by Sofia Tate
Davison embraces me by the waist. “What do you think?”
“It’s so beautiful, Davison. I…I’m so happy.”
Hearing the catch in my voice, he turns me, spotting the tears in my eyes. I run my fingertips down his cheeks.
His eyes soften at my touch. “You make me happy, Allegra,” he whispers. “I can’t imagine what my life would be like now if I’d never lost that glove.”
A knock at our door interrupts the moment. Davison goes back inside while I wait, watching the vaporettos and other water traffic move up and down the Canal.
Davison returns, holding two flutes of Bellinis, the traditional Venetian cocktail of prosecco and white peach puree.
“Perfect choice, Harvard,” I smile.
“What else would we drink to toast our arrival?” he winks.
We clink glasses. “To my bellissima in Serenissima.”
I take a sip before correcting him. Even though he knew the nickname of Venice, “the most serene,” he neglected one part of grammar.
“La Serenissima. You forgot the article, baby,” I tell him, biting my lower lip.
He takes a long sip of his Bellini, his eyes never leaving mine. “Hmm, I think I’m going to need your services as my personal Italian language tutor.”
I lean in, tasting the Bellini on his tongue as I suck on it. “That can definitely be arranged, bellissimo,” I inform him when I pull back. “Now, what were you going to tell me about this mysterious Signora?”
“Oh, right. Well, the name for the palazzo originates from the woman who lived here in the sixteenth century, Alessandra della Costa.”
“Who was she?” I ask, taking a sip of my Bellini.
“A famous courtesan.”
I choke on the liquid that’s going down my throat, coughing to get air back into my lungs.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” He laughs, patting me on the back. “You okay, baby?”
“Yes.” I nod with a smile. “Tell me more.”
“She managed to evade the Inquisition using the protection of her ‘patrons,’ shall we say? She took in young girls who needed help and protected them, teaching them basic skills like reading and writing. If they wished to become courtesans as well, she took them under her wing and educated them in the art of seduction and erotic arts.”
I narrow my eyebrows. “Exactly how much research did you do about this place?”
“Enough to show you what I learned,” he smiles at me slyly, leaning in closer to nuzzle my throat.
“Looks like I have something to learn as well.”
The Palace of Lovers indeed.
* * *
Sunlight streams through the two open sets of glass balcony doors in our suite. A light breeze wafts through white gauze curtains. The outside sounds of morning water traffic carry through the wide space, the sound of church bells pealing in the distance.
A warm, heavy arm is wrapped around my waist where we lie in bed under the white linen Pratesi sheets. I feel Davison’s hot breath on my neck. I shift my head to glance at him. He snores quietly. I smile, tracing his lips with the pads of my fingers.
His breathing catches, his mouth curving under my touch. “Buongiorno, bellissima.”
“Your Italian is improving, sleepyhead. I’m giving you a gold star.”
“Thank you, Miss Orsini,” he says into my ear, his voice rough and husky, instantly arousing me.
“So, do you think maybe for a change of pace we should actually leave this room today?”
His arms tighten around me as his mouth nuzzles my neck. “I think I’m good here, thanks.”
“Davison.” I sigh. “It’s been two days. We’re mostly over the jet lag. And we’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world. I’d like to see more than the view from our balcony.”
“I prefer this view,” he says, opening his eyes, running his fingers over my cheeks.
“You’re incorrigible,” I smile.
“Okay, okay. We’ll go out. But before then, we need to clean ourselves up.”
“I’ll go hop in the shower.”
I sit up to go to the bathroom, but a strong arm pulls me back. “Where are you going?”
“To the room that has the bathing facilities.”
“Not without me.”
Mouth agape, I watch as he jumps out of bed, then I squeal when he snatches me up with him. I laugh as he spanks my bottom. “Get in there, woman.”
“Bath or shower?” I ask, pointing at the gleaming white marble tub.
“Shower,” he quickly answers.
He notices my pout. “Don’t worry, baby.” He assuages me with a sly smile. “We’re going to take advantage of that when we come back. Trust me.”
* * *
For the next few hours, we make up for the hermit-like existence we’ve been living the past two days. We start in Piazza San Marco, from there exploring the city by foot, traversing Venice’s alleys and bridges. Davison takes me to see Teatro La Fenice, the historic opera house of Venice that had been restored to its former glory after it was destroyed by fire in 1996. We stand on the Rialto Bridge, where Davison snaps a photo of me, twenty years after I posed with my parents in the same spot. After that, the Peggy Guggenheim Museum is our next stop, and from there, we have a long, leisurely lunch at Harry’s Bar, quenching our thirst with Bellinis at the place where the famous cocktail was created.
Now we are slowly gliding down Venice’s twisting waterways in a gondola Davison has arranged for us with Vincenzo’s assistance. Covered by a cashmere blanket with his arm around me, we lean back and take in the beauty of the city.
We kiss now and then, attracting the attention of passersby, mostly male, who shout various things to us that I don’t care to translate for Davison despite his insistence.
“Tell me,” he says, tickling my side.
I squirm, laughing aloud. “Let’s just say it ranged from ‘Get a room’ to ‘You can do better than him, beautiful.’”
His eyebrows rise in curiosity. “Oh, really? Well, in a few minutes, we won’t have any spectators.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” he tells me, that glint reappearing in his eyes, one which I love seeing since it is now appearing much more often.
The gondola turns left, and then I see where we are headed.
The Bridge of Sighs, or Ponte dei Sospiri, appears in the distance. It is the famous limestone bridge that connects the Doge’s Palace to the prison across the water. Supposedly, the legendary spot had been given that name because the bridge allowed the prisoners one last glimpse of Venice as they were being transferred.
Another legend is that if two lovers kiss under the bridge at sunset, they will be eternally united.
I turn to Davison. “You are such a sap, Davison Berkeley. But it’s not quite sunset yet.”
He glances up at the sky, “Close enough.” Smiling at me, he leans forward. “Aspetta, per favore,” he instructs our gondolier.
As the gondola slows, Davison reaches for something in his jacket. He takes my hand and opens it palm up, placing a red ring box in it.
I gasp. “Davison, I…I…”
“Look at me, Allegra,” he commands softly.
When I stare into his eyes, I spot wetness in them. “This isn’t the ring. We’re not ready yet. We still need time to heal. But I wanted to show you how committed I am to you, how happy you make me, how much I love you.”
Tears fall down my cheeks as he gives my hand a nudge. “Go ahead, baby.”
I lift the top, which reveals the most beautiful round ruby, cushioned on a thin platinum band that is lined with smaller rubies, which sparkle in the light.
“Oh my God…Davison, it’s beautiful,” I exclaim.
He carefully removes the ring from the box, and slides it onto the ring finger of my right hand.
“Perfect,” he declares.
My eyes switch back and forth between the gorgeous ring and Davison’s face.
The gondola begins to move once more. As we get closer and closer to the bridge, I start crying harder as Davison holds me tight in his arms. “I love you, Davison.”
“I love you, Allegra. Kiss me.”
The sky overhead is eclipsed by the bridge as we sail underneath it, my lips sealed over Davison’s as we kiss and kiss.
When we pull back, the gondolier declares behind us from his perch, “Come siete belli! Vi auguro una vita di amore e passione.”
I place my head on Davison’s shoulder, smiling and humming in contentment. “Grazie. Molto gentile da parta sua,” I thank the man kindly.
Davison puts his arm around me, turns his head, and kisses my hair. “No need to translate, my love. I caught ‘a life of love and passion.’”
I nod. There is no need to say anything else as we sail until the darkness disappears, sweeping us back into the light.
* * *
Ivory candles of various sizes line the bathtub where Davison and I are soaking our tired bodies. The hot water is nearly up to our necks, the scent of the lavender bubbles intoxicating our noses.
My back leans into his strong, muscled chest. His arms encircle my waist as one of his firm pec muscles cushions my head.
I lift my right hand to take in its bejeweled state.
“You like?” he murmurs.
“I love. I can’t stop staring at it.”
“Good. That way I know you’ll always be reminded of me.”
“As if I could ever forget you, bellissimo.”
“Damn right. Especially when I do this.”
I feel a flutter beneath the water as his right hand moves down toward my cleft while his left kneads my left breast, alternating between tugging on my nipple, then massaging it.
I moan when Davison finds the opening slit of my pussy with his fingers. He caresses its plump inner flesh, his cock hardening behind me.
“Do you feel that, baby?” he asks huskily.
“Yes…”
“Should I stop?”
“Never. Oh God…never,” I whimper.
I shift slightly so I can grab his shaft. With my left hand, I reach up and holding him by the nape, I bring his lips closer to me. I need to feel everything. His hands. His breath.
As he thrusts his fingers inside me, I mirror his rhythm with my own.
“Together, baby…make me come with you,” he pants.
“Yes…together…always.”
I feel his heart pounding behind my back. Once his hand finds my clit, it takes mere seconds until I explode. My hand tightens on his cock, and with one final pump, a fresh wave of warmth envelops me from behind.
Completely spent, I fall back onto his chest. With both hands, he spins my head around so he can kiss me full on the lips. I suck his tongue into my mouth, feeding on it like it’s sweet candy.
Without warning, Davison roughly pushes me up by my hips, turning me around. “I need to fuck you, baby. Now,” he growls.
I straddle his lap as quickly as I can inside the tub, my knees on the other side of his legs. He grips the sides of the tub as I reach for the lip of it behind his head, giving me more support. I slowly slide onto his lap, his hand holding his hardened cock, searching for my opening. Once he finds it, he’s fully sheathed inside me.
“Ahhh,” we both moan simultaneously. My head falls back as I bask in the glorious feeling of his long, hard shaft clenched by my sex.
His eyes are ablaze with need when I look into them. “Fuck me, Allegra,” he commands.
The husky timbre in his voice is all I need to hear to make me want to fuck him until I pump every last drop of cum out of him.
Holding on to the marble rim, I start pounding him with my pussy. Waves of lavender-scented water lap over the tub, cascading to the floor. My body bucks as I ride him, his cock impaling me again and again.
“Yes, baby…God, you feel so fucking good,” he groans. “So tight…don’t stop…don’t stop.”
“Your cock is so hard inside me…you make me so hot,” I pant. “I’m going to make you come…fuck me hard!”
As he tightens his hold on my hips, I shift to the right, angling my pussy, finding my clit. I shout in ecstasy as I slam down on him, rubbing his cock against my hard bud.
A few more pummels, and I am at the edge, cresting…cresting. “Oh God…I’m coming…Davison!”
My body shudders in release as I come, my cream oozing out of me. My sex holds on to Davison’s shaft, milking every drop of cum from him.
“Ahhhh!” he yells, his body mirroring mine as it shakes from his orgasm, shouting my name as his orgasm overcomes him.
His hands encircle my waist when I drop onto his chest, our hearts pumping desperately for fresh oxygen.
I carefully untangle my legs and resume my previous position, lying against his chest with my back.
It takes a few minutes until we can speak coherently.
“You okay, baby?” he asks.
“Mmm-hmm,” I reply, so blessedly content at this moment.
His chest rumbles under me with a deep laugh. “Ready to head south tomorrow?”
“I thought we already did.”
He gives my butt a slight pinch. “Smart-ass. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” I give in. “I can’t wait for Positano.”
“And I can’t wait to see you in a bikini.”
I roll my eyes. “I can imagine. Such a guy thing to say.”
Suddenly, his hands attack my ribs, tickling me and sending me into hysterics.
“Stop!” I shout as I squirm in his grip, water splashing over the edge of the tub. “Davison! Okay…okay…sorry…stop!”
He releases my sides and pulls me into him, kissing me hard on the lips. “That’s enough punishment for now.”
I shake my head, smiling and snuggling closer against his rock-hard chest.
I pause before I speak. “Davison?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Could we…possibly make a stop on the way down?”
“Of course. Anything you want, my love. Where would you like to go?”
“Naples.”
* * *
On a hilltop with a view of Mount Vesuvius in the distance and the azure-blue water of the Tyrrhenian Sea glittering below, I stand at my mother’s resting place with Davison holding my hand. A bouquet of white lilies that I brought for her sits on top of her gravestone.
A carving of Madonna and child is engraved into the stone above the inscription. I translate the words for Davison—
“Concetta Maria Laterza Rossetti, beloved daughter, wife, and mother. An angel on Earth and in Heaven.”
My eyes fill as I begin to speak.
“Mamma, it’s me. Mia Allegra. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I want you to know that Carlo is dead. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a singer. I think it was all those operas you made me listen to.”
I smile and let out a quiet, cathartic laugh. I tighten my hand on Davison’s.
“I want you to meet someone, Mamma. This is Davison Berkeley, the man I love. I wish you could have met him. He’s so wonderful. He takes good care of me.”
Davison wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my hair.
“Papa misses you so much, Mamma. I wish you were here.”
With Davison keeping me upright, I collapse into sobs. “Ti amo, Mamma. I love you so much. I miss you…”
I double over, but Davison pulls me up to keep me from falling. I fist his shirt, holding on to him until my knuckles hurt, soaking the cotton fabric with my tears.
“I’m here, Allegra. I’m here,” he whispers.
It all comes out—my grief, my sadness, my fears. I sob until I gasp for breath.
Davison rubs my back soothingly. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
I shut my eyes and start to take slow, deep breaths. Once I calm down, I pull back from Davison’s chest, looking up into his beautiful emeral
d eyes. He digs into his jacket pocket, producing a tissue for me. I smile at his kindness as I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.
“Thanks. I must look such a mess. You still love me, Harvard?”
He runs his fingertips over my warm cheeks. “Even more than I thought possible, baby.”
I gently kiss his lips. I smile and take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Pulling out of Davison’s arms, I step up to my mother’s grave and kiss the top of it, my lips grazing the cold stone.
“Ti amo, Mamma.”
Davison joins me at my side, honoring my mother by placing his palm for a moment on the spot where I kissed the gravestone.
Taking his hand, I lead him out of the cemetery to our rental car, a candy-apple-red Ferrari 458 Spider convertible. I gave Davison a hard time when he first steered me to it in the parking lot in Venice. He countered by giving me the when in Rome line, but I argued we were in Venice, not Rome. However, once we were on the autostrada and he opened it up to its full potential, I quickly forgot I had ever protested his choice.
He opens the door for me. “You sure you’re okay, my love?”
I nod. “Yes, bellissimo. I’m sure. We can go.”
“Andiamo, baby.”
I swerve my head to him as my mouth drops. “Davison! That was perfect!”
“Of course it was,” he says as he puts on his aviators. “Like I said, let’s go. Positano awaits.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes at his flash of swagger. He gets in the car, starting the engine, revving it up before he shifts into first gear.
As we speed down the hill, I glance over at him, a wide smile curving across his lips, handling the car with total ease while wearing his driving gloves, the left one being the very one that he came looking for that night at Le Bistro, the night that we met.
I grin at him, watching him enjoying the feel of such a powerful car under his complete control.
“I meant to tell you something,” I shout to him over the roar of the engine.
He pulls up to a red light. “What?”
“I spoke with Signora Pavoni before we left. I’m going to have a redo of my graduation recital.”
“When?” he asks expectantly.