by Lea Hart
“Are you an artist as well?”
“Not really. I can paint decently, but that’s because I was trained to do so, not because I possess any innate talent. Which, it turns out, is perfect for my job.” The waiter came by to clear the plate and Stazi took a sip of her wine. “My true passion ended up being art history and conservation. When I was a junior in high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do until I stumbled across the art conservation program at the University of Delaware. Once I saw what it entailed, I knew it was the career I wanted.”
“What exactly does a person study to get a degree in art conservation?”
“My undergraduate degree is a Bachelor of Arts in Material Cultural Preservation, which means that I took classes in chemistry, archaeology, studio art, and art history.” Their plate of mussels was delivered and Stazi lifted a shell and handed it to Hank. “It’s a little spicy.”
He leaned forward and gave her a peck. “I love spicy.” After they plowed through the plate in record time, Hank ordered them another glass of wine as they waited for their pasta. “So, how did you end up in Italy?”
“You have to get at least four hundred hours of experience in studio skills before you can apply for a graduate program. One of my professors had studied at the Istituto and recommended that I apply. It’s one of the most notable and prestigious institutes in the field of art restoration and instruction. Together with the Opificio delle Pietre Dure in Florence, it’s almost unmatched. Some of the world’s most respected art historians and conservationists have come out of the school.”
“And after you got your four hundred hours, what did you do?”
“I applied for the master’s program and went back to the University of Delaware and got an MS in Art Conservation with a specialty in painting. I went to college when I was eighteen and it took me almost nine years to complete my education; thank God I’m finally working.”
“I had no idea it took so much training to do what you do.”
“I loved being a student and enjoyed the process.” Taking his hand, she laced their fingers together. “Guess if I didn’t, then I would’ve chosen something else to do.”
The waiter approached with two perfect plates of cacio e pepe pasta and Stazi felt like swooning. “It only has three ingredients, but it took me almost a year to perfect it.”
“What’s the secret?” Hank asked as his plate was placed in front of him.
“Timing, patience, and practice.” Stazi twirled her fork in the perfection on her plate and grinned. “Making the perfect pasta is kind of like creating the perfect relationship.”
“Good thing we have all the necessary ingredients,” he replied before taking his first bite of pasta.
Watching his eyes close and a smile form on his face reminded her very much of what he’d looked like earlier when their bodies were joined. It was true—they did have the right ingredients. All they had to do was be patient and allow themselves to let go.
***
As they walked through the Istituto and Stazi described what people were doing, he realized how passionate she was about her career. He hadn’t really understood what she did on a daily basis until she explained what was happening in each room. “I had no idea that your job used state-of-the-art technology as well as practices that were used hundreds of years ago.”
Stazi stopped in the doorway of a room where a large painting was being worked on. There were three women in white lab coats standing in front of the painting with high-powered lights shining on the canvas. “What are they doing?”
“They are cleaning the surface of the painting so they can eventually repair it. Most of my career has been spent with small squares of history. We usually work on a painting in a series of twelve-inch squares, trying to preserve it, restore it, or determine if it’s the real thing.”
The hushed atmosphere of the room was noticeable and the only sound that could be heard was coming from the fans in the corner of the stone room. She really did live in a quiet world most days, which might have been the reason she hardly ever chattered. Wrapping his arms around her, he rested his chin on her head and watched the women work. When they had first started spending time together, he’d discovered that she didn’t talk just to fill space and only spoke when she really had something to say. Which he’d appreciated because he hated when people just talked to hear their own voices.
“Ready?” she asked as she stepped out of his arms.
“Sure. Where are we going next?”
Lifting her arm, she checked her watch. “We are meeting my mentor, Vittorio, in about fifteen minutes, so we should start walking in the direction of his office.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him so he can tell me about that girl who showed up in Italy all those years ago.”
Shaking her head, Stazi let out a snort. “When I came to Rome, I was a twenty-one-year-old college graduate, ready to start my adventure.”
“What kind of adventure?” Hank asked as he looked down at her smile. “Romantic ones?”
“I had plenty of those until I decided they were tumultuous, far too consuming, and ultimately exhausting. I enjoyed my dolce vida until I couldn’t take one more passionate-crazy affair. The whole thing left me thinking that passion was better spent on my career and a practical and rational approach to my dating life might get me closer to what I wanted.”
“I don’t want to think about you having a wild youth. It makes me want to find those men and beat the shit out of them.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say your total numbers of lovers is four or five times bigger than mine.” Looking up at him, she squinted. “Make that seven or eight. You’re an irresistible man and there’s no way you denied the ladies.”
He let out a laugh that echoed against the stone walls and shook his head. “I spent most of my time deployed and was keeping company with men who smelled bad and didn’t see the need to use manners.”
“Be that as it may, I’m sure you had company when you wanted it.” Slipping her hand away from his, she crossed her arms.
“Why are we talking about this?” Hank asked as he stopped in the hallway. “We’re both getting jealous about something that happened in the past and that’s stupid.”
“You brought it up,” she replied petulantly.
Looking to his left and then to his right, he made sure they were alone. Crowding her until her back was against the wall, he threw his hands up on either side of her head so that she was caged in. “I’m not going to ask about your dating past because I don’t want to know. A red-hot rage fills my gut when I think of you with anyone other than me. I have to make peace with the fact that I wasn’t your first, but I will damn well be your last.”
“I have to admit that the idea of you with someone else makes me furious. When you came and picked me up at the office and I saw those women flirting with you, I almost lost my temper. It was a feeling that I was unfamiliar with because I’d never felt possessive about anyone in my life.” Brushing her hand over his shirt, she shrugged. “I wanted to stomp up to them and yell, ‘Mine, mine, mine!’”
“The next time you feel that way, I hope to God you do it. Because I love the idea of you claiming me.”
“Really? That wouldn’t be a total turnoff?”
“Hell, no. Half the time, I’m not sure if you really like me, and if you yelled mine a couple of times, that would be fucking amazing.”
“All right. The next time the urge comes up, I’ll do it.” Fisting his shirt, she pulled him down. “Kiss me.”
“Always,” he replied, dropping his mouth so that he could do one of the things he loved most in the world…kiss his woman.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday, June 17
Rome
Hank held Stazi’s hand tightly as they walked down the Via della Conciliazione toward La Veranda restaurant. They hadn’t picked up a tail since they’d arrived in Rome and he didn’t expect to on their last day in the city. Ten days had flown past in a
blur of sightseeing, amazing food, and incredible sex.
Stazi had worked for a couple of days with a few people on the European committee in charge of the Modigliani project, but other than that, they had enjoyed the hell out of themselves. Being almost exclusively in her company for nearly two weeks was better than he imagined and he prayed the closeness that they’d created was just the beginning.
One thing he’d happily discovered on their trip was that their temperaments worked perfectly together. Whatever he was uptight about, she wasn’t and vice versa. They had moved through the city without so much as one argument, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t all due to the fact that they were on vacation.
Certainly having sex several times a day didn’t hurt either of their moods, or eating incredible food…but he knew that even when they eventually faced the big stuff, they were going to be okay. His confidence was based on the fact that she let him lead when it was important to him and he tried to do the same with her. They never had one petty argument over some bullshit power play.
What he saw with Stazi was what he got. She wasn’t into playing games and if she had something to say, she did so plainly and without rancor. Smiling to himself, he thought about what she said last night and prayed she’d say it again when they got back to the hotel room. Turned out she was curious about some things and had sweetly requested he go along with her ideas.
One didn’t turn out at all and they ended up laughing as they fell off the bed. The other, though…that one really turned out. And would be added to their regular rotation. Which was not what he needed to be thinking about as they walked down a busy thoroughfare. “Are you hungry, Staz?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been thinking about this meal since we woke up. That’s why I didn’t eat much for breakfast.” Taking her hand away, she then twisted her hair up. “I’m glad we’re going on the private Vatican tour because it’s too hot to be standing in the chapel with a mass of humanity.” Stepping close to the wall of a building, she dug through her purse. “I hope I have a rubber band or a clip.”
Standing at an angle, he shielded her from the pedestrian traffic. He was big and apparently intimidating enough that people walked around without jostling them. When Stazi lifted her hair and secured it with a clip, he noticed the small trail of love bites he’d left on her neck. Running his finger over them, he felt a bit of satisfaction flow through his body.
Was he a philistine?
Absolutely.
Did it bother him?
Absolutely not.
Tipping her head, she looked up and smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He leaned down and gave her a quick peck. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Looking down the street, she pointed to the restaurant. “There it is. The restaurant occupies the left wing of the Palazzo della Rovere.”
“Lead the way,” he replied as he took her hand.
“I made sure our reservation is for a table inside because I want you to see the fifteenth-century Pinturicchio frescoes.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss those.” He felt her pinch his side as she let out a laugh.
“I know that I’ve almost drowned you in art talk since we’ve gotten here. I promise to give you a break the minute we get on the plane.”
Tightening his hold, he gave her a smile. “I hope you don’t because I’m enjoying becoming a cultured man.”
“You didn’t need my help because you already were.” They walked into the restaurant and Stazi briefly spoke with the hostess. “The construction of the building began in 1480. Isn’t it amazing to see it still standing today?”
“Was it originally a home?”
“A palace,” Stazi replied as they were led through the restaurant toward their table. They were seated inside the main loggia at a table next to the window. “Wow, this is a great table.”
Hank waited until she was seated and then took his own chair. They had a view of the garden and a nice breeze floated through the open windows, despite the heavy green velvet curtains. “What should we have?”
“Everything?” Stazi replied. Running her finger down the menu, she let out a sigh. “You might as well prepare yourself…”
“For what?” Hank asked cautiously.
“I’m going to be making nothing but Italian food for a couple of months.” Tilting her head, she gave him a small smile. “I’m also going to say how much I miss Italy a few thousand times.”
“I guess we’re coming back at Christmas then. We’ll celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah in your favorite city.”
“Don’t you want to be home with your family celebrating?”
“They don’t expect me at the holidays because I’ve missed most of them since I left for college. I was deployed for ninety percent of them when I was with the Navy, so I figure we get to start fresh and make our own.” When he saw her mouth hang open a little in shock, he decided to ignore it. In his heart, he knew they were together for good. How that was going to turn into a formal arrangement was yet to be seen. “How do we celebrate Hanukkah?”
Before she could answer the waitress came by and asked them what they wanted to drink, so Stazi ordered a beer for him and a glass of wine for herself. They still had a three-hour tour of the Vatican museum ahead of them so a bottle of wine was probably out. “I know candles are lit, but what else do we do?”
Moving her water glass, she kept her eyes down. “What are we doing, Hank?”
Taking her hand, he waited until she looked at him. “We are creating a union that eventually will be a fusion of our tastes and temperaments. A wide mosaic that holds our old selves as well as the hybrid of who we’re about to become. This is it, Staz.” He watched a single tear slip down her face and leaned forward. “I want the magical happy ending where we love each other madly and drop dead at the exact same moment. I have no interest in remaining on this earth without you.”
Another tear slipped down her face and she nodded. “I’m working hard on not allowing my fears to make me crazy and incapable of taking a single step toward that which I most desire. It’s going to take me a minute, but I promise I’ll get there.”
“We have all the time in the world.”
The waitress reappeared with their drinks and Stazi lifted her glass of wine. “I propose a toast to having the courage to put our hearts into the hands of someone who is ultimately unknowable and having faith that it will turn out beautifully.”
Leaning forward, he gave her a kiss along with a silent promise that he would do his best to make sure her heart was happy and full. “What is the Italian word for courage?”
“Corragio.”
“When we get home, I’m going to have it engraved next to the date on the third band of your necklace.”
“Perfect.”
As he picked up his menu and he began to read it, he realized the trip had ended up accomplishing more than he’d ever hoped for. They were attached and there was nothing that was ever going to come between them. “What should we have?”
“I’m going to start with the red prawn tartare with burrata cheese and citrus fruit salsa. Then I’ll have the spaghetti alla chitarra alla carbonara, and for my entrée, I’ll try the lamb chops with the almond crust and cumin-glazed carrots.”
Looking over his menu, he gave her a wink. “Okay, then I’ll start with the beef carpaccio. Then I’ll try the spelt fettuccine with pecorino and baked tomato sauce and finally the sole a la meunière and ginger salad.”
“We did it, Hank. It’s perfect.” The waitress came by and Stazi ordered their food.
Something that had started back in Chicago had become an art form here in Italy. From the moment they’d started sharing meals, they had ordered opposite things and then ate from one another’s plates. It was a small intimacy of their relationship that he was enjoying the hell out of. Not only did it give him a chance to try new things, it allowed him to see what Stazi enjoyed. Which was intel he could always use. Speaking of intel, he looked around
the room and noticed the frescoes on the walls. “Okay, give me a ten-minute art lesson while we wait for our appetizers.”
“Might take me twelve, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hit me, honey, and give me the download.”
“The palazzo was built by Domenico della Rovere, who was the Cardinal of St. Clement. He had a lot of money and a ton of influence because it was during the time that the popes ran the country. He had access to all the best artists of the moment and he let them loose. The place was frescoed by Pinturicchio and it’s believed that Charles VIII liked it so much that he preferred to stay here as opposed to the Vatican when he was continuing his military expeditions to the south of Italy.
“When the Cardinal died, it was left to the church, got passed through several hands through the centuries, and has been a hotel since the fifties. The frescoed walls are charming and have a ton of decorative elements. If you look carefully, you’ll see fake seats, dogs, and open music books, and underneath the large windows, there are pictures of bookshelves, fruit boxes, and vases of roses. I’m told there are biblical references as well as an allegory of peace represented by the olive branches.”
Their appetizers were delivered. Stazi let out a breath and gave him a smile. “How was that?”