Sunrise in Florence

by Kathleen Reid

“Yes, please,” said Rose, who admired her honesty. “I made a mistake. It all happened so fast. My first love came to Florence unexpectedly with my parents, and the next thing I knew, I was engaged to be married and my mother was crying with joy; it all seemed so perfect. And then it wasn’t. Our relationship was not grounded in trust, and our differences were too great to build a life together. Believe me, I’ve spent the last few months living in a sea of regret.”

  “Darling, you’re too young and vibrant to be so hard on yourself. I’m rather superstitious and believe things happen for a reason. Like us today. I’m so glad that we connected. You’re a wonderful student and artist.”

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Rose took a sip of red wine to quell her anxiety. Finally, she got up the nerve. “Dare I ask about Lyon? I went to his office a few months ago and they said he was out of the country. I’ve called and left messages several times, but his assistant was not very helpful.”

  “He has other business interests, and . . . ”

  Silence.

  “Don’t tell me, there’s someone else.” Rose was overcome with emotion.

  At the look of sympathy on Faith’s face, she thought she might start to cry. Reining in her emotions, she said, “I see.” A tear escaped, but Rose brushed it away, quickly changing the subject. “So, tell me, how do you know Antonio?”

  “He was my teacher too when I first came to Italy. He can be a little gruff sometimes and the compliments are not forthcoming, but he’s a genius. We both know that.”

  “I’ve learned so much already from him, but feel like I have so far to go. He’s a very demanding teacher!”

  “Of course he is. That’s what makes him the best at what he does.”

  “I know I’m fortunate to be his student, but I wonder what’s next?”

  “Tell me, Rose, why does your generation always have to have all the answers and wrap them up in a neat package? Patience, my dear. Sometimes, it takes years for things to unfold.”

  “I’m someone who likes a plan,” said Rose.

  They enjoyed the cheese and continued chatting for a bit until Faith excused herself to take a call. Rose was casually checking her phone when she looked up to see Lyon.

  “What are you doing here?” he said in a clipped tone.

  “I could ask you the same question,” she shot back.

  “My mother asked me to meet her for a drink.”

  “Well, she invited me too. We’ve been here for over an hour. She just stepped away and I’ve got no idea where she went.”

  Lyon turned to leave but Rose reacted swiftly. “Please don’t leave. I’d really like to talk to you for just a minute. I’ve called you many times to explain over the last few months. Did you know that?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Lyon, I really messed up and I wish you’d let me explain.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a very special person to me.”

  “I suggest you do better than that or I’m leaving.”

  “Okay, I’ve been miserable without you and—”

  “Nope, not good enough, Rose.” He sat across from her, and Rose thought quickly.

  “Hmmm. How was heaven when you left it?”

  She got the beginnings of some lip movement out of him.

  “You look like something carved by Michelangelo.”

  “You’re going backwards on that one.”

  “Last try. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”

  “Better,” he said, glancing at his phone. He looked up at her. “So, my mother is suddenly tired and has decided to head to bed early. She must not like Marianne.”

  “Who’s— Ouch!” said Rose, remembering that there might be someone else. “I suppose I deserved that comment on your girlfriend?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I said I was wrong. I’m sorry. So, who’s Marianne?”

  “My best friend, and yes, I was hurt by how quickly you reunited with your American boyfriend.”

  “I can explain,” she said, searching for the right words. “It was like being caught in a whirlwind. Everything happened all at once. I don’t know how to tell you what it felt like to have my mother’s approval for once . . . but really, who’s Marianne?”

  “Rose darling, I was kidding! Marianne is my new love; she’s fifteen pounds of labradoodle puppy. We just got her. I was the, how do you say, babysitter for my mother today.”

  Relief flooded through Rose as she waited for him to show her a picture. “She’s gorgeous!”

  “Amazing how much you can love a puppy without a care,” he said sincerely.

  “I can tell,” replied Rose. “So, it looks like I have some major competition to win you over.”

  “That you do,” he said sincerely. “But it seems you’ve already cast your spell on my mother.”

  “She’s an amazing person and an incredible artist. I really admire her.” Rose went on to explain how she had gotten a letter of introduction from Cardinal Baglioni to take instruction from Antonio Romano and how she had been working hard on her drawing for the past few months and then, chance would have it, that his mother came to teach the class this morning.

  “Aha! So that’s how it all happened.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Maybe,” he said with a wink as he reached for her hand across the table. “But you’ll have to get Marianne’s approval first. She’s at my place if you want to meet her.”

  As they left the restaurant, Lyon easily guided her down the streets.

  “I didn’t realize that you were only a few short blocks away.”

  “I knew that when I sold you your apartment.”

  “What?” She gave him a look. “I could have easily picked Machiavelli’s Mansion. You know how I love history. That would have been the most logical given my parameters.”

  “Too expensive,” said Lyon, raising one eyebrow at her. “You’re not someone who is going to go over budget, and the space was enormous for one person.”

  “How about the one with the chef’s kitchen? That modern loft that you showed me first?”

  “That place was going to appeal to an individual or couple who are foodies. As a matter of fact, this fantastic German couple, both of whom are chefs, ended up buying it. They promised to make me dinner on a regular basis.”

  The moment Lyon unlocked the door to his apartment, Rose was enthusiastically greeted by a gorgeous, tail-wagging puppy bouncing up and down. She scooped Marianne up into her arms and had her face showered with kisses. “She’s so precious,” exclaimed Rose. “I love her!”

  Moments later, Marianne leapt into Lyon’s arms. Then she proceeded to flop down and pee all over his shoes. Rose couldn’t help herself; she started laughing hysterically.

  “I’ll get a paper towel.”

  Lyon threw off his shoes and turned on a few more lights. His place was filled with dark leather furniture, mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookcases, white walls and a modern kitchen. Faith’s beautiful paintings decorated the walls with a symphony of color.

  Their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze for a long time. Marianne started whining, and Rose scooped the puppy up in her arms to quiet her down.

  “You seem to be winning over the women in my life today.”

  “What about you?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Whether we can start over?”

  “I was thinking something more along the lines of finishing what we started.”

  Rose caught the twinkle in his eye, and she reached for him, longing to hold him close. Their lips met in a long, slow, hot passionate kiss that nearly took her breath away. His lips grazed her throat and her neck as he pulled her closer. He ran his hands through her hair and whispered her name. T
he intensity of their connection brought tears to Rose’s eyes at how close she had come to losing him forever.

  “I missed you so much.”

  Seeing her emotional response, he slowly and deliberately kissed her.

  The promise of things to come abruptly ended when the puppy jumped between them. In a swift motion, Lyon scratched the puppy’s ears, got her a treat and put her in the crate in the kitchen.

  “Well done,” said Rose.

  Lyon devoured her with his eyes. “So beautiful,” he said, taking her into his arms.

  Suddenly, her phone buzzed several times, and she reached for it.

  There were three text messages from Beatrice telling her to get to Rome immediately. She turned to Lyon. “It’s Beatrice. She’s found something. She wants me to come to Rome as soon as possible. Would you come with me? I don’t know what she’s found, but I want you to be there.”

  “Of course.”

  “I haven’t heard from her in weeks, and now this urgency is strange.”

  “Maybe nothing. You have to be prepared for all outcomes.”

  “You’re right. It could just be a courtesy. But three texts?” Rose thought for a minute. “She could have discovered something really important but, then again”—she smiled—“I think what we’ve recaptured is far greater.”

  Chapter 19

  A LINE OF TOURISTS circled the block of the Vatican, waiting to view interior rooms filled with breathtaking artworks by such masters as Raphael, Michelangelo, Caravaggio and Leonardo da Vinci. Beatrice met Rose and Lyon at the side entrance and ushered them to a private conference room in the laboratory; Cardinal Baglioni arrived shortly thereafter. He greeted Lyon with a warm handshake. “Hello again, young man. I’m glad that you’re here.”

  Beatrice asked them all to take a seat and turned on a large screen, which illuminated the first of the three drawings. The drawing was beautiful, and Rose felt a wave of excitement at seeing it restored.

  “I’ll get right to the point. As we all know, Michelangelo is known for his study of the male nude figure and he spent his lifetime achieving greatness in his art. He was a genius and a master draftsman who was celebrated for his excellence in drawing. His contemporaries called him Il Divinio or ‘the divine one.’ In the first drawing note the roundness of the stomach and child’s legs and compare it to this unfinished cartoon of the Virgin and Child. This looks like the hand of Michelangelo, and yet it is not the baby Jesus if you note the detail in the eyes, brows and prominent nose. The comparative drawing is currently owned by the Casa Buonarroti in Florence.

  “The inscription we found on the right corner reads My Lorenzo, which can be interpreted several ways. As you may know, Lorenzo the Magnificent was the supreme ruler of Florence with his brother Giuliano from 1469 to 1478 and sole ruler from 1478 until his death in 1492. Most importantly, he was Michelangelo’s patron. Perhaps this was a commission from him. But the title My Lorenzo does suggest an intimate relationship between the artist and his subject. That being said, our research leads us to believe that this is not the Christ Child, which was an often-favored subject of Michelangelo. There’s a possibility that this could have been the artist’s child, but we have no way to substantiate the initial theory through this drawing.”

  The cardinal nodded his approval for her to continue with her analysis. Rose’s eyes were glued to the screen, and she barely noticed that Lyon had taken her hand for moral support. Beatrice then displayed the second drawing alongside a well-known picture of Andrea Quaratesi that was currently owned by the British Museum.

  “The second drawing, in which the young man is fully clothed with an almost ethereal expression on his face, is even more puzzling than the first, for many reasons. It was a rare occasion that Michelangelo painted his subjects clothed.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “In the second drawing you found, this young man looks like perhaps an early version of Michelangelo’s famous portrait of Andrea Quaratesi that, as you can see, is exquisitely beautiful in its simplicity. The boy in the drawing Rose found does share the same prominent nose and dark penetrating eyes as the child. However, this portrait of a young boy of, say, age twelve or so is definitely not Quaratesi, the son of a Florentine banker, or anyone we know.” Beatrice used a laser pointer with a red light to go back to the drawing Rose found and highlight the nose. “So, there is a strong possibility that these first two drawings are related but, again, we can’t confirm with complete certainty that Michelangelo drew portraits of his own son.”

  “But is there a chance he did?” asked Rose.

  “Absolutely. Someone saved these pictures and passed them down from generation to generation for a reason. They do tell a story, but not one I can verify at this point. Note the worn edges on all of them. It looks like they were once in frames. But let’s get back to the analysis. These drawings hint at the hypothesis that Michelangelo fathered a son, but they do not have the power to substantiate a claim of this magnitude.”

  “What about the third drawing that shows God and Adam’s hands together rather than their fingers touching?” asked Rose.

  “Actually, that’s where I get excited!” Beatrice took a deep breath. “I think we can conclude that this was a primary idea considered by Michelangelo as he painted the Sistine Chapel. It’s a beautiful message and one that would work as seamlessly as the current one.”

  “It’s clear we have no way of proving that Michelangelo had a son involved in some of his artistic accomplishments. Is it safe to say that art historians could better understand his creative process by seeing the third drawing?” exclaimed Rose.

  “Indeed,” said the cardinal. “So, this is where a new story begins.” He stood. “It’s a message of love and peace and it must be shared!”

  “You mean, the Vatican is going to release the discovery of this drawing?!”

  “The vote was unanimous! We think that our world needs more positive messages right now. This story and these hands would be thrilling for tourists and pilgrims alike to view.”

  The news brought tears to Rose’s eyes.

  “But what about the other two drawings?” asked Lyon quizzically.

  “I believe there will be a time and a place for them as well. Beatrice has agreed to stay on this project and continue her research.” He looked at Beatrice and said, “Well done.”

  “When do you think you’ll announce the discovery?”

  “First, we want to involve several noted scholars and conduct some additional research before we go public. It’s all very exciting.”

  “Maybe that’s the time I should head to Africa,” joked Rose.

  “So, you have given my offer more thought,” said Cardinal Baglioni.

  “What offer?” asked Lyon.

  “I thought that Rose would be an ideal person to get involved in some of our mission work in Nairobi, Kenya. The school needs more qualified teachers; they also could benefit from a larger facility.” The cardinal eyed both Rose and Lyon. “How is your study with Antonio Romano going?”

  “Very well,” said Rose. “I must admit it’s been really challenging for me to work with him. He can be gruff at times.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Fortunately, my Italian is coming along. I wonder, now that you’re going to make the discovery public, I’d like to show you a concept that I’ve been working on. I had an idea to paint the intertwined hands with people from all ages and all races coming together as one.”

  “Go on.”

  “I had a vision of bright colors and intertwined hands on wall-sized canvases.”

  “Have you shared this idea with Antonio?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Perhaps he could help you achieve this vision.”

  “So, you like the idea?”

  “Yes, very much.” He looked at Lyon and Rose. “I have a fee
ling I’m going to be seeing the two of you again soon.”

  “I hope so,” said Rose.

  ***

  After the meeting, Lyon and Rose climbed the Spanish Steps and walked along a beautiful path, admiring the stone busts; the Borghese Garden was breathtaking.

  “I’m actually surprised the cardinal plans to go public with the third drawing,” said Lyon.

  “Me too. I still say there’s more to the story on the first two, but I’m going to leave that to the experts.”

  “They may want you to recount how you found the drawings.”

  “I’m not sure I want to talk to anyone about it. I’m a very private person; it would be hard for me.” She paused. “I’ll certainly never tell anyone about the dream.”

  “Why not?”

  “Again, it’s all so intimate, like seeing into my soul. I believe I was meant to safeguard those drawings, and they’ll be available for the next generation of scholars to debate and analyze.”

  “I respect your integrity.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “We have some time before the museums close. How about we have a look at the Pietà today and grab some dinner?”

  “You read my mind.”

  A visit to St. Peter’s to view Michelangelo’s stunning Pietà was the perfect way to end the day. Rose was mesmerized as she stared at the figures behind the glass case. “Sheer genius,” she said, recalling the class she taught on the sculpture at Bellfield. A picture didn’t do it justice.

  “Did you know that when Michelangelo conceived this sculpture, it was all a rather awkward position?” Rose asked Lyon. “You have the body of a full-grown man in the arms of his mother. You see, look at his peaceful expression, which does not give away any of the horror that just happened. Michelangelo was a master at combining the spiritual with the natural world. All that shines through is a mother’s love for her child.”

  Lyon took her hand. “Your friend Zoey was right. The way to your heart is through your passion for the life and works of Michelangelo.”

  “Actually, the way to my heart right now is a large margherita pizza. I’m starving!”