by Penelope Sky
That still gave me the power to stop anything physical from happening, and I also didn’t actually have to say a word to enforce it. Antonio seemed like a man who would keep his word, and if he didn’t, he knew I would never trust him. So it seemed like this was going to work. “Okay.”
That handsome smile stretched across his lips, making his brown eyes shine a little brighter. He looked at me with possession, like he’d finally gotten what he wanted. “I’ll pick you up after work.”
It was a quiet evening in the coffee shop. Most of the tables were empty, and the sound of the gentle music overhead was low. The glass counter was stuffed with different pastries, and the workers used the large espresso machine to make steaming cups of coffee.
I sat at the table with my foamy cappuccino in front of me, froth on top along with sprinkled chocolate. It was a short cup on top of a saucer with a small handle.
Antonio got a black coffee—keeping it simple.
I hadn’t taken a drink yet because the drink was too hot.
Antonio watched me from across the table, wearing a white linen collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The stark color was perfect on him, contrasting against his dark skin and hair. His eyes matched my coffee, warm and smooth.
I tilted my face down and took a drink, letting the froth move over my tongue and down my throat.
Antonio kept his fingers around his mug but didn’t take a drink. He seemed far more fascinated with me than anything else in that café.
I thought we’d come here to talk, but all we seemed to do was stare. It was the strangest first date I’d ever been on. When I met guys on the town, we usually flirted back and forth, made small talk, and if there was a spark there, I saw them again. But in this instance, talking was unnecessary. We seemed to like each other without really knowing one another. “How long have you had your gallery?”
“Ten years,” he answered. “I also have one in Milan and Positano, along with a few outside the country. But I’ve settled in Florence for the foreseeable future. It’s a great city. I can get the chaos of the city and then drive a few miles and be in the countryside.”
“You live in town?”
“Yes. I live a few blocks from the shop in an apartment. If I lived above my shop like you do, I would never stop working.” He gave me a smile before he took a drink of his coffee.
That was all I ever did with my time—work. “My world seems to revolve around it.”
“That’s how you know you’re an artist, when it’s all you ever want to do.”
I took another drink of my cappuccino, letting the froth stick to my lips. I licked it away with my tongue.
Antonio watched me, his eyes glued to my mouth. His gaze narrowed slightly, his focus pinpointed on that spot of my anatomy. He forced his gaze back to my eyes again, but there were remnants of his attraction. “I didn’t recognize your last name right away. But are you associated with Barsetti Vineyards?”
“Yes. My parents and uncle run a few in Tuscany.”
He nodded. “Great wine. I’ve got at least two bottles at home.”
“Thanks. When I first got started, I would hang my paintings at the winery. Customers would buy them when they were wine tasting.”
His eyes brightened in approval. “Smart idea. Most people who wine taste are tourists, so they usually want a souvenir to take home. What an excellent marketing strategy. That seems to be the biggest hardship for artists, finding a place to show their work. Selling your stuff on a street corner doesn’t exactly project quality artwork.”
“Exactly.”
“And then you opened this shop a few months ago?”
“Yeah…” I had nothing to do with it. Bones made the leap for me. He believed in me so much that he laid the foundation for my future for me. He got me a great gallery, a great apartment, and a car. He established the rest of my life, giving me the independence I’d always wanted.
Antonio seemed to catch my look of sadness because it mirrored my own. “Where were you before this?”
I decided to skip my time in the countryside with Bones. It didn’t seem like a story I could appropriately slip into the conversation. “I was actually going to university in Milan. I was studying fine art.”
“Did you graduate?”
“No…I dropped out.”
He grinned, like that impressed him. “You made the right decision. There was nothing more you needed to learn.”
It was a quite a compliment coming from someone like him, a man who’d made a living as an artist for over a decade. When I looked into his work, I saw his expert craftsmanship. He was brilliant with the paintbrush, constructing beauty from just his mind.
“There are techniques we all need to learn, but art isn’t something that can be taught. It’s something that you’re born with, something that you feel. Paying someone to teach their opinion on the matter isn’t the best way to spend your time. You should spend your time painting—only painting.”
“Yeah. I think I made the right decision.”
“Yes. You did.”
“What about you?” I asked. “How did it happen for you?” Now that the conversation was going, I didn’t feel so uncomfortable being this close to him. It seemed to feel natural. A relationship based on more than deep attraction and connection began to form.
“I’d always known I wanted to be a painter from a young age. I was a teenager when I got serious about it. By the time I was an adult, I’d sold a few paintings. Things fell into place then, and I never looked back. I started my own gallery when I was twenty, took out a loan from the bank, and once I found success, I kept going. It’s been a great ten years.”
“Wow…that’s amazing. Your family must be proud.”
“My mother always was. My father was angry about it for a long time. He’s a businessman, operating a few restaurants. He wanted me to get into business or finance, something steady. He never thought I wasn’t good enough to be an artist, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to pursue. But once I opened my third shop and proved my success, he finally came around.”
My parents would never act that way. Whatever I wanted to do, they would always be supportive. When Conway wanted to be a lingerie designer, they were supportive of that too. There was nothing we could do or say to make them disapprove of us. Then I remembered the one thing they could never accept…the one person they could never approve. It was the only instance when my parents didn’t give me what I wanted. It was too difficult for them to look past. “You proved him wrong a million times over…”
He nodded, still smiling. “Yeah, I did. And it felt good.” His collared shirt fit across his chest nicely, stretching over the muscles of his upper body. He was lean, but it was clear he was strong. I’d seen his sculpted arms before, and it seemed like everything else under his linen shirt was the same. “Can I ask you about the painting you bought from me?”
I had it hanging in my living room, a perfect picture of Tuscany. I could talk about artwork forever, so the question didn’t bother me. “Of course.”
“What made you love it so much? Don’t worry, my ego isn’t fishing for compliments. But, you know, one or two wouldn’t hurt.”
He made me smile against my will. Even a small chuckle escaped my chest. “I really loved the colors. It was painted in the morning, right?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I grew up in Tuscany, spending my time at the winery with my parents and looking out my bedroom window to the vineyards beyond. Whether it’s sunrise or sunset, the place is so beautiful. It’s so simple. When I looked at your painting, my childhood flashed before my eyes. I’d painted a similar image many times, but your work spoke to my heart. I had to hang it in my living room. I had to see it every single day.”
His smile faded away, a softness in his eyes. “That’s quite a compliment.”
“You’re quite an artist.”
“Never realized how much until right now. It’s one thing to create something t
hat someone loves, but it’s another to capture something that someone has experienced a hundred times…but it somehow makes them feel something new. That’s the purpose of art, to make people feel something when they look at it. That’s what I love about my work, and hearing you say all those things…makes me very happy.”
When he was touched, he had this warm look in his eyes. He was so talented but so humble at the same time. He seemed to care about the success of his artwork, not of himself personally. He was deeply artistic, poetic, and sensitive. Well-spoken and well-read, he was a special kind of man. I’d never met anyone like him before. “May I ask why you liked mine?”
His expression became focused once more. “Yes. I was hoping you would. I loved all the details in it, from the scrapes against the limestone wall, to the flower boxes full of geraniums, to the old, beat-up blue bicycle parked in the alleyway, to the slightly slanted window that we’re sitting in front of now. It was a better image than any camera could capture. The vibrant red color of the flowers in contrast to the ancient brown stone. It illustrated a small moment in Florence, a moment I’d experienced so many times. Unlike a photograph, it was so much more evocative…so much more emotional. When you’re painting something, you’re capturing a feeling, an emotion, and you did a beautiful job of accomplishing that.”
Hearing such heartfelt praise over something I cared so much about meant the world to me. When Bones loved my artwork, it pulled at my heartstrings. It made me fall for him, because even though he knew nothing about art, he felt something. Now I was listening to a professional praise my work, and his words weren’t empty because he’d bought my painting before he even knew anything about me. Everything he said was sincere. “Thank you…that means a lot coming from you.”
“Why?” He cocked his head slightly to the side.
“Because you’re an amazing artist.”
He chuckled quietly. “As flattered as I am, I have to correct you. I think your talent far exceeds mine. The only difference between us is I’ve been in the game much longer. When I buy artwork, I’m very picky. There’s only so much wall space, and you have to choose carefully. I never want to throw a painting away. I have collections ranging from Monet to Picasso. When I saw yours, I didn’t think twice about it. I knew I had to have it. So before you assume I’m the better artist, just keep that in mind.”
Getting coffee with Antonio was much better than I expected. The conversation unfolded naturally, and by the end, it seemed like I was getting coffee with an old friend. He was interesting, polite, and easy on the eyes. He never made it seem like a date. When we’d first walked into the coffee shop, he didn’t even try to pay for my drink.
It was nice.
I enjoyed his company because we had so much in common, and it was nice to talk to someone who had no tie to my past. With Antonio, I didn’t have to see him pity me like the rest of my family did. It felt like a fresh start, turning over a new leaf. He was the first friend I’d made in Florence, and I hoped he would stay my friend.
We left the coffee shop and walked back to my apartment, his arm almost touching my shoulder on the sidewalk. The streetlamps were on, and there were very few people passing through town. I was only a few blocks away, and even though I told him I could make it back on my own, he insisted on escorting me.
“Thanks for having coffee with me,” he said. “I enjoyed getting to know you better, Vanessa.”
I loved it when he said my name. He had such a sexy voice, and he made the single word sound so deep. “Yeah…I did too.”
He stopped in front of my gallery, next to the stairs that led to the second story where my apartment was located. He didn’t try to walk me right to the door, which was a relief. We stood on the sidewalk, in the glow of the light from the streetlamp. There weren’t any pedestrians near us, so it seemed like we were completely alone.
I faced him, purposely keeping several feet between us. “Well…goodnight.”
He kept his hands in his pockets. “Goodnight.” He stayed rooted to the spot, looking at me with chocolate-colored eyes.
I’d already said goodnight, but I was still standing there.
He smiled slightly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, still wearing that charming grin. “I knew we would have a good time if you just gave me a chance.”
“Well, it’s nice to make a new friend.” I purposely dropped that word in there, rejecting him subtly. I didn’t mean to offend him, but I didn’t want him to think anything had changed between us. I enjoyed his company and he enjoyed mine, and if this had been a real date, I’d be inviting him to my apartment right now. But my heart was still in the same place as it was before…in the palm of a different man.
Like always, Antonio wasn’t offended by the way I turned him down. “Absolutely.” He took a step closer to me, closing the gap in between us until we were dangerously close.
I stopped breathing for a second, my heart pounding at the proximity.
His eyes shifted down to look at me since he was so much taller than me. He had a kind face, but he also had a sexy smolder without trying. He stood perfectly straight like a confident man, understanding the exact effect he had on me.
He said he wouldn’t kiss me unless I asked, so I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. I could tell he was a man who kept his word, and it didn’t seem like something he would do so soon anyway.
“I think a handshake would be strange. So, how about a hug?” He kept his hands in his pockets, not touching me with his fingers but touching me with his proximity. His soft eyes looked into mine, commanding my full attention. His piercing gaze burned me from the inside out, made me feel alive.
I stared at him.
He waited for a yes, and if he didn’t get it, he wouldn’t touch me.
I didn’t see anything wrong with a hug. Friends shared more affection than that on a daily basis. “Sure.”
The corner of his mouth rose in a smile before he moved in. His arms circled my waist, his large palms gliding across my back. He pulled me into him, making my tits hit his strong chest. Instead of moving his face into my neck, he rested his forehead right against mine.
My arms circled around his neck, and I froze as I sucked in a deep breath. I hadn’t expected the intimate closeness, the feel of his breath on my face. I expected a quick hug, something that wouldn’t last longer than five seconds.
But it seemed to go on forever.
He held me outside my apartment, his large hands taking up most of my back. His cologne was heavy, along with a hint of paint. With his fingertip touched the bare skin between my shoulder blades, I couldn’t contain the air in my lungs. I took a deep breath, moved by the touch.
He kept his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. He never moved in to kiss me, keeping his distance like he promised.
All I had to do was move out of the way, and he would let me go. But I stayed there. I stayed absolutely still, like any movement would bring him closer or push him farther away. My hands moved down his arms, feeling the solid muscle I’d stared at in the past. I rested my palms on the crook of his elbows, feeling the prominent veins underneath his skin.
A quiet moan escaped his throat, just as his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Fuck…”
I imagined him saying that very word in bed, when he was hot and sweaty on top of me, enjoying me. I loved being touched by someone, getting affection I hadn’t had in so long. The last few days with Bones were full of tears and heartbreak, not real connection. The sex wasn’t what it used to be, not when all we could think about was saying goodbye. I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until now, from a man that wasn’t Bones.
“I could do this forever.”
I could do this forever too, and that’s what scared me. I liked everything about Antonio, from his personality to his confidence. I liked the way he carried himself, the way he created art. I liked the connection we had, as if we’d known each other before we even met. But those f
eelings alarmed me, made me feel so much guilt that I despised myself. It’s been months since Bones left and he’d been with other women by now, but that didn’t change the way I felt. I stepped back, putting an end to the tenderness before I could enjoy it a second longer. “I should get going…” I turned my back on him before he even had the opportunity to say anything.
His footsteps sounded as he followed me to the stairs. “Vanessa.”
I stepped on the first stair and gripped the rail.
He spoke again, a little more authoritatively. “Vanessa.” He didn’t reach out and grab me, but his voice was enough.
I turned around, eye level with him.
“How long has it been?” He moved his hands into his pockets again, telling me he wouldn’t try to touch me.
I knew he was asking about the man I loved. “Two months.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I told you I wasn’t ready—”
He held up his hand to silence me. “You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation. I’m only asking.”
I gripped the rails on either side of me.
He returned his hand to his pocket. “Can I ask what happened?”
“I…I don’t know.”
He nodded to the steps. “Sit with me.”
After a moment of hesitation, I sat on the bottom step with him. There were a few inches between us, so we weren’t touching.
He rested his arms on his knees, his hands coming together. “Did he pass away?”
“No. I’ll give you the short version of the long version…”
“The long version is fine with me.” He stared straight ahead, looking at the street.
“My family has a long history with his family. His father did some terrible things to my mother and aunt. That was before I was even born. Then I met Griffin… the son of the man who did all those terrible things. I didn’t expect to fall in love with him. I did my best not to. I even hated him like everyone else at one point…but I couldn’t help it. I fell in love with him. We were really happy together. I didn’t want to keep it a secret forever, so we tried to get my family to accept him. But that didn’t work. My father tried to get to know him and let go of the past, but eventually, he just couldn’t do it. He told me he didn’t want me to see Griffin anymore. I know I’m a grown woman who doesn’t have to listen to my parents, but my family is so close that I need a husband who can be part of my family. I want a husband whom my father will love like a son. That wasn’t him…so we went our separate ways. That was almost two months ago…”