by Debra Dunbar
Yeah. Horses. Humans, friends and family. His words conjured up the bleak fears I’d had since finding out I wasn’t human. My brother, Nyalla, my mother, and all of my human friends, would die long before me. And that would be far worse than losing a beloved horse or dog.
The man led me into the next room, and again I saw that the artwork was the focus, with a few small seating areas off to the side, strategically placed for optimal viewing of the artwork. This villa was the oddest home I’d ever toured. It seemed more a museum than a private residence.
“We’ve changed the exterior colors of the villa from pink to yellow depending on what style trends have been, but the interiors have remained relatively untouched since their redesign four hundred years ago,” he told me. We paused before another sculpture that was prominently placed in the center of this room. “Here is my favorite piece of art of all I have in the villa.”
I agreed with Mr. Sommariva. This was the most beautiful thing I’d seen so far, possibly surpassing even the Dawn Redwood and the other stunning plants and trees in the gardens. It was a sculpture of Eros and Psyche. She was being lifted in his arms as he knelt, his wings outstretched to raise her up. Her face was lifted toward his. It captured that split second before a kiss, that moment when the world seems to stand still. And knowing the story of those ill-fated lovers made this sculpture all the more poignant.
He was the son of Mars and Venus. She was his wife, killed because she had been filled with doubt and mistrusted him, looking upon his face in the daylight as she’d promised not to do. With his beloved dead, Eros was overcome with grief. His sorrowful kiss in some legends resurrected her, and in others was simply a goodbye to a love that was forever lost.
I hoped this sculpture depicted the former, because the latter was too tragic for me to bear. We all had doubts. I’d had my doubts with Irix, had moments when I hadn’t trusted him or that his love for me was true. And I thanked the heavens every day that those moments of doubt I’d had hadn’t ended in either my death or the destruction of our relationship.
Daniela’s father led me around the room, discussing the various paintings and smaller sculptures, then we went into yet another room, equally museum-like in its set up. Were all the rooms like this? Did a few of them have sofas, coffee tables, entertainment systems with big-screen televisions and surround sound? I hoped the bedrooms upstairs weren’t as austere as this, otherwise I could completely understand Daniela’s odd fascination with the grotto as a potential home.
We paused before a large painting, and suddenly Mr. Sommariva’s voice faded to a pleasant background hum. As much as I adored the statuary, something about this caught my eye. The Last Kiss. Romeo had one foot on the windowsill, one foot on the step as he leaned toward Juliet, his arm around her waist. Far from a passive participant, she leaned eagerly into his embrace, one hand on his arm and the other arm curling around his neck. Their mouths touched, a shared breath, eyes only for each other.
Ah, young love. And in the shaded background stood the priest from the play, not interfering, not condemning, but not approving either. There was a wariness about him, a tension in his body as he observed the two lovers’ embrace. It was as if he knew the tragedy that was about to unfold.
“We only give our love once.” Eduardo Sommariva’s voice broke into my thoughts. “And it always ends in tragedy. Always. Watching our beloved mates die, feeling the emptiness of their loss with each and every breath is often more than we can bear.”
He was such a romantic. I saw the tears in his dark eyes—eyes that had softened as he’d looked upon the painting. From what Daniela had said, her mother had died a very long time ago, but clearly the pain was as fresh as that horrible day. I couldn’t help but hug him close, noticing over his shoulder that Daniela’s eyes were bleak, stark as she stared at the painting, her mouth a tight line. She’d lost a loved one, too, a husband who had died leaving her with an infant son. Such a tragedy that they both had suffered a catastrophic loss. I released Mr. Sommariva, and as I stepped back, I felt him squeeze my ass.
Okay. So loving only once didn’t mean you couldn’t feel up a pretty woman who was comforting you in your sorrow. Good to know.
We went from room to room on the lower floor, looking at sculptures and paintings, marble mosaic floors and friezes, antique furniture, and an insanely voluminous collection of lithographs. The whole time, Eduardo clung to my hand as if he were a suitor and I a noble lady. Irix followed, clearly amused, while Daniela hovered around her father, fussing occasionally that he was going to tire himself out and that he should be resting.
By the time we’d come back around to the room with the Venus and Mars statue, it became clear that Daniela was right. Her father was clearly fatigued, stumbling as we walked, and occasionally losing track of what he was saying mid-conversation. He sighed as we stood near the door to the rear patio, rubbing the scarred hand over this thinning hair, his shoulders beginning to droop.
“Please go back to bed, Father,” Daniela pleaded. “I will have one of the servants take a tray up to you for lunch.”
He turned to me. “I wanted to have lunch with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman. Sophia died so long ago, and you remind me of her with your golden hair and your blue eyes. Being with you makes me remember her.”
I patted his hand. “If you like, I can come back another time when you’re well-rested and we can have lunch then.”
As long as it was okay with his daughter, that is. And as long as he didn’t get the idea that my coming over for lunch meant that I’d be adjourning to his bedroom afterward. Yes, I was a half-succubus, but I drew the line at siphoning sexual energy off men who were of an age that they were likely to die while we were in the act.
He nodded and leaned down to kiss my cheek, finally releasing me. A servant appeared as if by magic and took Mr. Sommariva by the arm, gently leading him toward the elevator by the stairwell as we said our goodbyes.
“Your father is very nice,” I told Daniela. “And he has an amazing collection of artwork. I don’t think I’ve seen this many high-quality sculptures and paintings outside of a museum.”
She smiled fondly after the man. “His treasures. Thank you both so much for humoring him. He truly enjoyed showing them to you.”
“The pleasure was ours,” Irix replied.
By the time we went back to the side patio overlooking the lake, the servants were already setting up plates of food on a long table. They served us our first course—pasta with a creamy garlic sauce and pancetta.
“Oh this is amazing,” I told her. “One of the best things about being in Italy is the food. We’ve got Italian restaurants back home, but few have much beyond lasagna and spaghetti with a marinara sauce.”
“What’s your favorite so far?” Daniela asked, as I dug in. “Which of our foods do you like the best?”
I thought for a second. “I haven’t been here long enough to try much, but I really do enjoy the pastas. My favorite is probably pene pesto rosso,” I told her. “I love the mixture of basil with the red peppers, and the thick pasta.” Although this dish with pancetta was very good as well.
Daniela blinked in surprise, then slapped her hand over her mouth as she began to laugh. Even Irix chuckled.
“What?”
“I like pene, too,” Daniela replied in a teasing voice. “Although not with the pesto or rosso.”
“Ah, a purist,” Irix commented. “I’ll admit that I’m rather fond of pene myself, although not as much as Amber is. Honestly, I prefer fica myself.”
Daniela was nearly rolling off her seat with laughter by this point.
“What?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with liking pasta?”
“You have to pronounce both n’s in the word,” Irix said, still grinning. “Penne-. Otherwise you’re telling someone that you enjoy penis.”
“With pesto and red peppers.” Daniela laughed.
I could take a joke, and had n
o problem laughing at my own mistakes. “Well I do like penis. And if I can put honey or whipped cream, or chocolate sauce on one, then I don’t see any reason I can’t put pesto on one as well.”
“True.” Irix chuckled
“So what’s a fica?” I asked them. “I’m assuming that’s pussy?”
Daniela chuckled. “Fico is fig, but fica is slang for vagina. So…yes.”
I laughed again, determined that I needed to try harder in pronouncing the few words I did know in Italian, and thankful that Daniela’s son hadn’t been present to hear my slip-up. He didn’t look to be more than eighteen or twenty, but somehow he seemed far younger than my twenty-two.
The second course was smoked trout with capers and a lemon butter sauce, and a side of roasted cauliflower, and blackberry tarts afterward. It was heartier than I’d expected for a “light lunch”, but I remembered Irix saying that Italians liked to eat their main meal at noon with a light repast for supper.
With our “light meal” we had wine that seemed to come from a bottomless bottle. Daniela was constantly waving a server over to refill our glasses, and I felt a bit tipsy by the time they were clearing away the plates. Servers. I needed servers. And cooks. And someone who would vacuum and do laundry. I wasn’t fond of housework, and sitting at a table, chatting while someone else prepared and put food onto my plate was heavenly. Although I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about having a bunch of people constantly in my house. It would be bad enough them seeing my underwear while doing my laundry, what if they realized what Irix and I did in our spare time? What if they found out that we had sex with other people, picked up random strangers each night and did incredibly kinky things with them? These things might be commonplace for sex demons, but not to humans. I’d been brought up human, and although I had accepted, and even embraced, my succubus half, I still felt uncomfortable with the idea of friends and neighbors and co-workers and even housekeeping staff knowing.
Sergio walked out of the house as we were sipping our espresso. He loped across the patio with a casual confidence. His dark blond hair flopped over his tanned forehead as he bent down to kiss his mother’s cheek.
“Sorry I missed lunch,” he said with a charming smile toward Irix and me.
“Busy texting your friends?” Daniela asked, her voice carrying the edge of a scold to it.
“No, busy supervising the pruning of the olive trees we put in last fall.” His smile remained, telling me that he was both used to his mother’s scolding and immune to it. “Although I confess there were a few texts while that was going on.”
“Well, make sure you get leftovers from the kitchen. You’re too skinny. You need to eat more,” his mother fussed.
He rolled his eyes. “I promise I’ll eat something.” Then he turned to us, that infectious grin still in place. “Did you enjoy the artwork as much as the gardens?”
“I did,” Irix commented. “But I’m not sure about Amber. She’s a botanist, and there’s more beauty in trees and flowers for her than in anything man could create himself.”
“That’s not true,” I argued. “Some of those paintings took my breath away, as did the sculptures. I really appreciate that your grandfather took the time to show them to me.”
Sergio laughed. “Oh, Nonno would never pass up the opportunity to show his treasures to a beautiful woman. Be careful, though. He might just want to add you to his collection of precious things.”
“I might have something to say about that,” Irix commented dryly.
Daniela laughed awkwardly. “Now Sergio, your grandfather doesn’t do such things.”
“Not anymore.” His eyes strayed toward the lake, then the mountains beyond. “Although I’m sure if he could acquire a harem of beautiful women to live in the villa, he would.”
“Me, too,” Irix said. “A harem of beautiful women in a villa sounds like an ideal life to me.”
“Join us for coffee, Sergio.” Daniela pulled out a chair.
“No,” He never broke his stare out onto the lake. “I’m meeting some friends and have to get going. I just wanted to say my goodbyes to Amber and Irix, and to let you know I won’t be back until late.”
Daniela’s expression sharpened. “Who are you meeting?”
Sergio sighed. “Just some friends. Bernard is coming up from Milan for the day and I thought we’d go out. I planned on taking the boat out tonight with him and a few other friends as well.”
“I need to meet any girls first, Sergio,” Daniela warned. “Do not betray my trust on this. And I want you back before midnight.”
He frowned. “Mom. I’m eighteen. You were engaged at my age.”
“No girls,” she insisted. “And home before midnight. I mean it.”
“Fine.” He turned to us, shaking Irix’s hand and kissing me on the cheek. “I hope to see you both around. Everyone does a party and bar hop with their boats on the weekend, so if you’re still here and interested, you could join my friends and me.” He shot his mother a wicked glance. “That is, if you don’t mind me and my young friends, and if my mother allows Amber to actually step foot on our boat. As you heard, she has a strict, ‘no women’ policy.”
“Sergio, that’s not what I meant,” Daniela said, but he’d already turned and was heading down the steps toward the waterfront, whistling cheerfully.
“Boys,” Irix commented. “They are quite the handful, aren’t they?”
“I’m sure you gave your mother just as much trouble.” Daniela sighed. “Sergio is such a good boy, but he’s of an age where urges are strong. I don’t want him to wind up with the wrong girl. There are many out there who might take advantage of his youth and his hormones.”
“There are many who might want to live in a villa like this,” Irix added.
She smiled. “To my father, this villa and the gardens are his greatest treasure. I love and cherish them as well, but to me, Sergio is my greatest treasure. I know one day I will hand him into the care of another, but I want to make sure she’s the right woman.”
There were many cultures where arranged marriages were the norm, and those where parental approval was vital before either party felt free to exchange vows. I wasn’t one to judge. And besides, Sergio was far too young to be thinking of a happily-ever-after, no matter how young his mother was when she became engaged. Young, fun, sexy-times, yes. Marriage, no.
“We have only one love,” Daniela said, looking out over the lake much the same as her son had done. “I just want to make sure that Sergio doesn’t give his heart foolishly, because for him, there will only be one woman.”
Chapter 6
“I’ve got an idea.” Irix caged me in, his hands on the armrests of my chair. Grinning, he leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on the tip of my nose. “It’s the best idea ever.”
I stuck a notecard in my book and shut it. “Tell me this best idea ever.”
He could suggest we go dumpster diving at this point and I’d be game. After four years of college, here I was studying again when I really wanted to go explore. The morning at Villa Sommariva hadn’t been enough adventure, enough vacation, and I could barely concentrate on The Science of Wine, Fifth Edition.
“First, you have to see this.” Irix pulled me out of the chair. I plopped the book onto a table and followed him from the breezeway across the lawn.
“See what? Your cock? Because you know I always want to see that.”
“Well if you’re a very good girl, actually if you’re a really bad girl, you’ll definitely get to see that. But in the meantime…voila!”
I stood at the stone wall that separated us from the lake and looked. The view was stunning, but I got the idea that wasn’t what Irix meant.
“No here, silly elf-girl. Down here.”
I pivoted and looked over the edge of the wall. There were stone steps leading downward, along with heavy iron ladder rungs embedded into the stone. Jutting out from the rock was a tall, thick stone wall that formed a private spot of lake. It was a marina
for the villa, a place to dock several boats and to come and go by the lake. And expertly tied to one of the moorings was a thin, stylish, cigar boat. It looked fast, dangerous, expensive. And it hadn’t been there this morning.
“Did you steal that?”
Irix made a “tsk” sound. “I thought you preferred not to know about my methods of acquisition.”
“You’re right. Forget I asked. Should I get my swimsuit?”
“Not this time. We’re going to see another villa. I just discovered that following Guido Montenegro’s death, his estate has opened the villa for tours. It’s the first time anyone besides the family and employees has seen it since his renovations. And once the new owner takes residence, I doubt it will be open to the public again.”
As much as I hated to celebrate anyone’s death, Guido Montenegro’s had coincided perfectly with our visit. Two villas in one day. That was much more exciting than spending the afternoon studying all the varieties of yeast strains and their impact on residual sugar in grape varietals.
“Let’s go.”
I felt as if we were escaping the villa like in a James Bond movie as Irix helped me down to the narrow stone landing. Then he climbed down to the boat and waited, groping my ass as I hopped off the last of the metal rungs. The boat swayed and Irix steadied me until I got my balance, then I sat while he untied the moorings and started the engine with a roar.
Irix piloted a boat like he drove. We tore across the lake, wind whipping my hair into a snarl of knots and bringing tears to my eyes even with my sunglasses on. The boat rose and crashed down as it flew along, creating a spray of icy-cold droplets that occasionally blew back onto us. I squealed every time, shocked at how cold the lake water was in August. Swimming was clearly not for the faint of heart when it came to Lake Como.
We curved in a wide turn to avoid nailing a smaller craft with our wake and a promontory came into view.
“Villa Montenegro was originally owned by a Cardinal.” Irix slowed the boat and pointed at a huge marble statue, that was indeed of a cardinal, at the top of the marina wall. There were other statuary of what looked to be monks, then a ton of half-naked neoclassical-style men and women. Of course, the Cardinal was in the most prominent position, and his statue was taller than the others.