The Sunflower Girl

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  It was nearing ten o’clock in the morning, and, though the market had only been open for an hour, Dante had already sold five of his works. He noticed several of the other artists glaring at him, no doubt envious that he was selling more than they were. There were even people who had no intention of buying his art, but still stopped to ask Dante about the beautiful girl on his canvases. And when he’d been honest and told them she was a woman from his dreams, but omitted that she was also very much real, people were even more intrigued, causing a few to change their minds and buy one of the pieces.

  Finally the crowds had dissipated, giving Dante a chance to take a short break. He sat on his folding chair and took out the panino of prosciutto and provolone that he had made in the morning. He had been too busy to give much thought to the fact that he’d had to part with more of his beloved works of Anabella. But he needed to make a living, and while he still wished he could hang on to every painting and drawing of her, it was beginning to become easier to sell the pieces. He had enjoyed hearing the comments from his buyers and even those who didn’t purchase any work. Everyone seemed to be intrigued by the woman in the paintings and had complimented his technique.

  Dante was startled out of his thoughts by what sounded like a little cry. He turned around and froze. Anabella was standing mere feet away from him. Her gaze was fixed on his paintings. A large straw bag was slung around her shoulder. It was gaping open with the numerous bouquets of roses it held. Her hair was plaited in one braid that hung over her left shoulder, giving her the appearance of a dairy maid and showing her perfect classical features to full effect—her unblemished olive complexion, her almond-shaped brown eyes, and her full, sensuous lips. He froze the image in his mind, having already decided his next painting would depict her exactly as she looked in this moment.

  Anabella took a few steps forward, leaning in to get a better view of the paintings. Dante was too intrigued by her beauty to notice that she seemed alarmed. Her hand came over her mouth as she went from painting to painting and drawing to drawing, carefully studying each one. Finally, she lowered her hand and pointed to one of the paintings. Her eyebrows were knit furiously as she glared at Dante.

  “Who are you? Why does this woman look so much like me?”

  Dante’s eyes widened in surprise at her accusatory tone. He looked at her and then to his paintings. It then dawned on him that she, or any other woman, would be disturbed by the paintings and drawings since they’d never met.

  “Please, signorina, let me introduce myself. My name is Dante Galletti. You probably don’t remember, but we did see each other briefly, here at the Piazza del Campo earlier in the summer.”

  Anabella looked at him, and after a moment he could detect a brief flicker in her eyes. She did remember seeing him before.

  “You decided to paint a woman whom you only saw briefly, and in every one of your works? Have you been following me since that day?”

  Dante could not help but laugh. “No, no! I lost sight of you quickly that day. I was actually on my way to come talk to you when one of the fruit vendors crashed into me with his cart, causing me to fall. When I got up, you were already gone.”

  “Why were you coming to talk to me?”

  Confusion was etched across her features. He could tell she didn’t believe him. How was he to answer her question without sounding absolutely mad or like a pervert? How could he tell her he had been dreaming about her?

  “If I tell you, Signorina Ferraro, you will think I’m crazy or worse.”

  “How do you know my name? You have been following me! I don’t know who you are and why you have decided to paint me, but I warn you to stay away from me!” Anabella’s voice rose sharply before she turned around and stormed off.

  “Wait! Please! Let me explain!” Dante ran after her, not caring that he was leaving his works unattended.

  Anabella walked hurriedly away and soon was weaving through the crowds, which were denser now. He saw she kept glancing over her shoulder, and, once she cleared the throng of people she was pushing her way through, she broke into a run. He couldn’t lose her again, especially now that she was thinking the worst about him. He ran after her, all the while shouting, “Anabella! Anabella!”

  A boy on a bicycle came careening out of nowhere and almost crashed into her. She stumbled wildly forward, falling onto her knees, and sending her straw bag of roses flying into the air. The boy on the bicycle also fell. Besides a few scrapes on his knees, he was unharmed, but he seemed to be more concerned about his bicycle. After inspecting it to make sure it hadn’t been damaged, he waved his hands in Anabella’s face.

  “Stupida! Watch where you’re going!”

  Anabella seemed to shrink at the boy’s words, looking down and blushing profusely.

  Dante caught up to them and wasted no time in scolding the boy. “Cretino! Is this the way you treat a young lady? You could’ve killed her riding your bicycle like a lunatic! Apologize to her at once!”

  The boy blanched and looked afraid of Dante, who was staring at him menacingly.

  “Mi dispiace, signorina.”

  “If I ever see you act that way again toward another woman, I will pummel you. Do you hear me?” Dante lowered his head so that he was at the boy’s eye level. The boy swallowed hard, giving a slight nod before getting on his bicycle and pedaling quickly away.

  “Are you all right?” Dante bent down next to Anabella.

  “Si. I was just startled.”

  “Let me help you back up.” Dante offered his hand. Anabella looked at it warily, before placing her hand in his.

  “Grazie.”

  Dante began picking up the roses that were now strewn all over the ground.

  “Ah! My flowers! I won’t be able to sell them now. Mamma will be so upset.”

  “They’re not all ruined. We can tie the ones that came free from the bouquets back together again, or you can sell them as single roses to couples. Many young men can’t afford to buy a whole bouquet.”

  “We don’t sell to the people walking through the piazza, just to the flower vendors.”

  “You’re losing out on money, then. I guess you never thought of that?”

  Anabella shook her head. “Mamma handles the business of our farm. We own a rose nursery in Pienza and . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “And?” Dante asked.

  “Nothing. I’ve said too much already. It’s bad enough you know my name, and you still haven’t explained why I am in all of your artwork.”

  “All right. It is time I confess, but before I do so, please don’t be mad at me. Give me a chance to explain.”

  “I suppose I must, now that you have helped me collect my roses and have even given me a solution for selling the roses that we can’t put back into bouquets.”

  “And, don’t forget, I came to your defense with that little scoundrel!” Dante laughed.

  “I’m sorry. Grazie. But you did not need to yell at him. He was just a boy.”

  “True, but how is he to learn the proper way to treat a lady if someone doesn’t discipline him? My mamma brought me up to always respect a woman and treat her well. But who knows? Maybe he is an orphan and doesn’t have anyone to instill manners in him.”

  Anabella gave a slight smile, the first she had given him. “Vero.”

  “What was I saying a moment ago? Ah! My confession.” He gave her a nervous smile.

  “Go ahead. I promise I won’t get upset.” But instead of returning his smile to reassure him, she was staring at him intensely, obviously still not trusting him.

  “I actually already know that you and your mother own a rose nursery, but I didn’t know it was in Pienza.”

  Anabella’s face twisted in anger, and she was about to say something before Dante held up his hands.

  “I can explain. Remember I said that?”

  She paused, nodded her head, and crossed her arms before saying, “Va bene. Go on. Explain.”

  “The day I saw you at the piazza
, back in June, I was curious to know more about you, so I went over to the flower vendor whom you and your mother had sold your roses to. He was the one who told me your name, and he also told me about your rose farm.”

  “I see. But that still doesn’t explain why you have decided to paint me. Have you seen me at the piazza every week since you first saw me and stalked me? Watching me while I was unaware so you could paint me?”

  “No, no! I haven’t seen you since that day—until now, of course. I admit, I was hoping to see you and looked for you when I came here every week, but I have not seen you. We must’ve missed each other. I alternate selling my work here and at the Medici Fortress. You were probably at the Piazza del Campo on the days I was at the Medici Fortress. But I am perplexed as to why I had never seen you before that first day in June if you and your mother come here regularly to sell your flowers.”

  “The piazza is usually very busy. It would be easy to miss each other. We don’t come every week.”

  Dante nodded thoughtfully. At least her face had relaxed, and she didn’t look as angry anymore. But he knew she was still waiting for him to explain why she was the subject of his paintings.

  “Would you mind if I helped you sell your roses today? It would be quicker that way, and it’s the least I can do since I feel I am the one to blame for your running off and almost crashing into that bicyclist.”

  “Grazie. But that won’t be necessary. I will just tell Mamma that the boy knocked me down and I lost a few of the roses. She will understand.”

  “But you said earlier she would be upset.”

  “At first, but she won’t be mad at me. She’ll probably be angry that the boy was careless and ran into me. Mamma hardly ever gets cross with me.”

  Dante didn’t know how true her statement was since Anabella’s eyes grew distant for a moment.

  “Please. Let me help you sell the roses. As I said earlier, you can make more money that way. You can then still tell your mother about the boy crashing into you with his bike and how you got the ingenious idea of selling the loose roses to couples and other people who might like to have a rose but cannot afford a bouquet.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I would feel comfortable approaching strangers. The flower vendors have known me since I was a little girl. It is different with them.”

  Anabella looked nervous. He noticed she had a habit of staring down at her sandals every so often. There was a certain shyness about her, although she didn’t seem overly uncomfortable talking to him—even though she was angry. Perhaps her curiosity over the paintings had made her forget her shyness.

  “Well, I can do all the talking. This way you can see how it’s done and how easy it is.”

  Anabella sighed. “All right. It would be a shame to waste the roses, and it is getting late. Mamma will be expecting me for lunch and will be worried if I get home late. She often accompanies me, but did not feel well today.”

  After Dante helped Anabella tie whatever roses they could put back into bouquets and collect the ones they would sell loosely, they returned to the center of the piazza. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that all of his paintings were still where he had left them.

  “Ah! I forgot about your paintings. Someone could have stolen them. Please, don’t worry about me. Return to your stall. I will just sell the few bouquets I have to the flower vendors.”

  “Wait. Don’t go anywhere. I will just ask one of the other artists to keep an eye on my paintings.”

  “But won’t you lose money? What if customers come by and want to buy a painting?”

  “That is all right. I have made quite a bit of money this morning. If I don’t sell any other paintings for today, I’ll still be ahead.”

  “How many paintings did you sell?”

  “Five.”

  “They were all of me?”

  “They were.”

  “People liked them that much?” Anabella looked surprised.

  “Of course. You are a very beautiful woman. Even people who have not bought any paintings have asked me about you. They are intrigued.”

  Anabella blushed.

  Dante ran over to one of the other artists and asked him to keep an eye on his work. The artist seemed annoyed, but agreed anyway.

  Twenty minutes later, Dante and Anabella had sold all of the loose roses. He accompanied her to the flower vendors and waited while she sold her bouquets.

  When she was done, she walked over to Dante and smiled without reservations this time.

  “Thank you again so much. You are a very good salesman, but I suppose that makes sense since you have to sell your paintings. I don’t know if I would ever have the courage to approach people and ask them if they want to buy a rose for their sweetheart.”

  “You will some day. It just takes some practice. If you want, I can help you sell more roses the next time you come.”

  “I don’t know. I still don’t think Mamma will be too keen on that idea, and, as I said earlier, she usually accompanies me when we come to sell our roses. But thank you.” Anabella glanced at her watch. “I should be going, and I don’t want to take you away from your work any more than I already have today.”

  “You cannot go until I tell you why I have been painting you.”

  Anabella looked surprised.

  “You thought I would not bring it up.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t following me. But I can see you are a good person. I’m sure you have painted other people before, some of whom you might’ve seen only once. It was silly of me to have become so upset. I’m sorry.”

  “No, please, don’t apologize. You were right to wonder why all of my paintings are of you and to be concerned that perhaps I was a creep.”

  Anabella laughed. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it, which is all right. Most other women would have thought that as well.”

  “Let us just say we are good now. You helped me with my sales. And as you said, you have been selling a lot of your paintings of me, so we are even.”

  “Remember when I told you that you would think I was crazy if I told you why I was painting you?”

  “Si, but it is okay, Dante. Really. You do not need to explain it to me. After all, we just met today. You don’t owe a stranger any explanations, and it is your work. You can paint whomever you want to.”

  “But that is where you are wrong, Anabella. We have met, and I don’t mean seeing each other on that afternoon back in June.”

  Anabella knitted her brows in confusion.

  “I met you already in my dreams.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she took in what he said, before saying, “You are not playing with me?”

  “No. I am being completely honest with you. That is why I wanted to talk to you when I first saw you at the piazza. I couldn’t believe that the woman I had been dreaming about for a few months was actually real. I was curious to know your name and know more about you.”

  Anabella was silent for a few seconds before saying, “I’m not quite sure what to say. This is very odd.”

  Dante laughed. “I agree.”

  “Well, I really need to be going. Mamma will be worried. It was nice to meet you.”

  Dante took her hand. He wanted to place a soft kiss on the back of it, but knew that would be too forward of him, especially after making his admission that he’d been dreaming about her. She would surely think then that he was a creep. He placed his other hand on top of hers and merely said, “I am so happy to have finally met you—in person, this time. I’m sorry if I frightened you when you saw my paintings.”

  “Grazie. Buongiorno.”

  Dante knew it was time to let go of her hand, but he held on to it for a moment longer as their eyes met. He didn’t want her to leave. His heart was pounding. Although she’d told him that she came to the piazza regularly to sell her flowers, he was still terrified of never seeing her again—and losing her forever.

>   “Arrivederci, Anabella. I hope to see you next time you are here.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and watched her as she walked away, hoping she wasn’t walking out of his life when he had only just met her.

  When he returned to his stall, he took a seat on his folding chair. Suddenly, a fatigue washed over him. Although he had planned to stay at the piazza till sundown, he packed his belongings and began to leave. The artist whose stall was next to Dante’s called out to him.

  “You’re leaving already? What’s gotten into you, Dante? You disappear for over an hour, and then you come back and leave. Ah! That’s right. You aren’t starving like the rest of us artists with all the paintings of that girl that you’ve been selling.”

  Dante ignored him as he continued making his way out of the piazza. He knew what he was feeling at the moment had nothing to do with fatigue—at least the physical kind. His heart was aching—for without any doubt he had fallen victim to love at first sight. He’d known it that day back in June when he saw Anabella at the piazza. But if there were any doubts that he was in love, they had been put to rest today after seeing his muse and spending time with her. She was beyond beautiful, but she possessed gentleness and an innocence that drew him in even further. He smiled as he remembered how she had come to the defense of the boy on the bicycle, even though he had not deserved it after the way he’d insulted her. And then when she had told Dante that he didn’t owe her an explanation for why he had chosen to paint her.

  “Somehow, I will find a way to win your heart, Anabella,” Dante vowed aloud.

  CHAPTER 10

  Signora Ferraro

  Pienza, 1970

  Signora Ferraro was on her knees, tending to her white rose garden. The clusters of white roses reminded her of the scoops of vanilla gelato her father would buy her as a child. Her heart ached for a moment as she remembered her father.