Ten Days in Tuscany

by Annie Seaton

  Gia’s cottage was locked up and there was no sign of her in the fields nearby. He knew without looking far that she was not there. She’d never once locked the door in the ten glorious days he’d stayed with her.

  He drove to the restaurant but he was too early. It wasn’t open. There was nowhere else to go but her family’s house. Nic parked the car at the edge of the village and walked to the familiar house. A curtain twitched upstairs as he crossed the road and knocked on the door.

  No answer. All was quiet. He stepped back and looked up, but the curtain was in place. As he walked around to the back of the house, he was met by voices. Mauro and his wife were sitting in the courtyard where they had had lunch. As her father caught sight of Nic, he stood and gestured for his wife to go inside. Nic walked over to the table.

  “Mauro. Signore Carelli.” He looked at the man who stood staring at him without speaking. “Is Gia here?”

  “No. She is not.” His voice was cold.

  “Will you tell me where I can find her?”

  Before he could answer, Gabriel stepped down from the back of the house. Where Mauro’s voice was cold and controlled, her brother’s voice was loud.

  “Why is he here?” He gestured rudely with a flick of his head before he addressed Nic. “You are not welcome in our house or our village, so leave.”

  “I want to speak to Gia. I want to make sure she is all right.”

  “She is fine. She is happy without you.” Gabriel took Nic’s arm and shook his fist in his face. “You leave her alone, you hear me? I listened to you before and you have broken my sister.”

  Nic stared at him before he looked down at the hand gripping his arm. “If you can assure me without lying that she is all right, I will leave.”

  Both men stared at him. “Gia is fine.”

  Nic turned on his heel and left.

  …

  It didn’t take much for Nic to decide that he would stay at Carrara for another month. Antonio was happy running the company from Florence, and Nic buried himself in his work now that the export deal was finalized. He negotiated more contracts for Baldini marble in four weeks than he had for the entire year before he’d met Gia. Occasionally, he managed to block her from his mind for hours at a time. He stayed away from the apartment in Florence because he didn’t want to look at her landscapes every time he went there. The night he had come home from Castellina, he’d hauled Antonio over and they’d hung them in every room.

  Then he decided he couldn’t bear to look at them, so he stayed in the apartment in Carrara on weekends.

  Finally, his time at Carrara was finished. The staff was relieved. Nic knew he’d been tough to get on with and he’d gone through two secretaries in the past four weeks. Okay, so it was out of character for Mr. Nice Guy to be such a bastard, but damn it, he had nothing to be happy about. It was time to pull the pin and go back to Florence. Just before five o’clock on his last afternoon, his father walked into Nic’s office and closed the door behind him.

  Nic stood. “Papa. You should have said you were driving up.” He gripped the side of the desk as his father stared at him. “Don’t worry, everything’s in place for the handover.”

  “Sit down, Nic.” His father pulled out the chair on the other side of the desk and ran his hand though his short-cropped gray hair. Nic recognized the gesture. It was the same one he used when he was unsure of himself.

  “I wanted to come…to come and tell you what a fine job you have done up here at Carrara for the past two years.”

  Nic almost had to hold his mouth shut as he stared at his father.

  “You did a fine job of salvaging those contracts with the Campbells, and I have seen how hard you have worked, even more so these last four weeks.”

  Nic finally found his voice. “Thank you.”

  “I also wanted to tell you—” His father’s voice shook.

  “Tell me what?”

  “How proud I am of the work you do. The children’s hospital, the young artists, the appointment to the Uffizi”— he caught Nic’s eye and his father’s face split into a rare smile—“even though I don’t understand this art stuff, I’m proud of you.” He lowered his voice. “And your mother would have been too. Just don’t let it consume you at the expense of your happiness.”

  His father stood and held out his hand, and Nic reached over and shook it. “I’ll try not to.”

  “Are you sure about the move back to Florence?” Antonio handed Nic a beer later that night. “I thought you preferred to live out of the city.” Nic had driven back to Florence and met him at Antonio’s favorite restaurant, despite Nic’s insistence that he preferred to eat in.

  “I used to.” Nic considered the crowd in the piazza below them. And then he’d remembered that being in Florence and eating in meant spending time in the apartment where Gia’s landscapes covered the walls. They’d eat out. He’d sleep at the apartment and fill his days with business, and his nights and weekend at the gallery. His own painting didn’t even enter thoughts. The one time he gave it any consideration was to decide to let it go completely.

  “So, what happened in Tuscany?” Antonio looked at Nic over the top of his glass.

  “Nothing.” Nic still didn’t want to talk about it. He’d moved on. Or he’d tried his damned best to, but no one had told that to his subconscious who filled his dreams with Gia every night.

  “Nic!” He lifted his head at the familiar voice and frowned. “We haven’t seen you out for ages.” It was Jolie, the journalist he’d hired to interview Gia.

  “Jolie.” He kissed both of her cheeks, introduced Antonio, and gestured to a vacant seat at their table.

  “We’ve missed you around town. The word is your back for good now?” The interest and the wide eyes did nothing for him. After a few moments of desultory chat, Jolie stood to leave.

  “I went to Castellina last week. I wanted to catch up with that friend of yours I interviewed. Such a shame.”

  Nic’s head flew up. He’d only been paying half-attention to Jolie, and Antonio had kept the conversation rolling. “A shame? What happened?”

  “You can pick them, but…”

  “What are you talking about?” His voice was cold. Jolie could be a bitch when she didn’t get the attention she wanted.

  “Gia Carelli has given up painting and the studio is closed. Such a waste. I had such great hopes for her. My goodness, Nic, you surely do have a perfect eye! It’s such a pity that the talent you find can’t ever seem to hold up to the pressure.”

  Nic stood and pushed his chair back. “I’ll see you before I go.” He nodded at Antonio. They both stared at him as he bolted from the restaurant.

  Nic went back to the apartment. He poured himself a scotch and sat on the cold marble floor of the foyer and made himself look at Gia’s work. Every time he wanted to close his eyes and push the memories away he forced his eyes to stay open and he stared at the landscapes. He could hear her laugh. He could feel her hands on him, her breath against his face. The fragrance of the strawberry stuff she used on her hair. The smell of turpentine on her hands. When he pictured the tattoo he had painted on her breasts, Nic groaned and put his glass aside, dropping his head into his hands.

  Selfish. He had been a selfish asshole. He had taken Gia’s passion for her art like a leech and transferred it to himself.

  And ironic. The Uffizi had chosen him for the vacancy on the Board before he’d even met Gia, and he’d done his damn best to use her to get what he already had. He would never be a true artist like she was. His passion was for business and he had taken hers and tried to take it on as his own. Sure, he could paint, but so could many others. Being a true artist like Gia, and emotionally invested in your creation, was a rare gift, and he was personally responsible for killing that. Everything she had said about him was right. He had no understanding of her love for art. He had no understanding of giving up control and letting things take their own course. He had no understanding of love and having someone in
his life, even if it meant the risk of losing her. He was a coward.

  All the energy he’d put into deals. All the energy he’d put into his charities. All he wanted to do was put that energy into Gia and make her realize that her talent should not be thrown away because of his selfish actions.

  She was his perfect deal. And in all the right ways. He loved her—for who she was and what she brought to his life.

  Goddamit. He would convince her of that even if it meant camping outside her parents’ house or the restaurant in Castellina—or wherever she lived these days—until she believed in herself…and his love for her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gia hated waiting tables. She hated customers. She hated the sight of food and most of all she hated the way her family treated her as though she was a fine piece of porcelain about to smash into a thousand pieces.

  When Papa was in the kitchen or at the till, Gabriel took over and hovered over her. When they were upstairs, Mamma or Louisa fussed around her.

  “Don’t put that dish on that buffet; take it to the other one. Make sure the water is not too warm, the tourists like it colder.” And then the personal stuff. “Gia, have you had lunch today?”

  Yada, yada, yada. It went on every hour of every day and then again at night. Telling her what to think and how to feel. The worst part was…she let them do it. Gia’s shell grew thicker every day and their words began to fall on deaf ears. They talked and she managed to block it all out as she went about setting tables, serving food, and clearing tables.

  Day in. Day out. Night in. Night out. The only thing she couldn’t ignore was when Papa began to criticize Nic, which he seemed to do every week or so. It was all dredged up afresh and she had to listen to it.

  “You made a mistake, cara.” His booming voice followed from the kitchen as she came in and out with orders. A little spark of life stirred in Gia. Tell the world, Papa. It was Friday night and extra busy. The Florentines were making the most of the last warm weather of the season.

  “Yes, Papa.” Her voice was without inflection She had had plenty of time to practice that over the past month. “I know. I was very foolish. I did.”

  Gia put her head down, collected the next meals, and took them out to the courtyard. Of course, the customers were sitting at the table she thought of as Nic’s table.

  She knew he’d been trying to help her in his own way. She knew his heart was giving. It was just that he had gone about it the wrong way. If only they could have talked about it when she’d calmed down. But she had driven Nic away without giving him a chance to explain—the same as her family did to her.

  The day Nic had come to the house, and she had watched him from behind the curtain, she had come so close to running down to see him, but Mamma had held her back.

  And like the fool she was, Gia had listened and done what she was told, as always. The next day she had moved back to her cottage, but her brushes and canvases remained locked away. The only time she let herself feel was when she looked at the painting she had done for Nic.

  Without her art to absorb her energy, and without Nic to love, sometimes she felt like she was going to burst. But every comment, every criticism from her well-meaning family, she wore like a punishment.

  She cleared some empty plates from the buffet table and carried them to the kitchen. As she waited for Gabriel to step aside and let her through, he frowned at her.

  “Gia, why did you clear those plates away?”

  “Because they were empty.” She looked down at them.

  “You should have started from the other side where most of the tables are filled. Gabriel shook his head and spoke softly just so Gia could hear. “I don’t know why you bother coming to work here. Unless I tell you what to do, you cannot get it right. You need to find yourself a husband and let him look after you. Someone quiet who suits your temperament.”

  Gia’s world shifted. All of the emotion she had refused to feel over the past four weeks exploded in one single burst.

  She looked at her brother and her first words were deathly quiet as she held up one plate. “This plate, Gabriel? This was the wrong plate?”

  “Yes.” He frowned and looked over her shoulder, distracted as someone came in the door behind her, but Gia ignored the new customers.

  Gia held the plate up high and dropped it to the floor. It smashed to pieces on the tiles. Mou-Mou skittered out from beneath a table in the courtyard and disappeared beneath the honeysuckle hedge.

  “And what about this one, Gabe? Is this the wrong one, too?” She held it even higher and threw it onto the floor as well, before she whipped her apron off. The chatter of the patrons stopped and the restaurant went silent. Gia picked up a third plate from the table beside her; she was beginning to enjoy herself. She could feel. For the first time in weeks she could see the colors around her and smell the rose fragrance drifting in through the door. But with feeling came pain and her heart ached, but she welcomed the pain.

  Papa came running down from upstairs as Gia turned to Gabriel whose eyes were wide. She poked him in the chest and it felt good.

  “My temperament?” she shouted. “What the hell do you know about my temperament? Just because I choose to paint my emotions doesn’t mean I don’t have them. I am more than capable of making love to a man all night until he begs for mercy, and I would crush a quiet husband with an ounce of my passion.” Oh yes, she was out to shock them. To destroy their illusions of her once and for all. “I do not need you to tell me what I want or deserve, brother. And you do not have the right to put down Nic. No one knows more than I do what it’s like to want to run away from expectations. I’m an idiota for letting you all bully me into giving up my painting and devoting my life to waitressing.”

  Papa and Gabriel were joined by her sister, Louisa, and Mamma who had come from the kitchen to see what the noise was. She stared at her whole family lined up in front of her. “I’m not even any good at it! But I’m an even bigger idiota for letting someone I love more than my art go without telling him how I feel.”

  Gabriel opened his mouth and pointed behind her. “Nic is—”

  Gia raised her finger and poked her brother in the chest for the second time. “Do not say one word against him. He is a good and kind man, and I will forever regret not giving him a chance to explain things to me. He meant well.” She tossed her apron to the floor. “Actually, I’m not living in the shadows anymore. I’m going to go after him.” She stared back at her family whose mouths were all hanging open. “Right. Now.” Gia twirled around.

  “Oh Dio,” Gia said as a smile crept over her face. “Oh fuck.”

  Nic was standing in the doorway, small pieces of china on the floor around his feet, grinning like an idiota. Gia looked around. Every head in the restaurant was turned to them, and the people at the farthest tables were standing so they could see what was happening. Gia turned back to Nic, but he ignored her and stepped forward. Gia kept her eyes fixed on him as he walked past her and stood before her father.

  “Mauro.” The sound of his deep voice sent tremors down Gia’s back. “May I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  Gia’s heart stopped beating as she watched her father and waited for his reply. Not that it mattered; Gia knew what she wanted. He nodded and put his arm around Mamma as she lifted her red and white apron to her face and burst into tears.

  Nic turned around and lifted Gia’s apron from the floor and used it to clear the broken china then he dropped to one knee, taking one of her hands in his. With his other hand he reached into his pocket and removed a small box and flicked it open. A ring with a huge scarlet stone nestled in the white satin.

  You could have heard a pin drop. Every eye was fixed on them.

  He held her gaze and his blue eyes looked at her full of love and honesty. “Gia, my love. Will you marry me?

  Gabriel stepped forward and opened his mouth, and Gia held up her other hand to stop him from speaking.

  I really should have
learned to do that years ago. It would have saved the whole family a lot of grief.

  She smiled at her family as Gabriel stepped back, before she turned to Nic. “Of course I will, Nic Baldini. What took you so long?”

  Gia stepped into his arms, and Nic’s lips found hers as a cheer went up around them.

  …

  Nic insisted on taking Gia back to Florence but she made him stop at the cottage on the way so she could give him the painting she had done for him. He had gripped her hand tightly when she had led him into her bedroom and shown him the only other painting he hadn’t seen.

  “I love it. And I love you.”

  Now they stood in the foyer of his apartment, where he had hung it beside the others. Gia looked around. She was home. Surrounded by her work, and in Nic’s arms.

  “You know, I had to pay an outrageous amount to keep these paintings? Ben had to keep raising the price because he could have sold them ten times over at your exhibition.” Nic touched his forehead to hers. “I had to have them. Not because I didn’t think you could carry the show, but because they were a part of you I couldn’t bear to let go.”

  Nic’s fingers hovered over the top button of her blouse, but Gia placed her hand on her hip and stepped back.

  “I want you to promise to never to lie to me again.”

  Nic unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. His breath brushed her cheek as he began to speak, but Gia held up her hand.

  “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I want your promise first.”

  Nic grinned at her and dropped his hand from her blouse. Gia chuckled. “So the hand works on you, too.” The power of her love filled her, and she let the tip of her tongue touch her lips as Nic’s gaze lowered to her mouth.

  “I promise never to lie to you again.” He lifted his eyes back to hers and his expression was serious.

  In that moment, Gia didn’t have to work for the saucy smile on her lips. “Excellent. Because I’d hate to have to try the plate throwing to get your attention. I’d much rather save my passion for the bedroom.”