"Aahh, Memmo," she moaned, twisting and thrusting up to meet him. "Memmo. I… I… aahh."
At last he opened his eyes. He had to watch. He could not stop himself. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her beautiful, blood-engorged lips parted and panting. She looked just like Santa Theresa in her ecstasy from her office wall.
His pulse thundering in his cock and in his head, heat flooding his body, sweat soaking his shirt, Guillermo brought one hand down while he continued to knead and pinch her breast with the other, and began to rub her through her pants, feeling the shape of her, unable to penetrate her as instinct screamed for him to do, but touching her forward and back, round and round her clit, faster and faster, until she writhed and screamed her release, her back arching off the floor.
Suddenly she convulsed as a sob tore from her throat, and tears seeped from her tightly closed eyes, like blood from a stone.
He froze, muscles locked, his cock pressed hard to the floor, gritting his vibrating teeth, his head buzzing. Cazzo, he'd have blue balls to pay for this, but it would be worth it. It would be worth it. That such passion should be bottled up was criminal. Mio Dio, she was magnificent, and his heart swelled with love for her.
"Brava, Bella. Brava."
She slumped to the floor, limp and shaking and he immediately rose up and wrapped himself around her like a shroud, kissing her neck and her face, kissing her mouth, sucking hungrily on her full lips. "Ti amo, cara. Tu sei un dono del cielo. Sono abbagliato da te. Ti adoro. Grazie."
"Memmo," she whimpered, her chin quivering. "What about you?"
"Never mind me. I am so very happy. You have given me a great gift, Bella. Your pleasure is my pleasure." He pulled her up into his lap again, holding her tight, placing a hundred tiny kisses over her face. "I give to you and you return the gift to me by letting go, by surrendering control, by giving yourself to me and accepting my gift of love. This is beautiful, no? We make a beautiful memory to drive away the pain. There is no shame, only beauty, only ecstasy, mia cara."
Guillermo was deeply disturbed by Clio's father's call, despite his attempts to make light of it.
Even though he'd inferred many things about her family, it wasn't until he'd heard the man's voice, his tone, his manner, his condescending words that he began to understand the family environment that Clio had grown up with. The man was self-important, imperious, and rigid. Guillermo's hands tightened on the handle bars of his Ducati. He burned to confront the bastard. He wished he'd seen his pompous face. Dr. McBeal made Guillermo's own father seem like a benign bureaucrat by comparison. At least Guillermo understood that his own father was simply a weak man who had done what he thought was best for his family, his heritage, and his estate, however ill-judged, even though he was largely ineffectual.
Once Clio had told him the story of her youthful indiscretion and cruel humiliation by her father, the pieces of the puzzle slipped into place. At least he now understood how the man had kept her under his thumb all these years. The question was, had Guillermo's experiment freed her from those bonds? Was one pseudo lovemaking encounter enough to undo the habit of so many years of repression?
Remembering her passion, he shuddered, a river of fire flooding through him, making his already aching balls throb. Dear God he hoped so.
Guillermo roared along the road toward the nursing home on the outskirts of Firenze where Nonno had lived these past ten years. Despite Jacopo's neglect or evasiveness or whatever it was, Guillermo had been feeling a growing need to visit the old man, even though it would accomplish nothing. Nonno was a touchstone for him. Despite the fact that Nonno rarely recognized him, and sat in his geri-chair drooling and mumbling, it anchored Guillermo and helped him regain perspective.
He pulled into the lot and parked his bike near the door, tugging off his helmet.
At the front desk, the younger nurse was on duty, and she smiled at him in recognition. "Buon giorno, Senior d' Aldobrandin."
Of all the family, Guillermo was certain he was the only one who visited regularly. No one spoke of it, but even Pia, the dutiful one, was too busy with her own family to come out here very often. They found it difficult, and perhaps pointless, to sit and talk to an old man lost to dementia.
Guillermo knew his way around. He strode down the wide linoleum corridor towards Nonno's wing, pausing at the common room to quickly scan for him. Sometimes it was hard to tell them apart. A slightly mis-tuned radio announcer droned on about some conflict in the upper parliament.
He continued to Nonno's room, and there he was, slumped in his chair, facing out the window at the garden, his thinning white hair just visible over the high back. Nonno had been a tall, slender man, similar in build to Jacopo and Papa. In every other respect, he'd been quite different. Charming, warm-hearted, fun-loving, romantic. It was from Nonno that Guillermo had learned his love of history, of art and architecture, of music, food and women. He was a dreamer. An idealist.
Guillermo strode forward and stepped in front of him, bending to kiss his sagging cheeks. "Nonno. Buon giorno. Como stai?"
"Eh? Gia gia gia gia. Chi è?" His watery pale blue eyes peered at Guillermo intently, questioning, confused.
Guillermo sighed. Too bad. Not a good day. He should know better than to hope. He pulled up a stiff-backed chair and sat down next to Nonno, taking his papery stiff hand.
"It's me, Memmo, Nonno. How've you been, eh? Have they been keeping you busy?"
"Gia gia gia." A bit of spittle overflowed Nonno's thin lips and made its way down his creased face in a rivulet.
"Si. I know how it is. It's been a crazy time for me, too."
"Si, si."
Guillermo pondered the fact that though Nonno and his inmates remembered nothing specific about their lives, they still somehow retained the social niceties. They always knew when it was their turn to say something. The give and take. Which tone of voice was appropriate to the occasion. He stroked and patted the old man's hand, feeling wistful.
Sighing deeply, he continued talking, knowing the sound of his voice was a comfort. "I saw Pia and Bianca just last week. They miss you."
"Pia? Pia, Pia. Bella ragazza."
"Si, she's even more beautiful now. Grown up now, with two children of her own."
"Si, si, si." Nonno threw back his head and gave a wheezing belly laugh, a response to some pleasurable thought that only he could know.
Guillermo dropped his head, closing his eyes. "Oh, Nonno. I know they'll be alright. I'll take care of Bianca of course, and eventually she'll get her act together."
"Finita scuola?"
Guillermo's head shot up. "Scusi?"
Nonno lifted a hand and wiped his damp chin with the back of it. "Is she done with school now? Bibi?"
Tentatively, Guillermo raised his eyes to Nonno's. They were clear and sharp, and peered intently at Guillermo's own. "Ye-es. She was studying digital communication."
"Digital… what does that entail, exactly?"
Guillermo grinned. He'd rolled a seven. "You've got me, Nonno. Some new-fangled mumbo-jumbo. Computers and internet and… I-don't-know-what."
Nonno laughed again, and Guillermo felt his own laughter bubble up. "Welcome back, caro."
"Have I been away?"
Guillermo nodded, hot salty tears flooding his mouth and throat, stinging his eyes. "Si," he choked out. "I missed you." He stood and leaned in, kissing Nonno's cheeks again.
Nonno squeezed his hand. "What troubles you, figlio?"
Guillermo sniffed back his tears. What harm, when he would forget by dinner time?
He drew a deep breath. "It's the villa. I'm afraid we're going to lose it."
Nonno went rigid. "Eh? What's that you say?"
Guillermo rocked back and forth. "It's Jacopo, and his politics." He thought about that. "No, that's not fair. It's just that it costs too much, and we don't have the money to keep it up. It's old and–"
"Of course it's old. That's why it's priceless, Memmo. Just think about it." T
he old man still had fire.
Guillermo thought about it. He could hardly think of anything else these days, except for Clio. His heart tripped.
"I met a girl."
Nonno's head swiveled toward him, his white wiry brows twitching. "What's special about this one, Casanova?"
Guillermo laughed, then sobered. "You know, I can't quite put my finger on it." He swallowed. "She's beautiful, of course."
"A dark vivacious beauty, like Gemma."
"No. A Titian beauty. With eyes like the Ligurian sea. With hidden passion."
"Mmm. Mmmhmm." Nonno nodded sagely. "Your grandmother was a redhead. From the north?"
"She's not even Italian, Nonno. She's American and Canadian. A scholar and an artist."
"Ah. That's just what you need, my boy."
Guillermo smiled at the old man. He could hardly believe his good fortune. It was a blessing, a gift, to have this conversation, as though the past –wasted– ten years had never happened. Guillermo had had moments like this before, though not so many in recent years. But still, so rare.
"Are you comfortable, Nonno? Do you have any pains anywhere?"
"Eh, no. I'm fine."
Guillermo gazed into his sharp pale eyes, so wise. This was what he missed the most. The decaying frail body was unimportant. But when Nonno was absent, he missed that keen intelligent knowing gaze. It gave him comfort, anchored and oriented him in the world like nothing else could. Where did he go, he wondered? He felt himself tearing up again, his chin quivering.
"Something's bothering you, Memmo. Tell me."
"Jacopo is selling the estate, Nonno. We are selling it."
Nonno's face hardened, his gaze intensified. "No."
"There's so much debt." It wasn't important to tell him why. "We can't take care of it. We can't keep it."
Nonno jutted his chin forward and worked his jaw, his teeth, making a sucking noise. "It's an old house on a rundown farm. Who wants it but d'Aldobrandin? What is the point of selling it?"
"You'd be surprised how much it is worth. Enough to pay off the debts and more."
Nonno shook his head. "You must do something else. Anything else. Give up everything."
Guillermo thought. He thought about his apartment, his car, his bike, his savings. "It's not enough." And what would be the point?
"Farm it. We never tried hard enough to farm it."
"I'm not a farmer, Nonno. I'm an architect. None of us are farmers anymore."
"Hmmph."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Guillermo was convinced that Nonno had slipped back into the fog of his past, or wherever he went when he went away.
"The villa is our legacy, Memmo. We are the Contes d' Aldobrandin. What are we without our legacy?"
"Hmm." Guillermo nodded sadly. "That's what she says. The girl. Clio."
"Clio?" He chuckled. "Ironic, no?"
Guillermo snorted softly. "Si."
"Will you marry her?"
"Phht. I just met her. That's not for me, anyway."
"Pah. Of course it is. What does she say?"
"She has ideas. Innovative ideas. Grants, leases, rentals. I was skeptical, at first. But…"
"Tell me."
Guillermo summarized their plan, explaining the various sources of funding for renovations and operations, the different functions that would make the villa and estate their home. Nonno seemed to take it all in. Guillermo also explained about Mad Richie and his offer, his grand renovation plans and Guillermo's duplicitous role in them.
"Do it. You must do it. You cannot allow that man to tear the villa apart. That is an abomination."
"There are many details to work out yet. The universities we are negotiating with want to know everything, and we don't have answers yet."
"You will find a way. This Clio sounds very smart and determined."
"She is that."
"That is why you love her."
Guillermo's heart beat a little faster. "Maybe."
"A woman who valued the villa, and could contribute to it's preservation, would be a good partner for you, si?"
"Ah…" How could Guillermo explain to Nonno that he was trying to set up this institute, and go back to his old life in Florence? His current life, though his routines had been so disrupted lately he could barely recall what they had been. Yet one of the pressing problems he and Clio needed to solve was the issue of directorship. She had hinted that this would be a job for a family member, but Guillermo could not see Jacopo in that role. He would be hopeless. Nor Pia. Without saying so directly, he'd imagined that they would hire someone from outside, someone qualified.
For the first time he wondered if Clio herself would like the job. What else would she do once her Ph.D. was complete? She didn't want her father's well-meaning but controlling arrangements for her career, especially if that meant taking some junior teaching post in Ohio or some small town university. As a historian specializing in Renaissance art, with a long academic pedigree, she would be qualified to run the show, even though she'd be green. She had connections. She was certainly organized. It seemed perfect. But what if she didn't want to? He leaned forward, swiping his sweating palms on his knees.
"This is such a complex plan, Nonno. Every piece has to be in place. The risk of failure is–"
"Did I not teach you to be a risk-taker? A problem-solver? What was that for, if not for times like this?"
Guillermo breathed slowly in and out. In and out. If Clio stayed close by, if she decided teaching and directing a research institute would be a good career move for her, would he like that? Something flipped over in his stomach, fluttered and shot down his arms, up his spine to the base of his skull, tingling like a small cosmic eruption. Yes, he decided, yes he would.
A nurse in pink paused in the doorway. "It's time for your milkshake, Conte. Do you want it?"
"Eh? No. Go away. Leave us. Go away. I'm talking to my grandson."
Guillermo met her eye. She raised her brows and gave him a wry smile, holding up the canned drink. Guillermo stood up, strode to the door and took it from her. When he turned back to Nonno, he was slumped over in his chair.
"Nonno?" Guillermo spun him around, peered at his face. He was staring, glassy-eyed, into space, and a string of spit hung out of the slack corner of his mouth.
"Nurse! Nurse! Come back!"
Chapter 22
A few evenings later, Guillermo and Clio were back at the villa for another weekend, to collaborate, take photos and measurements, and write their letters and proposals. Deadlines were looming; they both needed additional information that could only be gathered at the villa, and in between, Clio would work on her thesis.
Clio sat across from him at one of the library tables, laptop to laptop, walls of old books at their backs, robed scholars peering down on them from above. Except for the technology, and the glasses of half-drunk wine at their elbows, it reminded Guillermo of the days when he'd sat here with Jacopo and Pia, doing school work. The same warm sense of camaraderie, the same feeling of belonging.
"Has the hospital called?"
Guillermo looked up. Clio's clear, turquoise eyes met his, filled with sympathy and concern. His chest grew tight. She was so earnest, so committed to this cause, so caring. He hardly understood why, but he felt himself drawn to her, trusting her. Sure, she loved Renaissance art and history, and she wanted to help save his villa, but she shouldn't be doing this at all. She had other, more pressing concerns, though he didn't agree with the way she bowed to her father's will. He hoped that would be at an end.
They'd spent an awful lot of time together lately, and it was getting harder and harder for him to maintain his self-control. Especially since this increased intimacy had seemed to make her more comfortable with him. After their encounter at her apartment, she'd reverted to being reserved, even more shy. But step by step, day by day, she had let down her guard, softened. She was easier with him, friendly, even affectionate.
He daren't let himself hope tha
t she was coming to care for him. She continued to keep him at arm's length, forever teasing him about his "Latin ways." Despite her moment of release, he still couldn't tell if she wanted him, not that way. Not the way that he so badly wanted her.
What could he say or do to persuade her that she was not just another conquest? That something had shifted in him, and he was really –was he?– really falling in love with her. To prove it, he held himself back, resisted the temptation to touch her. Martina would laugh. Certainly his sisters would. He wanted her so much; he would do anything to keep her near. He didn't know what else to do. He could not bear to frighten her away.
"Guillermo?"
"Scusi?"
"Have you heard from the hospital? About your Nonno?"
"Not since this morning. There was no change." At least Nonno's latest stroke had not been fatal. He felt a tight pain at the back of his throat. Undoubtedly the stress of his news had done Nonno some upset, and he felt his gut squeeze with guilt, even though he knew it made no difference. There had been a moment…
"But they're sure it was another stroke?"
He nodded, shrugging. "This has been happening periodically since the big one. They explained it to us. He'll just keep having these little strokes until finally…" He couldn't say it. Of course one day Nonno would die. Please God let it not be now. Even though he was back in some semi-vegetative state for the time being, Guillermo needed him. Needed to know he was there, cheering them on. Guillermo was even more determined to succeed now. For Nonno. For his family. And for Clio. Only via this scheme could he dream of convincing her to stay. Only then did he feel he might persuade her to take him seriously, and be part of his life.
His heart staggered in his chest, rolled and then squeezed until he couldn't draw breath. Is that what I want? Truly?
Clio's fingers clacked away at her keyboard, weaving some persuasive arguments that Guillermo could not even imagine, while he worked on drawings. He had two sets now. Not only did Mad Richie expect to see final design drawings very soon, along with preliminary pricing, but the various government restoration grants and partner universities all had need of plans showing how space would be allocated. Where would offices and classrooms and seminar rooms be located? Which rooms would provide accommodation for graduate students and visiting faculty? All afternoon, Guillermo had jumped up to check measurements and evaluate spaces, racing upstairs and down, pacing around and visualizing spatial relationships.
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 20