Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  It would be best to never discuss the past with him. She’d kept her secrets from everyone all these years. What good would it do to bring up what she’d done? Nothing could rectify the situation.

  After drying herself, Rose wrapped a towel around her head. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeved cotton blouse before returning to the kitchen to retrieve the chilled cucumber.

  Back in her bedroom, she stretched out on the bed and settled a round green disc on each eye. Ten or fifteen minutes should help reduce the inflammation and tighten her skin. Her thoughts once again returned to Joseph. She couldn’t help it. Their meeting after so many years, under these circumstances, was either some totally bizarre cosmic joke, or God had orchestrated it for a purpose. She preferred to believe the latter. But what, Lord? We have nothing between us. Nothing to connect us. No reason for us to be anything to each other…ever.

  Not anymore, thanks to her.

  When Rose stepped out of her home forty-five minutes later, she had determined not to let her anxieties, fears, or feelings drag her down. She had also decided not to take a pill this morning—not after the strange way she’d felt from the medication yesterday. She should never have taken another last night, but the day in the boutique had been busy and trying, and then to still think of meeting Joseph again, making small talk over dinner…

  That was last night. She’d learnt from her mistake. Today she needed to be in control of her emotions. She needed to be strong.

  Lord, You’ll help me, won’t You?

  In the absence of an immediate or obvious answer, Rose chose to believe. God had always been her shield and her help in trouble. Even when it felt as if He wasn’t there.

  She opened her umbrella and took shelter from the drizzle beneath its covering as she made her way to the tube station. She pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket and glanced at the time. She’d get to her boutique an hour earlier than anyone else. Good. She needed the time to put the last finishing touches to Melody Hamilton’s dress.

  At Knightsbridge, Rose climbed off the tube and walked the three blocks to work, once again under the cover of her trusted umbrella, without which the soft rain would’ve soaked right through her. She unlocked her shop then shook the umbrella out in the doorway. Droplets fell to the wet pavement. She stepped inside and hurried to the bathroom at the back to stand the umbrella in the basin to dry.

  Once in her office, Rose turned on the sound system. The voice of Josh Groban filtered softly through the premises. As she removed her coat and hung it on the stand in the corner, her stomach gave a soft moan. She should’ve had something to eat before she left home, but hadn’t felt hungry then. Even now, her appetite failed her, but clearly her body thought otherwise. She’d need to order something.

  Later.

  For now she had to concentrate on Melody’s dress. Much as she wasn’t in the mood to work on it, she had to finish the last of the beading this weekend. Monday that dress went for cleaning and Wednesday, it and the lengthy accompanying veil would be delivered to the Hamilton estate. Personally.

  She crossed the room to the clothes rail where the dress hung and ran her fingers over the embroidered sequins and beads. If she had to say so herself, she’d done an amazing job of fulfilling Melody’s wishes, especially in the short amount of time given. If it had been up to her though, she would’ve stuck to the original design as agreed upon months ago. But clients had the prerogative to change their minds. Even at the last minute. It was her job to keep the bride happy and ensure she walked down that aisle feeling queen of her day.

  Rose slid the dress from the hanger and gathered up the white fabric in her arms. As she got to her desk, her head swirled. She hurried to pull out the gray leather chair and sank into it, staring across the white surface to the gray tub chairs on the other side. Thirst dried her mouth, and she swallowed hard. Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled slowly. Was she heading for another anxiety attack? Should she rather have taken a tranquilizer this morning?

  She set the dress down on the smooth lacquered desktop, offering up a prayer that it wouldn’t slide off and land in a crumpled heap on the floor. Leaning over to her right, Rose opened the second drawer of the pedestal and reached to the back. She fumbled around until her fingers wrapped around the familiar extra bottle of pills she kept at work. For days like yesterday.

  I will trust in You, Lord.

  She couldn’t risk not being in control with Joseph around. Last night she’d made the mistake of thinking the medication would help her through the night. Instead, it had almost been her downfall.

  She released the bottle and pushed the drawer closed.

  Head swirling again as she stood, Rose took a moment to regain her composure before moving to the small refrigerator hidden inside the server standing in the corner of her office. She helped herself to a bottle of water and took a long drink before sitting down again. If she didn’t hurry, she’d get nothing done on this dress before Maggie, Davis and Joseph arrived.

  With the needle threaded and the sequins and beads ready, Rose twirled her chair to prop her feet on the matching credenza beside her desk, her back facing the office door. She only worked in this manner when she was alone. If only she could prop her feet up like this every time she sat in this chair to work on embroidery. It was the most comfortable position. And the light was just right. But what would her clients or staff think?

  As she carefully wove the needle in and out, Rose’s thoughts drifted to which of her staff members would work on what dresses for Maggie’s wedding. She would personally undertake the entire making of Maggie’s dress.

  While threading the next sequin and bead onto the needle, her vision blurred. She blinked several times. She should have thought of the consequences today from crying herself to sleep last night.

  Rose shifted her feet from the credenza to the floor then leaned forward. Just a few more stitches. Almost there.

  She pressed the needle through the fabric again. This time it struggled to go through. She applied pressure on the needle with the thimble on her finger. The two metals warred with each other like a sword against a shield.

  “Morning.”

  Rose started as hands grasped the back of her chair.

  The needle gave way and slammed into her thumb.

  “Oh no!” Instinctively, she shoved her bleeding finger to her mouth, feeling ill when she saw the drop of blood in the center of the bodice. She spun her chair around to face Joseph. “Look what you made me do. How did you get inside, and what are you doing here so early?”

  “It’s almost nine. The door was unlocked. I heard the music…”

  Rose groaned as she looked back to that small red dot. Her worst nightmare.

  “Do not fret, Bella Rosa. We’ll get that out in no time.”

  “Don’t worry? Do you understand who this dress is for?”

  Joseph smiled as he leaned forward and placed his finger on Rose’s lips. “Shh. The only time you have to worry is when that happens in front of a client. You should know that. Don’t tell me you’ve never spilled a little blood on a client’s clothes before?”

  Rose pushed his hand away. “I am always extremely careful…” Except when it comes to you being around me. Then I seem to make mistake upon mistake.

  Joseph stepped back. “A little paste of salt and water, and the stain will quickly lift. Here, let me help you.” He held out his hands to take the dress from Rose.

  “I don’t need help.” She shoved to her feet. Too fast. Her head swirled, and Rose gripped the side of her desk before everything turned black.

  Rose swayed on her feet.

  Acting on instinct, Joseph reached for her as her body slumped. She collapsed in his arms, and the wedding gown fell from her hands. He glanced down to see the white fabric splay against her legs, like a wave crashing against a cliff.

  He shoved her chair out of the way. It rolled on its wheels, bouncing back a little as it smacked against the credenza.r />
  Joseph laid Rose down on the carpet. She looked so pale.

  “Rose? Rosa?” He tapped her cheeks lightly. They were clammy. Why had she fainted? Was she ill?

  Stretching up, he glanced around the room, and his gaze quickly fell on the bottled water standing on the credenza. He pushed to his feet then gathered up the wedding dress. He spread it out on Rose’s clean desk. “Stay.” He pointed at the dress, half expecting it to slide right off the smooth surface. But it seemed he’d draped it far enough over to the other side.

  If his desk was only half as tidy.

  Leaning past the chair, Joseph reached for the bottle. What could he dampen to wipe her face? He looked at the only fabric in sight then dismissed the thought. If she’d freaked out so about one drop of blood, heaven alone knew what she’d do if he entertained that idea.

  He could use his shirt. He pulled it from where it was tucked in his pants, and then stopped. Of course. He shoved his hand into his jeans’ pocket and yanked out the clean handkerchief he’d pushed in there before leaving home.

  Joseph placed the bottle mouth against the square folded fabric and tipped it over. A few droplets fell to the carpet, turning the gray a darker shade. He rubbed at the spill. There, almost unnoticeable.

  On his knees beside Rose, he moved closer and wiped her face.

  She didn’t stir.

  He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Perhaps he should call an ambulance. He would if she didn’t regain consciousness in the next few seconds.

  She looked so beautiful, and peaceful, and frail lying there. “Rose?” he whispered in her ear then turned his head. His lips brushed her cheek. Perhaps a kiss would waken her? It worked in fairytales.

  But their lives weren’t a fairytale. Far from it.

  Still, could it hurt to try?

  Only if she slapped him when she woke.

  If she woke.

  He lifted his head slightly to gaze at her soft, pink lips and decided the pain would be worth the risk.

  Besides, he needed to get Rose to wake up. Nothing else worked, and the seconds were ticking by.

  What a delicious dream—Joseph beside her, kissing her.

  Rose’s eyes flew open to see Joseph’s closed lids an inch away. His moist lips on hers. This wasn’t a dream. How dare he?

  She jerked her head to the side then mustered enough strength to place her hands on his chest and shove.

  Joseph fell sideways onto his backside.

  Sitting up, Rose pushed with her feet and shuffled backward on her palms like a crab. She glanced at his untucked shirt and her chest squeezed. “W–what were you doing?” She struggled to keep the panic from her voice.

  He righted himself to a sitting position. Knees bent, he wrapped his arms around them and stared at Rose. “Relax, Rosa. You fainted. I tried to get you to come around, but the damp fabric on your face wasn’t helping.”

  “So you decided you’d kiss me while I couldn’t object?”

  “Yes— No. I just wanted you to wake up. It worked in all the fairytales—”

  “Well, in case you didn’t know, this isn’t a fairytale, I’m no princess, and you…you are definitely not Prince Charming.” She lied. He was every bit as charming as the first day she’d met him.

  He smoothed his hand down his jaw, ending at his chin, but failed to remove the smile. “It worked, though. Look, you’re awake. I was seconds from calling an ambulance.” His face grew serious. “How are you feeling, mio amore?”

  Rose scrambled to her feet, taking care to steady herself on the armrest of her chair. She shot him a look. “I’m fine. And I’m not your love.” Her Italian was a little rusty after all this time, but she remembered those words—he had whispered them to her countless times.

  Joseph stood and tucked his shirt back into his jeans.

  “Why is your shirt untucked?” Had he wanted to take more advantage of the situation than he already had? Surely not. He hadn’t the last time. The only time. She had been a willing accomplice in their sin.

  The smoldering smile returned—the one she had loved so much, that lit up his eyes with its action.

  Stop it. Stop smiling at me like that.

  “I had nothing to wet so I could wipe your face to try and wake you, except that wedding dress.” He indicated with his eyes to Melody’s gown spread on her desk. “I was going to use my shirt when I remembered the handkerchief in my pocket.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Joseph held up his hands. “Don’t worry, it was a clean one, straight from the shelf.”

  Rose turned to the dress, mumbling a thank you. He did seem genuinely concerned for her.

  She glanced at the spot of blood on the bodice and groaned. She needed to get that out as quick as possible.

  “What is the time?”

  Joseph pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Just after nine.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Not long. A minute or so.”

  Good, the spot hadn’t even been there five minutes.

  She took a step away from her table. She needed to get salt from the small kitchen at the back of the boutique to make a paste to remove the stain.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Joseph blocked her path.

  “I need salt. And water.”

  Hands on her arms, he gently pushed her into her chair. “You sit there. I’ll get the salt for you. Just tell me where to find it.”

  She did still feel a little shaky. She really needed to get something to eat. Her blood pressure or blood sugar levels must have dropped. The only reason she could think of for her fainting spell. Unless Joseph Digiavoni still had that power over her to make her totally lightheaded. Which was entirely possible.

  “It’s in the cupboard above the kettle in the kitchen.” She motioned to the back.

  He nodded and whirled around, disappearing out of her office door.

  Oh, where were Maggie and Davis? She didn’t like all this alone time with Joseph. It put her nerves on edge. She thought of the bottle of tablets in her drawer. One would help.

  No.

  Joseph soon returned with the salt pot, a saucer, and a glass of water. He moved behind Rose’s chair and set the items on the credenza beside her. Then he began to prepare the magic paste that was the answer to her problem. If only she could blot out her other mistakes so easily.

  “You haven’t sent the gown for a final clean yet, have you?” He smoothed the paste where the blood drop had fallen.

  “It goes in tomorrow.” Thankfully.

  “Good, that’ll remove any stain the water will make.” He ran his fingers over the sequins and beads. “Beautiful work, Rosa.” He placed his thumb and index finger together and smacked his lips to them. A soft smooching sound followed the fingers away from his mouth. “Magnifico.”

  Rose glanced at him and offered a weak smile. “Thanks. I had a maestro for a teacher.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Arabella Martinelli.” The words were barely cold, and Rose regretted speaking them. She looked away. She should’ve thought before opening her mouth. What if he knew her? Of course he must...she was renowned in Milan for her embroidered fabrics, beadwork, and ribbon embroidery, amongst other things. Not to mention her own fashion designs—wedding, smart, and casual clothing that incorporated these skills. Besides that, Arabella was related to his best friend, Rafaele Rossi. Arabella and Rafaele’s father, Massimo, were cousins, their mother’s being sisters. When she and Joseph had visited the Rossi estate in Tuscany that fateful summer, Rafaele and his nonna, Isabella Rossi, told Rose about Arabella when they learned she was going into the designing and making of wedding dresses. Isabella said she would put in a good word with her niece.

  And she had.

  Arabella had welcomed Rose with open arms when she arrived at her establishment in Milan after she’d broken up with Joseph, looking for work and the opportunity to learn from the queen of embroidery.

  Joseph re
mained silent, and Rose glanced back at him.

  Jaw clenched, he focused his attention to the work she’d done on the bodice. He avoided her gaze as he straightened. “I’ll take the salt back to the kitchen.” He lifted the items he’d brought in moments before and left the room without another word.

  A sickening thought crossed her mind. What if Arabella had broken her confidence? Maybe she’d mentioned Rose’s situation to her aunt. Isabella might have then told Rafaele, who certainly would’ve taken the news to Joseph.

  She closed her eyes and pinched her fingers to them. Lightheaded again, Rose leaned back in her chair. Magnolia’s dress was starting to become her worst nightmare.

  Joseph set the salt back on the cupboard shelf then placed the saucer and cup in the small sink built into the corner of the tiny kitchen. He gripped the cold edge of the metal washing bowl and breathed in deep, exhaling slowly. Clearly Rose had no clue he knew her secrets. She wouldn’t have mentioned Arabella so easily if she did.

  Of course, his reaction might’ve given him away. He could still remember that day when Arabella called him to tell him what Rose had done. Five years ago. She’d pleaded with Rose for weeks to contact Joseph, to let him know, to discuss the matter with him. She wouldn’t. Eventually, Arabella made the choice to betray Rose’s trust—before it was too late, she’d said.

  That was the day his life had changed. Dramatically. It wasn’t always easy, but with his close and loving family, he’d managed. And not for one moment did he ever regret his actions.

  The only regret he’d lived with was how angry he’d been with Rose at the time. So angry as not to tell her or discuss his decision with her. She had, after all, made her choice…and according to Arabella, had been determined to stick with that choice without any explanation.

  Joseph glanced at the hot kettle and set about making Rose the tea he’d planned to when he’d fetched the salt. Perhaps its sweetness would help perk her up. He wouldn’t mind a little perking up himself. Turning his head, he looked for a coffee machine. Nothing. He opened the cupboard above his head. Only a large box of tea bags and a small tin of instant coffee. Sacrilege. What had he expected, though? He was in England, not Italy. What he wouldn’t do for an espresso now. That heavily roasted, bittersweet flavor…brown foam floating at the top of a porcelain cup…