“Tell me more about it, the glass, I mean.” His beguiling eyes beckoned. “Please?”
He resembled a small boy pleading for a reward and she had no willpower not to appease.
“It is amazing, you are right, especially when you see the material first coalesce, when the spark of life ignites and glows.” Sophia’s voice bubbled with all the wonder she felt for the glass and her nervousness eased a bit, expelled by his interest. She relaxed in his devoted attention, felt an almost tangible touch as his gaze moved from her eyes, to her lips, and often to her coiffure.
“The deep amber as the glass becomes liq—is there something wrong with my hair?”
His regard had become too severe and Sophia’s self-consciousness won over, and she raised a hand to her pinned-up curls.
Teodoro laughed a delightful rumble of pleasure.
“No, no, I’m sorry. It’s…it’s just the color, like the melted chocolate the Spanish have brought. Everywhere you look these days all the women are red of hair. You’ve never dyed yours as so many others do?”
“No, never,” Sophia scoffed. “It is far too time-consuming, I have no wish to burn my scalp with the caustic liquid nor patience to sit in the sun for hours on end. I’m afraid I am not vain enough to make the effort.”
Teodoro’s eyes sparked with admiration.
“No need to apologize. I think it’s magnificent.”
Under the potency of his appreciative stare, Sophia swallowed the lump stuck in her throat and pressed a hand down upon the knee twitching beneath the heavy folds of her skirt.
“Does your future husband admire your hair?”
Her mouth opened but she found no words to fill it. She lowered her head, reason retreating away from his intense scrutiny.
“You…you know about Pasquale?”
Teodoro gave a reluctant shake. “Not until tonight, when I saw you together. I knew you were betrothed to a nobiluomo, of course. This is Venice, Sophia. Everyone knows everything. But I did not know to whom.” His arched brows rose and knit in sincere puzzlement. “I never would have thought…”
Sophia’s head jerked up spastically.
“What? You never would have thought what?”
A wistful smile touched his eyes.
“You are an unlikely pair, though you see it more and more in Venice these days. The older, poor nobleman, and the young daughter of a wealthy merchant.”
“Oh.”
Sophia released the breath she had held so tightly; she didn’t know what Teodoro would say if he knew of Pasquale’s proclivities. She didn’t know if she wanted him to or not. His knowledge may have supplied her with liberating proof or been a portent of his own tastes. She would have been disappointed to hear that his own leaned in the same way as Pasquale’s.
Their gaze met and the silence bound them, as did all that remained unsaid between them. The darkness enveloped them and their emotions separated them in this time and place. The low, full rustle of fresh, moist leaves murmured in the somnolent summer breeze. In Teodoro’s bittersweet smile lay all her own feelings, all the disappointment and longing.
“Is it…is he, what you wish for?” Teodoro shifted away slightly, as if to protect himself from the answer, his strong profile etched against the paleness of the pebbled pathway behind him.
She shook her head though he did not see it.
“No. I want none of it.” Sophia smiled with sheepish resignation. “I do it for my family, as you do. I would…I will sacrifice all of my own desires to ensure their safety.”
Teodoro released a snort of disparaging laughter.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
There was no denying the acrimony in his tone and Sophia raised and crinkled her brow in sad curiosity. Teodoro clasped her bunched fists where they lay in her lap. The heat of his touch warmed her skin and penetrated into her bones.
“One of us is forced to marry, while the other is forced to not.”
Sophia smiled, feeling the grimace in her grin. “There will come a day when I may live for myself, but today is not that day. Until then, I will envision it in my mind and cherish the strength the visions lend me.”
Teodoro leaned toward her, staring into her eyes. “Are you not angry?”
“Hah!” The small, cynical laugh slipped easily from her sardonic smile. “Sometimes I feel the rage will envelop me. But then I realize it is useless and only serves to waste my energies, and I release it.”
His glance found her lips and in his eyes gleamed something other than sadness. With one slow-moving hand, his long fingers cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her lower lip with a feathery touch, the skin smooth and warm. It was the most sensual touch she had ever received, and it reached deep within her. She felt a wave of desire course through her and she almost buckled at the force of it. For a moment, she closed her eyes, releasing herself to the reprieve it secured her, allowing the excitement that thrummed within her.
“You are so strong,” he whispered.
He rose off the bench, guiding her up as if in a dance, drawing them closer as they stood together in this private place.
Sophia held her breath as his face drew closer to hers, his intent fixed firmly upon her, unwavering as his plump lips lowered and found hers. They were warm and wet, soft and delicious, tasting of wine and apricots. They stole her breath away with the stealth of a lustful thief. Her eyes fluttered to a close and her head fell back on her neck as she opened herself to him. With trembling hands, she reached up and around, resting them upon the hard sinews of his shoulders. His breath caught, his muscles shuddered under the smooth, cool silk at her touch, and a deep, growl-like murmur of pleasure rumbled deep inside him.
His large hands shifted from her shoulders down each side of her back, slow and surreal, flowing like a waterfall of tenderness and discovery washing over her. His fingers fluttered over each rib until they found her waist, leaving a ribbon of heightened sensation in their wake. Teodoro’s lips stayed upon hers, but their touch became light, brushing softly like the gentle night wind as it skimmed across the waves. His strong arms crossed behind her lower back, his knees bent, one on each side of her, and he curled his body down to hers. Her legs quivered as his caged her between their hardness. His tongue teased her mouth.
Time slowed. Sophia wallowed in the perfection of the moment. The song of the crickets began again, accepting their presence, serenading their lovemaking. She heard Teodoro’s quickened breathing match the rhythm of her pounding heart as her tongue met and answered the fluttering caress of his.
The gentle, insistent wave of his strength possessed her. With agonizing slowness, he straightened his knees, inch by inch. As he rose, their bodies pressed tighter and tighter together; the heat burst at the joining. She felt her feet lift off the ground, felt his thighs hard and strong yet quaking against her own. The hard vigor of his arms and hands held her, one across her back, one cradling her head as he kept her aloft. She wrapped her arms about his neck, holding on.
Sophia hovered above the earth in his arms, sure she had entered Galileo’s heavens. Her head whirled and she released herself to his mastery, to his arms, his hands, his mouth, and to this moment.
Teodoro set her gently back upon the ground, holding her steady, and smiling down at her. Sophia giggled and the trilling sound twinkled through the tranquil air like the night-loving mockingbird’s song. How much time had passed, she didn’t know or care. He swayed with her, both off-balance and giddy, as if they had imbibed too much wine. They stood toe to toe, beaming at each other. The half moon, yellow from summer’s heat, had risen in the sky and the sounds of life had faded farther into the distance. Within these living green walls only the muted sounds of nature prevailed.
His gaze returned to her hair again and again, this time accompanied by a wry smile.
“There is something wrong with your hair now.” He reached up, but hesitated. “May I?”
Sophia smiled at his gallantry. They had shared a moment
of exploring, tender intimacy—and she had eagerly allowed it—yet he asked permission to fix her hair.
“Of course.”
His masculine hands worked delicately through her coiffure, tucking in loose strands of russet curls, and a tingle fluttered along her spine, so strong it weakened her, bringing the small hairs covering her body erect. She stared up, mesmerized by his face, by the achingly gentle touch of such a strong man. She reminded herself of Gioiapacco, the curly white-furred puppy of her childhood, and the adoration he bestowed upon her whenever Sophia snuck him a treat beneath the table. Transfixed by him, her mind dwelled happily upon the memories of their shared kisses and caresses. Tender yet masterful, loving yet lustful, she had never experienced their like. His deep blue-eyed gaze flicked down from her hair to her face and his lips twitched in a half smile, one not just of amusement but of satisfaction.
“Are you ready to return to the fete?” he asked, his voice a low, pleased growl.
“Am I?” Sophia answered with a dreamy whisper. His scent surrounded her, that of spices and brandy wine and a sharpness, like the burning alder wood. She cleared her throat, glancing away as she tried to clear her head of him, but it was a hopeless endeavor.
Teodoro laughed his velvet laugh and Sophia felt a shiver of delight quiver up the back of her neck.
He took her hand and began to lead her along the murky lane. A few steps forward and he stopped, turning toward her, lips bowing down into a small frown.
“Sophia, I—”
“Don’t.” She silenced him with a hand to his mouth. “Say nothing, please. What can there be said? There can be no promises made, no vows offered, and I have need of none. Let us have…this. Let us keep it, just as it is and not spoil it with what cannot be.”
His yearning smile answered her. He leaned down wordlessly, pressing his lips to her cheek, inhaling deeply as if to capture her scent.
Sophia closed her eyes to his touch, then followed along, her step heavy as they returned to the palace.
Twenty-five
Teodoro stopped at the edge of the piazzetta. Side by side they stood motionless, hands entwined, watching the sparse crowd mill about the shadow-filled courtyard. From behind them flowed the insistent lapping of the lagoon waves as they met the shore and the fine mist that accompanied them.
“Go, Sophia. I’ll stay and return in a few moments.”
Teodoro launched her forward with a tug of his arm, unable or unwilling to look at her, his mouth set firm in a grim line.
“We should not go back together, not the way we look.”
Sophia’s hand rose to her bruised and swollen lips. One glance at the man beside her and she saw he suffered a similar fate. Despite his best efforts, she could feel the errant strands of hair that hung upon her neck in disarray. She stepped before him, smoothing his silky doublet, putting to memory the feel of his hard chest against her hand. She raised her face, rose onto tiptoes, and kissed him. She left without another word.
The click of her heels marked her retreat, each footstep that took her away from him; the sharp sound echoing and repeating eerily back as if scorning her. She gathered the voluminous, heavy folds of her pink gown and strode up the Scala dei Giganti, her mind spinning with thoughts of Teodoro and what they had done, the thrill of it. His intense scrutiny followed her. At the top of the stairs she stopped, compelled to look back.
His russet, feathered hair danced forward onto his face, lifted by the breeze off the ocean. His features appeared muted in the faint torchlight, yet she saw him clearly. His sadness became like her own and yet filled her with joy.
The musicians played a spirited tarantella, laughter and conversation fighting to rise above it as the dancers twirled and spun about the floor, the converging noise heavy in the air. Sophia reentered the Salla del Maggior Consiglio as inconspicuously as possible, rushing to skip behind a large and opulently dressed nobildonna, the woman’s deep purple skirt ballooning upon its circular farthingale as she strode regally beside her tall thin escort. The appetizing aromas of roasting beef and savory red gravy were powerful, though not strong enough to overcome the growing odor of so many bodies in the crowded chamber.
Sophia ambled around the room, navigating the maze of the crowd, searching about for Pasquale. Fear and guilt mingled in her belly; her jaw clenched tight with anxiety. Irrational fears nagged at her, worry that he’d searched for her, that she’d be forced to devise an explanation for her absence. Frightening thoughts skittered through her mind as her vision skipped over the hundreds of faces in the vast room. She spotted him at the very back corner of the room, far against the wall, huddled together with a group of richly attired men. Their hands gesticulated wildly, their mouths worked incessantly, clearly engrossed in a heated conversation.
Donning an insouciant smile, nodding to people she did not know but who seemed vaguely familiar, Sophia approached the group, picking up a glass from the row of filled goblets and a sugar-covered treat from the credenza beside them. She set her path to cross in front of Pasquale, making sure to catch his attention. She needed him to see her, needed to see his face as he did.
For a sharp instant, Sophia felt like the hunter’s prey as Pasquale’s small narrow eyes found her. No livid spots of angry color appeared upon his ashy facial skin, no sweat broke out on his balding pate. For an inconsequential moment he hesitated, his mouth faltered, and he looked at her. There was nothing but mild annoyance in his consideration. With a placidly affable smile, Sophia stood beside Pasquale and his associates, and sipped at the white, effervescent liquid she found in her glass.
“Sui signori, signore e gentiluomini,” the call of a powerful baritone voice rose above the pandemonium.
The music ceased with fading, discordant notes and the crowd’s patter tumbled off into quiet murmurs. From the smaller back entrance, four armored halberdiers marched into the room, coming to a halt with a resounding rap of their weapons upon the floor. Behind them, two trombettière entered the chamber and stopped by the door. Lifting their long instruments, decorative banners blazoned with the winged lion unfurling, they put mouths to tips, and the trumpets blared.
“Give your attention to the most honorable Doge Donato.”
The herald bowed, one hand to his waist, the other thrust out in introduction toward the head of the room.
Resplendent in his finest red and fur-trimmed vestments, the stately Donato stepped onto the dais and stood before his large chair.
“Good people of the Most Honorable Republic of Venice, welcome.” The Doge bowed deep from the waist, long arms thrust out wide in benevolent greeting. “We are here tonight for one reason, and one reason alone, to honor one of Venice’s greatest sons and thank him for his loyalty and gifts to our land. I give you, Galileo Galilei.”
Thunderous applause found the humble, bowed scientist standing to the Doge’s right, just off the platform. At Donato’s gesture, Galileo stepped before him, his small stature more pronounced as he took his place at the feet of the elevated ruler.
“Dear sir,” Il Serenissimo’s forceful voice carried to the smallest corners of the room, to the ears of the hundreds of people gathered to pay their homage. “With your gift you have given Venice a key to the future, a device that may guide our sailors home safely when they are lost upon the stormy sea, fetch our land reverence and esteem, and show our children the beauty of God’s heavens.”
Donato smiled jovially down at Galileo who stood with hands clasped across his bulbous belly, upturned eyes wide and moist. His full, coarse-haired beard quivered upon his chest and Sophia felt her own emotions well up. In this very moment, a man’s dreams came true and the import of it was not lost on her.
The Doge beckoned a hand to a chamberlain who jumped forward, placing a gold-capped, red-tasseled scroll in Donato’s hand.
“With our sincerest gratitude, please accept our gifts.” Donato offered the tube to the man before him. “Inside you will find our decree awarding you with a lifetime professorsh
ip at the University of Padua, and a guaranteed salary of one thousand gold pieces…every year…for the rest of your life.”
Gasps collided with cheers and cries of jubilance, as the room reverberated with celebration. Galileo reached for the parchment with shaking hands, staggering back a step, drop-jawed and stunned. He looked at the scroll in his hand and back up to the Doge in clear disbelief. Donato smiled serenely, nodding his head in silent affirmation as the deafening cheers thundered around them.
Pasquale whistled from between his teeth, the sharp sound wrenching at Sophia’s ears. One of the men standing beside him banged his cane on the floor while the others clapped and cheered like sailors at a rowdy tavern. For the briefest of moments, Sophia caught Pasquale’s eye and in that instant they found a common ground.
Donato grabbed Galileo’s hand and lugged the astounded man up onto the dais beside him. Galileo faced the crowd, his eyes glistening, and the crowd yelled louder. His chest rose and quivered as he struggled for air, as he struggled to regain a semblance of composure.
“Dearest people of Venice,” Galileo’s voice broke and he cleared his throat, heaving a deep breath as the assemblage quieted to hear his words. “I have known times of great despair, when I was forced to leave university without a single degree, my father no longer able to afford my tuition. When my discoveries and theories garnered great attention, but no one would employ me. When I lived like a vagabond with barely enough money to eat, begging for a position, any position.”
Galileo squeezed the scroll he held with adoration in his shaking hands.
“Your bequest today will dispel the nightmares of those days, horrible specters that have always haunted me. It will feed all those who depend upon me so greatly. With one graceful flick of your hand, you have changed not only my life, but that of many. I thank the forward-thinking, open-minded people of La Serenissima, the first Republic in all the land to allow for public algebra lessons.”
The Secret of the Glass Page 25