by Jill G. Hall
In Milan, he had to work for a few hours each day, but that was fine because she got to explore a bit on her own. She took the Cathedral’s elevator up to the roof and snapped photos of the scary gargoyles. Human-like demons, dragons, dogs, and even one that resembled a duck—all with their mouths open as if they were screaming.
She also visited the high-end designer shops where the price of one blouse was more than she’d spend on rent in an entire year. But the next day Sergio dropped her off in a section of town that had vintage shops to die for. There she bought a red lace blouse that only cost as much as one day of rent.
In Florence, they had strolled along the Arno, visited the Palazzo Vecchio, and perused the Uffizi Gallery, including the Birth of Venus.
Now Sergio opened a final door for her. “And here you’ll see the number one Florentine attraction, one of the most amazing masterpieces ever made by man.”
Anne and Sergio walked down the wide hall to the viewing room. Even with an early reservation, it was already crowded. She glanced up at the marble face of David looming above a plethora of teenagers, with their backs to the sculpture, waving selfie sticks and taking pictures.
Sergio and Anne waited for the group to leave, then got a closer look. Astounded by the perfection of David’s body, she hankered to climb up and rub her hands along his smooth marble muscles—only because she was an artist and wanted to understand how the sculpting had been done, of course.
She motioned to Sergio. “Stand in front of him.”
Imitating David’s pose, he stepped back, turned his head, and lifted his left hand above his shoulder as if holding the slingshot’s pouch.
“How’s this?” He copied the sculpture’s serious expression.
Anne snapped a photo. “Perfetto.”
She took a few more pictures and gave Sergio a mischievous grin. “To make the resemblance better, would you pose naked?”
“Si!” Sergio laughed and started to take off his shirt.
“No, no. I was joking!” Anne turned as another noisy tour group moved toward them.
She chose a photo and typed in her phone: My own David next to the real marble giant-sized one. Pushing the button, she posted it on Facebook.
Sergio held out his hand. “Let’s not miss our train. Next up: Roma, the Eternal City.”
A driver picked Sergio and Anne up at the train station in Rome and sped toward their hotel. With the faster traffic, louder horns, and pedestrian-filled sidewalks, the energy here seemed even more rapid than New York’s. By the time the driver dropped them off, the sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon, but it was still scorching hot.
Sergio checked them in to their Relais & Châteaux hotel.
“You go on up, I have an errand to do,” he said.
She followed the bellman up to the quiet air-conditioned room, a respite from the hustle-bustle of the busy city. A bouquet of red roses, cobalt-blue delphiniums, and tall gladiolas was displayed on an entry table. The bellman set the bags down and she tipped him, hoping she’d given him enough.
At the window she studied the rooftop view of a domed church. “Not bad.” She snapped a photo and posted it. The morning’s photo of Sergio with David already had seventy-five likes.
The large bed with the carved wood headboard, gold-and-scarlet pillows, and white coverlet looked inviting. Entering the bathroom, she screamed.
Sergio rushed in carrying some shopping bags. “Are you okay?”
“This bathtub is practically as big as my whole apartment.”
“You’ll live.” He laughed. “Hurry, put on your jeans, we’ve got to get going.”
“But I stink and need a bath.” She stared at the tub.
“You’ll stink more later. You can take one tonight. The city is waiting.”
“But if it’s the Eternal City, it will wait for us forever.”
He smiled, pulling out boots, leather jackets, and gloves from his shopping bags.
“What’s all that for?”
“When you drive a Vespa, you are wearing a Vespa.” He put on a jacket and turned as if he were a model. “They see all of you. It’s part of your look. It’s about style.”
“But it must be a hundred degrees out there.” Anne frowned.
“It’s for your own protection.”
“Protection?”
“You’ll see.”
They dressed, walked the few blocks to the scooter rental, and went inside, where Sergio made the transaction.
He rolled a royal-blue Vespa out to the street and patted the back seat. “Hop on!”
“This is going to be fun!” She slid onto the leather.
“Avoid any sudden movements, and don’t try to help me by leaning to the side. Enjoy the ride.”
“Okay.”
“Put this on.” He handed her a helmet.
“It’s a retro bowling ball!” Anne tugged the silver-metal-flecked helmet on her head.
He strapped his black helmet on and pulled the guard over his handsome face.
“May the force be with you, Darth Vader,” Anne laughed.
He jumped onto the Vespa. She held onto him as he hit the gas and sped off into traffic. They bounced out of a pothole and she feared they were going to slide over, but he kept the scooter stable. Her heart raced as he drove down the white line between rows of cars. She closed her eyes as they almost bashed into a florist truck.
“Slow down!” she yelled.
He didn’t seem to hear her.
They twisted and turned up and down the hills, zipping in and out of traffic like a human video game. She hoped she wouldn’t lose the spaghetti she’d had on the train.
Sergio glanced in the rearview mirror and sped right through a red light.
Anne screamed. “Oh my God! You just broke the law.”
“Rules are meant to be broken!” he shouted back to her.
He pulled the Vespa off onto the sidewalk and continued along until he stopped in an area packed with tourists.
She carefully slid off the seat and tried to calm her wobbly legs. “I can’t believe how fast you were going. What’s the speed limit?” She removed her helmet and fluffed her hat hair.
“There isn’t one.” He shook his head and attached their helmets to the back of the Vespa. “It’s such a pleasure to drive without needing to check the speedometer.”
“You drove as if you really were a Star Wars character.” This was a side she’d never seen of him. In fact, she’d never ridden with him before. They’d always taken a Lyft, taxis, or town cars, and she’d done the driving while they were in Michigan.
“Let the Roma tour begin.”
“I need a minute. Water, please.”
He bought an Acqua Panna bottle from a kiosk and handed it to her.
She drank some water and gave the bottle back to him. “Okay. Ready.”
Sergio finished the bottle, tossed it in a can, and took her hand, and they wove through the crowd. The sound of running water could be heard.
He lifted his arm. “Here we have the Fontana di Trevi: Italy’s largest and most famous Baroque fountain, which stands eight hundred and fifty feet high and sixty-five feet across. Notice the Corinthian pilasters . . .”
“It’s stunning!” Anne pointed to the Neptune-like god. “There’s Oceanus in his chariot. And I recognize Abundance and Salubrity. Or is it the other way around?” Anne crisscrossed her arms.
“That’s right, the snake is drinking from Salubrity’s cup.”
“What does salubrity mean, anyway?” Anne snapped a photo, making sure to get the cascades as they flowed into the aqua-green pool.
“Healthful,” he responded. “Turn around.” Sergio handed her a euro. “Throw this diagonally over your shoulder from left to right without missing.”
She gave him her phone. “Okay. Here goes.” She turned and tossed the coin into the cascading water.
He clicked the camera on her phone. “Molto bene! It landed in the water, which means you’ll return to Roma
someday.”
She frowned. “Hopefully not with you driving.”
He motioned toward where the Vespa was parked.
“I’m not getting back on that with you.”
“Mi dispiace. Next stop is not far. I’ll try to slow down, but I have to keep up with the flow of traffic.”
“The traffic isn’t a flow, it’s an erupting volcano.”
“Come on!” He took her elbow. She reluctantly climbed back on the Vespa, and he gently steered it around a corner, where he stopped.
“And these dolcezza are the Spanish Steps.”
It was packed with people who stood and sat on the steps.
“Good, the scaffolding is down.” She snapped a photo.
He nodded. “They say there are one hundred and thirty-five steps. Should we run up and count them to make sure?”
“Not today.” She yawned. “Let’s go back to the hotel for a nap.”
“How about a gelato first?”
“Now you’re talking.” She wondered when he would be ready to talk about her moving to New York.
47
That evening, Sergio pulled the Vespa back onto the street and sped up. Anne tried to relish the swerving motion of the motorcycle beneath her body, her chest against his back. Traffic had thinned out from their day excursion. Surface streetlights popped on as darkness fell. Up ahead she could see the Colosseum, its curved wall of arches serene. A full moon had begun to rise above it.
Sergio pulled onto the gravel, drove toward the arena, and parked. There was only one car there. Anne removed her helmet, hopped off, and rubbed her hands along the rough-hewn limestone wall.
Sergio snapped a quick photo of her leaning against the facade.
She blinked at the flash. “Don’t post it. I have horrible hat hair.” She ruffled her fingers through it.
“No, you don’t! Molto bella.”
“Too bad the Colosseum’s closed.” She’d read online that it closed at three thirty.
“No problemo.” He took her hand, and they walked the wall’s perimeter until they came to a wooden door. Opening it, he guided her over the doorpost and into the arena.
“Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.
“But of course.” He gave her a mysterious wide-eyed look.
They walked to the center of the six-acre arena that used to hold as many as eighty thousand spectators, and she spun slowly around, looking up at the stands, imagining what it might have looked like during that era. An owl hooted and flew to a square niche high above, into one of the arches.
“This is crazy. All alone in the Colosseum . . .”
“Shhh. Listen.” Sergio took her hands and faced her. “Close your eyes.”
Inside the deserted wonder, buffered by the thick walls, traffic noise disappeared. The scent of damp sand permeated the air, and she inhaled deeply. Crickets chirped.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Anne jumped.
“Ciao!” A burly man with a stern expression came out from behind a pillar. “Sergio, cugino.”
“Buona notte.” Sergio gave him a hug.
The man frowned at her. “You must be Anne.”
“Yes. Sì.” She nodded.
“This is my cousin Cornelius, but we call him Cornie.”
She shook his hand. “Piacere, Cornie!” She tried not to laugh at his name. With that serious face, it sure didn’t seem to fit him.
“Benvenuto. Enjoying your Roman holiday?”
“Sì.” Anne smiled.
“I’ll leave you two love doves alone.”
“Thanks, Cornie.” Sergio hugged him again.
“Close the door when you leave. It should lock behind you.” He crossed the arena and slipped out the door they had entered through.
“Where were we?”
Sergio took her hands again, and she could hear the silence. He pulled her close and kissed her. She wondered if this might be the right time for them to talk about her moving to New York. But when she opened her eyes, instead of looking at her, he was scanning the top of the building surrounding them.
She tilted her head back. “Look at that moon.”
Sergio began to sing, rocking her.
“It’s a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars above in your eyes
A fantabulous night making romance!”
He seemed to know all the words. She didn’t and hummed along with him, their voices echoing off the walls.
He kissed her again. “Did you know thousands of spectators would watch as gladiators fought lions to the death? Either one or the other would die.”
The spell had been broken. “Yes, I’ve read all about it.” She recalled her earlier fantasy. Brave Sergio, a gladiator ready to fight to the death: a bald-headed giant, a mangy bear, a ferocious lion. A shiver went up her spine to the nape of her neck.
“It must have been really gory,” he teased.
“How romantic.” Disappointed, she started toward the exit.
“Wait.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s explore.” He led her between two columns along a pathway and up into the stands.
She could tell there’d be no serious discussion tonight.
48
Sergio steered the Alfa Romeo around another bend and pointed. “There it is!” A white villa appeared on the hill above them.
Nearby leafy grapevines twisted on wooden stakes that lined the rise like baby telephone poles. Sergio turned the sports car right and ascended the gravel road edged by cypress trees. They passed an olive grove, branches ripe with black ovals.
He slowed, parked in front of the villa, took their luggage from the trunk, and led her through the wrought iron gate, where blue wisteria cascaded over an arch.
Anne’s Italian hadn’t progressed much, and she hoped she’d be able to communicate with his grandmother.
“Sergio!” An old woman, her dove-gray hair swept up into a bun, moved toward them, wiping her hands on an apron.
“Nonna!” He clutched her to him.
After a moment they let go. Nonna blinked back tears of love, and Anne saw where Sergio got his big smile.
“Welcome!” Nonna kissed Anne on both cheeks. “Finally, I get to meet you.”
“Salve.” Anne kissed her twice, inhaling a faint vanilla scent.
“Sit, sit, and we’ll have a nice chat. Oh, no.” Nonna shook her head. “How rude of me. You must be tired from the drive. Sergio, take her upstairs.” Her English was perfect.
“Come, amore mio.” Carrying their suitcases, he guided Anne through the kitchen, redolent of fresh-baked bread, up a back stairway, and down a long hallway to a room filled with light. Anne rushed to gaze out the window. A lake glistened below, and the countryside beyond spread like a tapestry of gold, sienna, and emerald.
Sergio put his hand on her shoulder. “What do you think?”
“It’s idyllic. How could you ever leave it?” she asked. Then, sadly, “Oh, that’s right, you were shipped off to boarding school.”
He pulled her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. “If I’d never left, how else would I have ever found you?”
She turned toward him and he enfolded her in his arms. Soon, tired from the drive, they curled up on the soft bed together. Thick walls kept the house cool, but the afternoon sun on Anne’s back warmed her as she dove into sleep to the sound of a lark calling its mate.
They awoke, freshened up, and found their way down to the brick patio under an arbor where a fully set table had been laid: lace tablecloth, crystal stemware, and hand-painted plates, just like the ones in her collage. Sergio opened a bottle of merlot and poured the wine. Clinking glasses, they each took a sip.
A striped kitten stealthily walked along the garden wall. Pale yellow as salted butter, it twitched tiny ears that folded up and down. Paws outstretched, the tiny cat glided down the steps toward Anne and stared at her like Mrs. Landenheim’s Siamese. Anne had convinced her landlady to wait until after the trip to sign the lease.
If Sergio didn’t want her to move to New York, she would need to commit for two years when they returned. She’d have to broach the subject tonight.
For dinner, Anne had expected a big bowl of pasta.
“We’re having one of Sergio’s favorite meals. French fries and hot dogs.”
“I know you love french fries, but Mr. Foodie eats hot dogs?” Anne laughed and cringed inside. She would need to be polite and eat one.
“He became an aficionado at his American school.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that? I can cook hot dogs.”
He shrugged with a smile.
A grin spread across Nonna’s face. “This one’s for you. Tofu.” She put one not as pink as the others on a plate and handed it to Anne.
“How thoughtful of you.” Anne took a bite and nodded. “Mmm. This is delicious.” She bit into a fry, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside.
After they’d devoured their meals, Nonna said, “Anne, tell me about your art.”
Anne was coaxed into going into detail about her work, showing photos from her cell until they had finished the wine.
“Let’s have dessert later,” Sergio said. “I’m stuffed.” He’d eaten three hot dogs.
Anne started to help clear the table, but Nonna shook her head. “I’ll clean up. You two go for a walk before dark.”
Sergio led Anne down the hill through an olive grove and some grapevines to a mosaic bench by the lake. They sat close together, embracing in the golden glow.
“Sergio. Are you ready to talk about me moving to New York?”
“Yes.” He paused, knelt on one knee, pulled a velvet box from his pants pocket, and held it toward her. “I have something for you.”
Her heart sprinted. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked.
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” he asked.
“Open the box, please.”
“Okay.” He lifted the lid. A diamond glinted in the twilight.
“Well?” she prompted again.