by J. L. Drake
She pursed her lips and got up to unpack her suitcase. She hated living out of bags and having wrinkled clothes.
When she finished organizing her belongings, she put a folder of paperwork in the backpack, slipped it on, and headed down to the lobby. She inquired with the man at the registration desk for a place to eat. Since it was only five-thirty in the evening, it was considered too early to eat dinner by Italian standards. However, the receptionist told her of a local place with excellent food that opened early, and by the time she followed the map there, it would be open.
As Katherine ventured into the city, she stood on the sidewalk studying the map. The Galleria dell’Accademia, housing Michelangelo’s David, was only a few blocks from the hotel. Having the opportunity to view this statue was at the top of her to-do list. Unfortunately, the museum closed at six so there wouldn’t be time to view the statue tonight. The tour book she’d read while planning the trip stated the Galleria sold Firenze cards, which would allow her to skip lines at all the various sites. She decided to make a quick stop to pick up the card to save time in the morning.
Once she secured the card, she made her way toward the restaurant. Even though she was ravenous, Katherine was intrigued by the city and beautiful architecture. Unlike American streets, the names were located on the corners of buildings. With each structure she passed, she imagined the history surrounding it. The passion and romance of the city were palpable. She envisioned herself living during the Renaissance and walking through the same streets. Katherine wondered what it might be like as an artist during this time, and painting what was now considered some of the most influential artwork of the era.
Growing up, she had never been interested in art. However, her parents were very involved in the local art scene. They collected many pieces, and as a result, had them hanging throughout their house. When she was a teenager, she thought it was a waste of money and had no interest. But there was something about being in Florence and in the place Michelangelo called home that kindled her curiosity and appreciation for the Renaissance period.
Katherine made it to the restaurant with little difficulty. The building was quaint with a warm and inviting presence. When she initially walked in, Katherine noticed the walls were off-white stucco with different types of meats hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of garlic and fresh-baked bread permeated the air. The place was empty except for one couple sitting in the corner of the dining area enjoying a bottle of wine. Envy washed over Katherine as she imagined her and Mike sitting hand-in-hand enjoying the celebration of their nuptials. Her heart was squeezed in a vise grip as a tidal wave of emotions washed over her. Sadness, anger, and hate pulled at the strings of her heart one by one. This was what everyone had told her about, the multiple steps of grieving. At some point, she hoped she would be able to think of Mike without all the emotions being catapulted at her.
A young waiter approached. He didn’t wear typical waiter attire. He looked as though he just walked in after playing a game of soccer. His pants were wrinkled, shirt untucked and rolled up at the sleeves, and his hair was windswept.
The waiter must have figured she was American because he spoke in English, although he had a very thick Italian accent. She struggled to understand at first but as she listened, he became a bit easier to understand.
“Is it just you tonight?”
“Si, a table for one.”
“You’re much too beautiful to be alone.”
Heat radiated from Katherine’s cheeks. “Oh, I’m not traveling alone. My husband is at a business meeting and my hotel recommended this place.” She didn’t know why she had to lie. Maybe she was just being overly cautious. The waiter walked her to another room, which appeared to be the main dining area.
“Your hotel gave you a good recommendation then. You’ll love our food. It’s very fresh. I picked the tomatoes and basil from the garden today. And our bruschetta is the best. I’ll bring you some.”
She was dizzy from the waiter’s flamboyant gestures. He guided her to a small table on the other side of the room, opposite from the couple enjoying their wine.
“My name is Donovan. I’ll be your waiter tonight. Would you like to start with some wine?”
“Yes. Do you have any reds you can recommend?”
“Si, I have a great Chianti. I’m sure you’ll love it!”
“That sounds lovely. Please bring me a bottle.” She had learned that, in Venice, it was better to order a bottle of wine rather than the glass. The wines were usually better quality, and in addition, the alcohol content was less than the wine in the States, making it easier to sip with dinner without becoming too buzzed.
Donovan hurried away as she surveyed the room before reviewing the menu. The walls were painted a burnt-red color with deep beige accents. There were several trinkets lining the walls including old cooking utensils, corks, and pictures of what she presumed were the owners with various celebrities. It felt homey, and she felt comfortable. Comfort wasn’t something she had experienced much of since that fateful day.
Sitting in this quaint restaurant provided her with a sense of normalcy—a feeling of knowing this was where she was meant to be at this particular moment in time.
The menu was in Italian, but she understood a good portion of it just from eating in Italian restaurants and speaking with the various chefs over the years. In addition, Italian wasn’t very different from Spanish, in which she was fluent.
Everything on the menu looked delicious. Was it because she was famished or because they did a good job marketing their food? Either way, she would have whatever the waiter recommended. After spending years ordering specific things on menus to critique a restaurant, she was looking forward to the element of surprise of someone else picking out her food.
Donovan seemed to move at lightning speed as he approached with a plate of bruschetta, the wine, and a glass of water. He placed everything on the table and stood with his hands behind his back. “We grow four different types of tomatoes out back. We also grow all our own herbs, including the basil in this dish.”
Katherine picked up the bruschetta and took a bite. The mixture of flavors exploded on her palate. The tomatoes were some of the sweetest she’d ever tasted, and the texture had just the right amount of firmness on the outside and tenderness on the inside. The basil accentuated the tomatoes perfectly and the garlic was out of this world. The bread itself was what really made the appetizer incredible. The quality of the olive oil used to toast the bread was some of the best she’d ever had.
“We bake the bread fresh daily. We get the water from our well, which makes the bread rise to perfection providing the best texture and taste.”
Katherine couldn’t agree more. This bruschetta was definitely in the top three on her list.
“Thank you. This is really fantastic.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Donovan replied as he reached for the bottle of wine. “This is one of my family favorites. We sell many of these bottles.” He poured a little sample in her glass while explaining the wine’s fruity properties and bold flavors. She inhaled the fragrant scent of oak, pepper, and cherries. She took a small sip and swished it around in her mouth, coating her tongue with each sensual flavor.
“This is wonderful!” Katherine cried out.
Donovan quickly filled the glass. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”
She closed her menu and made eye contact with Donovan. “I have, but I was wondering if you have any recommendations.”
“The gnocchi with a gorgonzola cream sauce and crumbled pan-fried pancetta is outstanding.” Donovan put his fingertips together, kissed them, and released the kiss in the air, as if spreading love to the food being created in the kitchen.
Her stomach grumbled just at the mere mention of his recommendation. “That sounds amazing. I’ll take the gnocchi.”
She picked the napkin off her lap and lined the corners into a perfect triangle before placing it back across her legs. Contentment—
that was what she felt. Not a care in the world at this moment; only the desire and excitement of having a really good meal and heading back to the hotel for a restful sleep. Things couldn’t be any better.
Katherine nibbled on the bruschetta while sipping her wine. She removed the folder from her backpack and then sifted through the reservations she’d made for Florence. Katherine wanted to develop a plan to visit as many sites as possible while in the city. There was also a cooking class in a couple of days with a local chef that she had planned to attend. Katherine quickly realized that three days wasn’t enough time to see everything. However, with a good amount of planning, she could hit most of the major sites.
While comparing the times and days that the various museums were open, she overheard the waiter seating someone else. The sound of a familiar Italian voice made her look up. Knots formed in her stomach and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Tony. How could one man’s presence leave her with so much anxiety, but make her heart flutter at the same time? Her sanctuary was washed away by a tidal wave, only to be replaced with ambivalence and apprehension. She was forced to climb out of the rubble and search for that happy place, or run from the situation in which unforeseeable danger loomed.
“Katherine, what a pleasure to see you here.” Tony approached with his hand extended.
“Thank you. I-I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Ah, the manager of the hotel recommended this place to me. I presume he did to you as well.”
The knots that had formed in Katherine’s stomach slowly untied themselves. Of course the hotel recommended this place. They probably recommended it to all of their guests. He isn’t following me. I’m just being paranoid.
“I see you’re eating alone, and so am I. Would you mind if I joined you?”
There went the knots again. This time they were like boa constrictors on her stomach. Was it just her, or was he being very forward? Would it be rude to tell him she wanted to be alone? Perhaps it was part of the Italian culture. Settle down. It’s only dinner. Reluctantly, she gestured for him to sit.
“Sure, please join me.” She collected the pile of reservations and itineraries and placed them into her backpack.
“Grazie.” Tony smiled as he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. The waiter offered a menu to which he politely declined. Without hesitation, he ordered spaghetti bolognaise.
“Would you care for a glass of wine?” There was no way she would drink the entire bottle. Perhaps by offering some wine, she could ease the tension forming in her shoulders.
“Prego. I’d enjoy that very much.”
Donovan brought another glass for Tony and poured some of the red liquid.
“I’ve noticed you have an Italian accent, but you speak very good English. Are you from around here?” She wasn’t normally this direct, but she was very curious about this man who seemed to pop up everywhere.
“Si. I was born in Pisa. I grew up in the Tuscany region. When I was in high school, my parents sent me to live in London for a year on a student exchange program so I could become more fluent in English. When I graduated high school, I went back to London for college. In my opinion, I’m a very good English speaker.”
“I would agree. I have no problems understanding you. What did you study in London?”
“I was a business major. My father wanted me to help run the family business. He required I get a management degree before I took over the company.”
“Interesting. What kind of business does your family own?”
Tony smiled coyly. “Enough about me. I would like to hear what brings you to this wonderful country of mine.”
She shifted in her seat; the sudden change in topic was not lost on her. “I’m here on vacation. I’ve always wanted to come to Italy, try the food, and taste the wines this region is known for.”
“If I may be so blunt, why are you traveling alone?” Tony folded his hands and placed them under his chin.
Her pulse quickened, and she felt her heart become guarded. He knew there was no one else. Of course he knows. He was on the train with me.
“I’m sorry to alarm you. That was not my intent. There was no one with you on the train or when you checked in to the hotel. Now you’re sitting here all alone. Am I wrong?”
She shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. “No, of course not. I was supposed to have someone with me, but he backed out right before the trip. It was already paid for and I didn’t want to cancel. I decided to go anyway.”
“I presume you’re from America. What part?”
“I live in New York City.”
“I’ve never been there, but it’s someplace I’ve always dreamed of going.”
She took a sip of wine and her body warmed as the alcohol began to calm her nerves. “It’s a wonderful city. It’s rich in history, there are so many things to do, and they have some of the best restaurants in the world. You should go sometime.”
Tony smiled warmly. “The way you described it—it’s everything I imagined.”
She took another sip of wine and sighed as her guard slowly lowered. She was feeling more comfortable with Tony. He seemed relatively harmless; he was not only outgoing and direct, but was also friendly and easy to talk to.
She looked into Tony’s eyes and regretted it as soon as she made contact with him. They were mesmerizing; it was as if a spell pulled her under. Maybe she should slow down on the wine consumption. She hadn’t eaten anything all day and the alcohol seemed to be going straight to her head.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
The question hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to almost spit out the wine. She wasn’t ready to talk about Mike to her family and friends, let alone a complete stranger. Not to mention it was a random question.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something wrong.” Tony must have seen some change in body language or expression on her face. Clearly, she could be read like an open book.
“No, it’s okay. I was in a relationship, but it didn’t work out. How about you?” It was her turn to change the subject. This was about as good of a deflection as she could muster.
“Unfortunately, no. My parents have been pressuring me to settle down and get married. I’ve wanted that for myself, but I haven’t met anyone yet.”
She picked up the glass and stared into it. She wished her future would appear in the surface as though it were a genie in a bottle or a crystal ball. “I thought I met the right guy. Unfortunately, he turned out to be anything but.”
There was an awkward silence before Donovan arrived with their dinner. Katherine and Tony ate and continued small talk about their interests. Despite some uncomfortable moments in the conversation, she was really enjoying herself. It was nice spending time with another person. She had spent a lot of time alone as of late and was ready for some social interaction.
Tony paid for dinner regardless of her objection, and insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Despite being in a foreign country with a complete stranger, she had fun. She couldn’t remember a recent time in which she went to bed happy instead of crying herself to sleep.
Chapter Four
Tony lay in bed reflecting on last night. What the fuck happened to his life? After dinner, he walked Katherine back to her room. Her personal walls, which were erected so high to keep people like him out, had started to come down. She let loose a bit toward the end of the evening and was fun to talk to. Lying to Katherine was like putting a jackhammer through his moral beliefs. He was raised an honest man who stayed true to his values. Unfortunately, his life had changed, and not in a good way. He now had to make decisions that would help him stay alive, and being with the American tourist would give him the cover he needed to escape Italy. He rolled over and pulled the directory out of the drawer next to the bed.
He would have left right after the accident, but he needed to access the money his family had stashed in a safe at their factory. The factory was still being investigated, which prevented h
im from reaching it. He would use this time to plan his entrance without being seen.
The accident was still fresh in his mind.
Tony had been at his parents’ house with his two brothers for their traditional Sunday family dinner. His family spent the entire week working hard to keep their olive oil business running. They often worked under high-stress situations, especially around harvesting time. Family dinners were a way to reconnect and enjoy one another’s company.
He remembered the day vividly. It had only been three weeks, but it seemed like yesterday. His mom and sister-in-law were in the kitchen preparing dinner. His dad and brothers, along with one of his brother’s friends, were sitting in the living room watching highlights from the Italian football team, Azzurri. The room was palpable with machismo and exuberance. Tony had spent the day distracted by a fight with his girlfriend, and wasn’t participating much in the discussion.
His cell phone rang. He rolled his eyes and sighed as his girlfriend’s picture popped up on the screen. He quickly stepped outside to take the call. He didn’t want to be razzed by his brothers for yet another failed relationship. His oldest brother, Paolo, was married and trying to start his own family. Tony’s younger brother, Giovanni, was engaged to be married. Tony was the only one who never had a serious relationship, and was considered the playboy of the family.
He listened patiently as Emilia spoke loudly, nearly blowing out his eardrum. She was upset with him for standing her up the night before. He deserved the lashing, but was numb and emotionless. Emilia was not the one. She deserved better than him; he should cut her loose, but didn’t want to be the one to break up with her. He was taking the coward’s way out, and waiting for her to end things.
