“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Oh.”
An old woman sitting in the last pew glares at us.
“Let’s go into the chapel.”
Stefano takes my arm and leads me to the chapel of the church, which is empty.
“If you’d like, Valentina, I can give you a personal tour of this church and a walking tour of Cannaregio.”
“In addition to the tour tonight?”
Stefano laughs. “No, I wouldn’t expect you to do two tours less than a few hours apart, but if you really wanted to, of course, you could still join the tour tonight.”
I hesitate. Though I am enjoying the time alone in Venice to reflect, I’m also getting lonely. And I had enjoyed Stefano’s tour of the Basilica immensely. Fausto, the waiter, had been right. Stefano’s tours are the best. Of the few I’d taken in the past couple of days, none of the guides’ knowledge measured up to Stefano’s. What I particularly love about Stefano’s tours is that he also makes them interactive so that he isn’t just monotonously lecturing.
“If you’re sure you’re not too tired, that would be nice. But I insist on paying you.”
“Ahhh . . . you American women. If that’s the only way you’ll agree, then fine. But instead of paying me for the tour, I’ll let you pay for dinner this time.”
“Okay, that works.”
“Let’s start right here with the Chapel of San Mauro. That will give us enough time to move on to the church right about when Mass will be over.”
Stefano points to the statue of the Madonna inside the chapel and begins reciting the history of the church, which was founded in the mid-fourteenth century and was dedicated to St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers. The saint was to protect the boatmen who carried passengers to the lagoon islands.
“But when the church was reconstructed in the fifteenth century, it was dedicated instead to the Madonna after a statue of the Virgin Mary was found in the orto, or vegetable garden, not far from the church. Hence, the church’s name Madonna dell’Orto. The statue of Mary was believed to have performed miracles. When we go back outside, I will point out to you the statue of St. Christopher, which is on top of the portal.”
I listen to Stefano, but I have to work hard to keep my mind from wandering. It’s difficult paying attention when your tour guide is as sexy as he is. Today, he’s dressed more casually than when I’d first met him. He wears dark-wash denim jeans and a V-neck, silky T-shirt. The clothes give him a younger appearance, but I’m almost certain Stefano is in his forties. A few lines crease around his eyes whenever he smiles, and of course, he has all those flecks of gray hair. I can’t help wondering if he’d ever been married, and if so, what had happened? Maybe he still was married. Italian men often do not wear their wedding bands. The image of the striking redhead he was with in San Marco the other morning comes to mind. I start to feel anxious.
“Is something the matter, Valentina?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You look troubled.”
“I think I just need some air. The incense and the burning candles in here are affecting me.”
“Of course. Let’s step outside. I can give you the tour of the exterior until you feel better, and then we’ll come back inside.”
As we walk out, the few parishioners who are listening to Mass are making their way toward the front of the church to receive communion. The older women’s faces are covered with black lace veils. The men are all wearing suits. I feel like I’ve gone back in time to pre–Vatican II days.
“Let’s take a walk around the church and relax for a bit. I can resume the tour later.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t startle me. Please. But I am beginning to wonder if it is something about me that is making you feel sick whenever you are in my presence.”
My heart freezes, and my eyes must convey how close he is to the truth, for he quickly adds, “I’m just playing.” He laughs.
I smile. “The past two months have been tough for me.”
Stefano’s face grows serious. “I’m sorry to hear that, Valentina. Is that partly what brought you to Venice?”
I nod. I can’t believe I’m confiding in him. Something compels me to let him know there’s more going on with me than just a case of jet lag.
“Were your troubles brought about by a man?”
“Aren’t they usually?”
I manage to give him a wan smile as I joke.
“Love. We can’t live without it; we can’t live with it. Why does it have to be so complex?”
I shrug my shoulders, not having any philosophical thoughts to offer on the subject.
“I’ve been beaten up by that siren before.”
“Are you married?”
There, I’d blurted it out.
“No, never married, but I came close to proposing to a woman before.”
I’m curious to know more, but I dare not ask. I’m not ready to open myself up fully to this stranger—no matter how charismatic or hot he is. The redhead reappears in my thoughts. I can’t refrain.
“I thought that woman you were with on Monday was your wife.”
Stefano looks at me, surprised.
“You saw me that day by the canal with Angela? Oh, wait. Of course you did. You were in line waiting to buy the tickets for the tour.”
“Yes. Angela was hard not to notice. Everyone was looking at her.”
“I know. It’s given me much trouble. I’m going to get an ulcer.”
So he isn’t denying how beautiful this Angela is or that he doesn’t like the attention she receives from so many men.
I look away from the canal that I’d been staring off into and notice Stefano is watching me.
“Angela is my sister.”
Surprise registers on my face.
“I know. She is twenty years younger than me. My mother had her when she was forty-two. Because of the large age difference between us, I have always looked at Angela as if she were my own daughter rather than just my sister. She is twenty-one years old, but looks like she’s twenty-five or even twenty-eight. She still lives with my parents in Calabria, but she was here for a long weekend to visit a friend who lives in Venice.”
I suddenly remember the tender gesture Stefano had made of pulling Angela’s hair out of her coat and kissing her on her cheeks. I feel foolish. If she had been his lover, he wouldn’t have kissed her so innocently.
“That’s good of you to still look after her. But you know, she is an adult now and can take care of herself.”
He groans. “Not when every young man is after her. But you are right. She has to take care of herself, especially since I no longer live close to her. So you thought Angela was my wife? Do I look that young to you?”
“Of course not. It’s as you said, Angela could pass for an older woman.”
I smile mischievously.
“Valentina, you definitely keep me standing on my toes.”
“It’s just ‘on my toes.’ ”
“Excuse me?”
“The expression is ‘You keep me on my toes.’ You don’t need to say ‘standing.’ ”
“On my toes. You keep me on my toes?”
“That’s it.”
He doesn’t look embarrassed or emasculated, as I had feared he would feel. He just smiles sheepishly at me.
“I have a proposal for you.”
“Already? I’ve only known you for a couple of days!”
Stefano looks confused. “I said something incorrectly again?”
“I think you meant to say, ‘I have a proposition for you.’ ”
“Yes, that’s it. Proposition.”
“Never tell a woman, Stefano, that you have a proposal for her or she’ll think it’s a wedding proposal.”
“Dio mio! Is that what I suggested?”
“Yes. But you know, in America, when you also say to a woman that you have a proposition for her, that’s often conside
red a suggestive comment.”
“Really?” Stefano narrows his gaze and is grinning from ear to ear. “What kind of a suggestive comment?”
“I think you know what I mean. I won’t elaborate any further. So what was this ‘proposition’ you have for me?”
“Why don’t we trade tours for English lessons? I give you personal guided tours of whatever attraction you want to see in Venice, and in exchange, you help me with my English.”
“Your English is quite good, though, Stefano.”
“But it’s not perfect, as you’ve noticed. I have made mistakes.”
“You just need to learn idioms better.”
“So, do we have a deal?”
“I’ll have to give it some thought.”
“What is there to think about?”
“I don’t make decisions hastily.”
“Okay, think about it. But I’m only giving you until the end of our tour today for you to decide.”
“Whatever.” But I’m laughing. “Let’s go back inside the church. I’m ready for my tour.”
I walk ahead of Stefano, and again, I am giving my hips an extra sway, knowing full well Stefano is observing my every movement. I can’t help myself. This man brings out another person in me. And all I know is that I’m having fun, just as Aldo and my sisters would want.
After the tour of Madonna dell’Orto, Stefano and I are famished, so we find the nearest trattoria. We share an appetizer plate of prosciutto, mortadella, and a sharp provoletta. Then we have octopus salad. I decide to quit after the salad, but Stefano orders zuppa di mare—a stew of squid, shrimp, cod, octopus, and scallops, which he insists I sample. We wash it all down with a bottle of Chianti.
Though the tour had consisted of just the two of us, Stefano had still treated it in a professional manner. I can tell he loves what he does and has a true appreciation for his country’s architecture and art. I can’t help feeling he’s also trying to impress me with his vast knowledge. He seems more relaxed now that he’s eating and having a glass of wine.
“Have you taken a gondola ride yet, Valentina?”
“No.”
“How many days have you been here now?”
“Four.”
“And you still have not been on a gondola? That’s the first thing most tourists do upon reaching Venice.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I feel a little weird to take a gondola by myself. From what I’ve seen, they always have at least two passengers.”
“I will have to take you. How about tomorrow night?”
I’m torn. Sharing a gondola with Stefano seems too intimate, but I’m dying to ride one. The ambience of traversing the Grand Canal in a gondola will be different than in the vaporetti I’ve been taking.
“Okay. Why not?”
“We’ll meet in front of the Basilica at eight o’clock?”
“That’s fine.”
We spend the rest of our meal getting to know each other better, though Stefano is asking most of the questions. He asks me about my family, how had my father died, what it’s like to be a seamstress of wedding dresses, and even my childhood. He leaves no stone unturned. I don’t know how I manage to sit calmly under his penetrating gaze while I regale him with my life story. Waves of anxiety roll through my stomach, and I’m amazed I am able to eat the meal. But of course, the food is heavenly and not difficult at all to eat even with the sensations Stefano is setting off in me. When I finally am able to turn the tables and ask him about his childhood, I stare at his lush lips. They’re the most exquisite lips I’ve ever seen on a man. They look full and soft. I imagine what it would be like to kiss them. Suddenly, an image of Stefano and me alone on a gondola flashes through my mind. In my fantasy, he’s running his hand up the side of my thigh. I’m wearing a dress with no stockings. Our tongues are tangled together as our bodies throb for each other.
“Valentina?”
Stefano’s question brings me out of my reverie.
“I’m sorry. I got distracted.”
“I was asking you if you wanted to order another bottle of wine.”
“Oh. No. That’s fine. Thank you. I think I’ve had enough wine.”
Stefano smiles. He has a way of smiling in the most devilish way, which completely frazzles me. It’s as if he can read my thoughts. I look away, knowing he is still staring at me.
We pay our bill and decide to walk around the streets of Cannaregio. Stefano stops when there’s a point of interest and tells me about it. He isn’t as serious as he’d been during the tour of the church. He makes several jokes. I hate to admit it, but I’m enjoying his company.
At four p.m., I decide to take the vaporetto back to my hotel at Castello.
“I’ll accompany you.”
“That’s not necessary, Stefano. Thank you, but I’ve already taken up enough of your time. And you tricked me by paying the waiter when I was in the restroom even though we’d agreed that I was going to pay for dinner.”
“Don’t be mad, Valentina. It’s just who I am. I can’t help it. The day I let a woman pay anything for me is the day Stefano Lambrusca—”
“Is not a man. I know. You also said that the other day.”
I roll my eyes. Stefano laughs. I can’t resist laughing, too.
“You know, it’s not a torture being with you, Valentina.” Stefano’s gaze is traveling the length of my body. “Not a torture at all.” His eyes travel back up and rest at my cleavage.
I don’t know what to say to that. The silence doesn’t seem to bother him, however, as he continues staring at me. The vaporetto is only a few feet away as it approaches the dock.
“Thank you again for the tours and dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“So you’re not going to let me take you home?”
“I’m a big girl, Stefano. Maybe you can take me home after our gondola ride tomorrow night.”
Stefano’s eyes twinkle. I suddenly realize what I’d said. I’m not going to let him escort me to the hotel now during the day, but I had just told him he could take me back to my room tomorrow night. He probably thinks he’s going to get lucky. I mentally kick myself in the head over and over again.
“Si, si. It will be late. You will definitely need me to escort you then. Allora, ci vederemo domani. Ciao, Valentina.”
“Ciao.”
He waits on the dockside until the vaporetto is out of sight. I think it’s rude to turn my back on him so I lean against the edge of the vaporetto, pretending I’m casually taking in the scenery as the vessel departs. He waves a few times to me, and I wave back. When I’m certain I am far enough away, I let myself smile deeply. There’s just something about that man that makes me feel so good.
19
A Twist of Fate
After Olivia had received the shock of her life when her first love Salvatore Corvo showed up alive and well in her shop, she’d been a wreck. Salvatore’s niece Francesca had returned to the shop with the espresso to revive her uncle right after Olivia realized who he was. And Connie had joined them when she noticed the stranger lying on their couch. Olivia and Salvatore had exchanged knowing glances, indicating that nothing should be said in front of their relatives about their past relationship. Francesca rescheduled her appointment for the following Saturday so that she could bring her uncle home. Before they walked out of the shop, Salvatore had managed to whisper to Olivia, “Ti chiamo.”
Olivia nodded, anxiously looking toward Connie to make sure she hadn’t heard. But once Connie was satisfied that Salvatore was going to be fine, she’d returned to her client in the fitting room.
A few days passed before Salvatore called Olivia at the shop. Olivia felt slightly comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one who was eager to get this discussion over with. She had so many questions for him and hadn’t slept the previous night as memories from her time spent with Salvatore kept flashing through her mind.
After initially meeting at the Church of the Black Madonna in Ti
ndari, Olivia and Salvatore had been inseparable. Olivia always considered their first encounter fateful because she had almost not joined her friends and the nuns that day for their weekly prayer group and hymn rehearsal. She’d woken up with a stomachache and just an overall uneasy feeling that she couldn’t ascribe to anything. But not wanting to disappoint her friends, she’d pushed herself to join them. Often, Olivia had wondered what would have happened if she’d never gone to Tindari and had never met Salvatore. Would their paths still have crossed at some other time? And then after he mysteriously disappeared, she wondered all the more how her life would have been different had Salvatore Corvo never entered it to begin with. Certainly, she would’ve been spared the pain of losing her first love and wondering for years what had become of him.
“Ciao, Sera. Sono io. Salvatore.”
“Ciao.”
“Senti. Voglio spiegare tutto. Dov’é possiamo parlare.”
Olivia’s mind raced as she tried to think of places where she and Salvatore could talk privately without anyone she knew seeing them. That was all she needed—for her neighbors to think she had a lover.
“Meet me in Manhattan at this address.”
Olivia gave him Raquel Sutton’s address. She could trust Raquel with anything, and she knew her dear friend would not judge her or grill her with questions about Salvatore until Olivia was ready to offer the information.
As Olivia sat on the N train taking her into the city, she looked at her watch every five minutes. She was meeting Salvatore at one p.m. Raquel told Olivia she would not return until she received Olivia’s call that she was done with her appointment. Her stomach cramped painfully. She should have told Salvatore to meet her in a public place. The thought of being alone with him and in Raquel’s apartment began to not sit well with her. Her face flushed at the thought of what her daughters would think of her if they knew she was having this secret rendezvous. Nicola popped into her mind. He could probably see from heaven what she was up to.
“Forgive me, Nicola. Please, forgive me. You are the only man I truly loved.”
The subway screeched its brakes as it pulled into Lexington Avenue and 59th Street. Olivia got off the subway car and slowly made her way up the stairs. Her body felt more fatigued than usual. With every step she climbed her breathing became more labored, so that by the time she exited on to the street, her chest was heaving and she was gasping for air. Her heart started racing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Fortunately, there was little humidity today, and the temperatures were unseasonably low for early July in New York City. The high temperature was supposed to hit only 73 today. After a few minutes, she felt better and made her way over to 1st Avenue and 62nd Street.
Bella Fortuna Page 27
