Beauty and the Beast of Venice

by Alexis Adaire

  Maybe it was nothing, but she decided to hurry home anyway. Turning around again, she gasped.

  The blacksmith stood directly in front of her.

  Antonia clutched her dress in both fists.

  “You startled me!” she said, unnerved.

  The blacksmith stood motionless, staring at her. His face was ruggedly handsome, and his dark hair was covered with a black cap. An oversized wool coat hung on his large frame over soot-covered trousers.

  “You should not be out alone, signorina.” The blacksmith’s voice was so deep and resonant that she swore she could feel the vibration in her chest.

  “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself home, thank you.” Antonia’s voice held strong even though she was trembling. She looked into the blacksmith’s eyes, entranced. They were grey-blue, but so light they indeed looked like silver. She had never seen anything like them, and could feel his gaze pierce her, stirring something deep inside that frightened her.

  The blacksmith didn’t budge.

  Standing to her full height, she said, “Now, if you will excuse me, sir.”

  Antonia stepped to walk around the man. He moved out of her path, but as she passed, he gently grabbed her arm, sending bolts of electricity through her body.

  “Please, I cannot allow a beautiful woman like yourself to walk these streets alone. Allow me to escort you.” The blacksmith released her arm, leaving her with a tingling sensation where his grip had been.

  Antonia was speechless. Standing this close to him, she could smell his manly scent, the aroma of a man who worked with his hands, completely unlike Giovanni’s overly perfumed odor. His eyes never left hers, and the shiver they elicited threatened to consume her.

  Part of her was frightened, but another part, the one that responded to his touch and his gaze, prompted her to accept his offer. Those eyes betrayed a tenderness that offset his rough appearance. She knew instinctively and without a doubt that this man would never harm her in any way.

  “If you insist, sir. But you would be wise to keep your distance, as I am betrothed to the heir of a very important Venetian family.”

  “Of course, signorina.” He politely tipped his cap to her and smiled as he added, “If your future husband is so important, I consider this my duty to the Republic of Venice.”

  Antonia took a few cautious steps away from the blacksmith in the direction of her home. The stranger fell behind her, keeping a distance but remaining close enough so that Antonia could hear his breathing. She kept her eyes locked forward, her heart beating rapidly as she focused on his footsteps behind her. Antonia knew she only had to scream if she felt she was in danger, but she felt anything but imperiled as the stranger followed her.

  “I saw you in the shipyard the other day,” he said, breaking the silence.

  She hesitated before saying, “I don’t recall seeing you.”

  “That’s curious. You seemed to look right at me.”

  Antonia held her breath at his words. The stranger had an accent that only added to his mystery. What was it about this man?

  “I assure you you’re mistaken.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t believe so. Regardless, the shipyard has never looked so beautiful as that day.”

  Rendered momentarily speechless by his lack of decorum, Antonia quickly found her voice.

  “Sir, I would remind you to hold your tongue and your compliments. The fact remains that I am taken.”

  His resulting sigh was heavy.

  “Ah yes, your intended, the luckiest man in the entire Venetian Republic,” he said. “However, I would argue that it is I who is taken—taken by your exquisite grace and timeless elegance.”

  She paused and heard him stop behind her. Turning to face him, she prepared to admonish him for his brazenly arrogant conduct. Instead, she felt her chest constrict when she saw how those silver eyes almost shined in the shadows of dusk. Nearly hidden in his dark beard were lips so full she immediately wondered what it would be like to kiss them. When they curled up into a sly smile, she felt her core tighten reflexively.

  Alarmed by her thoughts, Antonia turned and resumed her walk, though she found her pace slowing despite herself.

  “You take liberties you have not earned, blacksmith,” she scolded.

  “I never said I was a blacksmith. Perhaps that was you in the shipyard after all.”

  Antonia was mortified by her mistake. She decided this conversation had already gone too far.

  “I would advise caution,” she said. “Such undue familiarity could get you in trouble one day.”

  “I do not fear trouble,” the blacksmith said. “Trouble and I are dear friends.”

  Before she could process his statement, Antonia realized she was approaching the back of her family’s home. Once safely under the umbrella of light provided by the palazzo’s twin fish-oil lanterns, she turned to face the blacksmith and was struck by how perfectly handsome he was at this close a distance. His virile masculinity turned her stomach to jelly and deepened her breathing so much that her bosom rose and fell.

  “Thank you, signore,” she said, an unintended tremble in her words. “Whom can I ask my father to commend for such a noble favor?”

  “I am Tavros,” he replied, his deep voice further unsettling her. “It was my pleasure, bellissima. And it might be better if this act of chivalry remained between us.”

  Every shred of common sense told Antonia that this man was overstepping his bounds, both in his continued compliments and his request for secrecy. To her surprise, that only sent a shivery thrill up her spine.

  Suddenly, the blacksmith took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on its back. Antonia pulled her hand away quickly, stunned by such an aggressive gesture. The top of her hand burned with a shocking intensity as she stood motionless, unable to will her feet to move away from Tavros.

  “Buona notte,” he whispered. Turning on his heel, he walked from the courtyard, leaving Antonia with a hundred questions that had no easy answers.

  Antonia entered the house, encountering her governess as she walked past the kitchen. Although Piera held her tongue, the look on her face silently scolded the young woman for being out so late.

  “Where is Father?” Antonia whispered.

  “In the library,” her governess whispered. “I’m making him some tea. Shall I bring some to your chambers?”

  Antonia politely declined, but realized she was fighting the urge to share the story of her encounter with the enigmatic blacksmith, to tell her everything.

  Instead she hurried to her room, where she lay awake thinking of her walk home, and in particular of her escort. She couldn’t help comparing him to Giovanni, and was aware that in so many ways, her fiancé came up woefully short.

  Then she made the error of wondering what it would be like to marry a man like the blacksmith.

  It was a mistake because once she allowed the thought in her head, she sensed she would find herself unable to prevent it from coming back, again and again.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she thought. Any young woman would be thrilled to marry Giovanni, yet she was suddenly seeing it as the worst thing that could possibly happen to her.

  Chapter 9

  Tavros

  Tavros had a newfound sense of optimism and was surprised by the degree to which it buoyed his spirit.

  He had managed to cheat death following the incident with the courtesan in Phaino a year earlier. Only a visiting deep-pocketed promoter, salivating at the idea of adding a real, live minotaur to his show of human oddities and curiosities, had saved Tavros from hanging. The once-in-a-lifetime chance of exhibiting to his audiences a man with the head of a bull was too great a temptation to pass up.

  Hoping he could find a way to induce Tavros to change on command, the promoter purchased him from the Greek Orthodox Council in Phaino and arranged his incarcerated passage to London. The carelessness of Egan the sailor had ended that trip prematurely in Rome, after which Tavros made his way to Venice bef
ore finding work in the shipyard.

  Since then, he’d kept his head down, toiling in the forge and keeping to himself as much as possible. For Tavros, friends usually ended up being problems.

  But now fate had intervened. The gods had opened the door for him to find happiness, and he was determined to see it through. Why would they have crossed his and the woman’s paths a third time if it wasn’t a sign? He would be foolish to ignore such an obvious entreaty.

  For the next few days, Tavros spent hours wandering around Piazza San Marco when he wasn’t working. He kept an eye on the fabric shop where he’d first spotted her, hoping for her return. He paced around Venice, turning his neck this way and that to look at every young woman with auburn hair.

  Alas, one after another, his excursions proved fruitless. He had no idea who she was and asking the other shipyard workers could only lead to trouble. Certainly in the eyes of others, he should be ridiculed for thinking himself capable of courting a wealthy young woman.

  So that was it. Now he had no choice but to wait for fate to intervene once again.

  But he felt certain that would happen. Optimism may have been a foreign emotion to Tavros, but he embraced it, hoping that destiny would once again arrange another rendezvous with the object of his affections.

  For now, he ignored the nagging voice that constantly reminded him who he was.

  What he was…

  A minotaur.

  A monster.

  Chapter 10

  Antonia

  The following morning, Antonia began her day with a breakfast of pane del doge and Indian tea. The delectable pastries were dry and crumbly, just as she liked them, with their greenish hue and the earthy taste of pistachios. Between savored bites, she overheard her father speaking to her mother about a meeting he needed to attend at the shipyard that day. Antonia scrambled to finish her breakfast and ran to her father’s study.

  Signor Crivelli looked up from his expansive desk to see Antonia in the doorway. “My lovely daughter, what brings you to my study this morning?”

  “Papà, can I accompany you to the shipyard today?” she asked.

  “Antonia, the shipyard is no place for a girl like yourself, it’s full of dangerous equipment and brutish men,” Signor Crivelli replied. “Besides, aren’t you busy with preparations for your wedding?”

  Antonia quickly thought of a plausible excuse to skip out on her bridal gown fitting scheduled later in the afternoon. “But if I am to be the wife of the future heir to the Donato-Crivelli empire, should I not familiarize myself with the company? Giovanni seemed concerned by my lack of knowledge regarding what his family does.”

  Signor Crivelli chuckled. “Alright, figlia, I will call for you when I’m ready to leave. You may want to reconsider your dress, I would be saddened to see that new satin damask gown I back from Florence sullied in any way.”

  “But Papà, I should look my best for my fiancé, should I not?” Antonia smiled as she spun around, the beautiful cobalt blue gown shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window of her father’s study. Signor Crivelli laughed as he waved his daughter away. Skipping down the hallway, Antonia prided herself in her ability to charm her father into allowing her to come with him but stopped when she realized it wasn’t Giovanni she was hoping to see at the shipyard.

  Some of the shipbuilders stopped to greet Signor Crivelli and most of them smiled politely at his daughter as they walked past. Signor Donato met them as they approached, placing exuberant kisses on both of Antonia’s cheeks.

  “Antonia! Giovanni will be disappointed to know he missed your visit, as he left early this morning on a ship bound for Genoa. But do not fret, cara, he’ll return in plenty of time for your nuptials.”

  Once inside Signor Donato’s office, the two men immersed themselves in conversation and left her in stunned silence. How could Giovanni not tell her he was leaving on a trip so soon before the wedding? Deep down she understood that her marriage was a business transaction, but she was nevertheless saddened as her attempts to get to know her fiancé were proving futile.

  She quickly grew bored as the two men discussed business. “Papà, may I please walk to the gardens near the church? I won’t be long.” Her father smiled and dismissed her.

  As Antonia walked through the shipyard, she cast a glance toward the building that housed the blacksmith forges, where she had seen Tavros last time she was here. This time, he was nowhere to be found. Dejected, and conflicted because of the dejection, she continued on her way.

  The gardens were tended by nuns from the Chiesa di San Domenico, a church just north of the shipyard, and today they were in full bloom. Jasmine climbed across brick walls, potted geraniums in rich reds spilled over their containers, and sunflowers stretched towards the afternoon light. Towering juniper trees delineated the outer boundaries.

  Antonia walked along an empty path, lost in confused thought, her eyes cast downward, until a pair of black boots in front of her stopped her mid-stride. She raised her head to see Tavros looking down at her. He was smiling, holding a single rose in front of him.

  “You followed me in here.” Antonia hoped her tone sounded accusatory.

  “Perhaps,” Tavros replied, “or perhaps you followed me, knowing this was my favorite place in all of Venice.” He extended his hand to Antonia, offering the rose to her. She hesitated before accepting it, and when she did, her fingers accidentally brushed against his.

  “Your persistence is admirable,” she remarked, unable to hide a genuine smile. She studied his face; his handsome, dark features looked different than anyone she knew. And his voice definitely bore a distinct accent. “You’re not Venetian, are you?”

  Tavros leaned in closer to Antonia, dropping his head to inhale the rose’s sweet scent. “No, I’m not from here.”

  Antonia was afraid Tavros could actually see her heart pounding against her ribcage as he raised his eyes up from the flower to meet hers again. “Oh? Then where are you from?” she managed to ask.

  “I’m from a small island off the southern coast of Greece. An island to which I can never return.”

  Antonia wondered why he could never go back to his homeland. What had happened there to drive him away forever? She wanted desperately to know but thought better of asking. He reached to touch her gently on her forearm. “You are wandering the streets of Venice alone again. An angel like you should take more caution.”

  “You are quite concerned with my well-being, Tavros,” she sniffed. “Again, I am a betrothed woman, and your behavior could be considered impertinent.”

  She willed her feet to step back from him, to create a proper amount of space between them, but her muscles fought her commands. Tavros was close enough to Antonia that she could detect his intoxicating, manly scent.

  “Well, I always do my best to avoid even the perception of scandal, signorina.” Tavros’s voice softened and deepened at once, becoming a purr. “May I be so bold as to ask your name?”

  Antonia was startled and breathless at the same time. This man was as relentless as he was handsome. She again searched his eyes for any sign of menace but found none.

  “I’m Antonia. Antonia Crivelli.”

  “Antonia,” he repeated, each syllable rolling sensuously off his tongue. “It is a pleasure to officially meet you.”

  His voice was so captivating that the outside world momentarily slipped away from her. So much so that she didn’t notice Tavros take her hand into his and bring it to his mouth until it was too late, as his lips softly kissed the tender skin on the inside of her wrist.

  A group of school children scattered noisily into the garden, breaking the intensity locking Antonia and Tavros together. She dropped her hand to her side and swept a lock of her hair away from her green eyes. “I must get back to my father,” she whispered.

  She turned to walk away, but he caught her by the elbow before she had taken her first step. “Beware, principessa. They say a fearsome beast roams the city.” Tavros rel
eased her arm, her skin tingling from his touch.

  Principessa. Only her parents had ever called her a princess. Antonia’s voice quavered, “Surely you will be there to protect me again, no?”

  Tavros’s eyes flashed. “On the contrary, I fear I would prove useless in that regard, as being in your presence seems to bring out the beast within me.”

  Antonia felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her mind whirled with conflicting impulses; she wanted to run as fast as she could out of the garden, but she also wanted to push her body against Tavros’s, feel his heat against her skin, touch his face with her fingertips, taste his lips with hers.

  It was all too much for her. She reluctantly walked away from him, leaving him standing alone on the path. As she rounded the brick wall out of the garden, she looked at the beautiful red rose in her hand and turned back to see if he was still there.

  Tavros hadn’t budged an inch and had evidently been watching her the entire time. Antonia smiled and waved before disappearing around the corner.

  Although she instantly felt ashamed of her actions, she was acutely aware of the fire beginning to burn in her core.

  Chapter 11

  Tavros

  Antonia Crivelli.

  Tavros knew of the Signor Crivelli who was a textile importer. Was this his daughter?

  He remained deep in thought as he ate a simple lunch of bread and cheese in a plaza near the church garden, hoping to catch another glimpse of Antonia, but she was nowhere to be found. When he’d finished eating, he walked to the shipyard to begin his afternoon shift.

  A short, stocky man approached and gruffly said, “Blacksmith, you are not to leave the yard again during your workday. Is that understood?”

  Tavros nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing with the yardmaster. Though he worked harder than any of the other smiths employed here at the shipyard, he knew that as the only foreigner, he was lucky to have a job at all.