An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (14 page)

“Sure, have fun on me. Anybody else have something
humiliating to contribute? Si? Step right up when Mama is done,” Luca says and
takes a seat in a chair beside me, his eyes raking over my leggings and T-shirt
before sliding back up to land on my face. Our gazes lock and I narrow my eyes
to let him know I’m onto what he tricked me into doing. He shrugs, gives me an
innocent smile, and situates his plate on his lap.

“
Un momento, Aunt SiSi.
Do I need to move so you can
feed your Juliette?” Gabriella asks Luca in a mockingly sweet voice.

“You might want to consider I know a few of your secrets,
too, while you’re trying to kick dirt in my face, dearest cousin,” Luca says,
raising his left eyebrow. Gabriella smirks at him and turns her head back
toward Simona. Luca’s blackmail has worked, but I can tell she’s not ready to
give up on hearing what his mother wants to say, and neither am I.

“Continue, please, Simona,” I urge and beam a smile at Luca.
He leans over close enough to my ear so that I can feel the warmth of his
breath, making me shiver and him hesitate so he can smile at the effect he has
on me. “You can expect to pay for your betrayal later on.” Moving back to a
sitting position, he gives me a mischievous grin, and I’m not sure what’s going
on with me, but I suddenly cannot wait to find out what kind of punishment he
has in mind. Turning back to focus on Simona, I find all eyes in the room
watching us, including Rafe. However, his expression remains blank, while
Simona’s beaming so brightly she makes my cheeks fire up and a flood of warmth
rush over my body.

“My Luca has always been perceptive. He saw the ghost before
any of the rest of us even felt her. I’ll never forget the day. I was drawing
him a bath. He enjoyed bathing late in the evening. Slept like a baby each time
I finished washing him. His father walked into the bathroom, since I was busy
burning the dinner, and our Luciano bolts out of the bathroom as he opens the
door, running naked. I’m standing in the kitchen, holding the fuming pan, and
see my naked son run by me first. Then I see my husband chasing after him.
First thing I wonder is what demon has entered my house this night so that both
my son and husband seem to have been possessed by such evil. Turns out my Luca
saw the ghost of Lady Fonte. Tell them what she said to you, son.”

“You try watching a ghost drift toward you. I guarantee you
won’t stick around to see what it has to say,” Luca replies, waving his hands
at each person as they offer a comment on what he did. “She called me Paco or
some strange fabrication of a name similar to that one. It’s not funny.”
Gabriela’s laughing so hard she’s crying and her brother’s shaking his head as
though he’s thinking about what Luca just said. Now I understand the paintings
on the walls of Black Butterfly. The saddest lady in Venice is actually a ghost
who misses her deceased husband. I’m not a bit surprised that a woman who has
been dead for over three hundred years finds my fake boyfriend sexy and
irresistible.

“I won’t be accompanying you today,” Rafe blurts, killing the
mood at once, the laughter fading around us. He turns to me and says, “I’m sure
you’re disappointed.”

“Beyond words,” I answer, narrowing my eyes and feeling
annoyed that he has decided to ruin the good mood both his mother and brother
have been experiencing. I think whoever created the word ‘killjoy’ must’ve had
a picture of Rafe hanging on the chalk board as inspiration.

“What’s this you say?” Luca asks, his body tensing up. “We’ve
planned this for months.”

“I have a meeting with Johnson Controls, an American Company.
A chance to expand Martuccio Enterprises into the western markets,” Rafe
explains, his gaze stern.

“Can this not wait?” Luca asks, his voice rising.

“This was the only date they could get. I’m sure Mama
understands.” He stands up, strolls over to Simona, and kisses his mother’s
forehead. “Enjoy your trip, Mama. I’m sure tomorrow will allow me to have some
free time. Come, Kami.” Beside me, Luca slams his plate down onto the table and
balls his fists. All eyes in the room follow Rafe and Kami until they leave the
hotel and disappear into the morning light. I gently set my plate down and
massage his left shoulder, thinking of the olive tree story again. He places
his hand over mine, returning the gesture by rubbing the skin on top. It’s a
small thing, really, but I feel the effects all through my body, warming me up.

“Giuseppe would be so proud of the things Rafe and Luca have
done,” Pia says, neglecting to mention Giovanni and easing the tension that has
fallen over the room.

“Yes, he would,” Simona says, her voice softer now. She
glances down at her hands, blinking rapidly, and I want to smack the hell out
of Rafe for treating his mother this way.

“No worries, Mama. You have Adriana and me to go along with
you,” Luca assures her. The way he cares for his mother totally goes against
the bad boy image he works so hard to keep up for the tabloids. He caresses her
hand with tenderness and glances at me. “Right, Adriana? We’ll show Mama the
time of the century.”

“Oh yes. It’ll be so much fun. I cannot wait to see all these
great sites,” I say with honesty. Mother would rather face a firing squad than
do what we’re about to do. Luca holds my gaze as I get the dimpled smile. My
stomach does the flipping thing that happens when he grins at me this way, and
all thoughts of anyone and anything else, besides the sexy man with the huge
heart he hides for some reason, go flying out the window.

Taking my hand, Simona manages a smile. “I know I’m in good
care, my son. And I’m glad.”

Luca

My brother’s tendency to be an asshole grows to epic levels
more each day. The way he treats Mama, especially when he knows the importance
of this trip, makes me want to beat the shit out of him. However, I promised to
behave, to show Adriana a good time. She’s doing me a huge favor, so I will not
let my brother ruin things for her or Mama.

Our first stop on the trip to recapture the memories of my
parents’ honeymoon is the
Piazza San Marco,
or Saint Mark’s Square, a
section of historic Venice containing an exhaustive collection of small
museums—Mama’s favorites—a courtyard, and Doges’ Palace.

While Mother snaps pictures of various frescoed walls and
golden statues, new memories to put inside her journal, I tell Adriana how my
parents met shortly after one of Venice’s infamous floods. “Papa was the
gondolier who helped her make it to a performance that night without being
late. Around here, not even a flood can stop the passion Venice’s people have
for music. He saved her ballet career. Later, they fell in love. You know what
happened next.”

“They had a baby wizard,” Adriana teases, causing me to
smirk. “On a serious note, I don’t know what happened. I’m listening,” she
says, smiling wide. I can tell she enjoys making me squirm. She already knows
how I feel about discussing sentimental things. I humor her, for now.

“After they fell in love and obsession, all those things that
L-word does to warp your mind, they decided to get married. Somehow, Papa
managed to arrange a small wedding inside one of the largest, most famous
churches in Italy.”

“Wait. People can rent the Basilica for weddings?” she asks.

“Are you kidding me? Such a thing is unheard of. Or, it was
for people of limited means, anyway,” I explain.

“Oh. Okay.”

 “His ambition and
ability to do the impossible have been the very things that have inspired me to
do the same. Regardless,
Venice has been the inspiration for some of my greatest
designs,” I explain.

She smiles, purses her little lips, and says, “I can see why.
It’s like I can almost smell the history in the plaster, the scent of the
humidity on the wood and bricks.” Her face lights up as though she can’t take
in everything fast enough. Seeing her enjoy my old home this way gives me a
warm feeling that’s hard to explain.

“Only sixty thousand people still live here in historic
Venice.
Most people have moved into the newer areas of Veneto. This part will sink
someday. When that day comes, we’ll lose a legacy of history in the same way
Egypt lost part of its identity when Alexandria sank into the Mediterranean. I
intend to keep the spirit of Venice alive through Black Butterfly.”

“Ambitious, aren’t we?” she teases, linking her arm inside
mine.

I stare deep in her eyes. “All Romans slash Sicilians have
ambition raging inside our veins.” I waggle my eyebrows to make a point.

Someone’s throat clears, and we turn toward Mama. She’s
glowing as she stares at us from across the aisle of the
Palace
. “Do not
let me interrupt,” she says, waving her hand. Adriana and I move apart; color
rushes into Maia’s cheeks. I love watching her blush. She has this innocence
that makes me want to both protect and ravage her little ballerina body at the
same time.

“It was here at the
Basilica that my Giuseppe and I exchanged vows,” Mama says to Adriana as we
walk through the entrance. “
Long ago, there were still a few wooden statues inside this
church, which have since been replaced.
 Such hideous creations.” She tells
Adriana how Papa serenaded her during the wedding, and moves onto the story of
the doves that had been trapped inside the church on that day.

“Doves?” Adriana asks.

“Si. A mother and her
babies. Can you believe that? Apparently, we weren’t the only ones experiencing
a turn in our lives that day. The priest found the nest on top one of the
statues. We figured the larger dove that had flown into the church had been
searching for his family. At the end of the ceremony, all five birds flew away
together. Imagine the happiness I felt in experiencing such a thing on our
wedding day. Giuseppe’s family was ecstatic to hear of this. In Italy, doves
are a sign of great luck.”

“Mama means to say, it’s
only lucky when they let one loose on your head,” I add, since Mama doesn’t
seem to be comfortable doing so.

“Oh, that’s gross,”
Adriana says, screwing up her face and shaking her body in revulsion.

“Maybe, but still, bird
poop on the head is a very good thing,” Simona says. “The Martuccios started a
tradition. Each year, we celebrate the rising of the five doves at the family
reunion.”

“That’s a lovely story.
I can tell you loved him,” Adriana murmurs, her eyes clouding over as she walks
with her arm linked in Mama’s. I wish she would open up to me about what
happens when she loses herself inside that dark place in her mind. The
challenge of finding out and doing what I can to stop whatever darkness eats at
her intrigues me more each hour I spend with her.

“Si. Our love was a
great one. Worthy of storybooks some would say,” Mama states as she holds the
journal to her chest.

“Five doves, and you had
three sons,” Adriana points out.

“Yes. Like I said, the
doves were a sign of beautiful things to come. It will be the same for you and
Luciano. No worries, my girl.” Mama pats Adriana’s hand, and we both exchange a
quick glance. How long do we let this go on? I didn’t really expect my mother
to invite the girl pretending to be my girlfriend, the one who happens to be a
Dostovsky and the daughter of my top client, to come along on our family
outing.
What the hell am I doing?

We head back to the
Vaporetto. Stepping up on the ship, Adriana’s foot gets caught up in the niche
between two steps. Crying out, she falls back into my arms. Startled cries
sound out around us.

“Don’t worry. I got
you,” I say in her ear. The experience must’ve shook her up, because she turns
around and throws her arms around my neck, her body trembling as she clutches
me. “We’re all good, all right? I’m holding you now.”

“
Cosa è, successo, Luciano?”
What happened, Mama asks
.

“Nothing, Mama. We’re
right behind you,” I answer. However, I can tell Adriana’s not doing well.
Something about falling backwards has upset her. Another mystery.

“Sorry. I’m fine,” she
whispers, easing out of my arms. I don’t let her go right away.

“No you’re not,” I tell
her. Something flickers in her eyes for a brief moment before she returns to
the bubbly girl act she does so well, and she walks up the steps. Since she’s
not going to open up to me right now, I make a mental note to speak with her
later on. For now, I think of yet another subject change. I’ll be a
professional in the art of evasion soon enough at the rate we’re going.

“I love this part of the city. It’s so much like me, a little
bit of everything all thrown into the mix, and nothing that sits straight up to
save its life.” The water inside the canal laps against crumbling brick as well
as the blue and white poles running alongside the edge of the piers.

“Simona’s different today,” Adriana says, glancing at Mother
standing on the other side of the
Vaporetto
. Her bright blue eyes are
filled with questions, the wind blowing her waist-length hair around her
shoulders, gorgeous locks that tempt me with silky dark strands scented with a
hint of jasmine and hyacinth. She could easily be one of the angels carved into
one of the Basilica’s thousands of statues and frescoes. It’s as though the
celestials have decided to send the most beautiful angel of all down to grace
our presence. Moving closer to her, I inhale as much of her scent into my
nostrils as I can hold. She’s gorgeous and smart. I know she won’t keep holding
back her questions about Mama for long.

“Have you noticed?” she continues.

I avoid her observation, simply because I know she’s
searching for a way to get inside my head. Honestly, it wouldn’t take much
effort on her part to break me. Only one other woman has had this kind of
effect on me, and that ended in disaster five years ago. I need to keep my mind
focused on why she came along on this trip, and make sure I keep my part of the
offer I made her—to make sure she laughs so hard that when she returns to Milan
the one who broke her heart will be an afterthought. No harm ever came from a
one-night stand. The only difference here is our escapade is more of a
five-night stand, then we go back to our regular lives. As much as I hate to
admit it, the thought bothers me. I refuse to taint the purest soul I think
I’ve ever met.

We spend most of the first three days sailing back and forth
along the Grand Canal. Mama introduces Adriana to all of the places she and
Papa went on their first few dates, the same sites that are described in detail
inside the journal she brought along, a collection of poems and entries she
wrote each night after she and Papa returned from their daily adventures. She
also shares some of the poetry Papa wrote to describe each place, something she
has never done with any of her sons.

Although she has never admitted this, I do believe Mama
wishes to share these moments with the daughter she never had. Watching the way
she has taken to Adriana only serves to confirm my theory that this girl is
special. She deserves every good thing this world has to offer.

“Mama enjoys Canalleto’s paintings. Because he is Venetian,
of course. However, Tintoretto paints with a passion that impresses me. He’s
also the man who inspired me to begin my journey into design,” I explain.
 

“Why Tintoretto?” Adriana asks as we’re walking along the
main hall of the museum.

“He was a poor boy, like me. Working his way up from being no
one to somebody who is now being chased by everyone.” This statement earns me a
grin. “What is that look for?”

She shrugs. “Nothing.” I know she’s lying, so I raise my left
eyebrow, my signal to let her know I’m on to her secrecy.

“It is true. Women all over Italy wear my designs. Orders
have never been more plentiful since we signed with Katerina. Turns me on to
see so many women wearing the clothing I created. It’s like I get to have sex
with each one without actually doing the deed. They wear a part of me all over
their bodies, instead,” I explain.

“I have never heard anyone compare wearing clothes to having
sex before,” she says, and links her hand in the crook of my arm.

“Because you have never met a designer like me.”

“Oh my God, that’s so true,” she answers, smiling to herself.
We stop in front of a painting by Jacapo Bellini, one of his most famous
works—the Madonna and Child.

“Look at this. The darkness in the ink. The eye for detail.
It is almost like I can hold the baby in my hands. A normal man couldn’t do
this. A place where the divine and the human meet.”
I wait
for her reaction. Slowly, she lifts a tiny hand and caresses the bulls, her
eyes roving over the entire painting. Everything about Adriana’s little body
intrigues me in the way every single move she makes turns into something
graceful. I can tell she’s in deep thought.

“I’m glad I agreed to come,” she says, snuggling up against
my arm. She does this a lot; not that I’m complaining, but I can’t help
wondering about her relationship with her father, a man that even my family’s
shadiest members speak of with reservation, a fear of a man who’s like a ghost.

After spending too much time in too many museums, Mama,
Adriana, and I head back to the Vaporetto.

“Look at this,” I say, touching her chin and turning her head
to face the sun, enjoying the way free strands of hair flow around her head,
teasing me. It’ll be sunset in another few hours, my favorite time of the day
in Venice.