Pia pulled samples out of her bags to show him, and he was amazed. They were beautiful, not just the glistening, colorful food itself, but the containers and their tasteful, modern labels, designed, apparently, by Bibi. In a flash, he realized how talented they each were in their own ways.
"I am speechless, mia sorelle."
"Oh, I just had an idea how I can help." Bibi bounced in her seat, bubbling with excitement. "You know how you said your main problem right now is convincing everyone to approve the plans, si?"
He nodded.
"Well I think maybe we need to present more than dry spreadsheets and floor plans. I know you do beautiful drawings, but I sense you've been focusing more on the money."
"True. Go on."
"What if I threw together a website quickly, with some photos and your drawings, of course, but also I could write some copy with Pia's help, about how the pieces will function. Something dynamic. You know, really sell it. Kind of like we would be selling it to customers eventually. If we give it a little spin, then we will engage their imagination, and that may make them more willing to take a risk."
Before he could respond, Pia cut in. "That's a wonderful idea, Bibi. I'll work with you on that. But Clio and I have already calculated some estimates for the bank, of the operating costs and projected income, and I think you'll be surprised at how good it all looks. We need to go over it with you, particularly about the outbuildings, and how we can retrofit them as vacation cottages, but it can be ready in a day or so."
Pia and Bibi were bright with enthusiasm, their eyes sparkling, and Guillermo felt he'd caught their buzz, like an electric current being passed from hand to hand. The voices and birdsong of the piazza around them fell away, and time slowed, as he listened to their jumbled words, ideas flying back and forth.
Bibi bent her head to Pia's, speaking earnestly, while she clutched her hand. How they had changed. Mama and Papa would be proud. "We could do the interiors. That would be so fun. I know Memmo's probably got it covered, but I've always wanted to redo some of those rooms."
"There won't be that much–" he attempted to interject. Money. Some of the buzz deflated.
"Sapere! Especially the bedroom– Oh, here she comes." Pia jumped out of her chair, stopping the conversation dead. They all turned to follow the direction of her gaze.
A Pre-Raphaelite goddess strode across the piazza toward them framed by a sunlit cloud of bouncing red curls, like a bonfire. She was a runway model from Milan, tall and flamboyant. She looked cool and breezy, defying the stifling July heat in a gauzy pale green blouse and loose fitting linen pants. A silky ribbon fluttered in the breeze, cast out behind her like a kite. Vivid, passionate, feminine. When had she transformed into such a beauty?
Her step faltered when she saw him, and their eyes met, skipped, locked before she glanced away. Dare he think he saw pleasure there? Hope? Attraction? Clio's cheeks bloomed with a rosy hue, she smiled shyly, and Guillermo's heart leapt against his ribcage like one of the resident pigeons from the piazza, beating its wings, taking flight. Ah, Bella. He'd only seen her hair loose and wild like that when they made love. It was his own private indulgence, and even she couldn't know how much he adored it. His groin tightened at the memory. Dio, I've missed you. Mio Clio.
She stood between his sisters, poised to sit, and though they clamored and fussed over her haircut, he couldn't hear their words. The blood roared in his ears like a torrential river, swollen with the flood of his desire. He licked his lips, and his fingers tingled with the urge to reach across the table and pull her to him, to caress every inch of her skin, hold her tight, and bury his face in the soft mass of her wondrous scented hair. Amore mia. Senza di te la vita è un inferno.
There followed an awkward silence. Guillermo could only stare, and rub the sweat from the back of his neck, pictures playing in his brain. No words came immediately to mind. Bibi snickered, and Pia cleared her throat, while Clio continued to gaze expectantly at him. He flushed with sudden heat. His mouth was as dry as limestone and he swallowed. This had never happened to him before. If there was one thing Guillermo could always count on, it was his savvy ease with women. But this was not any woman. The more he thought about the right thing to say, and how to say it, the less he could find any words, and the more his stomach hardened with dread.
He recovered himself, taking a long drink. His sisters must not suspect what a blubbering fool love had made of him. And Clio would not appreciate his making their private affair a public one. Drawing on years of experience as a lady-charmer, he forced his slack face into the semblance of a welcoming smile.
"Ciao, Bella. How incredibly bellissimo you look today. I have missed you." He leapt from his chair and circled the table, lifting her hand to his lips, applying just the right amount of pressure to be flirtatious and portray a confidence he utterly lacked. The feel of her skin on his sent a shock through him. "Have you eaten lunch?" He waved at the waiter. "Scuzi. Ehi, cameriere. What would you like to eat, Clio? A salad?"
"No, grazie. I ate lun–"
"You must have a drink. So tell us about your week. I hear you met with Pia. I'm so surprised to hear of your plans."
"Well, I–"
"Mi dispiace di the letter. It completely slipped my mind. Of course you needed a signature. My sincere apologies for being unavailable. I was swamped with work at the office this past week. I hardly took note of the time." He was blathering like the idiot he was, but couldn't seem to stop.
"Memmo." Pia tried to interrupt.
"Oh, you've got it bad, fratello," Bianca mumbled.
"I, er–" Clio stuttered, while the waiter arrived, and Guillermo ordered a cold sparkling water for her.
"I'm so relieved you are resourceful and thought to call Pia. That's why we have gotten this far, eh? You are so clever. And now look what happened. A surprise bonus."
"I wanted to talk to you–"
"Si, si. Scusami. You can tell me now."
Clio's voice rose over his, brittle and uncharacteristically impatient. "I will if you let me!"
He released his breath.
Three pairs of female eyes bore into him, expectant, annoyed. What a pazzo. His face tingled with heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun, and everything to do with being in the presence of this woman, who for some reason completely unraveled him. She pushed him and pulled him in the most uncomfortable directions. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Memmo." Clio's voice was soft.
He drew in a deep breath and released it, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He could feel the weight of generations hanging like iron shackles on his arms and legs, on his lungs, and on his spirit. This entire day was not going according to plan. He opened his eyes. Her eyes were glazed, and she had trapped her rosy lips between her teeth. He was such an ass. He wanted to give her anything she asked for. He wanted to promise her the moon and the stars. He wanted to say whatever was necessary to have her back in his arms. If only he could.
He stood. "Are you going back to l'Accademia? May I walk with you?"
She sniffed and nodded stiffly.
As she rose and they strolled away, he did not fail to notice the meaningful eye contact exchanged by his sisters.
Clio and Guillermo ambled slowly across the Piazza della Signoria, at first not speaking, the sound of their shoes scuffing softly on the pavement. The afternoon sun sank lower, skipping along the cobbles through narrow gaps between buildings, but the city shimmered, radiating gentle accumulated heat like a limestone oven, after the bread had been baked.
Clio let the heat soak into her bare arms, waiting for Guillermo to begin. She wasn't sure what, precisely, was on his mind. She had, in her defense, tried to reach him many times before going to Pia. It was impossible to tell whether he was angry. It hurt, not being with him, not touching, not sharing their ideas every day.
"You have a talent for this," he said at last, pausing.
She glanced sideways at him. "For what?"
He ges
tured vaguely. "Problem solving. Organizing. Recruiting people and inspiring them."
She gestured back across the piazza, where his sisters still sat at the cafe, pretending not to be watching their exchange in fascination. "It was not my idea to get Pia involved in this. I only–"
He turned slightly toward her, both palms raised. "I'm not criticizing, Bella. I'm impressed, that's all. Under your stewardship, everything seems to fall into place. Problems are solved. Obstacles removed. People beguiled."
She remained silent. His voice was strange. Tight and contained. Strained. She felt she was being scolded, for something, despite his words to the contrary. She kept her eyes averted from his face, despite her longing to gaze at him.
She hugged her arms, feeling a chill that contradicted the late afternoon sun. "I don't know what you want from me, Memmo. I'm just carrying on with our plan the best I can. I happen to think it's wonderful that Pia's plans align with your needs. And now Bianca has these talents she can contribute. I actually think this is for the best. To include your family. Perhaps you should have trusted them from the beginning."
"Did I say I was unhappy?"
She thought about it, her eyes assessing his face. "No. But you sound unhappy."
"Hmph." His gaze drifted back toward his sisters, his expression pensive. He was unhappy, alright.
"Well?"
They began walking again in silence, and she waited, her muscles tense. As they approached the fountain of Neptune, the cooling air chilled her heated skin, lifting gooseflesh. She stepped into the sun and rubbed her arms, tugging on her short sleeves.
"Your hair is very, very beautiful. I'm glad you decided to wear it down."
She dipped her chin to hide the flush she felt creep up her cheeks. "It was Pia's idea to cut it. She's very persuasive."
"I adore it." He reached out and picked out a curling strand and caressed it between his fingers.
She nodded. She knew he loved her hair down. He often said so, and made a big fuss of touching it, burying his face in it when they made love. Another shiver shook her, and her stomach felt leaden.
"I miss you, Bella," he whispered. "This week has been hell without you."
Their steps faltered and they stopped, standing side by side, contemplating the fountain statuary, then turning to face each other. Guillermo reached tentatively for her arms, rubbing them with his warm palms. She gazed at his tie, licked her lips, feeling shy.
With one finger, he lifted her chin, and she was forced to meet his eyes. Their deep blue depths shimmered with emotion, heat and longing, and she knew he was going to kiss her. "Memmo–"
Then his mouth came down and covered hers, so gently at first. A feather light kiss. Another one. Then his lips pressed more firmly, and his tongue darted out, requesting entry.
Clio's heart rate accelerated, and her skin tingled at his familiar touch. At last their mouths fused as they were used to, all their mutual desire and love flowing between them, as his hands wove into her loose hair and tangled there, holding her head reverently.
"Bella," he said on a sigh as they broke apart. "I need you so badly."
Something shifted in her chest, a sharp pang of emotion. Her hands were resting on his chest, and he still held her in the circle of his arms. Her breathing had quickened with just one kiss. She wanted him body and soul, ached for him. It made her dizzy.
She wanted to ask why he'd avoided her calls, then. But she knew the answer. She just didn't know what to do about it now. Had he changed his mind? Was he considering the directorship?
She swallowed. "Have you… I mean, what are we going to do?"
Guillermo's chest rose with an indrawn breath. Then he hitched his shoulders slightly, and his chin twitched. "I thought about approaching Jacopo. Asking him to be director." His gaze darted sideways.
"Jacopo?" No, no! Not that. She dropped her head. Beneath their feet was a plaque marking the spot where Savanarola was hung.
"Especially after today, with Pia and Bianca so involved. Perhaps he could do it." Guillermo shook his head.
"You don't believe it."
"No."
Clio waited.
He turned and took a few steps away. Slowly. Clio followed.
They made their way out of the piazza and walked up Via dei Cerchi, toward the Piazza del Duomo, in the direction of Ricasoli. They both knew the route well. For several blocks they walked in silence, side-by-side, not touching.
"This is really your project, you know, Clio."
"It's not. It's ours, together. But I am only trying to help you. Help your family."
They paused again, in the vast shadow of the Duomo.
"I could not have done this without you. This past week has shown me. I don't know what I'm doing. I have no vision and no understanding of these processes. I'm an architect, Bella. A designer. What do I know of this? This is your world, all these academic programs and conferences. The students, and the artwork. The government grants and special licenses. I don't–"
"Guillermo that's not true. This is not different from the kinds of things you do, with your heritage preservation, and juggling client demands and government regulations. Plus you know about the building itself. How to keep it safe and make improvements. Also its history and significance."
"For me it's just my home. The house I grew up in. Nothing more significant than that. That does not qualify me to–"
"That's a lie. You know it. If anyone has appreciated the villa and loved it beyond its immediate value to the family, it's you. I know it. I've seen you. Heard you speak of it. And I've heard Marcella say how involved you were growing up."
He grimaced and raked his hands through his dark hair.
"I want to ask you something, Clio."
Her heart lurched.
"I don't want you to leave, Bella. I want you to stay."
She held her breath. Was he asking her to be with him?
"I don't think this institute will come together without your ongoing involvement."
The physical shock of his words struck her like a blow. She held her spine stiffly, her breath shallow.
"I think that you should be director." He held up a palm toward her, warding off her protests. "I know you think someone in the family should direct the foundation. Pia and Bianca will be involved now, and they will be a great help. But there's nobody better suited to be director. This job was made for you. It would use your training, and your talents. And our original plan was for a single director, wasn't it? You could do both, Bella."
No. He didn't want her for herself. Only to do the job he couldn't bring himself to do. The coward. She pressed her lips together. It was flattering, but it hurt like a knife to the heart.
"I am better off staying focused on my architectural practice. I have already achieved considerable success for my age. It would be foolish to abandon that." He shrugged. "And I would be close by. I would be involved, of course. We could be together, Bella. I want you to stay here, not go back to America. Your heart is here."
Her chest tightened. If he only knew. Did he want her for the foundation or for himself? She didn't know the answer. And she daren't ask.
Shaking her head, she said, "Guillermo, I'm not qualified either. I have no experience. I don't even have my Ph.D. and at this point I may never have it. You know the academic director has to meet at least that requirement. "
"So get your degree, already."
She flinched, and her chin trembled. She brought a hand to her tight throat. That hurt. How could he say that? Her voice emerged in a choked whisper. "That's not fair. I'd be finished by now if it weren't for you and the villa."
"I never asked for your help. We wouldn't even be doing this if it weren't for you."
She fought the hot tears that pushed at her burning eyes. How could he be so cruel? She shook it off, pushing away the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. "In any case, I have a career path already planned out. I have to put my efforts toward completing my degree. There
is a job waiting for me in Ohio."
His face darkened, and his nostrils flared. "You don't want that stupid job."
She lifted her chin. "Who says I don't?"
"You don't. That's your father's idea. You don't have to do what he tells you to do, Clio. You're a grown woman. You must live your own life."
"That is my life, Guillermo. Why should I alter my plans and give up my career when you won't consider doing it for your own home?" She flapped her hands. "This is your villa. Your family estate. Your history we're trying to save. What is it to me?"
He seemed to deflate, his shoulders drooping, his eyes suddenly suffused with sadness. "Don't say that. I know you care. It's your destiny, Clio. My Clio, Muse of History. You came to me and this happened all at once for a reason." He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.
She shoved his hand away roughly. "Don't touch me."
"Bella."
She stalked away, and he followed.
"Don't you see? You're my angel. You were sent to me so we could save the villa from destruction, but also this is your salvation. Your escape from the stifling cage of a life your father built."
"Oh, how convenient for you. That's sentimental crap. Don't tell me how to live my life, Guillermo d'Aldobrandin. You don't know me. You don't know what I want, or what I dream of." I dream of you, Memmo. I want you. I want you to want me. But he wasn't capable of that. Guillermo was incapable of facing responsibility or commitment. He was the boy who cut and ran when things got uncomfortable. He certainly wouldn't be interested in committing to a life shared with her. He was selfish and cowardly. Why did she expect anything else? He was who he was, and she was a fool to think he had changed.
She turned to him, determined, her hands on her hips. "I'm going back to my own life. If I work hard now, there may be a chance Dr. Jovi and Father will let me complete my degree."
"Don't abandon me. What will happen to our scheme?"
"Without a director, it's doomed to failure anyway."
He scowled. "I'll ask Jacopo then."
The Art of Enchantment (Life is a Journey Book 1) Page 26