Hearts at the Holy See

by Hearts at the Holy See [Passport to Romance] (retail)

  It was up to Amalie to decide to trust Giovanni. Giovanni, who was not Alex. Giovanni, who so far, filled every aspect of her dream man.

  I’m going with it. I’m trusting him, God. And You. And if she had to recommit to that trust every other second, so be it. God would help her, and pretty soon it would become automatic. The peace that flowed through her could very well be the confirmation she craved, or simply, proof that she wanted to fall in love with Giovanni.

  No. Proof that she already had.

  She wandered through Vatican City for only a few more minutes, before she headed for the hotel. The light had faded, and she pulled out her cell phone. The others would be at the downstairs café in less than twenty minutes. She wouldn’t have time to change, but she needed a good wash before she met everyone else for dinner.

  She scurried through the ornate hotel doors then stopped. In front of the tiny elevator, she saw Casey. And not only Casey, but Leo, and the two were so intertwined they never noticed her edging past.

  So. It looked, once again, as though Leo would end up her cousin-in-law. Amalie didn’t mind. In fact, her heart danced all the way up three flights of stairs and through the hotel room door. Because more Leo for Casey meant more Giovanni for Amalie.

  Rome was certainly a city of love. But she couldn’t leave Vatican City out of her accolades. The tiny city state had certainly furthered her own romance much more than she’d ever believed possible.

  In their room, she washed, shrugged out of the blouse that had gone limp, and pulled on another. A fresh smear of lipstick and a quick brush, and she was ready.

  Back downstairs, she searched for both Casey and Leo. Casey must have gone up in the elevator as Amalie came down the stairs, because the only person she saw was Leo.

  “Hey, Leo.” Amalie waved.

  Leo, startled and guilty, looked over his shoulder. “Oh, hi, Amalie. I didn’t see you.”

  And if he had, she’d bet a million dollars he’d have hurried off the other way. She’d have won, too. “Where’s Casey?”

  “Casey?” Now he glanced around the lobby. “Is she here?”

  “Of course she’s here. You were just with her.”

  “Ah, no. No, that wasn’t me. I mean, that wasn’t Casey. I mean—”

  She narrowed her eyes, studying him. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged, putting all his Italian heritage into the gesture. “Only I don’t know where she is. And I don’t know who you saw.”

  “Leo, you were kissing her.”

  He held out his hands in half a shrug.

  OK, maybe he was telling the truth. Amalie couldn’t tell. But if so, who had it been? And if so, why wasn’t Leo much angrier? At the moment, he only looked uncomfortable, not in a towering Italian lover’s rage.

  “We might as well get a table.” She pointed to the café. “Giovanni said he’d meet us here.”

  “Where is he? I thought he’d be with you.”

  “You father called. I guess there was a leak in the kitchens.”

  Leo grinned. “Better him than me. I’m no good at plumbing.”

  “Is Giovanni?”

  “Who knows? Papa certainly believes he is.”

  They picked a table within easy sight of the hotel entrance and bent over the menus. A moment later, Casey arrived to break the awkward lack of real conversation.

  She barely limped as she slid next to Amalie. “Where’s Giovanni?”

  Amalie explained again, wishing she could find the easy flow of conversation she’d always shared with her cousin. What was going on?

  “Maybe we should call him?” Casey dug into her purse then frowned. “I think I left my cell upstairs. Leo, would you be a darling and go get it for me? Here’s my key card.”

  “Oh.” His hand half outstretched, Leo stared wide eyed at Amalie, then at Casey. “You don’t need it. I’ll call him.”

  “I don’t like leaving it in our room. You don’t mind, do you? Take the elevator if the stairs are too much.”

  His eyes flashed. “I don’t mind the stairs.”

  Casey smiled and tucked the key card into his hand. “Thanks.”

  He stood, shifted from one foot to the other then, with a last anguished look at Amalie, left.

  So why did Casey want to get rid of Leo? Amalie closed her menu and settled her elbows on it, the better to study Casey’s face.

  Casey, in turn, hid behind her menu.

  She might not have gotten the truth out of Leo, but she knew Casey well enough to tell when she was lying. “Casey, was that Leo you were kissing earlier?”

  “What?” Casey’s face blanched, and her eyes went as wide as Leo’s had. The menu tumbled to the floor, and she hid her face while she slowly fetched it.

  Amalie waited until her cousin came back into view. “About twenty minutes ago. I came in and saw the two of you in the lobby.”

  “Oh, no. Amalie, no, I wasn’t kissing Leo.”

  “Then who was it? I’ll buy it wasn’t Leo; he said it wasn’t. But then—why isn’t he furious with you?”

  “Because it wasn’t me, either. You just saw someone who looked like me.” Casey grabbed the menu again and bent over it as though she’d never seen it before.

  Amalie gripped her wrist and pulled, making Casey meet her eyes. “You’re saying it was someone with your hair, and wearing, strangely enough, the dress you borrowed from me this morning?” Then, it dawned on her. “You were kissing Giovanni.”

  “No, of course I wasn’t.” As Amalie stared at her, not even seeing her cousin any more, Casey babbled, “I swear. It wasn’t Giovanni. Honest, Amalie. I’d tell you if it was. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.” But Amalie knew her cousin better than that. She backed away. “You were kissing Giovanni.”

  Casey’s mouth crumpled, and she put her hand over her face. “Oh, Amalie—”

  “No.” Amalie stood, holding the back of her chair for strength. All her natural balance had been knocked out of her.

  “Amalie, don’t.”

  “I don’t—I can’t.” With a trembling hand, Amalie turned, saw Leo coming down the stairs, and turned back. “Don’t come upstairs. Give me some time.”

  “Amalie—”

  “I mean it, Case. Give me some space.” She scrambled up the stairs, pushing past Leo, afraid she’d see Giovanni come in through the lobby doors.

  The thought of him only made her run faster.

  ****

  Amalie sat at the window, staring at the fresco across the street. The plaster Mary held her Son close, and looked over His head, Amalie was sure, right through the hotel window. Right at Amalie.

  Mary had been misunderstood, surely, when her family learned she was expecting. How many of them would have sneered when she’d said God’s Spirit had put God’s Son within her womb, to save the world? Elizabeth had rejoiced with Mary, but then, she’d had help in understanding from her own God-sent son.

  “How long did it take you to get over that?” Amalie whispered. “The Bible doesn’t say. Even after you married, even after you gave birth, did people still walk on the other side of the road? Did they refuse to hear your side of the story? And if they listened, did they refuse to believe?”

  She bent her head against the glass, staring down at the people and cars busy in the street. Only a few faint sounds reached the room.

  Amalie hadn’t asked Giovanni for his side of the story. She’d listened to Casey and Leo, or rather, she’d thrown what she’d believed at them, angry and vengeful, and now, she wasn’t sure who’d told the truth. And with only an impression and few facts, she’d made up her mind.

  What if she’d made up the wrong truth? What did that make of Amalie?

  What did that do to a relationship that had barely gotten started?

  She rolled her forehead on the glass, looking again at the carved stone across the way. “I didn’t give him a chance, did I?”

&nb
sp; The stone didn’t answer, but her heart did. She needed to see Giovanni, and give him that chance. God willing, he’d still be at his uncle’s restaurant. She dragged herself away from the window and bolted down the stairs.

  ****

  It seemed Leo’s whole family not only had congregated at Rossetti’s, but that they all recognized Amalie. Armino hustled her inside, gave her a moist glass of ice water, and pointed to a chair. He said something, the only word of which she understood was “Giovanni,” and disappeared. That left Leo’s parents and the other woman who’d joined them at that first dinner.

  Amalie couldn’t remember her name, and when she sat across the table from Amalie, a mug of black tea steaming in front of her, she only smiled. Amalie smiled back.

  At least, when Giovanni came out of the kitchen and Amalie made her accusations, no one else here would understand.

  His aunt and uncle—Zio Something and Zia Something-else—also smiled. Then the three started one of their shouted and yet, animosity-free conversations, none of which Amalie understood. She took a sip of water. Then, as the cool trickled down her throat, she realized how parched she’d gotten, and drained the glass.

  Giovanni joined her in just a few minutes, wiping his hands on another white apron, grimy and water-soaked.

  “Were you—did you have to lie on the ground?”

  “That’s where they usually keep the pipes.”

  “I’m sorry.” She waved her hands, sure now that she had no desire to ask Giovanni anything about kissing Casey. Whether or not she believed he had been, she no longer knew. “If you need to finish—”

  “I did.” He grinned at Armino, who’d followed him out, and made a sweeping gesture. “The nice thing is, I can tell someone else to mop up for me.”

  Armino hurried away.

  “One of the perks of a family business.” Her heart hammered so hard the words felt glued to her throat.

  “Exactly.”

  She could barely talk, and she certainly couldn’t return his smile. She probably looked like a rodent caught in a trap, staring up at him.

  He sat down, and she realized the woman—his aunt?—had disappeared. In fact, the entire restaurant was empty of his family.

  “Didn’t Leo give you my message?” Giovanni asked. When she didn’t answer, he went on, “I told him I’d be a bit late, and he promised he’d tell you.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her hands, which had twisted her hat between them. When had she gotten it out? She didn’t even need it. She opened her fingers and the hat settled on her lap, the crisp straw bent.

  Giovanni struggled to pull the apron over his head, then bunched it on the table next to him. “Amalie?”

  “I asked Leo, and then Casey, and they both—”

  He waited through her tortured silence, looming over her. Finally, he pulled out another chair and sat, leaning his forearms on his thighs, waiting.

  “The thing is.” Again, she couldn’t find the words. Now her heart seemed to have stopped. But she could still breathe, so it must be working.

  “What happened?”

  She took a deep breath and swore not to stop until she’d finished. “After you left, I headed back for the hotel. And I saw Casey and Leo. Kissing.”

  He grinned. “Did you now? How sneaky of them.”

  “If it was them. But they both swore it wasn’t. Only I think Casey lied.”

  His face blanked. “She was snogging someone else?”

  “Yes.” And then, as indignation brought his brows together, she said, “You.”

  “Me? Um, no. I was here, fixing the pipes. You knew where to find me, remember?”

  Some of the tightness in her chest loosened. “It was either you or Leo.”

  “Then it was Leo.”

  “It could have been you.”

  “It could have been anyone. It might not even have been Casey, you know. Lots of blondes visit Italy.”

  “As I told her, she was wearing my dress.”

  He tipped his head, as if weighing that information, then nodded. “I know Leo and I are a lot alike—”

  “That must have been handy when you were kids.”

  Again, he grinned. “I’ll tell you some stories someday. Anyway, I’m betting it was him. It’s all good. It means they made up.” He stood. “Look, let’s go find them and get some dinner. Or have you already eaten?”

  She stayed where she was. “I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

  “What? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Ah. Well.” He bent his head. “You can’t read my mind, I suppose.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe either you or Leo? Which?”

  At that, Giovanni sat down again. “Look, are you sure Leo said it wasn’t him? In those actual words?”

  Amalie thought back. “I think—I think he said something about me being mistaken.”

  “See, the thing you have to realize about Italians is how they can say one thing and make you think they’ve said something else. It’s an art form.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because they don’t want you to know they made up.”

  “That’s silly. I’d be so happy for them. Casey wouldn’t keep it from me—”

  “Even if it meant you’d crawl back into that shell you’ve been dragging with you?”

  “What?”

  He leaned close, easy to do with no table between them, and grasped the hand she held clutched on her lap. His fingers wrapped around her fist. “Amalie, look. I know you got hurt. I know the guy made you think all men are horrible—”

  “No.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s not men; it’s me.” She pulled her hand away from his and this time she stood.

  “But it’s not you, luce mia. You need to remember that. It’s not—”

  She couldn’t sit there and listen to this man dissect her feelings. She bolted from the restaurant and across the street. She hadn’t even looked, but the car trundling down the street missed her.

  She could believe Giovanni when he said he hadn’t been kissing Casey. She could believe him when he said Casey was worried enough about her to hide things from her. She could even believe that Leo would go along with Casey, just to help out whatever silly plan Casey had come up with.

  She couldn’t believe that a man would see something in her that she was sure didn’t exist. Something to love—someone to love. That wasn’t there, not in her. Alex had been right. She could believe no one could love her, not because she was unlovable, but because she couldn’t trust. She’d make up her mind, and then she’d change it as soon as she had to prove it to herself.

  She remembered her resolve to make herself trust then abandoned it. She’d fought it down, buried it, piled as many rocks of defensive behavior over it, but it was still there. The truth. God just hadn’t made the man who could love someone like Amalie.

  10

  Giovanni bolted from the restaurant, and if it weren’t for the car that missed Amalie, but got between them, he’d have been able to grab her. But would that have helped? Maybe she needed time.

  More time.

  His heart clenched. If she did, how much time? The week they had left together in Vatican City? A month? A year? A lifetime?

  He wasn’t actually willing to wait long at all. And he wasn’t willing to let her go, either. Which meant, the only option he had left was to convince her that something she believed—something deep-grained and pervasive—was a lie.

  Funny, how truth was so important to her, and she couldn’t see it about herself.

  He trailed Amalie across Saint Peter’s Square, and, as he suspected, she got into the security line to enter the basilica. He wound a path through tourists, barely keeping the flap of her hat brim in sight sometimes, but making sure he stayed far enough behind that, if she chanced to look over her shoulder, she wouldn’t see him. Of course, if she’d been the one following him, he’d
have sensed her and wouldn’t have mistaken her for any other person on earth.

  So why had she mistaken Leo for him?

  She hadn’t. Leo, in his misguided kindness and mischief, had convinced her she was wrong.

  Too many people had done that to his Amalie, and he wouldn’t stand for it any longer.

  ****

  Amalie came to herself standing in front of the Pietà. She blinked, wondering how she’d gotten there. From where? Oh—fleeing from Giovanni.

  And why? Because—because of Alex.

  She tipped her head back and let a tear trickle across her face. Why? Why let a man who didn’t care for her—and had probably forgotten her long ago—form her life? Why let someone—anyone—besides God tell her what she was worth?

  “Excuse. You wish to pray?”

  She opened her eyes to see the guard, in his colorful uniform, reaching for the cordon latched to the gate, waving her into the enclosure. Why not? Why not take her problems to God? He’d always helped before. He would now.

  She nodded and slipped past the guard. At the kneeler, she sank down, and crossed herself. The meditative flow of words, the images, and the prayers brought soothed her.

  Hadn’t she just had an illuminating conversation with Mary about how other people were not the best judge of a person’s actions or worth? And one splinter of doubt sent her running, running away from someone who just might love her for who she was. Someone who could love her in spite of herself. Someone who wouldn’t reject her for who she wasn’t.

  Hadn’t she just done that to him?

  She put her hand on the rail to help herself rise then relaxed. If God meant Giovanni for her, He’d want her to finish her prayers before running after him.

  And what better place on earth to pray than the Vatican City? Than in the St. Peter’s Basilica?

  She closed her eyes, bent over the rosary beads she hadn’t realized she’d pulled from her purse, and put everything but her love for her Father, her Savior, her Comforter, out of her mind.

  When she finally stood, all the tension had leaked away. In its place, a peace she’d thought she’d never feel again filled her. A part of her—small enough to overcome—wanted to stay in the peace forever. The rest of her knew she’d have to rejoin the world, and do her best to take that peace with her. But now, she possessed a strength that didn’t come from herself to get her through.