Blossom in Winter

by Melanie Martins

  I take a deep breath, before checking myself once more in the mirror. I can’t help but smile. After all, I look way older—maybe twenty-something. I just hope my red dress and heels are not too much. I’ve styled my black hair in perfect waves, giving a nice volume to the long strands falling below my chest, some of them clasped with a black bow barrette on the back. It looks chic yet effortless. I take my black clutch and my key card, and leave the room. Alright, you got this.

  When I reach the grand lobby, I feel many eyes light upon me, but none of them are the ones I want. I look attentively across the many tables and sofas for Alex, but he’s not here. However, I see Andrew seated right in front of me, busy on his phone. My smile vanishes.

  “Hey,” I timidly say.

  He finally looks in my direction.

  “Wow.” Andrew gasps. “You look so incredibly beautiful tonight.” He stares, mesmerized, and stands to greet me. “Your red dress looks fantastic.”

  I couldn’t agree more. In fact, I never thought I’d fall in love with a dark-red vintage off-the-shoulder dress. Made of satin and lace, knee-length, all elegant and chic, it matches perfectly with my pale skin and black hair. It’s close-fitting from my chest to the waist and then flares out. I’ve never worn anything that showed off my shoulders completely before, but the seller was insistent and I decided to give it a try.

  “Thank you, Andrew,” I reply, taking his arm.

  I let out a sigh of displeasure. It’s not him I want to hold—neither his perfume I want to smell, nor his brown eyes I want to look at. But Alexander is not here. My last night in Rome, and here I am leaving the hotel with a man I don’t want, while the one I want is probably—

  “Mr. Sullivan,” calls an authoritative voice beside the doorman.

  “Oh, Mr. Van Dieren. How are you doing?” Andrew looks embarrassed, removing my hand from his arm. “Ms. Williams told me she’s never visited Rome before, so I thought I’d show her around...”

  “At nine p.m.?” he snarls, glancing at his watch. “Your interns are having dinner in the Borromeo ballroom with the rest of the attendees. Maybe you should check on how they are doing,” he commands heavily, his glare censuring Andrew.

  Andrew swallows hard. “Certainly.” He obeys and promptly walks away.

  I can’t believe it. Andrew doesn’t even protest at his command? What a coward!

  When I’m about to tell Alex a thing or two about his attitude toward Andrew, he grabs my hand and whisks me out of the hotel.

  “Where are we going?” I babble as I run down the stairs, following his lead.

  He seizes the first taxi waiting outside, opening the rear door. I go first, then he enters and closes the door behind him.

  “Buonasera. Per il ristorante Mirabelle, Via di Porta Pinciana, per favore,” he instructs to the taxi driver.

  “Buonasera, signore. Molto bene.”

  “You’re literally kidnapping me,” I giggle as the taxi starts moving. I find myself nestled against him, his arm around me, our legs touching, nearly sharing the same seat. Oh, I love it! He smells so good.

  “I know.” He throws me a smile that makes my heart go wild. “I feel terrible for kidnapping Andrew’s date.”

  I can’t help but blush, feeling his eyes all over my dress, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

  “Is this because I told you I find him cute? That’s why you came here, right?” I ask, amused.

  “I don’t pay him to date interns,” he snaps back.

  “I see… So you are jealous?”

  He doesn’t protest; instead, he gives me a slow kiss on my forehead. “I won’t tolerate anyone hurting you. I had to make sure you were alright,” he murmurs.

  “Bella signora,” exclaims the driver, looking through the rearview mirror. “Sua moglie?”

  Alex chuckles at the question. “Grazie. Purtroppo no,” he replies, staring joyfully at me.

  “What is he saying?” I ask.

  “I can’t believe Ms. Van Gatt doesn’t speak Italian.”

  “Ms. Van Gatt picked French instead of Italian in school.”

  “He said you’re a very beautiful woman.” He pauses. “And he asked if you were my wife.”

  My cheeks flush at his words, and I have to look down for a bit. “And what did you reply?”

  “I said thanks and no, you’re not.”

  “You are lying…” I reply, my tone cheeky.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said, ‘Purtroppo no,’ which means ‘unfortunately no’.” The corners of his mouth lift. “I might not speak fluent Italian, but I studied the basics before coming here.”

  He titters in amusement. “Indeed. It would’ve been rude to just say no.”

  “Of course, very rude.”

  If just four months ago someone would have told me I’d be having a romantic dinner in Rome with Alexander Van Dieren at a fine-dining rooftop restaurant with the most beautiful views of the old city, I would’ve never ever believed it. And yet, here I am sitting beside him.

  I look intently at my menu (the English version), while Mr. Van Dieren is scanning his Italian one.

  “Buonasera, signora e signore,” elegantly greets the waiter. “Preferite che parli in inglese o italiano?”

  “Buonasera, inglese, per favore,” replies Alex.

  “Very well. Welcome to the Mirabelle restaurant. My name is Roberto, and I’ll be your waiter for this evening. Would you like to start with a flute of champagne? Or do you have a preference for wine? Or a cocktail maybe?”

  Alex stares back at me, thinking what to order, but I reply first. “A glass of champagne is perfect. Thank you.”

  “Molto bene. And here is our wine list for dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I add before our waiter leaves. I feel Alex is about to unleash some sort of comment about my choice. “Before you even start, it’s totally legal to drink alcohol in Italy if you’re sixteen or older.”

  “I know that.” He gives me that charming smile. “I simply wanted to ask why you didn’t let me pick the champagne. You know, not all champagnes are the same. I just hope he will bring a good one.”

  “Oh…” I bite my lip and promptly change the subject. “Have you been here before?”

  “Not to this one, but Andrew had a table reserved here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, he called the concierge, who told me.”

  “Unbelievable. So the concierge was paid to report to you everything our group does?”

  “Of course not. I paid the concierge only to report about you and Andrew.”

  “That sounds creepy….” But I like it nevertheless.

  “Your dad explicitly asked me to watch out for you on this trip.”

  “It was none of your business if he wanted to have dinner with me. But anyway, I guess he would bow to anything you say to fall into your good graces and land a promotion.”

  “Probably,” he admits. “I told you he wasn’t a good fit.”

  “So who is a good fit? Tell me,” I decide to ask.

  Nothing comes out of his mouth.

  He just replies with a side smile, looking tenderly into my eyes—or into my heart? I know he’d never say me, but somehow his gaze is enough to give me an answer. I can hear my own pulse bouncing inside my chest—not from excitement, joy, or happiness, but from fear that he’ll never go any further with me.

  “Someone who cares about you,” he utters, his voice so soft and warm that I skip a breath.

  Oh, Alex. I close my eyes for a brief instant, trying to contain feelings that I shouldn’t let emerge. We shouldn’t even have talks like this. I have to change the subject. “Is this dinner mostly to watch me because Dad told you so?”

  He chuckles at my question. “Indeed. I’m just doing my duty, little Petra.”

  Entertained with his own play, he takes his glass of champagne.

  “I beg to differ,” I say, taking mine. “Cheers, then. To your horrors of having to din
e with me.”

  “Sounds like a good toast.”

  And we clink our flutes.

  When our waiter arrives, he orders the tagliatelle ai funghi porcini. This time I decide to follow his choice. It’s actually a great one. The pasta is delicious, and the red wine even better.

  “You start at Columbia soon, right?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass.

  “September fourth,” I reply, letting out a sigh. “I’m gonna miss my internship. But at least I’m glad the artwork I acquired is all leased. You’ll need a manager to take care of it, but I’m sure you can grow it and make it even more profitable.”

  “This fund is yours, Petra. It doesn’t belong to the firm. We invested privately for you.”

  “But...” I blink twice, confused. “What about the fund returns? I’m sure you want a commission.”

  While smiling at me, he takes my hands, caressing them softly with his thumbs. “You know what I want?” Oh God, why does he have to look at me like that? Since words aren’t coming, I shake my head. “To see you happy. If economics at Columbia doesn’t appeal to you after the first semester, you’ll be able to focus on liberal arts and follow your passion. If your dad doesn’t support you, you’ll always have your own capital to finance your dreams.”

  “So that was the plan from the beginning? For me to have my own revenue without Dad owning it?”

  “Feel free to thank me later.” His eyes hold a glint of humor, and a charming smile emerges from the corners of his mouth right before he takes a sip of his wine.

  In that instant, I feel a sudden urge to kiss him. This time not on the cheek. He’ll reject you, Petra. Don’t be stupid. Too afraid to be denied, I opt to entwine our hands and hold his fingers tight. He feels it. He probably also feels my heart pounding faster and louder as I look at him with parted lips. He brings my hand to his mouth, shuts his eyes, and gives it a lingering kiss. My breath stops for a moment. While my eyes devour his warm lips kissing my hand with relish, I wonder how it’d feel having them on my lips instead. I know he wants more… or at least that’s what I hope.

  Unfortunately, it’s hard not to fall for him. Alexander is a great listener, a charmer, and an irresistible gentleman. In Manhattan, he’s a heartbreaker. But for me, he’s always been a confidant, a best friend, a protector. I have realized there is no one in this world I like to spend my time with as much as with him. And no matter how long I spend in his company, it’s just never enough. Oh boy. I feel like I’m seven all over again. Except now I'm no longer a child, except now we could really—

  “Are you tired?” he asks while we are finishing our espressos, a bottle of Barolo from Bruno Giacosa later and the bill already settled.

  “No, why?”

  “I would like to show you something.”

  We leave the restaurant, take a taxi, and go to the Trevi district. We walk down to the Piazza di Trevi. The ground is made of paved stones, making it difficult to walk in heels without tottering. He offers his arm for support, and I gladly take it.

  We have finally reached the fountain, featuring a triumphal arch in the center with Triton guiding Oceanus’s shell chariot. The entire piazza and the white marble fontana are lit with warm mellow strobes. I get a twinkle in my eye while contemplating such a masterpiece. Some tourists are still wandering around, throwing coins in the water, while a guitarist is playing and singing an Italian melody.

  “Do you know how to dance?” He reaches out and places a hand on the small of my back, while holding my right hand in the air. And before I can say no, I see my arm draping across his shoulder and my feet swaying to the music. I blush nervously, my gaze down.

  As if no one else were here, we start slow dancing in the middle of the piazza. I laugh as he spins me around, my hair flowing. He brings my body closer to his, and cheek-to-cheek we move slowly back and forth with the music. Jeez! I love to feel his warm skin against mine. I can’t help but breathe in his scent deeply. My heart’s racing like never before. I tremble at the idea that he might hear it too. I’m dangerously close to his lips, and although I’d never dare to kiss them, I can’t help but wonder what they taste like.

  “I wish everything could be this simple,” he murmurs, pressing those lips against my forehead.

  I don’t reply back. It feels too hard. I just shut my eyes and enjoy the moment as much as I can—after all, I know it won’t last forever.

  When the music stops, Alex gives the musician a generous tip and holds my hand, bringing me to the center of the Fontana di Trevi. I marvel at the imposing sculpture of Oceanus—god of the sea.

  “Have you ever been here at night?” he asks.

  “No, never. It’s much better than during the day.”

  “Here,” he says, giving me a coin. “Time to make a wish.”

  I shut my eyes, bring the coin close to my chest, think about a wish, and throw it into the fountain. When I reopen them, Alex’s staring intently, a smile on his face. “Well, what about you?”

  He also closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and throws a coin into the water. “This must be the biggest cliché in Rome,” he confesses, laughing.

  “Hmm…” I bite my lip thoughtfully. “In order to be the biggest cliché, we would’ve been lovers and you would’ve already kissed me by now,” I tease (or not) while my tipsy blue eyes twinkle at him.

  Much to my surprise, he suddenly bursts out laughing, “I’m sure Andrew would’ve loved to do so,” he states with confidence, until he meets my gaze again, clears his throat, and glances nervously at his watch. “It’s getting late. We should go back to the hotel.”

  I’m not pleased, but he’s already booking an Uber on his iPhone. How can I extend my evening with him? I’ve got an idea, a very dangerous one he’ll probably decline, but nevertheless, I take a deep breath and dare to ask, “Would you offer me a last drink in your room?” Alex gawks in shock. “Don’t you have tea to offer?” I insist.

  He doesn’t know what to say or do. Undecided, he ponders a bit further. “Petra, I don’t think it’s appropriate to invite you to my room.”

  “Why not? Are you afraid of something?”

  “Of course not,” he replies straightaway. His eyes dart down while he thinks something through. “Alright, but just one cup of tea.”

  “This is not a room. This is an apartment,” I exclaim as we enter the living room of his suite.

  “I like to be comfortable.” Alex removes his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and goes to the bar area to boil water. “So, what kind of tea would you like?”

  “Matcha tea.” I know he doesn’t have this one.

  “You’re so cheeky. Black, grey, green, or jasmine?”

  “Jasmine sounds nice.”

  A twinkle of amusement lights up his face. “Oh, before I forget, I brought something for you.” He runs into his bedroom, leaving me as curious as ever.

  I find a wall mirror and discreetly fix my hair and lipstick, but suddenly I feel his presence coming from behind.

  “Do you know what it is?” he asks.

  I turn to face him.

  He’s holding a carmine-colored velvet box. I have no idea what it holds, and shake my head. He opens it. I gasp in surprise—inside lies a beautiful, very fine twenty-four-carat gold necklace with an oval pendant.

  “It’s so beautiful. What does the engraved shape of the pendant mean?”

  “I gave it to you for your baptism. It’s the coat of arms of my family.” I clearly don’t remember. “Since the medieval period, my ancestors used to give a gold chain with our coat of arms engraved in a pendant to their most cherished friends and allies. It means we will serve, trust, and protect them, no matter what. When that incident happened, your father wanted to erase not only my presence, but my entire memory from you. So he thought it’d be in your best interest to return it to me.”

  “Dad is such an asshole…”

  Alex chuckles at my reply. “While I understand he was worried about your behavior, I felt taking such
a meaningful gift from you was a bit harsh.”

  Facing the mirror again and with my back to him, I pull my long hair slightly up. “I want to have it back,” I tell him.

  He steps closer, opens the clasp, and delicately puts the chain around my neck, closing it. He bends slightly over my shoulder and stares at me in the mirror, observing the pendant appreciatively as it lies on my chest. I caress his gift, proud to wear it.

  As he holds my upper arms, his face softens with a tender smile. “I know you hear it all the time, but”—he swallows hard—“you’re disturbingly perfect, Petra…”

  I gasp, winded by his words. He has never praised my beauty before. In fact, it’s the very first time he has complimented me on my appearance.

  My eyes are drawn to him, to his parted lips so close to my skin and to his breath growing heavier. With his fingers tightening on me, he shuts his eyes and places a long, delicious kiss on my neck. Oh God. I shut mine too, and, losing myself in his touch, I rest the back of my head on him, at his mercy.

  His arms move over my chest, wrapping me against him. His mouth on my neck sends my heart in a flurry of wild beats. This time as he kisses me, I feel his tongue. “Ahh…” I release a quick moan—he’s now sucking it avidly. I know he wants me as much as I want him. My entire body’s boiling with desire.

  He wants to continue, but painfully stops, restricting himself from going any further. Then he removes his arms from me and takes one step back, looking angry and deceived. “You should get some sleep now. It’s getting late,” he says harshly.

  “Alex,” I breathe, trying to move toward him, but he continues to distance himself.

  “Please go. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry for this. It must’ve been the wine.” I know it’s not the wine. Nevertheless, he opens the door and invites me to leave.

  It’s hard. So hard to move away from his presence. I feel paralyzed, still feeling his kisses on my neck. Like iron to a magnet, I’m irresistibly attracted to him, but I know he won’t go any further tonight. I take a deep breath and, with my heart in pain, walk slowly toward the door. “Very well. Have a good night,” I reply coldly.