“Luca has complete confidence in you, and so do I.” Ashley didn’t know what other olive branch she could offer.
“You’re very kind. Fate certainly smiled on you the day Luca found you sketching on the ledge of the Ponte Vecchio.”
Katrina’s smile struck Ashley as tight. False. The tone was kind…almost too much so. “I agree that our meeting was meant to be.”
Katrina set her pen aside and focused on Ashley with an intensity that snapped. “You’re a talented prospect. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have won anyone’s attention. As I said, matters have moved quickly on your behalf, and I’ll make sure that continues. Congratulations. But I want you to keep something in mind. Something I don’t say out of spite or meanness, but simply as a relay of facts. I know Luc well. I know his history completely. I've lived it with him, picked him up when he’s been too downtrodden to move. You're a talented ingénue who captured his imagination. I see the allure, but I also notice you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Woman-to-woman, I’d advise you not to entertain dreams of taking matters with Luc any further than that of artist and gallery owner. He’s much deeper than you could understand or handle. On top of that, he's older, and much more sophisticated. He needs a similar partner with whom to share his life.”
Ashley’s blood thrummed through her veins; heat crawled slow and heavy up her arms, shoulders and neck. “Are you warning me off?”
Katrina’s facial features fell into lines Ashley could best describe as cool, and knowing.
“Let’s just call it a cautionary offering, or pieces of seasoned advice. Take it as you will.”
Aghast, Ashley wondered. Was Katrina being this overtly protective of the gallery because of her allegiance to L’arte Della Vita, or to Luca?
8
All thoughts of a rocky meeting with Katrina fell to the wayside for Ashley as Luca took hold of her hand. Vince bounded ahead, straight toward the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.
Adorned by red bows and thousands of fiery white lights, an enormous pine tree claimed center stage of Duomo square. Despite cold temperatures that might deter those gathered to celebrate the season, the piazza was alive with street life. Close to the tree, upon a dais, the church choir assembled, and before long, music filled the air.
“There’s the nativity scene.” Luca tucked close and directed her attention to their left.
Ashley followed the direction of his prompt. Beautiful, full-sized statues were positioned within a humble, hay-strewn abode made of distressed wood.
“The statues are crafted from terracotta by an artisan from Impruneta.”
Her creative soul rejoiced and craved. “Where’s that? I think I have to go there.”
“It’s a village outside the city. Because of the reddish clay soil, many of the artists there specialize in the production of terracotta items—crosses, statuary, dishware.”
They stepped close, and Ashley sank into awe like a grateful child. “This is gorgeous.” Ashley bowed her head and closed her eyes, indulging in a quenching moment of silent prayer and surrender. Despite hostilities, despite a tumult of uncertainty that left her view of the future more than a little bit hazy, she gave God all the praise in her heart for the ways He had taken her dreams, her gifts, and molded them for His use.
Be still, and know.
The four word Spirit call prompted a peaceful rest to descend, and Ashley breathed deep of contentment and the happiness of standing before a manger, upon cobblestone streets, bathed in the multi-colored glow of shop lights, and surrounded by the bustling sound and activity of the people who moved past. Tonight the historic square took on the life of a Christmas market, with awnings that stretched far and wide. Lit from beneath by bistro lights, individual stalls featured tables manned by salespeople eager to impart such goods as wine, clothing, crafts and leather goods. Food spices tickled her senses: roasted cinnamon almonds competed with the aroma of freshly baked breads and sizzling sausage meats. The cacophony of blended languages, laughter, bell-chimes and motorized sounds filled the atmosphere not with clamor but with happiness, and a sense of expectation.
Precisely as Christmas should be.
Vince linked his hand to hers and then took Luca’s. “Swing me!”
With shared laughter, Ashley helped Luca fulfill the boy’s request. After a half-dozen or so swings, Vince looked up at Ashley and gave her an approving look. “You’re very good at that.”
“Well thank you so much, kind gentleman.”
Vince launched into a fit of happy laughter and as they wandered, Ashley came to appreciate the way Luca took his time. He ambled, pausing at tables, picking up items here and there. Ashley followed suit, running her fingertips softly against silky scarves, admiring the gold-leaf and embossing of a number of leather goods. When their stroll led past a table of items made from wood, she stopped, instantly pulled toward a wooden cross with inlays of multi-colored mosaic glass that she knew with her next breath she had to buy. While she haggled with the stall owner, Vince seemed to set his heart on a wooden Formula One racecar that was executed to stunning detail.
“May I?” Ashley whispered to Luca once she was assured that Vince couldn’t hear. “I’d love to get it for him—it’s not that much, and it’d be a nice keepsake.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Lead him away for a second, OK?”
“OK.”
Luca stroked her cheek with the back of his fingertips, adored her with a glance that warmed her through.
“You’re incredible.”
“No, just happy. Why shouldn’t he be happy as well?”
Luca bent to kiss her cheek—the glide of his lips was so quick, so soft and beautiful she had to stem a sigh of pleasure.
Once her items were purchased and safely stashed she rejoined Luca and Vince at a stand where they had purchased roasted almonds.
“Here, Miss Ashley. Have some. They’re so good.”
Generous as could be, Vince offered her a chance to dip into the oven-warmed bag. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” She managed the reply in somewhat broken Italian and helped herself to a serving.
Vince dashed just ahead, fascinated by the band that accompanied the choir. While Vince stood and watched, Luca settled a hand against the small of Ashley’s back. “I meant to ask, how did the planning session go with Katrina? Doesn’t she have incredible instincts?”
Ashley braced herself and tried to figure out a way to dance that particular high-wire. “She does. I enjoyed the way she’s bringing the reception to life.”
From there, the sentence dangled, which seemed to pique Luca’s questioning glance. “And?”
“I admire her skills and her knowledge. I also admire her passion for bringing only the best to a gallery in what has to be one of the toughest and most lucrative art markets in the world.” With no more than a steering touch, Luca prompted her to turn and face him.
“Your words don’t quite match the emotion I see when I look in your eyes. What’s bringing this on, Ashley? What happened?”
Words tumbled through her mind; ideas crested but found no cohesion. She didn’t know how to explain Katrina’s behavior from earlier in the day, but she realized this might be her best chance to confront the issue directly. Still, she didn’t want to cause trouble, or shine a less than favorable light on Katrina’s efforts…
“Ashley, did she strike you as being jealous?”
Just like that, weights lifted; her shoulders eased. Regardless, she knew she needed to proceed with caution. Almost in unison they looked toward Vince who presently leaned forward against a security rail, content, for the moment, to be still and enjoy the music.
“She didn’t seem jealous as much as protective.” That was mostly the truth. “She wants to protect you and the reputation of the gallery. This entire set of circumstances has happened quickly, and I think she sees me as a bit of an interloper, with stars in my eyes, which isn’t too far off the mark, and—”
<
br /> “Ashley, slow down for a moment and listen to me.” His tone was calm; he tipped her chin using a fingertip and she came upon gentle eyes, dark and deep. “There’s nothing about what’s happening between you and me as an artist and gallery owner that I haven’t done a hundred times before, and at times, under an even tighter timeframe. Katrina’s reaction isn’t centered on you. It’s about me.”
“What happened? I don’t know what I did, or didn’t do, that caused her to be so intense, and almost”—Ashley shrugged broadly—“angry.”
He slipped that warm fingertip against her cheek. His touch, slow and soft, ignited a tremble, then a much harder, unquenchable longing.
“Puzzle pieces are clicking into place, forming a picture I should have seen developing quite a while ago. Katrina wants more from me than I can ever give.”
“A relationship. A commitment.” Which meant Ashley’s instincts hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“When Madelyn died, Kat stepped in. She made the way as easy as she could for me, and for Vince. She’s always been a wonderful friend, even when Madelyn was alive. She helped us build this gallery, and she supported us because she cares, not because she’s manipulative. The thing is, now that Madelyn is gone, she wants more from me, and I don’t feel the same way.”
“Of course. You’re not ready.” Pain pressed against her, heavy and pervasive.
“Actually, for the first time since then, I think I am.”
Her gaze remained steady, but doubts filled her mind.
“That’s part of what she senses, because she’s known me for a long time. She knows my future, in a more personal sense, won’t include her. She doesn’t own my heart.”
“I think I understand more clearly now.”
Luca cupped her face and brushed one of those slightly roughened fingertips against the line of her lips which quieted her at once, stirred tingles and a delicious sense of melting. In converse tension her fingertips went tight around the paper sack she held. For a split second his gaze drifted to her mouth—she felt the heat of his focus. He bent just a bit closer as though ready to claim her lips. His head dipped ever so slightly. Ashley’s eyelids fluttered and she tilted her head…
“Papa, there’s space by the choir for all of us, right over there! Let’s go!”
Luca straightened at once and Ashley nearly dropped her bag of Christmas goodies. She shook her head. Hard. After a few mind-clearing seconds that sensation of languor evaporated, but she already missed his closeness, and now ached for his kiss.
How was she supposed to handle that?
Bubbly and unaware, Vince skipped ahead, leading the way to a viewing spot for the ongoing concert. Crowds pressed in but Luca kept an arm snug around Ashley’s waist, which warded off the night chill quite nicely. Vince came and stood between them. Once he rested his head against her hip, when heavy eyelids drowsed, Ashley tightened her hold, letting shared warmth continue to lull and soothe him.
When the evening ended, Luca insisted on walking Ashley the few blocks to her hotel. They settled into living room style furniture in front of a crackling fieldstone fireplace in the front lobby and she withdrew the tissue wrapped gift she had purchased for Vince.
Tearing into it with gleeful abandon, the boy’s dark brown eyes went wide when he uncovered the car. “Miss Ashley—this is the best—magnfico! Grazie mille!”
“Prego, Vincenzo, prego.”
He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her in tight for a long hug. Eyes closed, Ashley savored the moment. When she looked at Luca at last, and registered his happiness, she wondered if anything would ever compare to this joy, and shared contentment.
9
Snow drifted through the air, fluttering against streetlights like tiny pieces of crystal. A glance into the brightly lit gallery window caused Ashley's stomach to tumble and toss. She squeezed her arms tight against her midsection, warding off a chill that had nothing to do with the winter’s night.
L’arte Della Vita was filling rapidly with people who mixed and mingled, talked as they strolled through the display area and took in the pieces she had created. An elegant but festive window display featured the soft glow of flickering candles, sparkling ornaments strung from the top most sill at varying heights. Swags of greenery framed it all. So welcoming. So perfect.
And so terrifyingly intimidating.
These people were here for her. This night was for her. For her art. Most of all, this moment came courtesy of Luca. That struck her heart deepest of all.
“Make this so, Lord. If it’s Your will, then please, make it so.” Whispered prayer released, Ashley pushed through the doorway and entered the gallery.
She was greeted promptly by a hostess who took custody of her coat. Now she felt truly exposed. Clutching the shoulder strap of her evening bag, Ashley eyed the chicly-styled black-tie crowd and hoped her attire would pass muster. Knowing elegant formality was called for, she had chosen to wear a Grecian style one-shoulder gown of chiffon that hugged her torso then drifted outward from her waist in wave after wave of palest lemon yellow. She wore her hair down, unadorned but in a free tumble of curls that fell around her shoulders and down her back.
Did she look the part? She fought to keep her hands from performing a nervous fidget because, yet again, Florence proved itself not only as an art capital, but a fashion capital as well. Gorgeous, floor-length gowns of all colors and styles were the rule of the night. Sequins and jewels flashed like sparks beneath the lights. Satins and tulle swished as people moved into clusters, performed greetings. Luca was above average height, so it was easy to spot him. For a few moments she enjoyed the luxury of watching him unaware.
He wore a perfectly styled black tuxedo paired with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie. The jacket emphasized broad shoulders. Bearing a sense of confidence, a sense of command that Ashley envied, Luca worked slowly through the crowd. The thick fall of his hair had been styled into neat, dark waves; a squared, clean-shaven jaw, his wide, curved lips left her more than a little weak at the knees. There was a compelling ease with which he moved from person to person. Little things revealed his passion for his work, like the way he reached out to pin-point a certain aspect of a drawing, or gestured with emphasis, eyes intent and lively.
Butterflies of awareness came alive, leaving behind tingles of appreciation. Luca turned. When he spotted her, the smile that lit his features caused a paradoxical reaction of peace and sizzling energy. Their gazes met and held. The moment was quick, but the tender, knowing look he delivered slid straight into her heart.
He moved toward her, passing a liveried waitress on his way. From a serving tray he lifted two flutes of sparkling, golden champagne and continued to the spot where Ashley stood.
“For you,” he greeted, kissing her cheeks then offering her a glass. “You’re breathtaking.”
Oh, how she wished for the words, for a flirty, sly and sophisticated response to his open admiration. All she could do was smile into his eyes, tuck her hand through his offered arm, and murmur a tremulous, “Thank you, Luca.”
~*~
The instant Luca saw her, that nasty, steel core of grief and loneliness he had carried with him for years now melted into a form of surrender and inevitability.
“Before we start the mix and mingle, I want you to keep something in mind.” He bent close enough to whisper in her ear; an intriguing blend of rose and vanilla traveled through his system coming from the satiny hair that tumbled against her shoulders and from her slim, creamy neck. “You’re a skilled artist. You look like a living fairytale, and you’re going to charm every person in this room.” He paused for emphasis. “Have no doubts.”
She didn’t need to say a word—Luca felt her pleasure in the strength of her gaze—so he didn’t allow for response. Instead, he escorted her into the heart of the reception and began introductions.
People had formed into clusters, morphing into mini gossip and review teams.
Ashley networked wi
th admirable ease, seeming to gain confidence from the building buzz of positive comments. Giselle Mansuto, a longtime customer of Luca’s gallery, glossed reverent, pink-tipped fingers across the wood frame edge of Ashley’s sketch of the interior of the Duomo.
“Miss Coratini, this is stunning. The use of charcoal is stark, but emotional in its simplicity. I love it.”
Fiftyish, with spiky silver hair, she used her free hand to finger the strands of milky white pearls that formed a cascade down the front of her pink satin gown. Luca knew Giselle wasn’t the type to be timid about purchasing art that appealed to her.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.” Ashley joined her in studying the piece. “It’s a favorite of mine as well.”
The doyenne peered at Ashley with keen interest. “And why is that, my dear?”
Keyed in on the interaction, Luca watched Ashley and could have sworn he saw her sink into the lines and shades of her creation.
“I suppose it’s because while I sketched, I spent hours in a simple pew beneath the edge of the dome. I was in awe. I feel like this sketch evolved from the time I spent in the company of God’s spirit, and grace. It was an incredible experience.”
An enthusiastic discussion ensued, during which Luca took in the activity of his gallery, and satisfaction crested. He had known all along the exhibit would be a success. When conversation turned to Ashley’s schooling, her experience, and the length of her intended stay in Florence, Luca realized a crossroads approached. Would she…could she...stay in Florence permanently? That bridge might need to be crossed sooner rather than later judging by how busy Katrina was at reception, already talking with guests and tapping notes into her iPad. Obviously, orders were coming in for the display works, perhaps even some requests for commissioned pieces.
The combination left him to wonder: what might Ashley do next?
~*~
“Serves me right for being vain.”
Ashley heard Katrina’s mumble as she neared the hors d’oeuvres table. Katrina discreetly wiggled the toes of her right foot which had been freed from the captivity of a gorgeous plumb stiletto.
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