"You said he can't do it. And you will not do it. You don't care enough to make the personal sacrifice to save your family's estate."
He stiffened, his eyes pulling tight, the light going out of them. "I will not give up my career, no. It's not for me."
"Well if you won't, why the hell should I? I'm sorry to have wasted your time." Clio felt her heart shatter into a trillion tiny fragments.
"Beh, in tal caso. I guess that's it." His voice was clipped, cold.
She sniffed and nodded stiffly, crossing her arms. "Fine."
They glared at each other, her fury, disappointment and hurt mirrored in his eyes.
"Arrivederci, then, Clio." He moved to leave.
She spun on her heel and stormed off, back to her office, back to her own miserable life, and she didn't look back to see if he was doing the same, or if he stood watching her. It was too late for that.
He stood watching her stalk away, disappearing into the crowds of tourists at the entrance to the Duomo. The hot and cold flash of anger drained away, leaving only a tight ache in the back of his throat, as though all the emotion that had zinged back and forth between them, all the words, both spoken and unexpressed, had balled up and wedged there, making it impossible to swallow.
What the hell had just happened? Everything was shattered, out of control. He felt as if a sudden explosion had flown in his face and embedded his entire body and soul with shards of sharp glass or shrapnel. Numbly, he looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see blood.
What went wrong? He thought everything was going well - the scheme, his sisters' involvement, his relationship with Clio. She'd left him with the sense that he was disappointing her? But how? Why? What did she want from him that he hadn't given? Why did she insist that only he be director? He'd never gotten this deeply involved with a woman. Never felt so vulnerable, so out of control. He felt betrayed. And he hadn't seen it coming.
A sharp tight pain pierced his chest, and he grabbed a fistful of his shirt and squeezed, pressing at the spot that made his breath catch. Was that really it? Could she throw away everything they had shared so easily? Did he mean nothing to her? The piazza tilted and seemed to fall away under his feet. Someone jostled him as they walked past. He wobbled and staggered.
If this was what rejection felt like, it was devastating. He felt a rush of shame at all the women he had used so cavalierly. He'd told himself they didn't care anymore than he did, but he knew it was a convenient lie.
His lungs felt flat, as though a great stone had been set down on his chest, crushing the air out of him. The whole thing seems to deflate - lose its buoyancy, its joy, its very significance - if she was not there with him making it happen. Not just the villa project, but his whole elaborate, fake, empty life. He'd lost the will to go on.
He fell back against a bollard, out of the way of the foot traffic, allowing the stream of pedestrians to move past him in a river of faceless bodies, their mingled voices a dull rumble.
What was she doing to him? He raked his hands through his hair. He'd never felt this way before. Like… like such a failure. A pazzo.
Why should he feel this way? The answer pummeled him, and he refused to look directly at it. It loomed beside him, like a bully, nudging his shoulder, and he turned away, jerking his arm out of reach, grunting. His body heated, and he broke out into a sweat that radiated outward from his centre, pulsing.
He was a successful man, the envy of all. Agitated, he stood upright and paced, his eyes cast down at the cobbles. He was always successful at whatever venture he set his mind and heart to. I make the choices. I make the decisions. I'm a man of action. And yet. The truth relentlessly stared him in the face.
He had always avoided judgement by running away. He knew it. His family had called him on it, as had Clio, and he'd chosen to ignore them. But this time, he felt like both the problem and the solution were out of his hands, out of his control. What am I supposed to do?
His hands curled into fists of frustration, and he pounded his thighs until they throbbed. A roar built in his throat, the scream of a madman, and he held it in, afraid of the looks the passing crowd would give him, though it burned in his chest like a ball of fire. Would he see the truth in their eyes? He was impotent. Powerless. Worthless.
No. No, no, no! He spun on his heel and paced in the other direction, ignoring the bumped elbows and curious glances of passersby.
I have to do something. I will solve it. I can't let my family down. His family's home and legacy were at stake. They depended on him - he knew this. They always had depended on him to hold everything together. How could he not see this? And yet they were still critical of him - as though he'd disappointed them at the same time. What did they need him to do now? To carry on.
This project was the only thing he had to keep Clio with him. A bitter laugh escaped, drawing stares. Hadn't that been the reason he'd begun this charade? To please her and lure her because she didn't want him? And now, he didn't want to lose her. But she was gone. And he was left holding the proverbial bag. But it wasn't just a ruse. It was real. The realest thing he'd ever faced. And his self respect rode on the outcome.
Could he carry on without her? Could he shoulder this responsibility himself?
He muttered, gnashing his teeth. He felt like he'd lost control of his life. He squinted at the brightness of the vivid blue sky behind the monumental silhouette of the Duomo. God's house. He lifted up his arms. What am I to do? What do you want me to do? He turned around and walked, his pace picking up as the need to move overtook him, burning through his veins like rocket fuel. Unable to suppress the urge any longer, he burst forward, running.
If only he could save the villa, then he could still offer Clio the job of academic director. It was perfect for her. It would give her options, independence, freedom. He could help her, too. If he could prove his worth to her, maybe she would stay with him after all.
He laughed bitterly. Since when did his self esteem hinge on being a hero?
He never had problems before. I make the choices. I make the decisions. I'm a man of action. Solved problems or walked away. If he didn't like his odds, he didn't get involved. It was that simple. He chose the projects he could master. Played only the games he knew he could win. Chose which women to dally with and walked away, never risking his heart. He always maintained bella figura, and came out smelling like a rose. He was in control. This was always a point of pride.
What a load of merda.
He ran until his chest hurt and he was breathless, and realized he'd run through the back lanes right back to the Piazza della Signoria. How much time had passed? He felt like he'd been to hell and back. Across the piazza, his sisters still sat at the cafe, their heads together. He slowed and walked toward them, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his chest.
This kind of thing never happened to him. He was under water, at a loss, out of control. He had no one to turn to. He had to save himself, as well as everyone else. This time he really had to be a hero. And he'd never felt less capable, less in control, less heroic.
All he could think about was Clio. He wanted Clio with him, and seeing her walk away from him so definitively ripped him apart somewhere deep inside, somewhere he hadn't felt anything in a long time, hurt him so much he thought he might never heal. Clio.
He stopped in the middle of the piazza, looking at his sisters, not really seeing them. His vision blurred, and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He gasped for breath, his pulse slowing gradually.
He stood at the edge of a precipice. He stood at a cusp. Everything before, and everything after this moment, would be different.
He'd been lying to himself. He was not content with his life. He was not who or what he'd thought. He was so much less. Incomplete. He needed so much more. A whole family, like they used to have, a welcoming home, full of beauty and history, a profound love to share, like he'd had –so fleetingly– with Clio. Maybe someday, his own children, to nurture and teach,
to carry on the traditions and the legacy of his great family. And… maybe, perhaps, he was capable of more, too. If everyone else thought he could do these things, then maybe he could. Maybe it was worth the risk of failure. Maybe he just had to try.
He walked towards them. They looked up, saw him.
He could see it in their eyes - worry, sympathy, disappointment, hope.
He walked up to them, stood before them, and lifted his hands, palm up, to each side. A question. Or a surrender? He choked, his throat burning, his eyes hot. The image of his sisters' faces blurred.
Pia leapt from her chair and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing. "There, there, Memmo, caro. You really love her, don't you? Shhh. Everything will be alright, you'll see." He shut his eyes, felt moisture on his lashes, thickness in his throat. He opened his eyes, sucked in a ragged breath. Bibi stared at him, her face slack, her gaze sharp.
"Stronzo. You're a mess."
Chapter 27
What the fuck have you done?"
Jacopo sat rigidly at his desk, staring at his blotter. A dark expression clouded his face, its lines etched into the immovable stone of his lean cheeks.
"Did Pia tell you? Or was it Bibi?" Guillermo hunched his shoulders and leaned back, stretching his face into a facsimile of a smile. His stomach rolled over, the bitter taste of bile burning his throat.
He had raced to Jacopo's parliamentary office suite, his heart pounding in time with the soles of his shoes on the polished marble, after receiving the curt message: "Get your ass over to my office, pronto!" Guillermo reminded himself that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
Jacopo's eyes lifted to meet Guillermo's and waved a hand dismissively. "So you admit to sneaking around behind my back. Am I the only one who didn't know this was going on?"
Guillermo conceded silently. "I wouldn't call it sneaking, exactly. It was–"
"This has to stop. Immediately!"
Guillermo swallowed and stepped forward. "Listen. Let me expl–"
"It's probably too late, but at the very least that must happen. My staff are running interference with the press and the ethics committee right now." He sighed. "Though I'm not sure there's any point."
"Ethics? What has this got to do with…" A light went on in his head. "Oh, stronzo!"
Jacopo nodded. "So you are behind this application for heritage designation. For our own house!" He glared. "My enemies will enjoy adding this to my list of crimes."
"They can't possibly think that you're behind this. My name's on it. I was about to tell you."
"It's a bit late now, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry, Lapo."
Jacopo winced, and his voice softened, breaking. "You could have told me you were doing it, even if you didn't want me involved. There's protocol for this type of thing. It's being blindsided I resent. You know what I'm dealing with up here."
"That's the other reason I didn't tell you. We're so close to making this work. But the application to your ministry is essential to ensure that we qualify for grants and tax breaks. I wanted you to be completely uninvolved. I know how closely the heritage designation and grants tread on your territory. I didn't want anyone getting the wrong end of the stick. I didn't even want you to see it."
"Well someone got hold of it anyway and has the wrong idea. It's Brunello, of course. He confronted me with it. He's already sent it on to the ethics committee, eager to take me down. Now what am I going to do?"
Guillermo winced at the sound of Jacopo's old enemy's name. "Fight it. You did no wrong."
"Easier said than done, Memmo. It looks bad. Really bad. Even I think so." Jacopo slammed his palms down on the desktop. "You've finished me. I might as well have quit and gone to prison the first time."
"That can't be true. You had nothing to do with it."
"Tell that to the ethics committee. Tell it to the reporters. They are all happy to believe the worst of me." Jacopo raked his hands into his hair, loosening a strand that flopped over his forehead as he hung his head.
He looked for a moment like the boy he had been, before the burden of adulthood stole his carefree spirit. They had always been different, but he was a good big brother, responsible but fun, silly, adventurous. "I'm sorry, Lapo. I'll fix it somehow, I promise. Maybe I could talk to the press. They like me well enough."
"I'm sorry, Lapo. I'll fix it somehow, I promise. Maybe I could talk to the press. They like me well enough."
"I don't know if I'm angrier at the threat to my reputation or that you're compromising the sale of the villa and my only financial bailout. No matter how you look at this, I'm screwed. I can't believe you kept it from me. Why?"
"Do you not recall our last conversation? You challenged me. What else was I supposed to do?"
"Nothing. We all understood what your job was. Keep the buyer happy. That's all."
"I understand your position, Lapo. But when Clio presented the case to me, I felt we had to try. You dared me, after all, to find a way. How could I let it go without making the effort? You know what's a stake!"
"Clio. Clio?" Jacopo threw up his hands. "How does this woman factor into our family troubles?" Jacopo had met Clio only the once, but Guillermo supposed his sisters had filled him in on their personal relationship. Perhaps not.
"It was… she was a big help. I couldn't have…wouldn't have done it without her."
Jacopo scowled and peered darkly at Guillermo for a long moment. "I thought we had everything sorted out."
Guillermo firmed his jaw.
Jacopo's face was flushed red. "Wait until Valentina hears of this." He laughed without humour.
This was a disaster, not only for Jacopo's career, but also for the project. Both were doomed. They'd never get their application approved amidst this scandal. Worst case scenario, they would lose everything they'd worked so hard for. "But you're innocent of any wrongdoing!"
"It's too late, Memmo. There's no hope."
"We'll fix it somehow. I'll talk to them. I'll write letters."
"I'm sure that will clear everything up, you being my brother," Jacopo deadpanned.
"There must be some way. Maybe you could put it forward as a public initiative, argue the benefits."
"Not likely, without credibility. I can't be seen to be patronizing my own family and our assets." Jacopo slumped in his chair, his eyes shadowed with worry. "I don't think my career will survive another scandal, Memmo. I think you have to withdraw the application. If even that will save me now. You have to give it up."
"I can't." Guillermo stood taller, his muscles tensing, and felt his hands draw into fists. "I won't give up now, Lapo. We've got the first viable plan to save the estate that anyone has ever proposed. This could be the sustainable solution we've been lacking for generations. We are so close to making it happen. You have to agree to let it play out. I want to do this, if you'll agree."
Jacopo exhaled, long and slow, kneading his forehead with his hand. "Tell me everything. Let's see what we can come up with."
Guillermo summed up the situation. "The short version is, now we're in a catch-22 between the government and the bank."
"And now you'll have what you need, as long as you get your heritage designation approved."
"Yes. The girls made the difference. Pia and Bibi weren't involved, at first. But now that they are, they're committed. They're excited about it, about having a role to play."
"I'm glad. It feels right." Jacopo's eyes shone. "I wish… I don't suppose your withdrawing the application will save my ass now, anyway. That would take a miracle. But I'm afraid the application is going to be tainted. It'll be caught up in whatever investigation occurs now. I can't see a way around that. I also can't see how I can help, with my hands tied."
"Would you consider putting your name forward as the foundation's director?"
"Me?"
Guillermo shrugged. "Who else? Clio feels it ought to be a member of our family."
"I can see that. But aside from the obvious conflic
t of interest, I would be a handicap, surely–"
"You might need a new job." Guillermo shrugged.
That earned him a hard look. "You're the logical choice."
Guillermo groaned. It was a conspiracy. "No. I have my career. And that's not my kind of thing anyway."
Jacopo snorted. "It is if you want it to be. Think about it. You've always been the one most interested in the villa and its history. You're qualified to be its caretaker, both in terms of its cultural value and its technical…" Jacopo waved a hand. "Heh. More than I am, certainly."
Guillermo ran a hand through his hair, staring at a national flag on the wall. "For a while I thought Clio could do it. But she's better suited to run the academic program, and even then…. she refuses to discuss it. She's fed up with me." He squeezed his eyes shut. How was he ever going to win her back?
"What's going on?"
Guillermo drew in a long breath, puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "Everything was going so well. But we're at loggerheads over the directorship issue. I want her involved. I need her help. I'm afraid…" He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to order his scattered thoughts. He couldn't see how to make her happy without becoming director himself. That was what she wanted.
Jacopo leaned forward. "Is this… are you actually serious about this woman?"
Serious. What did that even mean? He rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand, trying to ease the tightness there. Saving the villa seemed an impossible challenge. One he'd never be able to face alone.
Alone.
Even though he had his family with him now. Somehow he needed Clio to make it happen. Guillermo had never found himself in this situation before. He had never enjoyed being with a woman more. He knew that. She understood him and pushed him in ways no one had ever–
"Memmo? Did you hear me?"
"Mmhmm. I was thinking about Clio."
"Well. What do you know?"
Their eyes met. "What?"
"My little brother's in love."
Guillermo continued rubbing his ribs, working at the tightness that made it hard to draw a full breath. "Am I? Is that what this ache is?"
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 27
