But Annabella was right; it wasn’t nerves making her sick. Sofia’s stomach churned every time she thought of Roberto’s betrayal. The guilt in his eyes, unable to deny all he’d done. Her humiliation at being fooled so easily.
‘No, you’re hurting.’ Annabella’s smile faded into sympathy. Sofia had tried to downplay her heartache when she’d told her sister about Roberto’s lies, but Annabella knew her too well. ‘Did they ask you about Roberto? As far as the world knows you’re still together, right?’
‘Vittorio will announce our “break-up” any day now. All very amicable of course.’
Sofia had kept a low profile for the last couple of weeks. She couldn’t bear facing the paparazzi every time she left the Bonaparte’s building, bombarded by questions about Roberto and their relationship. Pretending to be a woman in love not scorned. Not left completely hollow.
‘What did you tell them?’
‘No personal questions. Isn’t that what all the celebrities say?’ Sofia pushed herself up off the divan, her twitching restlessness forbidding her to keep still for long. Holding her phone in front of her she strolled around the large central display cabinet, triggering another wave of nausea as she remembered watching Roberto standing there, praising her chocolate. She’d been right to be worried.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No personal questions.’ Sofia crooked her lips upwards at her sister.
‘You may have fooled the magazine Sof, but I can see through that creepy smile.’
‘Thanks,’ Sofia scoffed, leaning forward on the counter. ‘No, I haven’t seen him.’
‘He said he didn’t want to lose you. I would’ve thought—’
‘There’s no future for us, Ann.’ Sofia straightened. ‘My career is the love of my life. The grappatino’s a huge success, we’re being featured in freaking Gourmet Cioccolato magazine. And... I’m going to be a columnist.’
‘What?’ Annabella’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘The editor asked me to write a regular column for them.’
‘You’re kidding, that’s fantastic!’
Sofia smiled at Annabella’s beaming face wishing she could share her excitement, but all pleasure was absorbed by the constant darkness that enveloped her. Roberto’s deceit, his absence, outshone everything.
‘So no room for love?’
‘There is no love. Roberto only helped me because he felt bad about stealing Mum’s recipe. I’m sorry for trusting him Ann.’ A pang of guilt gripped Sofia’s voice. ‘I let you down.’
‘No, you didn’t. You followed your heart. I’m proud of you. And you said Roberto stopped Conti from releasing the ornella chocolate. He didn’t want to hurt you Sof. He loves you.’
‘You don’t lie to someone you love. Not like he did.’ Sofia cleared her throat as she turned away from the cabinet trying to erase the memory of Roberto standing there in his navy suit, the thrilling sensation as he’d kissed her hand.
‘I did.’ Annabella’s voice swept the vision away.
‘What?’
‘I was so scared of hurting Alessandro that I waited too long to tell him the truth. I almost lost him. Sometimes we lie to protect the ones we love even if it’s not always the right decision.’
‘I told Roberto about Marco. Everything. He knew how important trust is to me. He lied to protect himself; he knew if I found out he’d betrayed me I’d never forgive him. He was right, I won’t.’ Sofia walked around the side counter and propped her phone against the cash register, freeing her hands to rearrange the chocolates in the display drawer.
‘He told you more than he had to,’ Annabella said. ‘About Mum, her journal. He knew you deserved to know everything even though that meant losing you.’
‘Why are you standing up for him?’ Sofia glanced up from the chocolates. ‘You know what he’s like. You were right, I was wrong.’ She shrugged, returning her attention to her needless task.
‘As much as I love hearing that, I think I was wrong Sof. Stop doing that and look at me.’ Sofia’s eyes flicked to the phone, unaccustomed to the terse tone in her sister’s voice. ‘Roberto gave you life again. Since Baraldo you’ve been completely reinvigorated. I haven’t seen you like that for years. And because of him your career is on fire.’
‘You’re right.’ Sofia nodded. ‘Which reminds me...’ She bent down to lift a cardboard package from under the counter and placed it on top of the glass cabinet. ‘Bonaparte’s will be launching the cioccolatino fiori at the San Remo flower festival.’
‘What?’ Surprise lit Annabella’s face. ‘But Conti has the nectar.’
Sofia smiled at her sister’s delighted shock. ‘I didn’t tell you before in case you tried to convince me it was some grand gesture when it’s simply taking back what’s rightfully ours.’
‘Tell me.’
‘A couple of days after the gala, a Conti courier delivered this.’ Sofia tapped the package. ‘All the ornella nectar and the journal Roberto stole from Mum.’
‘Show me.’ Annabella demanded, rubbing her hands together. Their mother’s journals were their most treasured possessions. To discover a new one was like striking an emotional pot of gold.
‘Sorry, I should’ve shown you as soon as I got it.’ Sofia had been half-dead when she’d first opened the box, overwhelmed by an emotional deluge, she’d quickly shut it away.
She took out the leather bound journal and carefully laid it open on the counter. She held the phone lens over the book as she slowly flipped the pages so Annabella could see their mother’s illustrated recipes.
‘It’s beautiful, Ann.’ Sofia turned the phone over to see her sister’s face again, her eyes moistened with fresh tears.
‘There’s something else.’ Sofia exhaled loudly; she’d delayed the inevitable long enough.
‘What?’
Sofia propped up the phone again and pulled an envelope out of the box, holding it up to show Annabella. ‘It’s got my name on it. I recognise the handwriting. It’s from Roberto.’
‘I thought he hadn’t tried to contact you.’
‘He hasn’t called or dropped by. Just this. After everything at the gala, I wasn’t ready to open it. I couldn’t take any more... information. There was nothing left to say.’ Sofia stared at the handwriting on the envelope, imagining Roberto’s melodic voice in the lyrical loops of his cursive letters. Sofia.
‘You have to open it.’ Her attention shifted to Annabella. Her eyes were warm and comforting, giving Sofia the strength she needed to face Roberto’s words.
‘Okay.’ She swallowed as she slid her finger under the seal, tearing the envelope open and pulling out a folded document.
‘Well?’
Her pulse quickened as she studied the pages. ‘It’s in Italian but... I think it’s a transfer of property deed.’
‘What property? Transfer to whom?’
‘Villa Castello... to me,’ Sofia said disbelievingly.
‘Are you serious?’
As Sofia leafed through the document a folded piece of paper fell onto the counter. She picked it up and opened the single page, her hands shaking. ‘There’s a letter, from Roberto.’
‘What does it say?’
‘Dear Sofia,’ she read aloud. ‘Please find enclosed the title to Villa Castello. I should have given it to you in Baraldo when I first realised—’ Sofia’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes scanned the words ahead.
‘What?’ Annabella asked impatiently.
‘When I first realised I love you.’ Sofia’s voice broke as she focused on the word love. In the present tense. She breathed deeply, her body trembling on the exhale as a sudden swell of tears sprang to her eyes.
‘The ornella nectar is yours as it always should have been,’ she continued. ‘Then, now and forever. Launch your cioccolatino fiori at the San Remo festival. Make your mother’s recipes, they should be celebrated. But never stop creating your own. Continue to shine for the world as you have for me. All my love, Roberto.’<
br />
Sofia stared at the letter, a roller coaster of emotion speeding through her.
‘Holy crap,’ she heard Annabella say through the muffled fog of her thoughts as she tried to comprehend Roberto’s words.
Sofia picked up her phone to look at her sister. ‘Huh?’
‘He’s given you a villa?’
‘He owns half of Baraldo. He funded the building restoration for the artist retreat and there’s a gallery space in Villa Castello showing his brother’s paintings.’
‘And the flowers from Mum’s recipes. They grow there, right?’
‘Probably.’
‘Pardon my French but that’s a grand fucking gesture if ever I saw one.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sofia said blankly as she blinked at her sister’s face and back down at the letter. ‘It’s very generous. But Roberto’s a wealthy man. To him it’s just one more building.’
‘No Sof, it’s not and you know it. It’s the building where he’s memorialised his brother. And it’s where they met our mother. Roberto knows that place is just as important to our family as it is to his. And he’s giving it to you.’
‘I can’t accept it.’
‘The villa or Roberto?’
‘Either.’
‘He loves you Sof. He told you he loves you.’ Annabella looked at her pleadingly.
‘But it’s so much easier to write the words than say them face to face. He hasn’t come to see me Ann. If he loves me I need to hear him say it, to see it in his eyes. He’d never do that. I told him I loved him and he couldn’t say it back. He’s too lost in the past to love me with his whole heart. And I can’t risk mine again for anything less.’
‘Go to him Sof, tell him how you feel. You deserve the fairytale.’
‘I can’t.’ Sofia’s voice shook as fat tears rolled down her face. Pounding heartache and a lifetime of memories tainted by betrayal stole her hope for a happily ever after. ‘I wish I could. But I can’t.’
Chapter 9
Roberto tossed the transfer of property deed onto his kitchen counter as he pulled out a barstool and sat down.
‘She didn’t sign it?’ His mother broke pieces of chocolate into a pot of milk on the small cooktop in front of him. She hadn’t forgotten his favourite drink as a young boy. Spiced hot chocolate, a universal elixir for all childhood woes.
But like Sofia said, he wasn’t a boy anymore. It would take more than chocolate to salve his deepening heartache. Even his rekindled relationship with his mother couldn’t subdue the anguish that had tormented Roberto since Sofia had told him she never wanted to see him again.
‘No, she didn’t sign it.’ He folded the document and stuffed it back in the envelope.
‘Did she say why?’
‘She wrote a note. She said it was a very generous offer but she couldn’t accept it.’
‘That’s it?’ His mother poured the thick hot chocolate into a mug and placed it with a spoon in front of him.
‘And to consider her letter our last goodbye.’ The memory of Sofia’s words stabbed his heart with renewed vigour. I’ve been used too many times and endured enough heartbreak.
‘I’m sorry Berto. She’s hurting. She needs more time.’
‘No, she can’t forgive me and I don’t blame her.’
Any hope had drained from Roberto’s body as he’d read Sofia’s letter confirming he’d never be part of her life again. Your betrayal has left me questioning all our time together.
Roberto stirred his drink, staring into the dark chocolate whirlpool. Hints of cinnamon and cardamom rose from the steam invading his mind with memories of the Baraldo kitchen, Sofia tightening his blindfold as she teasingly tested his palate.
‘How stupido, giving hot chocolate to a grown man. You need something stronger, no?’ His mother opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of liquor. ‘How about this?’
Roberto glanced at the bottle of grappa in her hand and nodded. A shot of the fiery liquid would only stir more memories of Sofia. But that was a sweet agony he’d never be able to resist.
‘Now,’ his mother poured them both a generous shot, ‘who says you’ve lost her?’
‘Mamma,’ Roberto said, pragmatically tapping the envelope on the counter. ‘She doesn’t want me.’
‘She does, she just needs more convincing, no? I can’t stand by and watch you miss out on the happiness you deserve. Not anymore.’ She pushed a glass towards him. ‘Drink this and we’ll plan how to win her back.’
‘I don’t deserve her—’
‘Stop it!’ Roberto started at the desperate emotion in his mother’s voice. ‘Yes, you’ve made mistakes. We all have. Hasn’t everyone suffered enough? Let me be your mother and help you Berto.’ She looked at him beseechingly as welling tears veiled her gleaming azure eyes.
‘She asked me not to contact her again.’ Roberto encircled the shot glass with his fingers. ‘I don’t want to hurt her anymore.’
‘Not telling her you love her is hurting her.’
‘I told her in my letter, she doesn’t believe it.’
‘Try harder. Make her believe it.’
‘How?’ Roberto searched his mother’s face helplessly for the answer.
‘Show her.’ Lucia picked up her glass with emphatic assurance. ‘Show her you understand what she needs and you’re going to give it to her.’
Roberto longed for his mother’s confidence as he clinked his glass with hers and downed the grappa in one. He arched his head back, closing his eyes as the hot liquor burnt his throat, infusing his blood. A montage of his time with Sofia shot to life, bittersweet memories tempered by chocolate. Always the same. They fall in love and he breaks her heart.
As the grappa soaked into Roberto’s body, warming his chest, the words of Sofia’s letter swirled in his head. Afraid. Proud. Guarded. A checklist of all his mistakes. But somehow, like pieces of a puzzle, they slowly joined together and showed him the way back to her.
A tantalising mix of adrenaline and pure fear seized Roberto as he realised what he had to do. Something he’d never dared before. No contract, no agenda, no lies. Just love. Vulnerable, unconditional, love.
* * *
‘A great choice, I’m sure you’ll love them.’ Sofia handed a small box of artisan chocolates to the American couple at the Bonaparte’s counter. ‘Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.’
‘We will, thanks,’ they replied in unison and laughed, barely able to take their eyes, or hands, off each other.
‘Can you believe we’re, like, married?’ The young woman gazed adoringly up at her husband.
‘Luckiest man alive, babe.’ The beefy Texan beamed.
Sofia’s heart clenched as they nuzzled into each other and turned to leave, their obvious affection sparking the aching memory of Roberto’s arms lovingly wrapped around her.
‘I’ll let you out.’ She hurried ahead of the couple, thankful it was time to close for the lunchtime siesta and she could retreat from the world again. She opened the door and gasped as the distinctive scent of jasmine flew up her nose.
‘You okay, ma’am?’ the man asked, pausing in the doorway.
‘Huh?’ Sofia was so exhausted her mind was playing tricks on her; imagining she could smell the familiar perfume in the spring breeze. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Have a great day.’
‘You too.’ The man smiled warmly, squeezing his wife to his side as they stepped out onto the narrow footpath. They slowly wandered up the shopping strip, arm in arm like a clichéd advertisement for the city of love.
Sofia leant despondently against the doorframe, momentarily soothed by the rejuvenating afternoon sun. But again an unmistakeable jasmine fragrance swirled around her, jolting her upright. Her eyes flashed down the street, to the florist’s open shop front. And there they were. Masses of the white, star-shaped blooms, overflowing from makeshift vases by the entrance, enticing passers-by with their sweet, nostalgic scent.
Sofia rushed back inside and locked the door, clasping h
er hand over her mouth as she walked unsteadily to the counter. Her mind reeled with sensory overload and the desperate need to reign in her misguided hope.
She’d experienced phantom smells many times since her accident. Nose hallucinations she called them. I’m cured! she’d exclaim to her sister, certain an evocative fragrance from her past had finally jump started her latent senses. Her elation quashed each time by the powerless sympathy on Annabella’s face telling her she’d imagined it. After a while Sofia had stopped getting excited, knowing it was just a fantasy, a cruel reminder of what she’d lost.
Placing her shaking hands on the counter, she closed her eyes to focus on her breathing exercises. As she inhaled, a faint aroma of dark chocolate and scorched caramel seeped into her consciousness. Her eyes flicked open. This was different. In the past she’d only ever been fooled by one phantom smell before it vanished. Now the scent of the ingredients she’d used that morning to make her grappatino were sweeping through her with shocking clarity.
Sofia struggled to swallow as her dry mouth craved hydration. Or maybe... sensation? With trembling hands, her heart racing with soaring hope she could no longer control, she reached under the counter and lifted out the cardboard box from Conti.
She carefully extracted one of the small vials of ornella nectar and unscrewed its cap. Raising the glass tube to her nose, she closed her eyes and sniffed tentatively. Her olfactory nerve sparked wildly as though shaken from a deep sleep, her mind lit up with a vivid vision of her mother in her childhood kitchen. Taste Sofia. Her mother’s voice tempting her with a spoonful of chocolate. Tears flowed with joyous abandon as Sofia savoured the image that for too long had been muted by her anosmia.
Opening her eyes, reminding herself to breathe, she returned the precious nectar to the box and jerked open the cabinet drawer in front of her.
The earthy aroma of rich cacao, the bass note of years spent in the kitchen, spiralled blissfully up her nose as she picked up a grappatino chocolate. She closed her eyes again, on the brink of rapture as she held it to her lips, her hand still trembling as she bit through the dark coating. Her taste buds rejoiced as though they’d never died. Roberto’s creamy couverture combined harmoniously with her Madagascan white chocolate and salted praline, whirling in perfect unison around her mouth.
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