Bella Natale

by Marianne Evans

  “You were drawing—lost to the world—and all I could see were your hands.” In emphasis, he smoothed her right hand until it rested flat against the table, palm down. “Your gift flows from God’s Spirit straight through to the touch you use to create your art. His gift lives right there.” He stroked her fingertips slowly, lightly, one by one. “Never doubt it, and never let anyone take that joy and passion away from you, especially those naysayers you talk about.”

  ~*~

  That night, Ashley tumbled into bed at her hotel, bathed in the kind of euphoria that tempted her to believe in dreams come true. Pleasantly filled by a melt-in-your-mouth meal of salmon carpaccio, invigorated by the companionship of a man as passionate and devoted to art as Ashley herself, she surrendered at last to exhaustion.

  Or, tried to, anyway.

  During the hours that followed, Luca’s presence remained, stalling her efforts to fall asleep. Bursting to share her experience, Ashley did a quick calculation of time zone shifts between the U.S. and Italy then gave herself permission to hoist her cell phone from the nightstand and initiate a speed dial.

  “Nonna!”

  “Bambino!”

  “I hope I’m not catching you at dinner time. I was about to turn in but I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Of course, and no such worries, my angel. How are you? How’s Italy? How’s Florence? Are you sketching? Are you having fun? How are the men?”

  Ashley’s laughter bubbled and burst free. At eighty-seven years old, Nonna Rosa defined the word vitality. Rapid-fire questions were as familiar as sunrise—and equally as precious. “Italy and Florence are amazing, Nonna. I’m sketching like mad, which should answer your question as to whether I’m having fun. Actually, that’s why I had to call. You won’t believe what’s happened to me over the last few days.”

  “Try me. I want every detail.”

  Ashley performed an enthusiastic update, leaving out nothing—including her admiration for the man who had instantly taken her under his wing.

  “Ashley, this is wonderful news. I knew, I believed, your talent would be recognized. You’ve been bold and focused about this trip; you’re learning. That’s what you’ll need in order to find a way to the life you want.”

  “Nonna, the gallery is wonderful. He’s wonderful. Other than you, and my teachers, I’ve never come across someone so captured by my drawings. It’s amazing—like I’m reaching through to a person’s heart the way I always dreamed I would.”

  They spent a few more minutes catching up; once Ashley rang off, she remained pleasantly unsettled and eager. She wasn’t generally one to craft portraits, but the call to commit Luca’s image to permanence wouldn’t be denied.

  While her pencil danced, while she brushed, darkened, blended, he came to life on the page, and in the coursing of her senses. This particular sketch she would keep private—but tomorrow morning she’d visit the rooftop of the Hotel Balcony. Tomorrow she’d capture the incomparable light and beauty of the Duomo bathed in shimmering hues of rust and gold cast against a sky of blue. Afterwards, she’d share it with Luca as a thank you gift.

  4

  The next morning, a brisk step carried Luca across the threshold of his gallery. Contentment, the joy of coming upon something beautiful and unexpected, had followed him to sleep the night before, and for the first time in years, his sleep ran deep with warm, alluring promise. Vigor came alive, thrumming through his veins while a smile curved his lips, spurred on by a song named Ashley.

  They had just met, yet he couldn’t deny the reaction that built. What would be the sense? Yes, he needed to explore this unexpected development. Yes, he needed to analyze the implications and be rational. All the same, Luca pushed that clutter to the side so he could take it to task later. For now, all he wanted to do was absorb the quickening of his pulse, the enlivening stutter of his heart, the heat of attraction.

  This type of joyful abandon, of connection, had left him behind three years ago when Madelyn died.

  Once Luca crossed through the main space, he came upon reception, and the chill of Katrina’s mood. His disposition took a prompt nosedive. He had left her to run and close shop last night while he spent time with Ashley. Katrina taking the operational helm of L’arte Della Vita wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and her support was generally faultless—especially with regard to business matters—but something seemed off-center today.

  She didn’t greet him. Instead, a sharp glance and fast, minimal smile hit him with a pair of warning flags which he opted to respond to with tenderness rather than anxiety. After all, he might be misinterpreting. “Good morning, Kat.”

  “Luc.”

  No such luck. Her tone was frosty, so he redirected his path and joined her at the front desk. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And I suppose that’s a fine enough lie.” He winked and rested a hand atop hers. “Come on. What’s wrong?”

  In tandem, they walked the corridor to his office then Luca settled behind his desk, ready to tackle the day. In that instant, Katrina composed herself, and he sensed her steadying intake of breath, her softening.

  “I’m sorry. I’m tired, with a bit of a headache. I didn’t sleep well last night. How did the meeting go yesterday? With…was it Alyssa….Ashley…?”

  “Her name is Ashley. The meeting went well. She’s hungry and eager—a definite showings prospect who’s crafted an impressive portfolio. There’s natural intuition and talent there as well. She’s here on her own quest, a self-starter. Characteristics like that are a rare find in our world.”

  “True, and that’s wonderful.” She shuffled through a stack of paperwork. “So, she’s a student?"

  “No, a graduate of the Creative Studies Institute in New York.”

  “Ah. She seemed young, like she might still be in college.”

  Luca frowned. “She’s not that young. Actually, I’m considering a display of her work, perhaps a debut event—or an exhibit—to introduce her.”

  Katrina reared back and blinked. He had taken her by surprise, yes, but something deeper rode beneath the surface, something he couldn’t quite define.

  “An exhibition. That’s an impressive reaction. It’s also quite sudden, yes?”

  “Agreed. That’s why I need to explore matters more fully before I set plans in stone. We’ll see what comes next. For now let’s just call it an idea that’s formulating. You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Let me know how I can help.” She handed him a stapled sheaf of papers. “Here’s the rundown of last week’s revenue along with a projection of quarterly income and operating expenses. I’ve also included a schedule and budgetary allowances for upcoming acquisitions and related costs for the next two months which include exhibits, receptions and event coordination. Let me know if anything needs to be changed.”

  Further reaction on Katrina’s part was tempered by the return of her professional acumen. She left his office with nothing more than quiet footfalls and a soft click of the door when she pulled it closed. From that point on, Luca buried himself in the mundane yet requisite task of daily business operations.

  Morning spun into the gold and purple dusk of a winter’s afternoon. At just before three o’clock, a firm knock sounded at his office door the instant before Katrina pushed it open. “Ashley Coratini is here to see you, Luc.”

  Katrina’s tone was businesslike to the point of brusque. Luca ignored the cool tone while a warm and pleasing sensation eased through his shoulders at Ashley’s unexpected visit. “Thank you, Katrina. Please show her in.”

  Seconds later, Ashley swept across the threshold, all rosy-cheeked and sparkly eyed. Bundled within a woolen coat of royal blue, her head capped by a white knit beret, she carried her ever-present sketch pad. “Good afternoon, Luca. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, but I promise not to take much of your time.”

  “No worries at all; have a seat.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I did what you a
sked.” She slipped her arms free of her coat and draped the garment against the back of her chair. Smile spreading, she leaned forward, opening her sketchpad. “I got up early, and witnessed the most beautiful sunrise ever before the clouds came in and swallowed it up, casting all kinds of shadows and light and colors across roof tiles of the Duomo. And…well…look!”

  Enthusiasm coated each word. She glowed with happiness, and Luca took her in like a thirsty man. All over again, her freshness and vitality pulled at him, drawing him forward in ways he couldn’t possibly fight.

  From the front of her pad she pulled a sheet free which she slid across his desk until it came to rest in front of him.

  “I drew this. For you. I hope you like it. It’s just something small to hang on to, a gift to say thank you for showing me Florence through different eyes. I intend to take your advice very seriously.”

  The sketch, executed from the rooftop of the Hotel Balcony, was all he had hoped she might create, and this time, unexpectedly, she had added color to her creation. Umber and rust blended to soft shades of gold and a subtle hue of rich blue framed the incomparable backdrop of the massive, soul-assuring structure of the Duomo.

  He could almost hear the bell chimes.

  “Ashley, this is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

  She pulled off her cap and tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. I’m an artistic recruiter, remember?” Somehow Luca found the temerity to acknowledge her question. He had to stop staring into eyes that danced with such passionate joy or he’d be sucked straight in…and then what? That startling hypothetical stopped him short for a split second.

  Especially when she blushed. The rise of pink color caused his hand to twitch, stirred a sharp longing to reach out, to glide the back of his fingertips against her cheek. Luca quelled impulse by clearing his throat and refocusing on the gift she had presented. “I’d like your permission to mat and frame this piece so I can display it.”

  “Of course. I’m…I’d be honored.”

  “You executed the use of color to perfection. There’s just enough to enhance without detracting from the fact that this is meant to be, at its core, a gray-tone sketch.”

  “Do you think so? Really? I wasn’t too sure, but”—she nipped her lower lip, gave him a meaningful glance—“now I am. Thanks. I wanted to capture the colors, the play of light.”

  The magnificent contrast of bright to dark—so much like his life of late, and—

  The office door burst open with a sudden bang, causing him to jump.

  “Papà!”

  The equivalent of a five-year-old rocket charged for his arms, which Luca flung open wide, calling, “Vincenzo!” He switched language to his native Italian. “How was school today?”

  “I learned all about seasons and holidays. Christmas is coming, and we talked about Christmas, and the new year that’s coming.”

  “Molto bene! Brava.”

  “Who are you?” Guileless, Vince pointed at Ashley, tucking more comfortably into Luca’s hold. Luca unzipped Vince’s jacket and removed the woolen scarf twined around his son’s neck.

  “Vincenzo, I want you to say hello to an artist I’ve come to know. Her name is Ashley.”

  “Ciao, Miss Ashley. Come va?”

  “Sto bene grazie. Mi fa piacere conoscerti.”

  Luca appreciated the way she managed to say she was well, and glad to meet him, because his son’s arrival had to be a shock to her—literally and figuratively—since he hadn’t yet mentioned he was a father.

  Why would that thought occur to him, he wondered fleetingly. It wasn’t as if Ashley was part of his personal life, or…

  “Did you make this?” Vince addressed Ashley and pointed at the drawing she had offered to Luca.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I like it.”

  The compliment was spoken with the kind of earnestness and authenticity reserved for the young. Luca watched Ashley, wondering about what she might be thinking.

  She gave Vince a wide smile, focused on him alone. “Thank you very much, Vincenzo. I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome. Buildings are pretty, but I like sports cars. I like Formula One. It’s winter, though, so the cars aren’t racing.”

  “Formula One is exciting to watch. I love the Monaco Grand Prix.”

  “Me, too!”

  A loving chuckle built through Luca’s chest; he kissed Vince’s cheek and deposited him feet first on the floor. “Run out to Katrina and see if she doesn’t have a snack to carry you through to dinner.”

  “Certamente!”

  Just like that, departing the office on the same wave of exuberance with which he had entered, Vince took off in a blur of childish energy and abandon.

  “Luca, he’s a sweetheart.”

  “Thank you.” What else could he say, really? His son embodied everything that had helped him hang on to faith, and hope, following Madelyn’s death. Beyond that, how could he properly express his emotions, the depth of joy and sorrow Vince encapsulated?

  But then, like a dam burst, words tumbled free. “Raising Vince on my own placed an instant, high-intensity lens on my life. I want to be everything to him and I hate the knowledge that he’ll never truly know his mother. Still, when Madelyn died, caring for Vincenzo gave me the ability to focus on the things in life that are most important. He helped me hang on. All the same, I wanted to wake up with Madelyn next to me. I wanted to share so many more anniversaries than we were given. I wanted to enjoy, and commiserate over, the process of raising our son. I wanted tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.”

  “Of course you did. Luca, I’m so sorry you weren’t given that chance.”

  “So am I. Not just for my sake, but for Vince’s as well. For the longest time, I stepped back from God. I had such faith, but Madelyn was ripped away from me so suddenly, so instantly, with such finality. I couldn't get my head around her death. I couldn't find the strength to believe again. I’d look at Vince and see nothing but what I—what he—lost with her passing. It ripped me.”

  “But it seems to me like you’ve emerged. I see in you a person who’s very giving. Caring.”

  He grinned, wishing he could live up to that ideal. “Thank you, but let's just say I'm a work in progress.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Delving this far, this fast, into the personal arena was way too dangerous because his fascination with Ashley ran deep. So, Luca returned to the neutral topic at hand—Ashley’s artwork.

  “What does your afternoon look like tomorrow?”

  She shrugged. “Christmas shopping. I’ve been so busy sketching I’ve only purchased a few items here and there for my family. Other than that…”

  Fear of attachment, of attraction, choked him like a vice, causing the edges of his heart to wither and collapse because just like that—against every instinct but the call of his spirit—he was about to explore a professional opportunity that might very well turn personal.

  Take the leap, he thought. Follow instinct, not fear. “If I were to set up a meeting with an associate of mine about your work would you be available?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements and call you.” He studied his gift once again. “Would you mind if I take a few of your sketches? Just a few that you’ve done since you’ve been here.” Delicate brows pulled together; when he sensed Ashley’s confusion, Luca hastened to assure. “Only do so if you’re comfortable.”

  “Luca, I trust you—but I don’t understand what this is about.”

  “I’d explain in detail, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up if my idea doesn’t come to fruition.”

  Ashley reopened her portfolio and extracted a few pages. She handed him her rendering of the view from the Ponte Vecchio that he had loved from the start, a sketch of the Piazza Della Repubblica and a sketch of the interior frescoes of Brunelleschi’s dome. The selections, combined with the drawing
she had given him today, would create the perfect launching point for what he hoped would be the start of an illustrious career.

  5

  From Luca’s earliest days as a gallery owner, Stephano Rocca and his wife Jianna had been two of his closest friends. Stephano ran a high-end book and curio shop called S&J Rocca. Madilyn and Jianna had been close friends from the day they met, following one of Luca’s first exhibits at L’arte Della Vita where the Rocca’s had attended as invited guests. From there, friendship ties knotted firmly into place for all four of them. S&J Rocca was home to locally produced crafts like pottery, rare books and stationary in particular that catered to a steady clientele of well-heeled tourists and Fiorentini.

  Paramount to Luc at the moment was finding a way to proper perspective. In that regard, he trusted Stephano to help. Luca wondered. Was his professional analysis of Ashley’s work driven by professionalism or something more personal, and therefore strewn with emotional danger?

  Carrying a folder of Ashley’s sketches, he walked the few blocks from his gallery to Stephano’s store, enjoying the sound of piped Christmas music that carried to the streets from within a number of stores brimming with shoppers. Whistling the tune to “The First Noel”, he pushed through the wooden doorway of Stephano’s store. By design, Ashley wouldn’t arrive for another half-hour, giving Luca time to talk to Stephano friend-to-friend before matters turned to business.

  “Mr. DeRosa, it’s good to see you. Mr. Rocca is in his office.”

  “Thank you, Rachele.”

  The Rocca’s longtime manager/clerk had no sooner greeted him when Jianna wove around the corner of one of the store’s myriad card rack displays. Her smile crested. “Luca!”

  “Buongiorno, bella. How are you?” He bent to kiss both her cheeks.

  “Bene, bene.” She linked her arm through his leading him through a shop he knew almost as well as his own. Bookshelves overflowed, magazine racks prompted patrons to stop, linger for a bit and page through the periodicals.

  “That’s beautiful.” Luca paused by a tall curio cabinet, perfectly lit to showcase a dozen or so porcelain boxes, hand painted it seemed. “Who’s the artist?”