All the Stars Look Down: A Duo of Christmas Romances

by Elizabeth Hunter

  She felt Zeno tense beside her.

  “What is it?”

  He leaned down to her ear. “There are many vampires here.”

  “Should we be concerned? I thought there were always many immortals in Rome.”

  “There are.” He glanced over Fina’s head to check Enzo, whose eyes were barely open.

  “So why—”

  “I did not have a woman and child before. I did not notice them as much.”

  She slipped her hand into his, and he gripped it. “You’re going to be insufferably possessive for a while, aren’t you?”

  He grunted. “Possibly forever.” Zeno’s eyes narrowed on someone or something on the other side of the church. After several minutes, she felt him relax again. “Damn Catholic vampires,” he muttered.

  “Aren’t you a Catholic vampire?”

  “I’m young. Nostalgia is to be expected. The old ones cause me more concern.”

  “Shhh,” she said, leaning into his side. “Listen.”

  The Pope had started his address, his solemn voice filling the marble and gold-clad church. For hours, the crowd sat in silence, kneeling in prayer or listening to the beautiful songs that filled the air. Occasionally intoning when the liturgy called for their response.

  She clutched Zeno’s hand, thinking about how much had changed over the years of his long life. And what had stayed the same. It made sense to her, despite his earlier complaint, that so many immortals clung to the traditions of the church. Whether they were devout or not, those traditions would be familiar.

  The mass passed without vampire disruption, despite Zeno’s worries. It was only the three of them, as Giovanni and Beatrice had decided to celebrate at the Pantheon, which was near the house and did not attract as many tourists. As they filed out of the church, she felt Zeno’s callused hand grip her own. Saw his arm drape over Enzo’s shoulders as he guided them through the crowd. The mood was festive, but people were tired, ready to head to quiet homes and beds, and they found their way back to their neighborhood quite easily.

  The previous days had been filled with sightseeing and shopping. Enzo, Angela, Rudy, and Fina had toured the city during the day and prepared the house for Christmas, always taking long afternoon naps so they could enjoy the night with their vampire hosts. Both nights, Zeno had joined them, earning some playful ribbing from Giovanni for his sudden disinterest in work.

  But he had been working. She knew when Zeno left her, deep in the night after hours of talking and loving, he returned to his cavernous workroom in the Vatican, searching for clues to the mystery of the disappearing Franciscan and his Antonia. Many of their whispered conversations were not the teasing exchanges of lovers, but the polite—and sometimes contentious—debate of colleagues. And though she hadn’t returned to the Vatican Library, Fina still felt a part of the research.

  She loved it.

  Zeno still had not bitten her, and Fina wondered whether it was her own hesitance that stopped him, or if it was Zeno’s struggle with his possessive nature that made him pause. He was, as Giovanni had teased her, a man of great passion. And energy. She’d never felt the complete focus of a lover as she did with Zeno. But still, she wondered what would happen when she returned to Perugia and he remained in Rome.

  “What are you stewing about, cara?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up to see him watching her face with a frown. “I’m just tired. Don’t glare.”

  “I’m not glaring.”

  Fina broke into a laugh. “You are a cranky old man, Zeno Ferrara.”

  “I am a dangerous creature, Signorina. You would do well to remember.” Despite the harsh words, his eyes laughed at her.

  “How could I forget?” She shivered, and Zeno pulled her closer.

  He was dangerous. She could see it lurking in the edges of his eyes at times, especially when they walked around the city. Could see it in the sweep of his eyes or the occasional way her hair stood on end when he was near. Sometimes, she knew he sensed threats around them, but he was careful to shield her, even from the awareness of it.

  Fina, knowing her own inexperience in the immortal world, did not press the issue. While she had no desire to live in ignorance, she also suspected that being with Zeno put her in the path of those who could harm her and her son without a second thought. She had no foolish desire to fight Zeno’s protective instincts if he was keeping Enzo from harm.

  “What are you doing after you leave us?”

  He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Who said I am leaving?”

  “Weren’t you going back to—”

  “It’s Christmas, Fina.” He grinned. “Even my library is closed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Giovanni and Beatrice offered one of the lightproof rooms in their home,” he said. “For the holiday.”

  She smiled as Enzo asked, “We’ll see you on Christmas then, Zeno?”

  “Yes. More Latin lessons tomorrow night,” Zeno joked. “No doubt Gio thinks I could use a review.”

  Beatrice tried not to let her Cheshire grin show too much during Christmas dinner. After all, she was sure that, at some point, Zeno and Fina would have met without her machinations. Probably. It wouldn’t have been as perfect as this, though.

  Fina and Enzo, charming single mother and son. Alone for so many years. Happy, but incomplete. Zeno, a cranky loner who thought no one would understand him or welcome him. Two lonely people with uncommon interests, finding each other during a magical Christmas in Rome.

  Oh yeah. She was good.

  “You’re looking very smug, Tesoro.” Gio lowered himself into the leather chair next to her.

  “That’s because I am. Very smug.”

  “I will admit, they are well suited.”

  Beatrice snorted. “Please. They’re perfect for each other. Has he given you an answer about Perugia yet?”

  “Not yet. I wonder if he’s asked Fina for her opinion. It would be a big change. And it seems fast.”

  “Fast? Kind of yes. But they’ve been writing to each other for two years. So it doesn’t seem that fast to me.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose you’re correct.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “It’s still so hard for you to admit that, isn’t it?”

  “Torturous.” He leaned toward her. “Though… will you admit that I was correct to send Brother Pietro’s letters to Perugia?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “No! They belong—”

  “Because if I had not…” His lips trailed up to her ear. “…who would have orchestrated such a perfect match, my love?”

  “You’re kind of evil.”

  “Admit you’re glad I did it.”

  She mashed her lips together, only to hear him laugh.

  “Fine,” she finally said. “Fine. Though you were completely wrong to misfile my letters, the situation was salvaged by my stellar matchmaking skills.”

  “That’s as much of a concession as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fine. I suppose you’re tired of arguing about the letters, aren’t you?”

  “It’s Christmas.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Even though it doesn’t feel like it without presents. Let’s not work.”

  “Presents come on Epiphany. I’ve told you.”

  “Whatever.” She was still prepared to sulk. A little.

  “So if we’re not working,” he started, “should I wait to tell you I’ve found Rafael and Antonia?”

  “What?”

  Fina tried to maintain her professional persona as they drove out of the city, staring out the windows of the hired car as city lights gave way to scattered houses. But she was excited. Never before had she participated in a search like this. Most of her career was spent in quiet offices and workrooms, or searching online or through catalogues.

  But this! She felt as if she were in a mystery novel.

  “Excited?” Zeno asked, sitting next to her and watching her with the hint of a smile.<
br />
  “Yes.” She was buzzing.

  He chuckled and pulled her hand into his lap.

  The winery a small family operation, was situated about one hundred kilometers from Rome in the hills outside of Priverno. It was a small estate, but an old one. The same family had owned it and farmed it for over two hundred years.

  And Giovanni was positive it had been founded by the former Franciscan calling himself Rafael Szarka.

  They pulled through the gates just after eight o’clock, the lights of the small tavern lit at the front of the house. The winery was on the same property as the house, with bare vines crawling up the hills dotted with oaks and olive trees. The tavern served the estate’s wine, along with a small selection of dishes for those requiring a meal. Giovanni had called the night before and the owner of the winery had been delighted to entertain a party from Rome, even at such a late hour.

  As Fina stepped out of the car, she could see the signs of a building in decay. Though the vines they’d passed had been expertly tended and the rows spotless, she could see the creeping evidence of poverty. A broken border in the small garden. The sign hanging on a clumsily mended chain.

  Villa Antonia.

  “Signore Rosati, I must guess.” Giovanni greeted the man who stepped out of the house.

  “Yes, yes! Welcome. My wife has a dinner prepared for you with all the wine you would like. Come.” The barrel-chested man held a hand toward the door of the stone-walled tavern. “We don’t often get parties from Rome this time of year.”

  “Thank you for accommodating us,” Fina said. “Everything smells delicious.”

  It did. And the table before them was loaded with traditional country fare. Cured meats and cheeses. Crusty breads and dried fruit. A stew of some kind sat in the center of the table, steam trickling from the sides of the heavy lid.

  She gaped. Since she was the only one with a normal appetite, Fina wondered just how much she was going to have to eat in order not to offend their hosts.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Zeno said quietly.

  “We should have brought Enzo.”

  “You’re right. That boy would be able to swallow half the table in one sitting.”

  He pulled out a chair for her and the four of them sat down.

  “Signore Rosati,” Beatrice asked in softly accented Italian. “We were hoping you and your wife would join us for dinner.”

  The man pouring wine at the counter looked confused. “But—”

  “We have a confession,” Giovanni added with a charming smile. “We are not only tourists, but historical researchers. Signore Ferrara, my friend, works for the Vatican Library, in fact.”

  “Researchers?” Signora Rosati had joined her husband. “What are you researching?”

  Fina said, “We’d like to know more about the history of the estate. We understand it has been in the same family for many years.”

  “Two hundred,” Signore Rosati boomed. “My wife’s family is very well-known for their vines. I was only lucky enough to marry her.” He winked at Fina as he poured her glass.

  Fina felt Zeno tense and put a hand on his knee. “Really?” she whispered.

  “I’ll get it under control.”

  She let him scoot closer and wondered if the possessiveness would eventually get annoying. For now, it was amusing, and she hoped he’d be able to temper his instincts with time. She’d be more concerned if she didn’t sense his own frustration.

  “You are lucky my sister is visiting for the holidays,” Signora Rosati said. “If you want to know about history, she is the one to ask. She keeps all the family papers and things like that.”

  Fina perked up. “She is visiting? Would she join us for dinner then? There is plenty to eat.”

  “And the wine will be far more enjoyable,” Zeno said, “if we know more about it, Signore.”

  More confused smiles and quick conversations followed, but soon the two Rosatis and their sister, an older woman who introduced herself as Luisa, had joined them. Friendly conversation followed as food was served and wine flowed. Luckily, a very friendly spaniel had crawled under the table and the three vampires with small appetites were able to smuggle her some of their food.

  Fina wondered how the three other people didn’t notice that the vampires sat among them, chatting like common tourists. Their faces were fair, but the low tavern light hid Giovanni’s pallor. Zeno, she presumed, had been more olive skinned in life, which was his advantage as an immortal. Their movements were just a bit too quick to her eyes. Their teeth gleamed, and their eyes were too keen.

  But then, she had ignored the prickling feeling that Lorenzo had induced. Ignored her instincts because no common explanation could be had. Humans simply did not look beyond the obvious, unless they were forced to.

  “So, Giovanni, Beatrice,” Luisa asked, “what is it you are researching? The estate has many stories.”

  “We’re curious about the founder,” Beatrice said. “Who was he?”

  Luisa grinned. “And you pick the most scandalous story! In truth, we did not know for many years what the truth was. There were rumors, of course. Because when our ancestor arrived in the region, he had no tie to it. No family or friends. He appeared with a pretty young wife and chest full of gold.”

  Zeno leaned an elbow on the table and sipped his wine. “Really? A chest full of gold?”

  Luisa nodded. “That is the story. He bought the property and settled here. He’d brought some of his vines with him. Foreign vines, which was also scandalous to the locals, and he tended them himself. He had servants, but he worked with them. Not like a lord or a wealthy man at all. Rafael Szarka was a most unusual man for his time.”

  Fina said, “Szarka is not an Italian name.”

  “It’s not.” Luisa leaned forward, the delight evident on her face. “It is Hungarian. It was assumed by most of the town that he was ungherese, a Hungarian who had fled his homeland for some reason. But his wife, Antonia, was Italian. Though nobody knew from where.”

  “They married,” Fina said. “They had a family.”

  Luisa cocked her head. “Oh yes. They had three children. Fifteen grandchildren. And after that, the family spread. But always, some stayed with the estate, taking care of the vines. Making the wine.”

  “It’s a lovely story,” Giovanni said. “But why did you call it a scandal?”

  “Well, within the family, there has always been some question of how Rafael ended up with that chest of gold. And where on earth he came from. Was he a noble bastard? A thief? Someone who had to flee in disgrace of a scandal? It has been the cause of many family stories, as you can imagine.”

  Signore Rosati said, “My vote was always that he was a pirate.”

  “And how would a pirate know how to make wine?” his wife asked with a laugh before she turned back to the table. “The mystery was solved only a few years ago. One of the old stone barns on the estate was falling down. It had been falling down for many years and only the children went to play on the rocks. But it was getting dangerous for some of the little ones. So some of my cousins and my husband went out and pulled it down. And when they were clearing away the rocks for a new wall, they found a chest of old papers and a few pieces of clothes. Very, very old.”

  “A sea chest!” Signore Rosati said. “I was so hopeful. But sadly… not a pirate.”

  “There was a journal, though. In very good condition,” Luisa said. “I was amazed. I was more amazed that it was written in Spanish and not Hungarian!”

  Beatrice was practically jumping over the table. “Where is the journal now? What did you do with it?”

  “I could not read it at all. It was in Spanish. Old Spanish. I took it to a history professor in Naples, where I work. He was fascinated, of course. He asked to photograph it for his records and said he would offer a translation if he could publish an article about the manuscript. I said yes, of course. He begged me to let him put it in the university library, but…”

  Signora Ro
sati smiled. “It is our family history. It didn’t seem right to give it away.”

  “The professor told me how to store it. Keep it well preserved. I have it in my home library,” Luisa said.

  Zeno asked, “And the translation?”

  “The scandalous part. It turns out that Rafael Szarka was not a pirate, but a priest. He’d run away from the church when he fell in love with Antonia. She was from a very prominent family, but gave everything up to marry him.”

  “All the girls in the family loved that part,” Signora Rosati said. “So romantic! He had traveled all the way from New Spain. From the missions in California. They came here under the name Szarka and stayed. In those days, of course, it would have been easy to change your name. They simply married and Antonia took his. There’s no mention of her family ever bothering them.”

  Luisa said, “Much of the journal was about his life in California. Lots of technical information about wine cultivation.”

  “Quite interesting,” Signore Rosati said. “We still use many of the pruning methods here in the vineyard that he did two hundred years ago. There are maps and diagrams of which vines grow best in different kinds of soil. Many things about grape cultivation that would have been very advanced for his time. It almost reads like a textbook.”

  “But with quite explicit notes in the margins,” Luisa said with a grin. “There are other drawings other than vine diagrams. Rafael was quite an accomplished artist, as well as a farmer. I have to assume he and Antonia knew each other rather well before he went to California. Or he had a very good imagination.”

  Beatrice said, “I somehow think he left those parts out of the copies he sent around to the Franciscans.”

  “Most likely,” Giovanni said with a smile. “Poor Father Ignacio.”

  Luisa’s ears perked up. “There are other copies?”

  “We think so,” Beatrice said. “We’re not sure. We have a series of letters written between Rafael and Antonia’s brother, who was also a priest. That is how we tracked down his name.”

  “Oh, I would love to see them.”

  Fina said, “I’ll make sure to send you copies. The letters are in Rome right now.”