An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (13 page)

~Adriana~

While Luca finishes his Hollywood shower, I change my clothes
and head downstairs to the kitchen-dining room. The Baglioni is actually a
restored Venetian villa, which explains the view of the Grand Canal we have
from inside our room; historic Venice at its most alluring. I have no doubt
Luca meant what he said when he promised I’d be seduced by all this city has to
offer. Who wouldn’t be?

I guess I should’ve waited for Luca, but quite honestly, I
needed time to recuperate from the way touching his body—his toned, muscled,
tattooed, sexy as hell body—made me feel.

I’ve never been so close to another man besides Alek and Mr.
N. I found the sensations disturbing because, well, Luca isn’t Mr. N. However,
I also found our pseudo intimate moment intriguing, especially in the way his
tribal tattoo spanned across his lower back and rose to the area just below his
neck, stopping on his shoulder. I also didn’t miss seeing the black cloud that
spanned across a four inch section just above his buttocks. Jojo has a similar
blob of ink on her upper thigh. The spot was once decorated by the name of her
ex-boyfriend. Once again, I shake off my traitorous thoughts. That is until I
remember I don’t really have anything I should be feeling guilty about.

“Okay, you got this under control,” I mutter, stopping before
I head into the party area. “You will not obsess over the way Luca’s ten pack
abs looked, or remember the way his happy trail made you think all sorts of
very bad things while you’re sitting beside his mother. Keep on trying to fool
yourself. You are so going to keep thinking about the way his V-line plunged
into the world of
La Dolce Vita
waiting just below his beltline. Again
... you got this.”

I inhale deeply and head through the opening leading into the
party room. Simona, Rafe, an Erin Angelo look-alike named Kami, and two other
men and women I don’t recognize are gathered in the kitchen, huddling around
the den area at the other end of the room. One older couple appears to be
around Simona’s age, and the woman—whom could easily pass for a model with her
shoulder-length, jet black hair, hourglass figure, and tailored skirt—sits on
the lap of a man that can’t seem to stop kissing her. The second couple acts
more like brother and sister, with their round cheeks, large eyes, and
heart-shaped lips that look similar enough to pass for twins. The guy’s dressed
in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt, while the girl wears a cropped white T-shirt
and khaki capris. I’ve always wanted to know what a normal family life would be
like; I think I’m about to get the answer I’ve been wanting for a long time.

The four strangers—or rather, family members, I’m
assuming—laugh and share jokes with Simona while Rafe prepares food in the
kitchen area, sneaking passes at his date’s butt. From the way they all seem to
blend together so comfortably, I’m guessing these people belong to either
Simona or Giuseppe’s extended families. The man with the model sitting on his
lap reminds me of an older version of Rafe, with the same jet black hair, dark
eyes, and thin lips that set into a thin line when Luca gets up under his skin.

Luca had already warned me a few of them might make an
appearance and suddenly, I find myself wondering whether I should be intruding
on this family’s private moment. Even though neither Simona nor the brothers
have said a word about the purpose of this trip, I know there’s something more
going on than the family gathering together to celebrate a woman’s desire to
relive the most memorable events of her honeymoon. Eventually, I will figure it
out. Something nagging inside me tells me I have to, especially after sharing
the things I did with Luca last night.

I’ve never been inside an environment like this one where
people enjoy each other’s company and actually listen to what the other ones
are saying. Things at home were so strained between Mother, Father, Alek, and
my older brother, Dmitri, that the only moment of warmth I ever felt was when
we sat down to listen to Father discuss a new acquisition. I inhale deeply and
prepare to meet the intriguing Martuccios.

My nerves fire up, and I know what comes next. The hives. Why
am I so freaking nervous? It’s not like I haven’t performed in front of
thousands of people before. However, this small, intimate group sitting and
truly enjoying one another’s company is threatening to freak me out; but at the
same time, this feels right. The people inside the room are so full of warmth
and life, like Luca and Simona, that it’s hard to feel like an outsider. I’m so
backwards. I mentally stop myself from wringing my hands to death and hope my
stretch pants and T-shirt—that Luca’s insistence to change into more
comfortable clothing provoked—I’ve paired with cropped black jean leggings, and
yes, cream-colored leg warmers, will not seem too odd to the younger couple. A
dancer’s feet and ankles are like a singer’s vocal cords or a painter’s hands.
Protecting our greatest assets and keeping them warm sometimes comes at the
cost of comfort.

Simona’s gaze travels over to where I stand. A gorgeous smile
lights up her face, calming me. “Come over here, my girl. Let me introduce you
to some of Giuseppe’s family.” She motions for me to come sit beside her.

I walk over to them, take a seat in the empty couch next to
Simona, and pray the hives stay inside wherever place rashes keep hidden when
they’re not hanging out and torturing me during moments of stress.

“This is Pia and her husband, Gustavo, my Giuseppe’s brother
and his wife.” She’s talking about the older couple. I get bright-eyed smiles
that warm me up inside. I can’t stop staring at the way they’re all over each
other. Seeing couples interact this way gives me hope. All relationships don’t
end the way my parents’ marriage did. Call me naïve, but I’ve made it a point
to hold on to hoping for the best that way.

“The guitar player sitting on the floor is Daniel and his
sister, Gabriela, Gustavo and Pia’s wonderful children. The only other person
who could rival my Giuseppe’s musical talents was his nephew. Everyone, this is
Adriana, Luciano’s new girlfriend.” The guy sitting on the floor glances up and
gives me a lazy smile and a nod as he continues to strum the guitar, while the
girl stares me down as though I have two noses, or something.

Finally, Gabriela speaks, “Luca tells me you’re a ballerina.”

Oh he did, huh? “I am.”

“Are you any good?” Gabriela asks.

“Behave, Gabby,” Pia warns.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about my career,” I say
to Pia. This is some kind of acceptance test on Gabriela’s part. I know because
I do the same thing to both my brothers’ girlfriends. I turn to Gabriela and
say, “I’d like to think I’m pretty good, anyway. People say they enjoy my
performances. My brother’s the one responsible for my success. He watches me
practice and tells me if I’m getting the moves right.” I don’t mention the man
who taught me all about the structure of Russian ballet, the same man who all
but broke my heart a few nights ago.

“Your brother?” Her face perks up. Here we go.

“Yes, Alek. Maestros have a gift for finding the way to
improve the structure of anything artistic. It’s weird,” I explain to a girl
who has already gotten hooked by my mention of the words Alek and Maestro
together in the same sentence. A tiny smile plays across her lips. With Alek’s
help, I’m winning over whatever thing’s going on inside her mind.

“Are you talking about Alek Dostov, the hot, child prodigy
Maestro?” she asks. When I nod, I find it hard to believe anyone’s eyes could
get any wider than hers are. Suddenly, the debate over trying to decide whether
I’m a sucky ballerina or not has been forgotten. She briefly covers her mouth
before she moves her hand and says, “God, he’s completely sexy! A god, I think.
Is he single?”

“Gabby! Calm yourself,” Pia scolds.

My brother stays single because he’s a swinger. All of his
girlfriends know and accept that about him. The women in his life either choose
to leave after a short while or they stay on and swing with him, hoping to
change his ways. And unlike Luca, who was joking last night with his eating
virgins for dinner statement, Alek would be way too much for this girl ...
along with his swinging friend, Mr. N.

“Yes, he’s single,” I answer. Her body perks up a bit, her
eyes widen, and when she opens her mouth to speak, I already know it’s going to
be the hookup question.

“Are you serious?” she asks, her eyes stretched wide enough
to pop out, I think. “What about his friend? The blond dancer everyone at the
University’s talking about? What’s his name?” she narrows an eye and starts
tapping her chin. “Nikolai! That’s it. Is he single? Some of my friends are
dying to know.”

Oh my. I didn’t expect her to ask about Mr. N. My mouth falls
open and my thoughts kind of snag in my head as visions of the kiss we shared
slam through my mind against my best efforts to purify myself. Why does any
mention of, or reference to, this man slap me stupid every time? I can feel all
eyes in the room on me. “Umm. He, uh … I ...”

Thankfully, Simona saves the day.

“How about a story? Would you like to hear some of the things
my Luca used to do?” Simona asks me, reaching across the short distance between
us, taking my hand in her warm one and smiling in a way that makes me feel as
though I’m one of her family, too. A stranger wouldn’t guess that we had just
met only a couple of weeks ago. She has her hair pulled up in a ballerina bun
and she’s wearing, of all things, something that looks very much like a brown
tank top dress made of a light material that flows around the middle of her
calves. Seeing her outfit makes me think that Luca’s concern about the dress I
had on might not have been all about my comfort the way he tried to make me believe.
Nope. I suspect my fake boyfriend was taking his new role as protector of my
well-being a bit too seriously, and I being Miss Naïve of 2014 believed him
without any reservation.

“
Mama, qualtre alta volta,
” Luca says in a monotone
voice, pleading with his mother to spare the gruesome details as he strolls
into the room, his golden hair tousled on top and the dark outfit he’s
wearing—a royal blue fitted tee and dark blue jeans—giving him a ravishing sort
of ruggedness that comes naturally to him with little to no effort. My breath
hitches in my chest. He has a classic kind of sex appeal, reminding me of
Mother’s favorite 60’s icon, James Dean, but with that touch of oomph, a raw
sexiness found among many Italian men I’ve met.

“Nonsense, I’m almost certain
your girlfriend
wants to
hear this one,” Rafe chimes in as he steps into the room and takes a huge bite
of his bread. This time, we’re actually on the same side. I’m dying to hear
what trouble an angel-faced Luca might’ve caused. “Continue, Mama.” Rafe and
his date, Kami, I think I heard someone call her, take turns passing out giant
plates of food with enough grapes, cantaloupe, bread, cheese, and a few other
baked pastries I can’t identify. There’s enough food to feed a king. Finally,
they take seats at the table sitting just behind our couches.

“Did you make all this?” I ask Rafe, intrigued by his cooking
skills.

“No way. Mother was up before the birds this morning. She’ll
most definitely need to rest now for sure,” Rafe says in a matter of fact tone
as he passes a stern look toward his brother. More secret codes. More questions
for Luca when the time is right.

Simona waves off Rafe’s suggestion and smiles wide as she
passes a loving glance at her youngest son. He’s the one with the lightest
features. I would’ve paid a million dollars to get the chance to meet Giuseppe,
who Simona has told me most resembles Luca, while Rafe and Giovanni have her
dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. “It will be all right. About sixteen
years ago, we lived in a house situated on the right side of the Grand Canal.
The locals say it was haunted by a ghost, a female opera singer named Moderata
Fonte who longed for revenge for the husband she lost in the great fire of
1774. The couple was inseparable, touring all over the country.”

“Aunt SiSi, you never told us this story,” Gabriella says,
her eyes beaming as she listens. She comes to sit on the edge of the small
couch I’m sitting on, stares at me, and shakes her body. “Creepy, isn’t it?” I
nod, happy to see this small gesture of acceptance. I was worried she was going
to be a challenge like Giovanni; just thinking about dealing with yet another
one of Luca’s insecure family members almost stresses me out again. “I cannot
wait to hear this story.”