his bed. Scraggly beard, stained cloak, and noxious breath made her gag. Another pain hit and she fought to catch her breath.
“How long has she been like this? Have you summoned the midwives?”
“I’m not dead yet,” Fioretta hissed. “Of course they’ve been summoned. Do something.” Another pain hit. “Can’t you see something is wrong? What good are you to me if you can’t help me?” Seized with another contraction she moaned, “Get it out. Please, take this child from me.”
The doctor’s gaze darted around the room. “I’m sorry, Signorina Gorini, there is not much I can do. Your labor is hard, and the baby is fighting his entry into the world. I will leave a potion for the midwives who are familiar with its dosage and use. It will ease your pain somewhat.”
Fioretta gritted her teeth as another wave of pain shot through her. She clawed the sheets, scrunching them beneath her fingers. “Leave me,” she shouted at him. Bowing, he made a quick departure. “Dear, God, that man is useless.”
The midwives arrived and raised Fioretta’s head to administer the foul concoction the doctor left. She retched. “This is vile, I’d rather die than drink it.”
“You must heed the doctor’s instructions, signorina.” Fausta, one of the midwives poured the liquid down her throat.
Fioretta gulped, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why has God cursed women with the torture of childbirth?”
“We have been cursed since Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden,” Gabriella, the other midwife said. “Now you must walk, it will place the baby in the right position for birth.” Together with Katerina’s help, the midwives eased Fioretta out of bed.
“I can’t walk. Where is Leonardo?”
“He awaits downstairs. Don’t worry about him. Alphonso will see to his needs.”
“But I need him,” she growled.
“It would be unseemly and difficult for him. He is a man after all. He will come when the child is born.”
Katerina and the midwives supported Fioretta as they circled the room. Each step was a nightmare of pain. She cried like a wounded animal and cursed the three women as if they were the source of her agony. She clutched her stomach as she stumbled forward, their hands digging into her armpits. “Witches, that’s what you are. Go back to hell where you came from.” All I want to do is sink to the floor and die.
The torture went on for hours, the midwives and Katerina took turns dragging her pain-wracked body past the wedding portrait. “You did this and then abandoned me.” She sucked in her breath bearing down before doubling over. “You are a traitor and a scoundrel for causing me such agony. I want to claw your face. AHHHHH!” She dug her nails into the women’s skin as she addressed the portrait on yet another agonizing walk around the room. “When I see you again, I will kill you,” she wheezed.
“Breathe Mistress, focus on the child,” Katerina soothed.
“No more! I will not walk another step. Please, I must rest.”
Mercifully, the women helped her to the bed. The birthing chair was removed from the room. The fresh bedsheets were soon soaked with sweat and blood—Fioretta heard the midwives whispering, “She will be gone by morning, poor dear. Her strength and life recede with every passing minute. It is now in the hands of God.” The three women crossed themselves.
The fools think I cannot hear them. I know I’m going to die. I want to die. All that is left for me is to be delivered of this child and join my beloved Giuliano.
“Katerina,” she whispered.
Katerina took Fioretta’s hand, misery stamped on her face. “Yes, Signora, what can I do for you?”
Another pain ripped through her and she squeezed the petite woman’s hand in a death grip, digging her nails into her servant’s skin. Her piercing scream brought the midwives to her bed. With what was left of her strength she bore down. “Please, God!” She felt her body empty, the blood gush from her, the numbing relief of giving birth. Gabriella held him, his cry pierced the air, replacing hers.
Katerina lifted Fioretta’s head and forced a few drops of water down her parched throat. Gabriella quickly washed and swaddled the boy, placing him in her arms.
Her life was draining from her, the blood seeping into the sheets. Fausta, working feverishly, cleaned and packed her as best she could, her dark eyes reflected what Fioretta already knew.
She was dying.
“My son. We shall name you Giulio.” She kissed his head, the dark hair soft and downy. She whispered, “Soon you will meet your grandmother and your family. I won’t be with you, but amore mio, your father and I will watch over you from heaven if God allows.”
Fioretta glanced up at her loyal servant and friend. “Katerina, tell Leonardo to come to me. And I need you to go to the Medici palazzo and summon Lucrezia Tornabuoni, Giuliano’s mother, and bring her here. Hurry.”
“What should I say, Mistress?”
“Tell her it is a matter of life and death that concerns the Medici.
Leonardo sat on the edge of the bed, holding Fioretta’s hand. “What can I do for you, my muse, my dearest friend?”
“I don’t have much time left, Leonardo.” She gazed into his bright blue eyes, so dear to her. “I’ve summoned Lucrezia to entrust my son to her care. But I couldn’t leave this world without saying farewell to you, my dear friend.”
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��No.” His tears fell as he pressed his lips to her hand. “You will leave me, but I know Giuliano waits for you.”
“Don’t weep, it’s what I pray for. What he promised.” Her gaze shifted to her wedding portrait. “You have given me friendship and my immortality.”
“I will miss you, Fioretta. The painting never did you justice.”
“You are wrong. The painting is a masterpiece. You will be known as the greatest artist of all time.”
He shook his head.
“Know the truth, as I know it.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it once more.“Leonardo, my strength is dwindling and I have one more task left to me on this earth.”
He bent to kiss her brow. “Farewell, my friend.”
Minutes later, Giuliano’s mother arrived. She was tall, stately, and dressed in mourning black. A sheer white veil hid her hair, but even the anguish of losing her son could not steal her beauty. Her eyes swept the room. Her back to Fioretta, she faced the wedding portrait. After a moment she turned to Fioretta, her gaze resting on the child. “What can I do for you, Signorina.”
Fioretta took a breath and used what little strength she had to tell Lucrezia the story of Giuliano’s and her love.
“Mia cara madre, I beg your kindness and forgiveness. Your son, Giuliano, was the love of my life and this child, who I have named Giulio, is the proof of our love. We were married in the studio of Leonardo da Vinci and Angelo Poliziano was our witness.”
“Fioretta, you and Giuliano brokered this union without approval. This marriage was not sanctioned by Lorenzo, the head of our house. Giuliano was promised to another.”
“Yes, I know, but Giuliano swore that God himself could not keep us apart. You, of all people, know how strong-willed Giuliano was. His intention was to announce our marriage after our child was born and beg Lorenzo for his blessing.” Fioretta’s eyes swam with tears. “Now that will never be.”
“What are you asking of me, Fioretta?”
