“Mamma, per favore.” Please. Stop the madness, woman. He tried to wave her away to no avail.
“Wait,” his mother said. “Put your arm around Sophie’s waist.”
He rolled his eyes but she reprimanded him. “Sbrigati, Lorenzo.” Hurry up.
He lifted his arm as if it was made of heavy iron and reluctantly reached it around Sophie’s waist until they were hip to hip. He was grateful to have a layer of fabric protecting his legs from touching her exposed one, so long and lean and perfect in those running shorts. He started thinking about those legs when they were wrapped around his hips as he pistoned into her warmth. Merda. He needed to get away from this scene of torture, prontissimo.
His mother pulled her iPhone from her handbag and started fumbling with it as the two of them stood there, stock-still. She held up the phone and started pushing things on the screen.
“Mamma, you’re videotaping us.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes when he heard the recording tone ding. “Slide the screen till you get to the photo one.”
His mother seemed to be taking an eternity to do this and yet still, not a word from either of them toward the other.
“You two can talk amongst yourselves while I figure this camera out,” she said with a wink.
“It’s fine,” Sophie said.
“I’ve got things to do, Mamma,” Lorenzo said, accidentally pulling Sophie toward him as he leaned down to glance at his wristwatch to check the time. Of course that meant her tits were about eye level. And in turn, his dick came to life in his very tight jeans. Could the day get any worse?
“Okay, finally, I think I’ve figured it out. Are you ready? Sorridi!” she said, encouraging them to smile for the camera.
She finished taking the shot and instantly Lorenzo dropped his arm away from Sophie. Fabiana inspected the photo she’d just taken and looked up at them. “Uh-uh.” She wagged her finger at him. “I need another one. You look like you’d rather be at the morgue than have your picture taken with this pretty woman. I want you to look alive. You’re a handsome young man, she’s a beautiful girl. Lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek for the camera, would you?”
Lorenzo growled. “Really? Must we? I have things to take care of.”
“Truly, Fabiana, there’s no need for this. I’m good without it. No need for the memories to be preserved.”
But Fabiana was hearing none of it. “On the count of three: uno, due, tre. And you’d better kiss her on the cheek, Lorenzo, or no tiramisu for you tonight.”
With that, Sophie burst out laughing as did Lorenzo, in time for Fabiana to snap off a few shots.
She looked down to see her handiwork, smiling. “See, now this is what a good picture is. I should be a professional.” She winked at them both but by then they’d already inched away from one another. “I’ll send you both the picture so you can save it to show your grandchildren one day.”
Lorenzo blanched. Sweet Gesù, she had it out for him.
~*~
Lorenzo was in the subterranean wine cellars in the new building when his mother wandered in later in the day.
“Tessaro,” she said. “We should talk.”
He knit his brows. “Everything okay, Mamma?”
She ran her fingers through his thick hair. “Of course. Everything is wonderful.”
She looked around the vaulted cellar, so peaceful yet so majestic it gave the sense of being in some sort of cathedral. The terra-cotta walls and honey wood floors warmed the place despite the chill in the air.
“This,” she said, her arms outspread. “This was the brainchild of Giovanni Romeo.”
He nodded. “It is indeed.”
“Your father who loved deeply and cared deeply and gave me the gift of seven wonderful children. It was almost as if he knew he needed to leave a lot of himself behind to hold me in good stead once he was gone.”
“I thought you said we were a pain in your behind.” He winked at her and she gave him a swat on his bottom.
“Lorenzo, mio figlio. My son. I don’t have words to express my deep regret that my sorrow at losing your father affected you as negatively as it has. I truly had no idea that you were afraid to love for fear of losing that person.” She sighed deeply. “It was wrong of me to lean on you back then. You were only a boy. And I was so lost without your father, I wasn’t thinking clearly. There were so many characteristics of you that reminded me of Giovanni, I guess maybe it was comforting to be comforted by you. It was almost like it was him, one step removed.”
She began to pace the floor.
“The thing is, my sweet boy, I would go through the pain of losing him all over again, if only to have him with me again. That’s the power of love. Yes, there is pain in loss. But there is much more pain in never having had that love because you’ve denied yourself the joy. Every day I spent with your father is a day I’ve treasured, not one I’ve regretted.”
Lorenzo shook his head. He didn’t want to have this discussion anymore. “I understand.”
“I don’t think you do, Lorenzo. I’ve seen you around Sophie Pellegrino. I can tell you’re holding back with her. I didn’t understand why until now—that it was my fault, really. And I can’t be happy knowing that you won’t allow yourself the happiness of loving a woman simply because you had to bear witness to my heartache. She’s a beautiful, smart, strong woman, my son. She’s not like the many forgettable girls you’ve flipped through like a bored person with an old magazine in a doctor’s waiting room.” His mother looked pointedly at him. “I can see it in your eyes when you’re near her. I see the yearning that is hidden behind that wall you’ve conveniently built up to protect yourself. But that wall is doing nothing other than hurting you and depriving you of happiness.” She shook her head.
“Lorenzo, life is sweetest when shared with those you love. I hope you’ll think long and hard about this, and give Sophie a chance before it’s too late.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. “Ti amo.” I love you. “And I think deep down, you love her.” She pulled back, her hands on his shoulders. “It’s not often in life you have the chance to fall in love with someone special, someone who makes you a better person. Someone you yearn to spend your waking hours with.” Her eyes glistened as she continued. “When you find that person, you need to seize the moment. Because that is the thing you should have learned about losing Papà: you only have the time you have to revel in that love.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lorenzo hated when he was wrong and she was right. Always had. Especially when he had no idea how to rectify the situation. He’d hurt Sophie by his actions. How could she ever trust that he’d not do something like this again?
He stood at the bar in the tasting room, swirling wine in his glass mindlessly. He pulled out his phone and opened to the picture of him with Sophie that his mother had sent him. He pressed on the image and spread his fingers to widen it so he could stare at her up close. He scrolled around the image, staring at her body, not wanting to admit he’d practically committed it to memory that first afternoon when he caught her with the vibrator. He scrolled along her long legs and closed his eyes as he remembered them spread wide and draped over his shoulders at some point that night.
He’d hardly known the woman yet she’d gotten under his skin so quickly. How could that be? And he would be lying to himself to say otherwise. He’d been with plenty of women in his life. Not a one ever elicited such feelings, even extreme emotions, for that matter.
Suddenly he had an idea.
He pulled up his brother’s phone number and called it.
“Mio fratello,” he said. “I need your help.”
~*~
Sophie, Justin, Gareth, Tomasso, and Gisele piled into a car right after dawn to make the short trip to Santa Romeo.
“In order to wake you up, I’m going to tell you a little more detail about the Infiorate,” Tomasso said. “For instance, did you know that it’s the children from in and around the village w
ho are tasked with collecting all of the flowers and herbs for the floral carpets?”
“Why do you call them carpets?” Justin asked.
“They’re spread across the ground all over the town. And will eventually be trod upon by the bishop. While the works are being created, usually the teenagers hold vigils all night long to protect them from any harm—that even includes a stray cat walking across them. The teens take turns sleeping and also working on their designated squares, applying leaves and petals where needed to fulfill the artists’ demands. The artists might have the vision, but they need the manpower of the town to execute it. That’s the beauty of this event.” Tomasso smiled. “It pulls together people from different political beliefs, people who might have been having a property dispute or feuding over a woman or any such thing, and they have to work side by side to achieve a goal.”
“World peace through flowers. I’m down with that,” Sophie said, half-asleep still.
“So depending on the weather forecast, if it will be cold or windy or rainy, the men will set up canopies to protect the works in progress,” he continued. “Regardless, they’ll string lights so that everyone can work round the clock. All night long, women will bring sweets and espresso to help workers stay awake. Meanwhile, old men will stand by with spray bottles to refresh the petals and keep them from drying out.”
“Damn, they’ve thought of everything,” Gisele said. “I wish I could run my feet through them.”
“Sorry, that’s reserved for the bishop. That’s why we’re coming early before the crowds swell to ridiculous proportions, which they will in an hour or so. This way we can wander the village and see all of the works before it’s impossible to do so.”
Tomasso continued steering down the road that led into Santa Romeo. “At noon, the bells of the cathedral toll, and the bishop will emerge, led by a brass band and flanked by a huge golden canopy held by four young men. The bishop carries the Holy Host high above his head as his procession wanders through town, going from one piazza to another, parading atop the floral carpets, flower petals scattering to the wind as the bishop’s vestments drape across the designs.”
“It must be heartbreaking for those artists to see their work whisked away so quickly. All that effort, and it’s gone.” Sophie snapped her fingers.
“It’s probably a little bit painful for all involved,” Tomasso said. “There is fierce competition to win and strict rules: paints are forbidden as is anything other than plant matter, primarily flower petals. Same with chemical preservatives. They’re not even supposed to use dried flowers—judges reward the use of the freshest blooms. And the prize money isn’t much, split between the entire team that has assembled the carpet. The reward is really for bragging rights. But many of the artists are doing this for a higher cause, for religious zeal or purely a passion for whatever cause they’ve chosen to depict in their work.”
It was early enough that Tomasso parked on a back street in the village so they could avoid too much walking. They walked toward the center of the main piazza, renamed Piazza Giovanni after Giovanni passed away years ago.
They gasped at the magnificent works spread out across the piazza.
“This is unbelievable,” Gisele said. “I don’t understand how anyone can make something so spectacular out of mere flowers.”
“Right? As if the flowers aren’t beautiful enough on their own.” Sophie nodded.
They came upon a smaller floral mural of an elderly woman spread across the ground, her smile bright and beaming. “Oh, look,” Justin said, giving Gareth’s hand a squeeze. “It says here this is a tribute to the artist’s late mother, who passed away this year.”
Sophie wiped a tear from her eye. “How sad she didn’t live to see it. She would be over the moon that her son or daughter created such a work of art.”
“Such a moving tribute,” Gisele said, her eyes glassy with tears.
Soon they found Dominico, still putting the finishing touches on his mural.
“Ahhh, Sophie. At last! We’ve been waiting for you.”
Sophie squinted her eyes. “Me?”
He stood up and crooked his finger toward her. “Andiamo.” Let’s go. He led her down an alleyway between an old convent and the large cathedral, shifting here and there to avoid more spectacular floral carpets. They passed by a small playground and eventually came to a stop at the end of a dead-end street.
“It’s the only place we could find that had any space left. And only because the bishop wasn’t going to trek through a stand of trees to get to the next street.” He grinned. “Oh, and by we, I mean me and Lorenzo.”
A puzzled look fell across Sophie’s face. Lorenzo?
She no sooner thought his name than he stepped out from behind a tree and walked toward them, holding up a sign of some sort.
“What’s this all about?” Sophie wrinkled her nose, confused about what the hell was happening.
“Look down, Soph,” Gisele said, pointing toward a floral mural that was probably ten feet wide by ten feet across.
Sophie gasped. Her eyes grew wide. “Wait a second. I don’t understand.” She shook her head, baffled about why Lorenzo was here and what he was doing. And why that?
Before her was a rendering of the image that Fabiana had taken of her and Lorenzo—when neither one of them wanted anything to do with the other. Well, technically not, but deep down? Maybe more than either cared to admit.
She looked up to see Lorenzo holding up a sign.
“Can you ever forgive me, Sophie Pellegrino?” It said. He dropped it, revealing another sign.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was so afraid of hurting myself I failed to worry about your feelings.” He dropped the cardboard sign, making way for the next.
“Despite myself, I think I’m falling in love with you, cara.” He dropped the sign, holding up the final one.
“Can we please start over?”
Sophie could barely read the last couple of signs. Her eyes had filled with tears. Never in her life had a man gone to such lengths to apologize to her before.
Lorenzo stood there, waiting for her response.
At last, Sophie took the handful of steps toward him, opened her arms wide, and wrapped them around his neck as she pressed her lips to his.
“A simple I’m sorry would have sufficed,” she said when they finally broke the kiss.
“You’re too special a woman to settle for ordinary, tessaro,” he said.
“But how did you do this?” She motioned toward their floral portrait.
“I have a really kick-ass brother, for starters,” he said. “I called him and he told me I had to round up a bunch of kids and help them gather all the colors we needed. It helped that there was a repository for cast-off flower petals that I was able to help myself to.”
“So you were out in the countryside gathering flowers for me?”
“Until there wasn’t a hint of daylight left. Meanwhile Dominico sketched out the image based on the photograph and I was able to round up some extra teens to help me as we filled in all of our designated squares.”
“So you’ve been up all night long?”
He nodded. “You think I’m insane?”
“I think you’re insanely amazing,” she said.
The smell of lily of the valley wafted toward her, mingling with the savory scents of rosemary and sage.
“How on earth did you know I love lily of the valley? And those herbs?”
He cocked his head toward Gisele. “Let’s just say I had my sources.”
“Egged on by someone who wanted nothing more than to get you two together,” Gisele said, playfully hitting Tomasso in the arm. “But trust me, I wouldn’t let his ulterior motive win if I didn’t think he was right on the money.”
“Speaking of money,” Tomasso said with a grin.
“Does this mean you’re willing to retire your roamin’ Romeo reputation?” Sophie lifted a brow and held tight to his hand.
His eyes twinkled.
“It seems I learned the easy way that I much prefer the company of one Sophie Pellegrino than all the rest of the women I can find.”
Sophie leaned over and kissed him and fake yawned. “Gee, I think maybe it’s time to get you back to bed.” She winked at him.
“I’ve got a lot of making up to do, don’t I?” Lorenzo grinned.
“Not to mention a tiramisu to replace. Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting.”
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Blue-Blooded Romeo
by Jenny Gardiner
Chapter One
There were times in her life that Stella Whitaker wished she could drop all pretenses of civility and speak her mind, and now was decidedly one of them. She’d spent the last several days with minimal sleep, working late into the night to complete her very first commissioned wedding cake for a bride getting married in Florence, Italy. After training for half a year at the elite French school of culinary arts, l’école Marondi, this was her first freelance project and she’d felt enormous pressure to succeed wildly with this project as she knew it would lead to more such jobs. The cake turned out exceptionally well, the bride was elated, and now she and her friend Alexa Philippe, who’d helped in transporting the masterpiece, had just gotten in line to board their flight back to Paris, where they were both about to begin their final class at Marondi, when the rudest man accosted Stella.
“Scusi, signora.” At first she thought maybe he was trying to make small talk, maybe even coming on to her. He was a handsome man: tall, with a broad chest that narrowed down to slim hips and—let’s face it, it was impossible not to notice—a well-endowed bit of window-dressing. She could find plenty of ways to have a little fun with a guy like that. Instead he pointed at her boarding pass. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong line.”
Silver Spoon Romeo Page 11