by Janice Sims
Elle didn’t see how she could protest. She told herself that this man was offering her the chance of a lifetime, the opportunity to appear on a world stage. It would seem ungrateful to refuse to take a meal with his family. Plus, it would give her the opportunity to see how a Milano family spends a Sunday afternoon.
Dominic paused with his finger above the keys on the cell phone. “I’m dialing now,” he warned her.
“Okay, I’d be delighted,” Elle said, smiling.
Dominic’s smile made her warm inside.
He dialed. After someone answered on the other end he spoke in rapid Italian.
Although she felt a little like an eavesdropper, Elle couldn’t help hearing his side of the conversation. He laughed heartily before he hung up.
He looked at her, his eyes still dancing with laughter. “She said Gianni has already told her about you and she can’t wait to meet you.”
“Who’s Gianni?” Elle asked, confused.
“When I got the call from the police last night I was having dinner with my cousin, Gianni. During dinner I told him about your audition.”
Elle was peering into his eyes. She sensed he wasn’t telling her everything. Then it occurred to her that if he was with Gianni when the police had called, then he’d probably mentioned why he had to rush off to the police station.
“Oh, my God,” she said, flushing with embarrassment. “Did you tell him I’d been arrested?”
“Yes, but…”
“No buts, Signor Corelli, you either told him or you didn’t.”
“Yes,” Dominic said regretfully, but his smile never wavered.
Elle was miffed. Was her embarrassment a source of entertainment for him? She got up and began pacing the room. “I haven’t even met your mother yet and she knows I was arrested!”
“Okay, yes, Gianni told her I went to the police station because you had been arrested for hitting a policeman. That’s all. Once we tell them the whole story none of this is going to matter. The cop was in the wrong, not you.”
“I know that!” Elle cried. “And it’s still embarrassing. I’m not going.”
Dominic laughed. “All right, I can see I’m going to have to tell you the entire conversation I had with Momma. Then you’ll see you have no reason to feel embarrassed.” Tired of looking up at her, he got to his feet and continued. “I told her I was bringing you to lunch and she said, ‘Wonderful, I can’t wait to meet her. What’s this I hear about her being arrested for slugging a cop? I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Whatever it is, it pales in comparison to what Gianni told me. He said you hired her on the spot after hearing her audition. I’ve never known you to do something that impulsive. Who are you, and where is my normally sane son?’ That’s when I started laughing and told her I was still sane. I would have been insane not to hire you.”
Elle smiled because she had heard that part of the conversation. His mother sounded like a perfectly reasonable woman. Maybe she had nothing to worry about.
Dominic took a deep breath. “Now, is there any reason for you to be embarrassed?” His eyes implored her to understand.
Elle took a deep breath and sighed with the exhalation. “I guess not.”
“Good,” said Dominic. He turned around and picked up his coffee. “I’m going now. I’ll come back for you at around eleven-thirty. You should change into something less dressy. Lunch is always a casual affair. Jeans are fine.”
He was about to kiss her cheek when he seemed to think better of it and turned away.
Elle was disappointed. She could almost taste that phantom kiss.
“Tease!” she said under her breath as she watched the door close behind him.
Outside in the corridor, Dominic was still smiling. He didn’t know what it was about Elle Jones that made him want to be near her as much as possible. Hadn’t he just vowed, last night, to try not to be alone with her anymore, since she’d put a crack in his resolve to remain aloof where love was concerned? And then only a few minutes later he had found himself asking her to sit in on the auditions next week for male lead in the opera. To top it off, he’d just invited her to lunch at his parents’ villa.
If this was a competition between him and Elle the score would be Elle Jones, two, and Dominic Corelli, zip! He had to admit, though, even if she was beating him badly, he was having the most fun he’d had in a long time with a woman outside of the bedroom.
His phone rang as he took the elevator to the lobby. He eyed the name on the screen with a bit of regret. It was Angelica. She was known to phone him on Sundays to see if he wanted to come over to her place after lunch at his parents’. She knew of that long-standing appointment, since they had been seeing one another for three years now. Dominic never took women home with him. He didn’t want them to think they meant more to him than someone simply to have fun with. Nor did he want his parents to get the wrong idea. Especially his mother, who had been dropping hints lately that it was time he found someone special and started having grandchildren for his father and her. They weren’t getting any younger, she complained, and wanted to have the energy to spoil the bambinos.
He answered. “Angelica, ciao, come stai?”
“You mean where am I?” said Angelica, her voice dripping with desire. “I’m soaking in the tub, alone. You want to come over later and dirty me up again?”
Dominic had been working so hard lately he hadn’t accepted one of Angelica’s Sunday invitations in over two months. He didn’t flatter himself that she went without company when he declined. Angelica’s little black book was probably thicker than his.
He had no desire to drop Elle off at her hotel later on and rush over to Angelica’s apartment, though, so he gently declined yet again.
“I’m sorry, I have to work.”
“Too bad,” she purred. “I’m feeling a little Dominic-deprived. But I won’t whine.”
That’s what was good about Angelica. She knew the score. She played by the rules and when the game plan changed, she rolled with the flow. He loved women like her.
“Perhaps next time,” he said. “Enjoy your bath.”
“I always do,” said Angelica and hung up.
Dominic put his phone away. He realized that if Elle Jones hadn’t come into his life, he would have accepted Angelica’s invitation.
He panicked. Having no desire to be with another woman was one of the first signs that you were getting too emotionally entangled, wasn’t it? He needed to be more on guard. That one had snuck up on him.
I am not going to fall for Elle Jones, he thought emphatically.
“Benvenuto!” cried Carlo Corelli as he grasped Elle by the hand and pulled her inside the villa’s foyer. Elle couldn’t help smiling. Carlo’s dark eyes were alight with laughter and he looked like an older, slightly shorter Dominic. He had the same color of eyes, the same Roman nose and square chin. The only difference was that Carlo’s skin was the color of toasted almonds and Dominic’s was closer to mahogany.
“Thank you. It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Corelli,” Elle said, smiling warmly.
Carlo offered her his arm, which she took, and he led her farther into the house, all the while looking into her eyes as though she were the most amazingly lovely creature ever to grace the planet. Now Elle knew where Dominic got that unsettling stare of his. Coming from Carlo Corelli, though, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable.
Dominic closed the door and followed them inside. “Hello, Dad. Your son is also here to visit,” he said in Italian.
Carlo looked dismissively over his shoulder at his son. “I see you all the time,” he answered in English for Elle’s benefit. “But seldom is our home blessed with the presence of a goddess such as this.”
Elle laughed. “I’m beginning to think you’re laying it on a bit thick.”
Carlo chuckled. “And she’s modest, too.” He looked at his son. “Why haven’t you brought her for a visit sooner?”
“Didn’t Momma tell you whom I was bringing to lunch
today?” Dominic asked, suspicious. It appeared his dad thought he was dating Elle.
“After she said you were bringing someone to lunch, I quit listening,” his father admitted. He smiled at Elle. “He never brings anyone to lunch, so this is a day to be celebrated.”
Elle, grinning, looked back at Dominic. “Are you going to tell him, or should I?”
“You do the honors,” said Dominic.
But Elle got distracted by the grand house. They were walking down a wide hallway on the way to the kitchen. Elle admired the marble floors, the colorful paintings on the walls and the family antiques that were everywhere.
“This is a beautiful house!” Elle said, looking up at Carlo.
Carlo smiled his thanks. “It’s nice in the summer, because all the marble and the thick walls keep us insulated and cool, but it’s a freezer in winter.”
“I wouldn’t mind freezing here,” said Elle.
Dominic looked on wonderingly. She had his father wrapped around her finger.
“Who’s freezing?” asked a feminine voice as they turned the corner and entered the kitchen. The room was spacious, warm and inviting. Elle loved it on sight. The double ovens and Sub-Zero restaurant-size refrigerator were stainless steel. The color of the granite countertops was deep red and the floor was a sandstone tile. A large country table stood in the center of the room, already set for eight with white linen napkins, white ceramic plates, silver flatware and crystal goblets. Fresh roses in various shades were set at strategic places around the room.
Elle, looking up at the woman who had spoken, suddenly was speechless. She had met some of the most talented singers working today, but she had never met anyone who was a legend in her own time. Natalie Davis-Corelli’s performances were held up as perfect examples of what mezzo-sopranos should aspire to. Elle had never seen Natalie in a live performance, but she had studied her taped performances as if they were holy scripture for striving opera singers.
Carlo stepped aside as the two women moved toward each other, neither of them speaking, but guided as if by a mutual understanding that the things they had in common automatically made them fast friends.
Natalie hugged her and held her at arm’s length to get a good look at her. “I must say, my son certainly wasn’t exaggerating. You’re adorable.”
Elle blushed and tried to ignore the compliment. “Signora Corelli, I’ve seen every taped performance you’ve ever done. And I have all your CDs. I’m thrilled to meet you.”
Natalie laughed. “Oh, God, a fan. I haven’t seen one of these up close in ages.”
Carlo laughed, too. “You teach at La Scala’s performing arts school. You see fans every day, cara mia.”
“Yes, but none from my old stomping grounds.” She led Elle over to the table, where she gestured to a chair. “Sit down. Tell me all about yourself.” Elle sat and Natalie sat down across from her.
Elle thought Natalie Corelli had certainly retained her youthful appearance well. Her dark brown skin was smooth and barely creased at laugh lines and eye crinkles. She wore her hair, black with silver shot through it, in dreadlocks. Her tall body was in shape and she wore a pair of fashionably cut jeans that Elle and her friends would have loved to be able to wear so comfortably. The purple cotton tunic she wore was the perfect color for her rich brown skin. She was barefooted, and her toenails were painted red. She was a woman totally at ease and yet she was extremely sharp and well put-together, just like her husband and son.
Elle supposed when a family had been in the clothing manufacturing business for years it was natural for them to develop a keen sense of style.
While Natalie and Elle sat at the table, Dominic was checking out the pots on the stove. “What are we having, Papa? I’m starved.”
Carlo did the bulk of the cooking in their household. Natalie referred to herself as his sous-chef, his assistant. He had all the family’s Italian recipes in his head. Natalie sometimes got homesick for her own mother’s recipes and would cook soul food on occasion.
“Seafood stew,” said Carlo. “I found some wonderful shrimp and scallops at the market, and clams from Scandinavia.”
Dominic lifted the lid on the big stew pot and breathed in the mouthwatering aroma of seafood in tomato sauce and savory spices. “What?” he said to his father. “No crusty bread?”
“You know I always make bread,” said Carlo.
At the table, Elle was telling Natalie about being in the chorus at the Met. Natalie shook her head sympathetically. “I know,” she said. “It’s hard to get out of the chorus. No matter how good you are there is this old-school rule of having to pay your dues. But if you’re smart, you get out of it by hook or by crook! No one wants to stay in the chorus unless they simply lack ambition. Good for you, coming to Milan and auditioning for Dominic. That shows initiative and an adventurous spirit. Believe me, you need both to survive in opera.”
Elle was so glad to hear her idol say that. In New York, she had been beginning to think that she would never get out of the chorus. In fact she’d been getting desperate. “I was grateful to be working, but no one wants to stay in the chorus forever! I would go on auditions for lead roles and never be chosen. I was beginning to doubt my abilities.”
Natalie nodded sympathetically. “Being artists we are sometimes emotionally fragile, especially after so many rejections. But you must never lose faith in your abilities, my dear. When that happens, your performances start to suffer. After all, we sing how we feel. We convey those emotions in our singing.”
Elle was hanging on her every word. It was so good to talk with someone who understood her world. She glanced over at Dominic, who was sticking a piece of bread into the stew. He ate it with relish and gave his father a thumbs-up.
Carlo laughed. “It’s official, then. The stew is ready.”
Natalie followed Elle’s line of sight and saw the way she was looking at her son. Natalie smiled. She liked Elle. But, then, she had figured she would from the moment Gianni had told her that Elle had struck a police officer. The girl was undoubtedly defending herself. Natalie admired women who weren’t afraid to stand up for themselves.
“They always argue over how the food should be cooked,” she said of Dominic and Carlo. “Carlo taught all of the kids how to cook. However, Dominic was the only one who showed any real interest. I think the girls thought it was expected of them, as girls, to know how to cook, so naturally they rejected the notion.” She smiled. “How about you—do you cook?”
“I learned from my grandmother. She started me out peeling potatoes when I was three and, by the time I left home for college, I pretty much knew my way around a kitchen,” Elle said with nostalgia. She missed her grandmother.
“Excellent,” said Natalie. “One day you and I ought to whip up a soul-food feast for everyone.” Without allowing time for Elle to respond to that suggestion, Natalie continued, “What about your family? Is your grandmother still around to see her granddaughter debut at La Scala?”
“No, we lost her around the time I entered Juilliard. Two years later my grandfather passed away. The only immediate family member I have left is my mom.”
“No father?”
“I never knew my father,” Elle told her, looking her in the eyes. They would find out sooner or later. “My mother got pregnant with me when she was a senior in high school. The boy, a football star, didn’t support her and even denied having done the deed.”
Natalie gave a sad sigh. “What a shame. But your mother had the support of her parents.”
“Oh, yes, even though they weren’t pleased about it. My granddaddy was a minister,” Elle said, laughing. “My mom, Isobel, said he almost had a heart attack when she told him. But then he sat her down and had a long talk with her and, by the end of it, she was crying and he was crying. He told her that it wasn’t up to him to forgive her—it was up to her to forgive herself and get on with her life without the support of the boy who’d gotten her in that fix. She had to be strong for herself and the
baby. She was. With my grandparents’ support, she went to college and got a degree in accounting and today she does really well for herself.”
“She never married?”
“No, she has trouble trusting men,” Elle revealed plainly.
“Who wouldn’t, after what she’s been through?” said Natalie.
Suddenly, a shrill scream split the calm of the house. “Dominic’s car is here! Where is that too-busy-to-come-see-his-sister brother of mine?”
“That would be Ana,” Natalie explained to Elle. “She’s our youngest and if she’s here that means her sister, Sophia, and cousin Gianni and his wife, Francesca, can’t be far behind. Sometimes I think they travel in packs.”
Elle looked up. A tall, slender and lovely young woman with long, straight black hair entered the kitchen, followed by yet another beauty, shorter and more full-figured, who wore her long, natural black hair in braids. Behind her was a good-looking Italian man around Dominic’s age, bearing a toddler in his arms and holding hands with another Italian beauty whose hair fell in dark, lustrous waves with golden highlights.
Elle was in the midst of the Corellis.
Chapter 6
Everyone was talking at once. Elle, the only one who wasn’t a Corelli, felt like the odd person out. She tried to follow conversations that switched back and forth between English and Italian. Although the family’s interaction appeared chaotic, there were a lot of hugs and kisses and it was heartwarming to watch. An only child, Elle had sometimes felt as if she was missing something by not having a sibling or two.
After a few minutes, Dominic pulled Elle to his side and loudly said, “If everybody would be quiet for a moment, I’d like to introduce you to my new leading lady.”
“What!” his sister Sophia cried. Her head whipped around so fast that the ends of her braids struck her in the face.
Suddenly everyone’s attention was riveted on Dominic and Elle. Then, his sisters pressed forward.
