Bella Natale

by Marianne Evans

  “Hi, sweetheart!”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Your father is grinning from ear-to-ear. Does that mean you have some news to share? You doing well?”

  I’m beyond well, Ashley thought. I’m excited, attracted, thrilled…

  “Dad’s here, too,” Mom continued, “so fire away.”

  Ashley plowed ahead, filling them in on the exhibit prospect, the postcard mass production opportunity. They gave her the uninterrupted silence and attention she hoped for.

  Until mom cut in.

  “So this man met you just days ago, and he’s moving matters forward this quickly? What kind of protection do you have? What are you doing to guard your interests? This is almost too amazing to be true.”

  “In the morning I have an appointment to meet with an attorney who specializes in the representation of local artists. His name is Geoffrey Pulter—”

  “How did you find out about him?” Her dad chimed in, concern vibrating through his tone. “Not through the shop owners, I hope. I mean, you might think they’re ethical and above board, but what if—”

  “Dad, Geoffrey was recommended to me by representatives of the University in Florence where I completed my summer session a couple years ago. I’m smart enough to not just dive in, and both Luca and Stephano suggested I put someone like him in place. They’re fine people.”

  “If you don’t like this Geoffrey person, this agent, what will you do then?”

  “Get the name of another one, Mom. I’ve thought this through—in fact, it’s kept me up because my head is spinning. My dreams are coming true, and I want you both to be happy for me.”

  “We are. We are.”

  “Have trust in me. Have faith in me. This is what I’ve always wanted.”

  “And it’s a terrific chance to share what you love, but you still need to consider what’s going to happen at the end of a few weeks. You have a steady paying job. You have security and a stable future waiting for you in the fall in the Sandringham school district. You’ll be able to teach art and bring art appreciation to your students. That’s a beautiful thing to share, and much more realistic—”

  “Mom, I don’t want to give this up. Not now. Not yet.” The late hour, plus the idea of a return to the States, to life prospects that simply didn’t fit her any longer caused Ashley’s frustrations to mount. “I can teach. I can manage a gallery. I know all that, but this—what’s come to pass over the past few days—is beyond my hopes, and for as long as they last, I’m going to explore the opportunities Luca and Stephano presented.”

  Silence stretched. “Do you mean you’d consider staying? Permanently? In Italy?”

  “If this is where I’m meant to be, then yes.”

  “Just like that?”

  Her mother was shocked and skeptical; Ashley could hear it in her mother’s voice, so she steeled her spin…and believed—in Luca and in herself. Courage pushed through her body and spirit. “Yes, just like that.”

  ~*~

  The following morning, Luca invited Katrina into his office to discuss the upcoming exhibit for Ashley. Katrina sat quietly, but with sharp-eyed focus while he filled her in on his plans.

  “So she’s…you’re…we’re signing her on.”

  “We’re giving her an opportunity, Katrina. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less than her talent has earned. What’s wrong with that? You seem upset.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, and I’m certainly not upset. When do you want the event to take place?”

  Luca watched her, frowning. He didn’t like the slicing edge of her tone. “Not this weekend, but next.”

  Katrina’s brow shot up. “In less than two weeks?”

  “Yes. It’s short notice, but it’s a small reception and showing. It’s an introduction; her work will do the rest. You coordinate events like this in your sleep and to perfection.”

  “I hope it’ll be enough time. We don’t want the gallery to appear rushed to market an individual artist, and the event not delivering full impact.”

  Luca shrugged, increasingly puzzled by Katrina’s behavior; they put on receptions like this frequently, and at times, on tight schedules just like this. What was her problem? “We’ll produce and deliver invites within two to three days, promote heavily through the usual media and social media outlets. Again I ask: what’s the issue?”

  Intending friendly emphasis, Luca stood from behind his desk and claimed the empty chair next to Katrina’s.

  “Seriously? Luc, she’s twenty-six. You’re almost forty. As someone who knows you well, I think you might be panicking at the thought of approaching mid-life. You’re crushing on an artist and that’s not good for you, for her, or for the gallery.”

  A few seconds of shocked silence ticked by, marked by a heat that crawled beneath his skin. “Katrina, lay off.” He bit the words, because the age arrow she threw had struck home.

  “She’s gifted, of course, and the showing will be an enormous success, I’m sure, thanks in no small part to the extraordinary effort you’ll put into promoting her. What I can’t get past is the idea that she might be using you. That she might be an opportunist.”

  Astounding. Luca shook his head. “Well, let me think about that. Would you contend that a stranger, someone who knew nothing about me, a person I approached on my own terms, could have laid some form of a trap? We’d never even laid eyes on one another until just days ago. So, I repeat, lay off.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean to be critical.” Katrina met his attitude with false sweetness. “I’m sure she’s not cunning and manipulative about gaining a foothold in the art world. The meeting you shared is quite the stuff of storybooks, and tender-hearted as you are, I’m sure you were glad to assist her efforts, and I’m equally certain she’s more than…grateful.”

  That did it. The snide endnote, the innuendo behind her conclusion left Luca to sputter a mild, unedited oath. “Katrina, I care about you, and I trust you. You’ve managed my gallery almost from the start, and you’ve been my friend for more years than I can count, but you’re crossing the line. You don’t know her at all, and you’re making it abundantly clear you have no faith in my personal judgment and perspective. Further, you’re issuing verdicts about my life that are unwarranted, and unwanted.”

  “I hope you’re right, and I hope I’m wrong. I see in her the level of wide-eyed ingénue any patron like you longs to discover. All the same, be aware and be cautious. That said, as requested, I’ll let the matter rest.”

  7

  Just hours after Luca’s confrontation with Katrina, Ashley joined him at the gallery for an early afternoon appointment to lay groundwork for the exhibit and begin the process of choosing sketches for display.

  Wearing a wide smile, she crossed through his office bearing two cups of coffee in a four-spot carrier. “I hope it’s not too late in the day for one of these.”

  “Never. Thank you, Ashley.”

  “Least I can do.”

  He gave her a grin. “Is your head still spinning?”

  “To put it mildly.” She delivered his coffee and sat across from him, crossing her legs while she unwound a vibrant pink and blue scarf from around her neck. Luca admired the way she chose different, bold colors for her accessories. Long hoop earrings dangled as she moved, drawing his focus to a soft, long neck…

  Her sketches came out next, extracted from a leather carrying case. “I met with Geoffrey Pulter this morning. He’s—”

  “A widely respected and established agent.” Luca resumed focus fast. “I’m impressed. How did it go?”

  That super-smile only grew, if such a thing were possible. “I think it went very well. He’s impressed by the notice you and S&J Rocca have given to me, and he liked my work.”

  “Brava.” The declaration was accompanied by a swell of pride. “You’re being smart and proactive. I’ve worked with Geoffrey before, and I can tell you he’s tough, and he’s fair. I think you’re in good hands.”

  “We
ll, it seems you’ve left me no choice but to actively engage my goals, Luca.”

  “Don’t blame me. I’m nothing more than an eager merchant.”

  “Ha.”

  The repartee fell between them with such natural sass and ease Luca found himself pulled by longing. If only this could evolve into something more, into something… lasting.

  With haste, he moved past fantasy and began to review her growing portfolio.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “I’ve been inspired and motivated.” Ashley edged forward in her seat, looking at the rendering he held. “I spend my early mornings and late afternoons living and breathing my work. It’s heaven.”

  “I think that’s wonderful, and I’m glad you followed through on your intention to find representation.” Luca uncapped his coffee and indulged in a long, satisfying drain.

  “It was hard to do, but necessary.”

  “An understandable reaction. Representation, I’m sure, feels like you’re turning art into business.”

  Ashley sat back to take a sip of coffee as well. “Exactly. I know all of this—finding an agent, setting legalities into place—is necessary, but it goes against my creative grain, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. I’ve seen, time and again, that one of the most difficult aspects of making a way in the art world is that moment when an artist is forced to zoom in on business details and look out for their best interests, and the protection of their work. Doing so is as important as the art itself.”

  “I’m learning.”

  “Quite well, it seems.” He smiled into her eyes, freed himself to enjoy the rush of warmth that slid against his senses. “Both ventures will require a discussion of pricing, splits, and commissions, but Geoffrey will take that off your plate, and allow you to focus on what matters to you the most.”

  Following a few more minutes of companionable silence, Luca paused in the midst of studying one of her sketches of the Piazza della Repubblica. His eye was drawn instantly to the lines and shades of the carousel which was a fixture of the square; his gaze swept along the surrounding infrastructure of walls, shuttered windows, shop fronts and cafes.

  He settled the page flat between them, turning it toward Ashley. “I don’t want you to stray from charcoal, and either does Stephano. Your style is haunting, and you execute in such a way that the scenes you create come alive in their simplicity.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I want to reiterate that fact so you don’t misunderstand what I want to tell you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t stray from the core of who and what you are as an artist. What we’re after when we ask you to look at enhancing a few of them with spots of color for the folio series we’d create is…well, here…let me explain.”

  He stood from his desk and positioned himself at her back. Lifting a red charcoal pencil, he offered her the tool. “Consider dimension, and flow. What do you think of adding a bit of red shading to the brick, to the lines of the shutters and stairs right there, and there?” Using the tip of the pencil, he pointed to the areas of her sketch he had mentioned, but for the moment, Ashley refused possession of the instrument. Undaunted, Luca continued. “Also, the carousel would come alive with touches of blue, and gold, just in spots, just enough to intrigue the imagination.”

  “Show me.”

  He shrugged, confused by the subtle push of challenge behind her request. “I just did.”

  “No, I mean add it in.”

  “No. I’m not going to add my interpretation, my strokes, to your work. I’m not the artist here, I’m—”

  “I’m giving you my permission. I’d love to see what you envision. Please? Show me?”

  Her request was sweet and earnest, yet felt to Luca like the equivalent of a gauntlet being thrown down.

  “You’ve worked hard on this. I don’t want to ruin—”

  “Ruin? Luca.” She looked into his eyes, spoke his name with quiet tenderness.

  Trapped, prodded forward in spite of himself, Luca sighed then leaned close and went to work cautiously, with reverence for the work she had done. Once finished with his enhancements, he stood next to her, nervous and alive, waiting on Ashley’s verdict.

  When she turned and looked up at him, when her smile came alive straight through to her eyes, he found it tough to breathe. An unexpected lump formed fast at his throat.

  “And you say you’re not an artist.”

  “I’m not. I recognize art. I enhance art. I make art known to the public. The gift of creation? No. Not mine.”

  “I beg to differ, and your perceptions are right on the mark. The additions provide just what you said they would—visual pop and texture. Luca, they’re wonderful.” Eyes alight, Ashley handed him a black charcoal Fabber Castell. “Sign it.”

  “Me? No.”

  “Put your name next to mine. This one will be ours.” With innocent joy she prodded him, fingertips dangling the pencil, waiting. He took custody at last, but his hand trembled. Surrendered—and resolved—he steadied his grip then slowly scrawled his signature next to hers.

  “I love what you did, and I think you and Stephano are right. I’ll work on the sketches you choose, and we’ll go forward from there.”

  He met her regard head on, but Luca forced himself to break the spell. Clearing his throat he returned to his desk. To business.

  “The way I see it, we could do two styles of print. For the introductory showing I have planned, we’ll spotlight your original works, but we’ll also have individual prints available as well as a few colorized, enhanced versions for whichever sketches from your portfolio we choose for the unveiling.”

  “So the reception, the exhibit, will then appeal to two tastes.”

  “And, to be frank, two levels of buyers as well.”

  “Stephano’s idea?”

  Luca grinned, considering his friend. “Mine as well, but he’s the best. That’s why I enjoy working with him.”

  “What do I need to do? What comes next?”

  “Today we cull eight to ten pieces for display, for matting, framing and hanging. From there, Katrina will work with us to coordinate the details of the event itself. It’ll be an open house style reception with food and drinks and invitees with whom I’ve built relationships over the years.” He paused long enough to give Ashley a long, intent look. “Most important of all, what comes next is that you create. You need to tune out the rest of the world, and allow yourself the joy of creating. After all, that’s what brought you to this point, correct?”

  For a time, she seemed to absorb the import of his direction. “Luca, what if people aren’t as enthusiastic about my work as you?”

  “I’ll grant you the point that art is subjective, but I don’t think that’s a possibility. My instincts tell me this will be a resounding success. For now, I’m going to turn you over to Katrina so the two of you can discuss matters further. I want you to be comfortable with what’s to come, and she’ll explain timing and process and help finalize reception details.”

  Meeting concluded, Luca looked ahead, into a night that would seem far emptier without Ashley’s presence.

  “You know,”—Tentative steps, he thought, tentative steps—“there’s a choral concert taking place tonight at the Piazza del Duomo.”

  She paused for a split second before lifting her head from the latest sketch then met his regard directly. “I heard something about it. My hotel provides a daily flier of local activities. I believe one of the church choirs is performing, correct?”

  “Would you like to go with me and Vince? We could have dinner and wander the markets beforehand if you’d like.”

  “Absolutely. I’d love it.”

  Never did she hesitate; never did she back away from the idea of personal time spent with a man a good bit older than she was, who possessed intense business interests as well as a young son who took precedence over everything else in his life. All over again, Luca marveled and realized he was coming
closer and closer to finding his faith, his hope, and a sense of love, once again.

  ~*~

  A dozen sketches were chosen for the exhibit. Of those twelve, eight were selected for production into leather folios. Ashley committed to colorizing four of them, and that task followed her into a meeting with Katrina that set her nerves on edge.

  Skilled and irreproachable in execution, Katrina took charge. “Luca has given me the sketches he wants prepared for show. They’ll be matted and framed as he already explained, and I’ll see to placement within the gallery so they’re displayed to best advantage. Beyond that, I’ll coordinate the details of the reception itself. We’ll offer hors d'oeuvres of filo dough shaped into cones stuffed with crab and avocado. We’ll also provide a selection of caviar. I’m also thinking roasted beets with bleu cheese and pistachio pesto would be delicious. Champagne, of course, and—”

  Ashley blinked hard a few times, shook her head, unable to hold in the emotion, the excitement—and intimidation—that built. “Katrina, this is amazing. I never dreamed—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” Katrina shuffled the menu rundown back into a manila folder then extracted a few card samples for the event invite. “For the invitations, I favor the crème background and green and red border. Has a Christmas feel. Palace script font, bold, to create something that catches the eye.”

  “I like it. Your ideas are beautiful.” Ashley, however, had barely glanced at the sample. There was no mistaking the cool attitude and overly-abrupt business style this woman possessed.

  “Invitations will be mailed the day after tomorrow, once the date, time and guest list is finalized. Luc and I will polish that off today.”

  “Katrina…have I done something wrong? You seem a little upset.”

  “Not in the least; why would I be? The event will be a resounding success.”

  Ashley kept her tone kind—and sincere. “I’m sure it will be, and I appreciate everything you’re doing to make that happen.”

  “Simply performing my job. I will say, I think this entire…situation…is moving along quickly. More quickly than I’m used to, but nothing we can’t handle.”