The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1)

by M A Clarke Scott

Clio's heart raced. These Italians were so volatile, and she hated conflict and such feverish excitement. It was oppressive. Guillermo's pale blue eyes flashed angry sparks. Clio felt that he was burning up all the oxygen in the room, stealing the breath from her lungs.

  Then, without warning, Guillermo rose from his chair and stormed from the room. The door slammed, his motorcycle roared to life and screeched out of the driveway, a spray of gravel clattering against the windows and walls of the house as he tore away.

  Chapter 6

  He'll be back," Pia murmured into the uncomfortable silence.

  Clio looked up, still speechless. She raised her brows at Paulo.

  He cleared his throat. "Yes. Sure. Of course." His eyes wavered. "Give him a little time."

  Clio wasn't so sure. At the rate he was going, Guillermo could be halfway to Florence by now. If he didn't drive off the road in the dark.

  She had begun to form an impression of Guillermo that wasn't particularly favorable. Despite his gallantly having come to her rescue, he had seemed to her arrogant, domineering, too smooth–a typical chauvinistic Italian man. Then once she came downstairs, things did not improve. He epitomized those qualities that she had learned to be wary of–his smooth, confident exterior, the way he looked at her, with that sense of privilege, as though he just knew any woman he desired would fall at his feet. He lay on the charm altogether too thickly, and clearly was accustomed to impressing people and getting his own way, especially women.

  She frowned at the way he way he sidled up to her and slathered on the compliments. The way he flirted when he saw her with the mud washed off. The manner in which he imposed on her telephone call with Dr. Jovi and dropped the family name, expecting results. Even though his gestures were kind, she could not like or trust a man like that. He was patently insincere.

  She swallowed and released the breath she had been holding. All I want is to get away from here.

  The housekeeper Anna slipped discretely into the room to collect the remaining dishes.

  Pia stood and approached Clio, resting her hands on Clio's shoulders. "Come, I'm exhausted. Let's go up and get ready for bed. I'll find you a nightgown and a toothbrush, and whatever else you need."

  Clio thought she couldn't possibly sleep after all the excitement, though she was relieved to escape this strange family's evening of turmoil. Yet at the suggestion, she registered a bone-deep fatigue settle into her bruised and battered body. The stress of the accident, the physical abuse she'd endured, and everything since, had left her drained. She nodded slowly. "Yes. I think I am tired enough to sleep, thank you."

  Upstairs in the yellow guest room, Pia gave her a silky nightgown and a few, necessary toiletries to get through the night and the morning.

  "That blouse and skirt look better on you than on me. The greens go so well with your beautiful eyes and hair."

  Clio refrained from saying how uncomfortable she'd felt in Pia's borrowed clothes. "Ha. My hair is not beautiful. But thank you for saying so."

  "Why would you say such a thing? It is spectacular."

  "It's a spectacle, all right. I can hardly control it." She smoothed her hands over her crown, pulling her knotted hair forward.

  "Well, why would you want to? You can stop traffic with it."

  "That I can believe." She laughed.

  Pia stepped closer and reached for Clio's thick twisted knot, pulling it apart with her fingers. "Let me see it." She worked the strands apart and combed it with her gentle hands, and Clio's face heated as she felt it getting larger and wilder. "Oh, Madonna. Clio it's lovely. And the color. It's positively Titian." She fluffed it out, achieving precisely the effect Clio worked so hard to avoid.

  Clio laughed, self-conscious. "I suppose that's true enough, but I think I've got double the amount of Venus or Violante."

  Pia sat on the bed and gazed at her. "Tell me about yourself, Clio. You seem well-educated. What do you do?"

  Clio chose the floral padded chair by the dresser. "Education is about the only thing I have done. I'm an art history student, working on my Ph.D. here in Italy. On the Renaissance. Both my parents are academics. Mother is a linguist, Father a professor of Classical Studies. I've spent my entire life on campuses, in classrooms, museums and galleries, or with my nose in a book. It's my world. It's all I know."

  "Amazing. So much culture."

  "In theory only. It sounds like your family have lived it."

  Pia nodded ruefully. "Yes." She paused thoughtfully. "I feel I should explain a few things. You've been thrown into the middle of a very difficult time for our family. You see, we are a very old family, Clio. Our ancestors were the hereditary Contes d' Aldobrandin, dating back to the sixteenth century."

  Clio gasped. "So old. I had no idea."

  "Si. The first Conte was a military general alongside Giovanni dalla Bande Nero. He was ennobled at the same time. Our home, the Villa Cielo Incantato, has been our country seat since around then. Later, there were palazzo, but over the years, they were lost. Only the villa remains as part of our family heritage. Of course these titles are defunct now. But still…you can imagine. We are very proud of our heritage. Of our history."

  "Yes, of course. And so you should be. I've never… I mean it's wonderful. To have such a personal, intimate connection with the Renaissance. I'm in awe, truthfully."

  Pia smiled. "Well, as a student of Renaissance art, you are perhaps particularly attuned to it's value. But of course we are, for the most part, sensitive to our obligations. The villa and gardens are not the most grand, but they are very special. And there are notable decorations and collections within it still. The thought of losing it…" Pia broke off, her voice cracking, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Clio shifted to the bed beside her and embraced her. "Surely something can be done to save it. I know many old families have difficulty maintaining large estates. It is very expensive. But there are ways."

  Pia took a moment to contain her emotions. She sighed. "But now it is too late." She paused, her gaze drifting to the middle distance. "Our eldest brother, Jacopo, has chosen to pursue a career in politics, as the elder d' Aldobrandin have done for many generations, as I'm sure you have deduced. He has become very successful. Very prominent. But now, these efforts of his to raise funds…well. His strength lies in governance, not in business, I'm afraid. His devotion to his career has led him to neglect the home farms and vineyards, and repairs to the villa. Our father had other business interests, of course. But he too, was frustrated. Instead of growing, the family assets have declined. Jacopo has been trying desperately to lift the estate out of debt for years. I suppose that is why he took such risks. I don't know." She stroked her brow and shook her head, and Clio gave her shoulders a sympathetic squeeze.

  "It's more than the history," Pia continued, her voice quavering. "It is our home, too. The place where we all grew up."

  "Your parents are…"

  Pia shook her head. "Both our parents died too young, Clio. Our mother in her forties, when she was still beautiful and vibrant. And Papa not many years later, of a broken heart, I would say. He was so devoted to Mama, so in love with her, he was like a shadow without her. The villa, well… it is all we have left of them."

  As Clio listened, her eyes moistened with tears.

  Once Pia had left her, Clio climbed into bed and reflected upon the mercurial man who had rescued her tonight, and then abandoned her here among his loving family. She could not like him.

  And yet, her body betrayed her. Whenever she stole a glance at him, a long-forgotten heat uncoiled within her. She felt a self-conscious tremor of shyness and exhilaration. In the dark, she had not registered his appearance beyond the facts of his tangled hair, and bearded face, not surprising on a biker. In the light, his physical beauty stole her breath, and she could not help but admire him, if reluctantly.

  In some ways he captured the same classical Latin beauty that had drawn her to Hektor in her youth. He see
med to be made for love, with well-formed lips in a tanned, stubbled face with a strong jaw and chin, prominent laugh lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. Heavy dark brows that drew attention to his shockingly bright blue eyes, framed by a fringe of black lashes, that had the audacity to wink and sparkle and flirt and laugh at her. Her! Clio. His flashing white smile. And a head of unruly too-long raven black hair that made her fingers twitch.

  And now, to add fuel to the fire, a volatile temper. The violence promised by his flashing, boiling mood made manifest in ridiculous, embarrassing, childish conduct. However justified it might be. Where had he gone? Was he coming back? He may be terrifying, but he was her ride home.

  All Guillermo could feel was the cool night air beating against his face, and whipping the thin fabric of his shirt like a flag in a gale force wind. The exhilarating pounding of his heart behind his ribs. His hands, tight on the handlebars of his motorbike, were numb from the pressure and the cold. He rode and rode and rode. He gave no thought to where. Without conscious thought, one could follow the same country road for a very long time. He passed through more than one tiny hamlet, where the dark shapes of stone buildings closed in on both sides, its inhabitants sleeping, and then disappeared in a flash, but mostly he rode through farmers' fields and vineyards, over hills and through valleys, the silhouette of trees barely visible in the remote areas where the only light was shed by a silver sliver of moon.

  He didn't care. He only wanted to escape, to get as far away from Pia's and that conversation as he could.

  Perhaps if he rode fast enough, and far enough, he could escape the ugly truth. But as the countless kilometers passed, and the hours of the night unfolded one after another, he knew there was no escape. Already he could detect a lightening of the sky at the eastern horizon. He was tired, so tired.

  As his mind became calmer, he started to feel the cold. He hadn't stopped to grab his leathers or his helmet, simply leaping on his bike and tearing out of Pia's driveway as if pursued by demons. Now, leagues away from anywhere he had occasion to regret it. And likely he would soon run short of fuel. Stronzo.

  He'd gone crazy. His mind was incapable of processing what Pia had said, incapable of accepting it. And yet, given Jacopo's circumstances, and knowing his brother as he did, how could he be surprised? If anyone in the family in four hundred years was stupid enough to lose the estate, it was Jacopo.

  His eyes burned hot, and his stomach roiled with upheaval, rejecting the very notion. His muscles were stiff, not only from his long wild ride, but from the tension that had held him in its grip for hours.

  He pulled to the side of the road and came to a stop, killing the engine. The echo of the engine's roar flew away into the fading darkness, leaving Guillermo in utter silence, his ears ringing, his hands frozen to the bike. He flexed his fingers slowly, prying them free, and then wrapped his arms around his torso, shivering.

  Oh, he knew how to ride. Often he had hopped on his bike and taken off, riding without purpose or destination in mind, just for the thrill of feeling free. Carefree.

  He supposed he had on occasion ridden off to escape some unpleasantness. A breakup with a girlfriend. A tense client meeting. A throbbing head and sickly stomach the morning after enjoying himself a bit too heartily. But never had he ridden so desperate to get away, to escape, to be free from the reality of his life.

  A terrible pressure pushed up from somewhere deep inside of him. A surge of fear and self-pity. He was sure he would explode with it, until at last he tilted back his head and let loose a monstrous bellow of pain and frustration and rage.

  A flock of starlings exploded out of the field and took to wing, the tattoo of their hundred thousand wings knocking against the imminent daybreak like drums of war. As if it heard them, or him, the sun broke the surface of the horizon, throwing darts of brilliant hot vermillion light racing toward him across the earth.

  He flinched and raised his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Then he turned his head to follow the rays of sunlight as they awoke the sleeping landscape, electrifying dewdrops that clung to each head of grass and grain. His land. His people's land. His connection to this place was a powerful part of him. It defined him. His love of the buildings, the land, the history of Tuscany and Umbria were a large part of why he had chosen to become an architect, weren't they?

  But did he need to own a villa to keep that connection alive? It was not a question he ever thought to ask. Villa Cielo Incantato had always been there. He supposed it always would be. But the time had finally come for his family to let it go.

  It left an intense, unbearable aching hole in his chest.

  Jacopo always put his trust in the wrong people. If he had come to me, I could have helped… somehow. I would have found a way. Maybe. Now it was too late. Jacopo was broke, more than broke, desperate. Pia's life was with Paulo, and he had his own family estate to care for. Their resources, though not insubstantial, were completely tied up. Bianca had nothing but her trust fund. She couldn't even manage her own affairs. Even if they pooled their funds, this was too big. There was nothing that could be done.

  Guillermo was not poor. He had significant funds saved and invested, and he financed a very comfortable life with his own trust fund, investments, professional income and company dividends. But this was beyond his power. There was nothing he could do, even if Jacopo had respected him and trusted him enough to ask for help.

  Disheartened, Guillermo started up his bike and pulled out. Pale country greens and golds and blues emerged from the murk of night. He'd find out where he was, get some gas, and take the shortest route home.

  Ah, hell. No, he couldn't even do that. He was obliged to return to Pia's. There was a certain fiery-headed beauty that he was obligated to take care of. There would be no escape for Guillermo today.

  Chapter 7

  In the morning, Clio's own clothes were cleaned and pressed. She dressed carefully, minding her abrasions and stiffness, braided her hair tightly, and ventured downstairs, wondering if Paulo or Pia might drive her at least as far as Montecchiello where she could check on her wrecked car. Or perhaps she should ask them to drive her to Chiusi, so she could take a train back to Florence as soon as possible. It was an enormous imposition, though. A dart of sharp pain pierced her temples, and she realized she was grinding her teeth from worry. Why did she have to crash so far from anywhere?

  But of course, it was her visit to the little saint that allowed everything to click into place. Now she could begin to write. So it seemed everything happened for a reason.

  The d' Aldobrandin family's circumstances were very sad, but this was nothing to do with her, and the best thing she could do to help was get out of their way and let them deal with it. Besides, she had her own problems. She was a hair's breadth from losing three years' work and having nothing…absolutely nothing to hold onto. No degree, no career, no future. She didn't want to think about her parents' disapproval. They would disown her if she failed them.

  "Buongiorno, Clio!" Pia's cheerful voice echoes through the house the moment her bare foot touched down in the foyer.

  Clio turned to face her. "Buongiorno."

  "Join us in the breakfast room, this way." Pia turned and disappeared through a doorway. Resigned, Clio followed, padding barefoot along the cool marble floor tiles. Pia had left her a pair of flats, but they were too small for her giant Scots-German feet. She'd have to do without shoes. She might as well have breakfast and coffee before attempting to leave.

  Passing through a doorway toward the rear of the hall, she was surprised to find a second dining room with a wall of tall arched windows opening onto a lovely limestone terrace. Sunlight flooded the tiled red and gold breakfast room, diluting its sharply contrasting contours. The smell of coffee and delicious food wafted to greet her.

  As her eyes adjusted, she made out three occupants sitting at a long table. Paulo and two children.

  So. Guillermo had not returned last night. Disappointment snaked through
her intestines. Ridiculous. What did it matter? It was better this way. She did not really expect him to be here. This was entirely in keeping with his type. Selfish and unreliable, he would escape from anything that smacked of an obligation or responsibility. She would rather have as little to do with him as possible.

  Clio sat in the chair indicated as Pia introduced her children, Gabriel, nine, a shocking miniature version of Guillermo complete with too-long wild dark locks and startling blue eyes, and Gemma, a sweet, brown-haired girl of seven. "Buongiorno, Clio," said Paulo, pausing his quizzing of the children about some music practicing to accommodate the introductions. They were lively and well-mannered as they acknowledged her.

  "What instruments do you play?" Clio asked them.

  Cutting off Gabriel's sullen, eye-rolling reply of "violino!" Gemma bounced in her chair and began to chatter about her new, half-size cello. Charming.

  "It is a very beautiful shiny red, just like Zio Memmo's motorcycle. And I am just big enough to– Eee! Memmo." she screamed and flew out of her chair. The two large dogs, previously dozing at Paulo's feet, leapt up, woofing, and Gabriel was close behind them, a little too cool to squeal, but obviously just as excited. "Memmo! Memmo! Mama said you left already before we could see you." The group of them, children and dogs, swarmed around the table like locusts and converged behind Clio's chair.

  "When did you slink in, fratello?" Paulo asked, laughing.

  Her stomach fell and twisted into a tight knot. Oh, no. He came back.

  "Si, si, bambini. I could not leave without visiting my favorite niece and nephew, could I?"

  Clio refused to turn and take notice of the interruption. He was obviously too accustomed to being the centre of attention. She rubbed the back of her neck, where an involuntary shiver prickled her skin at the sound of his warm, soothing voice.

  Guillermo circled the table, children hanging on him like monkeys in a tree, dogs circling adoringly around his legs. Clio tried not to stare. He wore a silky blue football jersey that stretched across his well-developed chest and shoulders as he deposited the children back into their chairs. It brought out the color of his eyes. His hair was wet from the shower, draped in curling black tendrils pushed back from his forehead and behind his ears. A coil of molten arousal spiraled up through her core as the fresh, soapy scent of his body wafted into the room. Stop it. She pushed the sensation back down.