“Yes, of course.”
“Why couldn’t you play a part in that? You’ve told me that issues regarding children have always been on your official agenda, so it wouldn’t be coming out of nowhere.”
Luciana kneaded her pasta, unable to look Gio in the eye as she answered, “Neither my father nor my future husband would be in favor of that.”
“Doesn’t what you want matter?”
What she didn’t want was to lament about the realities that awaited her when she returned to Izerote. All she wanted was to be here right now, completely in the moment, with this mind-blowing man at her side who encouraged her to spread her wings. To see how high she could fly.
“It’s unbearable to me, Luci, to accept the idea of you returning to a life where you are limited.”
“I must. And it’s as much my fault as anyone else’s. I allowed my father to lock me up in the palace tower.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother died when I was eleven. A mentally unstable man crashed his car directly into the one she was riding in, killing her instantly.”
“How terrible.”
“By the time I was a teenager I could tell that my father was a broken man. So I dedicated myself to him. I decided to never cause him any pain. We’re all each other has.”
“He wasn’t able to get over her death.”
“My mother was not a happy woman and kept herself distant. I never really knew her. She and my father didn’t have romantic love. But the sense of duty that was instilled in him meant he should have somehow protected her from harm, and he couldn’t forgive himself for not being able to.”
“So now he goes to every length to shield you?”
“He tries to protect all of Izerote from everything, which is why time has stood still for our people. And he keeps me as some sort of symbol of that. And I let him.”
“I give you credit. I think if it was me, I would run away never to return.”
“It’s not all bad. I don’t take for granted that I live a life of privilege.”
“Do you?”
Those two words dangled in the air.
After crumbly messes of flour mixed with egg had been miraculously converted to smooth balls of shiny dough, they were set aside to rest. The cooking students were invited to have a glass of wine and sample olive oils during the break.
Across the market floor, past the produce vendors with their stacks of ripe fruits and vegetables of every hue, Luciana eyed two men in black suits who seemed to be watching her and Gio. They both wore earpieces. She’d seen a couple of similar-looking men when they were shopping for jeans. Was it paranoia, or was she being followed? It wouldn’t surprise her if her father knew her whereabouts. Perhaps he didn’t trust her note that promised she’d return to the island in time for her wedding. And who could blame him?
“Gio, inconspicuously turn around. Do you see a couple of men over there looking at us?” She gestured with her head in their direction.
But when they both subtly turned to check, the men were gone.
Chef Katia called them back into the kitchen. She showed them how to roll out the dough with a rolling pin and then feed it through a pasta machine. The process looked easier than it was. Luciana and Gio hand cranked their creations through the rollers. Eventually, they ended up with even sheets of pasta that they proudly showed each other. “You should be able to see the outline of your fingers underneath,” Chef Katia instructed.
Luciana tested hers by lifting it up in her hand. Gio leaned over and laced his fingers through hers so that they could see their hands holding each other’s through the veil of the thin pasta. They pivoted their hands this way and that, grooving on the sight of their fingers under the dough. At the sight of their hands beautifully intertwined, Luciana bit her lip.
Chef Katia demonstrated how to cut their sheets into thin strips that were ready to be tossed into boiling water. She had pots of water ready for those who wanted to cook and eat their pasta then and there. Some students, like Gio and Luciana, instead put theirs into plastic bags to take with them.
“Let’s go home and try again,” he said, making Luciana think about something different from dinner.
On the ride back to the villa, Gio put his long arm around her shoulders. She adored the smell of him, always clean and fresh. Her head rested so nicely against his solid and wide chest. When they were together, she was truly with him. Maybe that was what it was like to be in love, in harmony both physically and mentally.
Could she stay like this? Or could he come home with her where they’d demand the life they were entitled to? Why couldn’t he be by her side at the palace, sharing dreams and passions?
Way down inside, she knew that was more make-believe. What had passed between them last night was only another souvenir for her memory box. The ex-virgin princess had simply got a taste of forbidden fruit, a secret she would carry to her grave. But that was it. It most definitely shouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. It was too dangerous. She knew it and sensed that Gio did, too.
So why was it that after they’d successfully cooked and eaten a delicious pasta dinner, Luciana found herself sitting on Gio’s lap in the courtyard? Why was she kissing and being kissed with an urgency that nothing in her life had ever demanded before? And why did it feel unquestionably right rather than wrong when, once again, he laid her down on his bed, his potent body hovering over hers as he showed her rhapsodies she had no knowledge existed?
CHAPTER EIGHT
GIO WALKED WITH a spring in his step like a schoolboy as he rushed to meet Luciana after work. He had told her to meet him in front of the Basilica Santa Maria Novella, the Gothic landmark church near the train station. It was hard to believe how much had happened since that fateful day when she’d arrived by train and he interceded to protect her from those thugs who were attempting to steal her jewels. He’d lived a lifetime since then and was astonished as he acknowledged how big a part of his life Luciana had become in such a short time. That wasn’t like him. Yet all he wanted to do was both talk to and listen to her, and he’d had more conversation with her in the past few days than he’d probably had in a year.
Which was why he couldn’t get to her fast enough. He hadn’t told her where he was taking her, wanting to keep it a surprise. As had become their pattern, they’d meet at dusk while visitor attractions were still open for an hour or two longer. Where he was taking her today wasn’t a typical tourist stop, but it was somewhere he thought she’d like.
Can’t get to her fast enough. What crazy thoughts he was having. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to him, caring whether or not he was with any woman, let alone a special one. Emotions were escaping his control. Sucked into an unexplainable whirlpool, his hours and days were delineated by time spent with Luciana and time waiting to return to her side again.
None of this was in character for him. He dealt in logic and probabilities, in calculus and abstracts that allowed him to understand a technological plane that would mystify the majority of people in the world. Feelings knew no logic, no mathematical equation that could be proved without doubt. He was in an uncharted operating system, and did not know his way around.
Which must have been why his heart skipped when he saw Luciana in the church square. She was wearing the comfy jeans, as she had come to call them, making him think of a carefree young woman on a metro bus. She looked like a proper Luci, a girl who dressed in whatever whim dictated, whose day was her own. Not one who lived by the regimented precision she had described on Izerote.
Was Luciana talking to someone? Yes, she was conversing with a woman who had a mop of hair pulled up in a bun. A few young children were running around them in a circle. Had she struck up a conversation with a stranger, or had the woman approached her?
One of the children pulled on Luciana’s leg and she bent down to talk to the little gir
l. The expression on Luciana’s face was one of pure dedication as she appeared to be answering the child’s question. Gio noticed her easy manner with the girl, just as a boy grabbed her hand from the other side. Instead of being flustered Luciana divided her time between the two children, until she and the other woman were laughing by the time Gio approached.
“This is my friend Chiara. I think I told you we had met a few days ago.”
“Oh, yes, the teacher. Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” Chiara called out, “Antonio, stop torturing that pigeon.”
The boy ran closer and Luciana said to him, “Sweetheart, when you touch the pigeons you scare them. They don’t like to be petted like dogs and cats do.”
“Okay.” The boy shrugged his shoulders.
“Chiara was taking the kids out for a walk and we ran into each other.”
“Luci is actually wonderful with the children. She’s been helping me.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Gio glanced to Luciana, who looked like the ultimate Madonna with cherubic children circling her.
“I have to go. Their parents will be picking them up soon. Nice to meet you, Gio.”
“You, too.”
After watching Chiara and the children scurry away from the square, Gio pecked Luciana’s cheek. “How was your time at the Uffizi Gallery?”
“Magnificent, of course. Where are we going tonight?”
Gio led her down a street off the church’s piazza. They reached the front of a very unassuming building with big brass doorknobs.
“What is this?”
He turned the knobs and opened the doors. “The Firenze Profumo Farmaceutica. It’s one of the oldest pharmacies and cosmetic shops in the world.”
They entered the formal salon.
“Oh, my gosh.” Her eyes lit up as she took it all in.
They had stepped back in time. Heavy burgundy drapery with gold pull cords lined the walls. Elaborate chandeliers hung from high frescoed ceilings, casting a yellowish light. A few red velvet benches were placed here and there atop the tapestried rug. Behind one long glass counter, three attendants assisted customers.
“The smell is incredible.” Luciana inhaled the floral and spicy aromas that permeated the entire space as they walked farther in.
“The Dominican friars established this in the thirteenth century,” Gio explained.
Luciana was drawn to the rows of glass cases. They held a dazzling array of perfumes, colognes, creams, lotions, shampoos and soaps. Some were in re-creations of bottles that matched the era when the particular product was created, such as the Acqua di Caterina from the 1500s, commissioned exclusively for Caterina de’ Medici of the famous Florentine family. Other products were in simple bottles, pots and jars bearing the label of the farmaceutica.
“Come this way.”
They passed into an interior parlor.
“What’s this?”
The room had a large glass table in the center on which sat dozens of small amber bottles with droppers. One wall was filled with books. “Those were written by the friars, the original recipes for their preparations,” Gio explained. Glass doors opened to an herb garden. “They make balms and ointments and tonic remedies here.”
“How do you know about this place?”
“The de’ Medici family, the leaders of the Florentine Renaissance, were proponents of medicine. In fact, their name is where the word medicine is derived from. Florence has always been a place to celebrate the healing powers and versatility of botanicals. My grandmother and hers before her and probably relatives even before that shopped here.”
“How lovely of you to bring me.”
“This is the room where they develop perfumes. I thought you might like to create a fragrance that’s uniquely yours. When you smell it, you can remember your visit to Florence.” And me, Gio thought but didn’t say aloud. He hoped she would always remember him, as heaven knew he’d always remember her. More than he thought he should if his prediction proved correct.
Walking the streets of Florence with her had become natural now. When he wasn’t with her, he felt off. Not quite right. Incomplete. Together, they seemed to grab something out of thin air and form it into something real and weighty.
A lone tear escaped from Luciana’s eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m not. I’m just so touched that you thought of this. About making a perfume.”
A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled tightly back and wearing a white lab coat entered the salon. “Buona giornata, I am Imilia and I will be assisting you today.” She pointed to one set of the glass dropper bottles on the table. “These are some of our essential oils. Perhaps you’d like to start with one of those for our top note and then we’ll add on to customize a fragrance.”
Imilia laid several strips of testing paper on the table. From each bottle she squeezed a drop for them to smell.
After a few, Luciana was clear that she liked orange blossom.
“Now we’ll choose a central note and a base note or two.”
Gio loved seeing how seriously Luciana took the task, smelling the test strips several times before she eliminated any of them.
Selections were eventually made.
“Perfume is best aged. The scents will meld over time.”
Gio whispered into Luciana’s ear, “Think of me six months from today when the perfume has mellowed but my memories of you won’t have.”
As soon as those words fell out of his mouth, Gio regretted saying them. Soon enough Her Royal Highness Princess Luciana de la Isla de Izerote would not only leave Florence, but would leave him. Forever.
There was a king to wed. Heirs to produce. Her fates were decided. It was cruel to encourage her to remember him. Quite the opposite would be kinder. If he really cared about her, he’d hope she’d forget him the minute she left Italian soil.
How could he have allowed them to make love? Two nights in a row, no less. Even though he knew she wanted to as much as he did, he should have resisted. So what that their lips fit so seamlessly to each other’s? So what that Luciana’s lissome body went boneless against his, meeting his angles with her pliable curves? And so what that now they anticipated each other’s movements, each of them in constant undulation around each other as if they were no longer independent beings?
She was never to be his.
No matter what, they couldn’t make love again. What happened couldn’t be undone, but Gio could keep from making matters worse. It was the least he could do. Monarchy aside, Luciana was an inexperienced young woman. He should have been the stronger one. Defended her. The last thing he’d want to do was hurt her.
Nothing everlasting could ever be between them.
Could it?
Imilia asked if Luciana would like to name her fragrance and have a personalized label for the bottle.
“Let’s call it Luci,” she answered without hesitation. Of course. Luci being a different person from Luciana. The bottle of Luci that she’d no doubt keep hidden would bear witness to secrets the princess might never tell another living soul.
From the bottle that would bear her name, she rubbed a few drops of her fragrance onto the inside of her wrist, which she brought to her nose. Then she presented it to Gio to reconfirm that the scent was appealing. He lifted her delicate wrist, his fingertips memorizing every one of the tiny bones under her porcelain skin. The blend of the orange blossom, cloves, cinnamon and bergamot was a heady and pleasing combination.
Before he could stop himself, he topped off the examination of the inside of her wrist with a kiss. Just what he’d meant not to do. And without realizing ahead of time that the barest amount of physical contact would reverberate through his body and make him want to do things to Princess Luciana right then and there that would have the Dominican friars rolling in their graves.
<
br /> * * *
“Chiara!” Luciana waved when, out for another walk in the Santa Maria Novella piazza, she spotted her new friend and the kids.
“Luci. Come sit. The children are playing.” Chiara pointed to a bench that allowed her to keep a close watch on her charges.
“So is that handsome Gio your lover?”
“No. He’s just a friend.” Luciana didn’t know how to answer. Yes, she had made love with him. No, he was not her lover in any true sense of the word. Yes, she wished more than anything in the world that he was.
The princess would return to Izerote changed in more ways than would be visible to the eye. Hair cut and dyed, she’d have to face her father’s scrutiny over something as petty as her appearance. He’d never know that she’d been forever altered internally, as well. That she’d known the earthquake of a man and a woman in the throes of passion, the planet moving beneath them, modifying the universe so that it could never go back to exactly how it was before. More important, not her father nor her future husband nor any other living soul would know that she herself had shifted like the tectonic plates under the earth, and would never be the same again.
“I saw how your eyes shined when he met you here yesterday,” Chiara continued. “And he had the face of a man who thought he was the luckiest one alive when he found you in the crowd. Smells like lovers to me,” she said in a cute lilt that made Luciana laugh.
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?”
Two of the boys were having a duel with the plastic spoons that they had been using to eat a snack. Jamming their implements at each other in a way that was going to lead to someone getting hurt. Chiara called out, “Boys, it is a gentleman’s duel. Take two steps backward and bow to each other.”
Which they did, eking a smile out of the two women.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I go out with a nice enough guy, but he’s not the one. My eyes don’t flicker when I’m with him like yours did with Gio. I’m leaving Firenze soon, so it’s best not to get serious.”
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