Chapter 37 #2
Vittoria inhaled softly and glanced over at David. “I think these may be too small for you, mio don,” she said.
“Oh, they are,” he agreed. “But they should fit you perfectly.”
Blinking several times, Vittoria stared at the half-boots and then at David. “For me?”
“Per Lei,” he affirmed. “Would you like to try them on?”
The calzolai’s daughter was already indicating a chair for Vittoria to use. Once she was settled, the girl knelt to undo the laces and remove the pair of brown half-boots.
Vittoria let out a sigh of relief. Despite their better fit, the brown ones had grown more uncomfortable with all the walking they had done that day. She watched as the girl slid the new ones onto her feet and quickly laced them. After tying a bow, she straightened and stood aside.
David was quick to offer his hand. “Do they fit?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.
Gingerly taking first one step and then another, Vittoria allowed a tentative grin. “They feel so different. As if they are made for each foot.”
“That’s because they are.” He watched as she continued walking in a circle, her steps quickening as her smile broadened.
“But... how did you know what size to have them made?” she asked in awe.
He pantomimed holding a foot and massaging it before lifting a shoulder. “Am I to understand I got it right?” he murmured.
She nodded, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
“Well, don’t cry,” he said, his eyes widening with alarm. “Are they giving you pain? Do they pinch? Do they...”
She didn’t allow him to continue his query, lifting herself onto tiptoes to kiss his lips, her gloved hands gripping his arms for support.
Although someone gasped to her right and someone said, “Oh, mio,” to her left, Vittoria was determined she be allowed to finish the kiss before she finally pulled away.
It was then she realized his hands had gone to her waist, his palms pressed against her as if he, too, needed something to hold onto.
She stared up at David, relieved when she didn’t see any sign of censure in his eyes. If anything, he seemed to be waging an internal war with himself, his brows furrowing with his questioning stare.
“Grazie,” she whispered.
David’s mouth opened and closed several times before he remembered they had an audience.
“Prego.” He motioned to the calzolai. “Be sure to keep the pattern, signore,” he said.
“In fact, make another pair in...” He turned to Vittoria.
“What color would you like? Blue, for the gown you wore yesterday?”
Vittoria inhaled softly, stunned he would remember the color of her walking gown. She held out the skirts of the hunter green gown she wore. “Or green?” she replied.
“A pair in hunter green and a pair in blue,” he ordered. “No hurry, though.”
The calzolai nodded vigorously, a grin of delight lighting his face. “Molto bene,” he said.
“Molto bene, indeed,” David replied. He accepted the package the girl offered, realizing they were the brown half-boots Vittoria had been wearing.
He offered his arm and Vittoria took it, but before he headed for the door, he turned to face her.
“Does this mean... you like me now?” he asked. “Or do you still think me a rogue?”
Vittoria arched a teasing brow. “Can it not be a bit of both?”
His mouth dropped open, but he apparently saw the glint in her eye. “You minx,” he accused.
Her grin of delight lit up the entire workshop. “Finally,” she whispered happily. She quickly sobered, though, glancing at the calzolai before she turned her attention back on David. “Does this mean you like me? Or do you still think I’m a shrew?”
She watched as David struggled to hide his sudden humor. “Can it not be a bit of both?”
Although she should have expected his response—he could tease her as readily as she had done to him—Vittoria couldn’t help the moment of hurt she felt.
Perhaps it showed on her face, for he was quick with an amendment. “Actually, you have proven you’re not a shrew, mia donna,” he said.
Vittoria let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Bene,” she murmured
“Mayhap a bit spoiled...” he adding, grinning before he leaned forward and bussed her on the forehead.
She inhaled softly, remembering how many times she had seen Donald do the same with Nicoletta. How she had seen their father do the same with their mother only that morning.
A form of apology. An acknowledgment of error.
A gesture of affection.
She watched as David turned and reached for the young girl’s hand and kissed the back of it. The girl giggled, her grin wide as she blushed a bright red.
“Grazie, signora, signore,” David said to the girl and to the calzolai before he opened the door for Vittoria. The two took their leave of the shop, Vittoria happily stutter-stepping in her new half-boots as they made their way back to the barouche.
From the doorway of the jewelry shop across the thin street, a young woman watched the couple exiting the calzolai’s shop, and she grinned. “Povero uomo,” she murmured on a chuckle.
Poor man.