Full Moon in Florence

by MARTIN, KC

  “All the paperwork is in order,” said Lorenzo, flipping open a file and showing her a form with an official looking seal.

  She looked at the painting again.

  “Are you really quite sure you want to donate it to us?”

  Lorenzo tilted his handsome head. “This is why I asked you to come personally. You see, I wish to honor my grandfather’s wishes. He once had a romantic connection your region of the world. This was before he married my grandmother, of course.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in a way that suggested that the part about ‘before he married’ may or may not have been true.

  “When I was a teenager, he told me his stories and made me promise to give a suitable gift at his passing. He said this painting reminded him most of the young American woman he loved.” Lorenzo leveled a steady gaze at Laine. “She looks a bit like you, no?”

  Laine blushed. “No, not at all. She’s too…. She’s much too lovely to be compared to …”

  Lorenzo seemed to enjoy her embarrassment. He steepled his fingers under his strong jaw and let his eyelids fall halfway over his dark brown eyes.

  “Allow me to take you out for a drink tonight, Miss Dixon.”

  Surprised by the invitation, she lowered her gaze. “I’m so sorry, Mr Montrecetti. I have plans tonight.”

  He seemed unfazed. “Another time then?”

  She looked up now, a question in her eyes.

  “You are wondering if the gift hinges on your acceptance?” He shook his head. “I would never put you in that position. I only wish to tell you more about my grandfather and his story, and I would like to get to know the angel who will carry this treasure to the New World.”

  Laine lowered her gaze again. His charm was hard to resist.

  “I would love to hear more about your grandfather,” she said graciously.

  “Bene. I can reach you at the Hotel Fiore?”

  She nodded. But how did he know? Had Tina passed on that information to his assistant?

  He smiled at her mild confusion. “Florence is not such a big place, and foreigners are… noticed. Especially those connected to the art world.”

  Just then a side door to the office burst open. Lorenzo turned in his chair, his smile reshaping into a frown as a young man who looked remarkably like him, except angrier, stormed across the office yelling in Italian. He was gesturing to Laine as well. She had no idea what this was about.

  Lorenzo argued with the man for a minute or two and then turned to Laine with an apologetic smile.

  “Excuse my brother, Miss Dixon. Antonio and I are not in full agreement about the Botticelli.”

  He turned to the young man, his brother, Antonio, and spoke a few more sentences, rather harshly, in Italian.

  Antonio made a lunge for the Botticelli panel but Lorenzo blocked him and yelled something aggressive. Laine stiffened in her seat, wondering if she should make for the door, but then Antonio turned on his heel and left in a huff.

  Lorenzo sat down and sighed. He stared at the side door, which Antonio had just slammed shut.

  “What was that all about?” said Laine.

  “He wants to sell the painting.” Lorenzo was shaking his head. “He understands nothing of family loyalty. For months we have been arguing about my grandfather’s estate. Antonio wishes to sell as many assets as we can to the highest bidder.” Lorenzo shook his head and sighed again.

  “He doesn’t want you to donate the painting to us?”

  “I tell him it is exactly what grandfather wanted and he decides he wants to rewrite our family history. He tells me to sell the painting and donate a portion the money to the museum if that’s what I want, but I tell him that is not the point. For grandfather it’s not about money. It’s about art, it’s about family, it’s about love,”

  He shared a meaningful look with Laine. It felt a little too personal for her comfort, but then the depth of that look evaporated with Lorenzo’s next smile.

  “Forget my brother. I will sort it out with him. Don’t you worry.”

  After witnessing the fight between the brothers, Laine felt confounded by the passions of the Italians. She also realized that acquiring the Botticelli was not yet written in stone. A family feud seemed to be underway. Mark and her team were counting on Laine to come back with this historic centerpiece, and Laine’s success in this endeavor would put her career on a new track. She didn’t want to lose out to a miserly brother. Even though a financial donation would help, it wasn’t the same as owning a small piece of an important artistic legacy. Lorenzo was right. It was about the art, not the money. Nonetheless, it was still a gift. She had no claim. Only an invitation.

  “You must do what you think is best, of course.”

  She stared longingly at the small, beautiful painting. It did look a little like her, a romantic Renaissance idealized image, mind you. She realized she was already beginning to fall in love with the painting.

  Lorenzo stood. “I will show you out. We will speak again after I straighten everything out with my brother.”

  He led the way back through the corridors and courtyards and then through the arched tunnel walkway leading to the door Laine had first entered. Before Lorenzo opened the door, he lifted Laine’s hand to his lips again. This time, those soft lips lingered a second longer and Laine was aware of his warm breath and tender touch.

  “Until we meet again,” he murmured. He half-bowed and, with a gesture, the heavy wooden door opened.

  Outside, the sun bounced off the stone streets and a cacophony of cars and people filled Laine’s ears.

  She found her way back to the Piazza Pitti. She wasn’t too far from the Boboli Gardens, which she really wanted to see, but it was getting late now and she needed to go back to the hotel and get ready for her dinner with Colin.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of the evening to come. Despite Lorenzo’s intriguing charm, Laine’s heart honed in on Colin. She’d flown thousands of miles to see that painting, but also for the chance to see Colin again, to see if there was still a spark. Lorenzo himself was a surprise. His brother, with his temper, even more so.

  With her head and heart full of images and sensations, Laine put thoughts of work aside as she strolled back toward the river and the Ponte Vecchio. She wanted tonight to be perfect and she knew that would take some preparation.

  Chapter 10

  Laine

  Laine wore the black lace lingerie ensemble, including the garter and thigh high stockings. She concealed it all with a slim-fitting sleeveless black dress speckled with little white polka dots. Then she slipped her toes into her red heels, the ones she’d been wearing in Paris when she first met Colin.

  She wanted this evening to be perfect. Beyond perfect. She wanted this night to rival that singular night in Paris.

  She’d primped and preened. Shaved and moisturized. Powdered and scented. She wanted Colin to look twice at her and then never look away.

  He was waiting in the lobby when she came down the stairs. She felt like a bride or debutante as she descended very slowly so as not to stumble. Colin, watching, smiled, a dashing, handsome smile that made her knees go weak. She had to pause on one step to catch her breath. She gripped the bannister, relying on it to steady her. This was the way it was supposed to be. This way her heart was ricocheting in her chest, this way a river of heat was flaring up her spine, this way her lips smiled and eyes sparkled as she looked at him. She could feel energy sparking off her.

  “You look radiant,” said Colin, leaning down to brush her temple with his lips. He smelled divine.

  “So do you,” she said. Oops. Whatever symphony had been playing in her mind as she glided down the stairs now screeched like a scratched record.

  “I mean, you look great, too. Very handsome.” She dug her nails into her clutch purse. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m nervous,” she added.

  He smiled disarmingly again. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And it’s not every day a bloke gets told he looks radiant.” H
e slid his fingers around her wrist and guided it through his crooked arm. “And I love those red shoes.”

  Laine’s heart sped up at the compliment, and their Paris memories it hinted at, but she quickly covered her reaction, and her nervousness, by changing the subject.

  “How’s your ankle?” she asked.

  “Almost as good as new.”

  The Signora appeared from the back room. Seeing the two of them, she trilled, “Amore vero, amore vero. Giammo will give you the best seat in the house.” Then she whistled a few bars from some opera or other.

  Colin discreetly rolled his eyes as he guided Laine out of the hotel and into the Florentine streets. The night was warm and the light breeze coming off the Arno was refreshing.

  “Hungry?” he asked

  “Very.” She wanted to add, “for a lot more than food” but she felt shy now. At least the night was still young. She had time to warm up her flirting muscles. She hoped the rest of her would cool down, though. She was looking forward to a glass of wine to help her nerves relax.

  “How was your meeting?” she asked him, trying to come up with conversation to quell her nerves. Looking up at him as they walked, she saw his brows crease.

  “Didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped actually.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yours?”

  “The man I met with was very charming.” Too charming really, but she didn’t want to talk about that with Colin. “But it looks like it will take a couple more meetings before things will be settled. I’d hoped I’d get the work over quickly so that I could…”

  Colin raised an eyebrow. “Play?”

  She smiled, shyly.

  “Me, too.” Colin tucked her arm more firmly in his,

  Her heart started beating fast again.

  “It’s my first time in Florence. There’s so much I want to see,” she said changing the subject again.

  Colin’s arm relaxed a little. “You want to play tourist?”

  “Not exactly.” She wanted him to hold her tighter again. “Of course, I’d like to see the top places, the Duomo, San Marco, and I have to visit the important museums, but…” She was worried she was sounding flat and boring.

  “You know what I’d like?” said Colin.

  Laine bit her lip, trying to push away her worst fill-in-the-blank answers: be on a different date with someone more sexy and charming, or to reverse the last 2 weeks and not respond to your email. She tried not to let her insecurities get the best of her.

  “To be your guide,” he said. “And to explore with you. I’ve been to Florence a bunch of times, but for work. I’ve never really just relaxed and looked around.”

  “You want to look in stuffy museums?”

  He stopped. They were only a few steps from the restaurant now. He faced her, taking her hands in his. He focused his green gaze on her face, her eyes, her lips. “I want to be wherever you are, Laine.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Me, too,” she whispered. And then she blinked. “I mean, be where you are. Not me. That’s what I was —”

  His fingers caught her chin and he tilted her mouth upwards.

  “Can we just get this over with?” he said.

  Laine furrowed her brow. What did he mean?

  And then his lips were on hers. Soft at first and then harder as he mapped the shape of her mouth. Their teeth grazed. They both tilted their heads the same way at first and had to readjust. They kissed through the strangeness, the inevitable awkwardness of two mouths joining, searching, querying each other for compatibility. And as they found a position, a rhythm, what at first felt like a foreign invasion dropped into a familiarity beyond reason. The warmth in Laine’s mouth traveled down her throat, through her chest, surrounded her heart and then kept going until the core of her began to melt, and soften, and then certain parts began to turn to liquid.

  She pulled away, to catch her breath, to draw her body back into a whole before it completely came apart.

  When she opened her eyes she saw Colin smiling at her.

  “That was nice,” he said with the satisfaction of a cat tasting a bowl of cream.

  Laine couldn’t hold his gaze for long. That kiss was much more than nice to her. Her legs felt wobbly.

  “Shall we?” Colin turned toward the open door of the restaurant. Still holding Laine’s hand, he drew her along with him, wobbly legs and all.

  Inside, the lights were low and the room was packed. A low, thick buzz of conversation layered with classical music made the room come alive with energy without being an assault to the senses. One couple ahead of Colin and Laine were led away by the maître d’. A moment later, a smiling man with a handlebar moustache, bow tie, and apron wove through the tables toward Colin and Laine.

  “Natalia called to say you were on your way.”

  Colin and Laine looked at each other. Natalia?

  The man said, “Signora Natalia? Natalia Fiore.”

  Oh. They hadn’t known the Signora’s first name.

  As soon as Laine smiled, the man beamed. “I am Gaimmo.” He held out his arms as if presenting himself. “Benvenuto a Giammo! I miei amori, follow me.”

  He pivoted on his heel and led the way through the candlelit tables. They were all full. Colin leaned toward Laine. “Looks like were were lucky to get a table here. We’ll have to thank Signora Natalia.”

  Laine agreed, though she hadn’t yet seen a free table. Already they were at the back of the restaurant. Then Giammo disappeared through an open doorway. Beyond was an inner courtyard. Tiny lights were strung between open umbrellas and woven through potted, blossoming lemon and orange trees lining the inner walls. About half a dozen tables were scattered across the slabs of paving stones. Each table was draped in a classic red and white checked cloth, unlike the plain white ones on the interior tables, and atop each table sat an empty, wax-encrusted bottle of Chianti holding a burning candle. The music was softer out here, as was the conversation. Only couples were seated at these tables, each pair solely focused on one another. Giammo held out Laine’s chair for her and then shook out her napkin and draped it across her knee. “Mia Bella,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” said Laine. “Grazi.”

  Colin got himself settled and then Giammo opened Colin’s napkin and laid it in his lap.

  “I will be back in a moment,” he said.

  Laine looked across the table at Colin. “Wow,” she mouthed. “This is amazing.”

  He nodded. “Very nice.”

  Laine wondered if he meant nice like the kiss. That was all that was on her mind. That kiss and when the next one might be. She looked around at the other couples. She could almost feel the love, lust, and romance in the fragrant night air. Hands were being held, fingers stroked, eyes gazed into, ankles grazed beneath tables, hands wandered to knees and thighs, gentle whispers, sweet laughter, and waves of intense seductive conversation. She felt both inspired to be a part of it and daunted. Could she be the kind of woman who slipped off her heel and slid it up her man’s calf to his groin? The very thought made her squirm in her chair, with a sense of wanting more than worry. She could do it. She would do it. Just not right this moment.

  “What shall we have to drink?” said Colin perusing the wine list.

  As soon as he said that, Giammo returned with a little silver tray carrying two flutes of Spumante.

  “For the lady,” said Giammo, setting one glass in front of Laine. “And for the gentleman.”

  Giammo vanished again as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “I guess that’s decided for the moment,” said Colin holding up his glass to toast. Laine lifted hers too.

  “To Florence,” said Laine.

  “To Fate,” said Colin, looking into her eyes as he took a sip.

  As the Spumante went down, a trail of heat snaked up Laine’s spine. Desire and nervousness embraced. Colin seemed so cool and sure of himself, so handsome and charming, so out of Laine’s league. What was he doing here with
her?

  Laine knew hardly anything about him, even if she could distinctly remember the shape of his erection (another little squirm in her seat). Colin also knew certain things about her — he’d seen her nakedness, had heard her passionate cries, had been deep inside her… She took a deep breath. She’d lose her focus if she kept following those thoughts. The fact was, they knew next to nothing of each other’s lives. They had to get to know each other as if this was a first date, with all its awkwardness.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said taking a second fortifying sip of her drink.

  “What would you like to know?”

  Besides everything?

  “There’s so much I don’t know,” she said, trying again to push aside the particular things she did know. “Start anywhere.”

  Colin looked up at the twinkling lights above his head.

  “Let’s see… I’m an only child… Do you have any siblings?”

  “One sister. She lives in Napa Valley with her husband.”

  Colin nodded. “Both my parents are still alive. They live in Cornwall now. Yours?”

  “Alive, yes.” Laine smiled. “But they separated when I was little and I’m sure there were times when they wished each other dead. My father’s a bit of tyrant, but loving in his own way. A tycoon-tyrant.”

  “Sounds intimidating.”

  “My mother remarried and moved to San Diego. She seems happy.”

  “So neither of us are orphans. That’s good to know.” Colin grinned. He looked into Laine’s eyes. “It feels strange doesn’t it? Knowing each other but not knowing anything about each other?”

  It made Laine wonder what it really meant to know another person. Did you know them by the details of their lives, by their contexts? Or by their dreams and passions? Or their responses to your touch?

  “Why did you kiss me outside? Why did you want to ‘get it over with’?”

  He sighed and looked down at the napkin in his lap. Before he could answer, Giammo returned with two menus and riffed off the evening’s fresh specialities, of which there were about a dozen. Then he left the two of them with their open menus.