Bella Cigna

by Wendi Dass

  Sarah was too shocked to move. “Yes.” Her voice shook.

  Eduardo knelt to pick up the book.

  Swallowing hard, Sarah firmed her tone. “I mean, likewise.”

  As Eduardo returned to standing, his gaze flitted between Sarah and the hymnal. He rubbed the spine of the book and chewed his lip.

  Mom nudged Sarah’s side and mumbled.

  But Sarah didn’t catch what she said. She didn’t turn to ask, either. She could only focus on the questions racing through her mind: Is he alone? Where is Antoinette? And Lucia? She glanced back over her shoulder.

  With a wave her hands, Mom motioned to Sarah to scoot down the aisle.

  Sarah looked past Mom to the stoic face of Sister Maria, who conveniently avoided meeting Sarah’s gaze. She clenched her teeth. Does hell have a special place for people who strangle meddling nuns? She inched down the pew, making room for Mom and Sister Maria—and bringing her closer to Eduardo.

  His gaze flicked from Sarah’s face to the two women behind her.

  Did he suspect Sister Maria’s meddling as well? Sarah attempted a smile.

  Returning an equally strained smile, Eduardo leaned over and kissed Sarah briefly on each cheek.

  As she caught a whiff of his intoxicating scent, she sucked in her breath, her knees threatening to give way. She steadied herself on the adjacent pew.

  Eduardo pulled back. “I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about calling you.”

  Sarah tightened her grip on the pew.

  “I wanted to apologize for the other night.” He shuffled his feet. “At the play. I didn’t mean for you to meet—”

  He stopped before saying her name—the name that made Sarah want to chuck the hymnal at him.

  “I can’t believe your Italian,” he said. “And your painting.”

  Sarah flinched. Please don’t ask again about the sunset.

  “You never did tell me your inspiration.”

  Sarah froze again, her body felt so stiff she might as well have been pinned next to the crucifix hanging in front of them. “Well, I…”

  With a smile, Mom stretched around her and extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Rose, Sarah’s mom.”

  Wow. Sarah never thought she’d see the day when imposing moms came in handy.

  Eduardo extended his long torso through the cramped space, his chest briefly touching Sarah’s, as he took Mom’s hand. He spoke briefly with her.

  The words were muffled by the pounding of Sarah’s heart. The warmth of his body breathed through her, and his fresh scent filled her nose.

  “How nice of your mom to visit.” He pulled back.

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “Very nice.” She kept her gaze straight ahead, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eduardo studying her. Why hadn’t she bothered to put on any mascara? Lip gloss? Anything? Antoinette probably never left the house without looking perfect.

  The organ’s melody slowed, and the priest glided toward the podium. Before more awkward conversation could ensue, Sarah plopped onto the wooden seat.

  Eduardo sat as well, his knee lightly colliding with hers. “Sorry.” He attempted to reposition himself.

  Sarah shifted closer to Mom, but the row was full, and the seating was cramped. “It’s okay.”

  As he adjusted his position, he banged his shoulder and hip into hers. “Sorry.” He crossed one leg over the other and pulled his knee to his chest.

  Sarah sighed. Who thought to cram the two long-legs together? She cast an eye at Sister Maria, who was in deep conversation with Mom. No strangling, she told herself. At least, not in church. “It’s fine, really,” she said to Eduardo. “Please, I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

  With a warm smile, he settled back to resting his knee gently against hers.

  Now at the pulpit, the priest began his Latin chant.

  Sarah tried to pay attention to the service, but she kept focusing on the small spot where her knee touched Eduardo’s. Her heart raced. I just have to make it through the next hour, she reminded herself. Then the torture will end.

  At least, until school resumes.

  The priest switched to Italian.

  From the pew, Sarah concentrated on translating the words. Her pulse finally returned to normal.

  Mom leaned in. “Your friend’s very handsome,” she whispered.

  The whisper wasn’t quiet enough. Sarah opened her eyes wide, and heat rushed her face. She might really strangle someone yet and glanced at Eduardo.

  Grinning widely, he flicked up his left eyebrow. “I like your mother.”

  Sarah’s face burned even hotter. She sank down in her seat and closed her eyes. Can everyone please keep their noses out of my business?

  For the next half hour, her prayer was answered. Then the congregation joined in song—the “Ave Maria.”

  Eduardo sang along.

  His mellow baritone voice sent chills down her spine. Sarah found herself not watching the cantor at the pulpit, but Eduardo. His lips rounded for hora mortis nostrae. His Adam’s apple lifted for high notes and dropped for lows. When the song ended, she still stared, even as he retook his seat. “Your voice—” her breath caught—“is breathtaking.”

  Smiling so broad his glasses lifted, Eduardo tugged her hand. “Thank you.”

  Sarah drifted back to the pew.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yours, on the other hand… You’d best keep to painting.”

  Drawing a hand to her neck, Sarah was unsure if she should burst with anger or amusement.

  Eduardo burst with laughter.

  Nearby attendants shushed.

  Mom bent forward for a closer look.

  As Eduardo regained his composure, he placed a hand on her knee. “Sorry.” He rubbed her leg. “I’m only teasing.”

  Sarah shifted her attention between his hand, his face, and back. His hand remained firmly on her thigh.

  “Sorry.” He pulled back his hand.

  Her breath quickened, and Sarah struggled to find a response. You don’t need to be sorry—please, put back your hand. Or, please, I made a mistake. She wanted to say so many things, not the least of which was that she wanted him back. But all she could do was lower her head and say a prayer that Antoinette might somehow vanish.

  As the mass adjourned, Sarah filed out to the foyer, Mom on one side and Eduardo on the other. If she spent one more second next to Eduardo, the priest would be reading her last rites, for sure.

  Sister Maria stayed behind to speak to the parents of a student.

  Sarah walked with them to the front of the church.

  “Do you have plans for Christmas?” Eduardo asked.

  “We’ll try to catch the service at St. Peter’s,” Mom answered.

  “Better get there early,” he said.

  “I’ve heard.” Sarah counted the steps to the church exit. Only six—no five—and she’d be free of this miserable night.

  “Why don’t you come by after?” Eduardo asked. “My place is so close to the cathedral.”

  What?! Sarah stopped short in her tracks. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “I’m preparing a traditional meal for me and Lucia.”

  And Antoinette?

  “Do you like fish?” he asked Mom. “Seafood?”

  “Oh, I adore it!” She smiled at Sarah. “I’m sure we can come by.”

  Eduardo smiled broadly and rambled on about the menu.

  Sarah grimaced. No, no, no! God in heaven, why are you torturing me so? Which would be worse—another evening in his company or four days of never hearing the end of her refusal from Mom? She pressed her fingers to her temple, where her pulse throbbed. “All right,” she said through clenched teeth. “What can we bring?”

  Chapter 22

  After escorting Mom to the hostel, Sarah returned to her room. The hour was late, technically the early hours of Christmas. She sat on the edge of her flimsy bed, wringing her hands. She had to find some way to back out of dinn
er at Eduardo’s. Maybe she could pretend to be sick? Or maybe they could conveniently get hung up at St. Peter’s?

  She flopped back on the bed, flailing her arms to the side. This situation was hopeless. Mom would never allow her to back out. She’d gone on and on about Eduardo during the walk to her hostel. Sarah kept her lips zipped. What was she supposed to say? He called me bella cigna, and then I blew him off?

  Bella cigna. His smooth, mellow voice played in her mind. I can’t believe your Italian and your painting.

  Warmth simmered in her chest. If he’d recognized the sunset in the mural, did he still have feelings for her? Sarah bit her lower lip. Maybe things weren’t that serious with Antoinette? Maybe she could just…

  She puffed her bangs with a “humph.” Just what? Ask him to end things with Antoinette? Ask him to overlook her own fickleness? Why would a handsome, wealthy bachelor do such a thing? He probably had a black book thicker than Mr. Rosen’s listings.

  A light tap sounded on the door, and Sarah bolted upright. Who would be calling at this hour? Her mother? Sister Maria? Or maybe…Eduardo? “Just a minute!” Sarah threw a robe over her pajamas and hastily ran her hands through her hair. She rushed to the door and flung it open. “Sister Maria?” The disappointment in her voice was evident. She drew the robe closer to her chest and tightened the belt.

  “I saw your light,” Sister Maria said.

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder. Light streamed out the window, dipping into the courtyard. Across the way, a soft lamp glowed in Sister Maria’s office.

  Sister Maria stepped past her into the room. “I hope you didn’t mind me seating you next to Eduardo this evening. I could only hold the one row, you see.”

  With a lifted brow, Sarah pinched the corner of her mouth. If Sister Maria noticed, she didn’t let on.

  “I just came from speaking with him.”

  “You did?” Sarah’s pulse quickened. “What did he say? Did he mention Antoinette? Did he mention—” She caught herself and broke off.

  Sister Maria smiled, her stance—hands clasped at her waist—unwavering.

  “I mean,” Sarah continued, “I hope he enjoyed the service.”

  “Oh, yes. He said your singing brought him joy.”

  Cheeks burning, she dropped her gaze. “Of course, he did.”

  “I never did get to commend you on your accomplishments with the play,” Sister Maria said. “The scenery and your work with Lucia. They were both marvelous feats.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ones which didn’t go unnoticed by the parents, including Eduardo.”

  Uncertain if she wanted to hear more or not, she lifted her gaze anyway.

  Sister Maria stepped over to the desk and turned back the cover of a sketchpad. “You know, Sarah, sometimes we have to take risks to achieve our dreams.”

  Oh, no. What had Mom told her during the service? About Philip? The infertility? Finding the belt of her robe, Sarah threaded it through her hands. With each pass, the rope strung tighter.

  “I’ve told you I joined the convent to escape my past. I stayed there, at a small monastery in rural Tuscany, for fifteen years.” Sister Maria flipped through the pages.

  A gentle calm settled into Sister Maria’s voice, and the rustle of paper cut through the stiff silence.

  She turned another page and paused to study it. “Giving up that place was hard—the monastery was my solace.”

  Sarah paused her weaving. “Why did you?”

  “I was offered a job at a school here in the city. Eduardo and Leonardo—they were some of my first students.”

  “Leonardo De Luca?”

  Sister Maria nodded. “I was scared to take the job, Sarah. I was scared to be around children.”

  “Scared?” Sarah dropped the belt. Of what could this iron fist of a woman be afraid?

  “I love children but being around them was painful.” An edge entered Sister Maria’s voice.

  Why would it be painful? Unless…Could she not conceive either?

  “But coming here was the best decision I ever made.”

  Sister Maria let go of the sketchpad and turned to face Sarah. She placed a hand on her shoulder. “What I’m saying is, sometimes we have to put ourselves in uncomfortable situations to get what we want—what we need.”

  Tears brimmed Sarah’s eyes, and she again picked up the belt, pulling it taut. What was the sister saying? She should go back to fertility treatments? She should consider adoption?

  Sister Maria squeezed Sarah’s shoulder then backed away. “Buon Natale, Sarah.”

  Frozen in place, Sarah yanked tighter on the belt—so tight, she thought the fabric might fray. “Merry Christmas.” Sarah’s voice cracked.

  Sister Maria turned to go.

  Sarah let the tears drip down her cheeks. Soft sniffles muffled the gentle snap of the door closing. Why did Sister Maria have to give such vague advice? And why did her advice always incite sobbing?

  Releasing the belt, she reached for the box of tissues on her desk. She froze her hand in mid-air, and she gasped. The sketchbook that Sister Maria studied lay open. The man in the picture stared with charcoal eyes—Eduardo’s eyes.

  For a moment, Sarah was suspended in time. She didn’t blink. She didn’t swallow. She didn’t breathe. Sister Maria’s words rushed her mind, and her chest burned. She drew a deep breath and lowered herself to the chair. Sister Maria was right. Sarah didn’t know what she wanted to do next year. She didn’t even know if she wanted to stay in Italy or go back to the States. But as she traced the outline of Eduardo’s face, she understood one thing she knew she wanted for sure—one person. Eduardo.

  ****

  The stairs creaked under Sarah’s footsteps, fuzzy teddy-bear slippers and all. The hall and stairwell were dark—had been ever since the students left over a week ago. She strode along the dim passage, clutching her master key in her hand.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  But what other choice did she have? The shops wouldn’t be open on Christmas Day, and she sure as hell wouldn’t win back Eduardo with an A-line skirt and button-up blouse.

  Still, as she reached Flora’s room, she hesitated, the key hovering in front of the lock.

  Why couldn’t Anna be her size? Then she wouldn’t have to go stealing from the only student who was as tall as she was.

  Borrowing, she reminded herself. Just borrowing.

  She slipped the key in the lock and turned it. The snap echoed through the hall. Sarah’s heart pounded. Could she really do this? Could she really win him back?

  She flipped on the light and stepped inside. As she opened the closet, she bowed her head. “Please, God, let Flora have left something halfway decent.”

  ****

  After a cab-ride through winter’s waning sun, Sarah and Mom arrived at Eduardo’s just before four.

  Lucia greeted them at the door. “Miss Miller!” She lunged out of the apartment and hugged Sarah.

  Sarah tousled Lucia’s hair, the softness tickling her fingers. As she pulled away, Sarah introduced her mother.

  Sarah’s mom knelt. “You can call me Mrs. Miller.”

  Lucia pressed her brows together.

  “Tell you what,” Sarah said. “To avoid confusion, why don’t you call me Miss Sarah? Just for tonight.”

  Her mother by her side, Sarah joined Lucia in the foyer. Warmth and the aroma of garlic and herbs greeted her.

  Eduardo approached from the kitchen. “Sarah! Mrs. Miller! What a pleasure to see you again.” He motioned for them to come inside.

  He wore the same apron Sarah remembered from her only other visit here. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes partly to relive the memory and partly to settle her nerves.

  Eduardo helped Sarah’s mother with her coat then turned to Sarah.

  Sarah hesitated before removing hers. Was a skimpy dress really the right move? She clutched the zipper of her coat. Too late to change my mind now. She yanked the zipper.

  “W
ow! Miss Mill—I mean, Miss Sarah, where’d you get that outfit?” Lucia stared at her with widened eyes.

  As Sarah drew a hand to the plunging neckline of the skintight sweater dress, heat rushed to the same spot. “I—”

  Eduardo cleared his throat. “Lucia, didn’t you have something to show Mrs. Miller?”

  Lucia stared blankly.

  Widening his eyes, Eduardo flicked his gaze in the direction of the window.

  “Oh, yeah. Papa says I should show you the view.” Lucia grabbed Sarah’s mother’s hand.

  “That sounds lovely!” Mom stepped toward the window but paused. “You look great,” she whispered in Sarah’s ear.

  Sarah dropped her hand from her chest and forced herself not to tug at the hemline, which suddenly seemed shorter.

  Eduardo stepped closer. As he took her coat, his gaze drifted from Sarah’s face to her body. “Your mom’s right. You look great.”

  “Thank you.” And thank you, Flora.

  Eduardo placed their coats on a rack and returned. “Now, I thought you might help me in the kitchen.”

  “Sure.” Sure? Sarah shut her eyes. This evening was operation Win Back Eduardo, not a parent-teacher conference. She snapped open her eyes and rested a hand on the edge of her collar.

  Eduardo’s gaze followed her hands.

  “I mean, I’d love to.” Sarah spoke in a voice as gravelly and soft as she could muster. She danced her fingers around her bare neck. Eduardo tracked them like a dangled carrot.

  He didn’t head toward the kitchen.

  “You said something about the kitchen?” Sarah prompted.

  “Kitchen?”

  Sarah stifled a giggle and nodded.

  “Kitchen.” Eduardo jerked back. “Right.” He pulled at his collar, his Adam’s apple exposing a deep swallow. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and followed him.

  “I thought you might help me with dessert,” he called over his shoulder.

  Sarah held her chin high. Perfect, this privacy was just the opportunity she’d hoped for to remind him of their date. “What was wrong with dessert last time?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The dessert you served last time. I enjoyed it immensely. Didn’t you?”

  He turned at the far side of the kitchen. “Last time?” He furrowed his eyebrows.