Chapter 9
NINE
Katya
Something isn’t right with Gabriele. He seems preoccupied. I didn't expect gushing praise when I came downstairs to meet him in the hallway because that's not the type of man he is.
I have to admit, however, to being hurt when he barely acknowledged the effort I'd made, simply looking me up and down and nodding his approval.
I spent hours getting ready for this gala.
Maria sent one of her staff, a capable woman called Roberta, to help me with my hair and makeup.
She apologized profusely for her lack of skills and then proceeded to create the most elegant French twist I've ever seen.
I can't fault my makeup either. This woman has worked miracles. She's wasted as a cleaner.
Gabriele hasn't spoken a word since he opened the car door and told me to get in. The entire way across Rome he's been tense.
Worrying about whether I've displeased him in some way has sucked all the joy out of my first glimpse of the floodlit Colosseum.
The silence isn't the sort that's easy to break. An attempt at humor or an observation about the weather would fall flat right now. I can't think of a damned question I want to ask him either.
So I let the quiet stretch into something uncomfortable.
As we pull up outside the venue, Gabriele's jaw tightens. His hands ball into fists on his lap. His lips move as he murmurs something I can't hear. It's an affirmation, I realize as he repeats it over and over again.
Eduardo gets out of the car and opens Gabriele's door. For a moment, my husband doesn't move. I'm starting to think he hasn't realized we're here. Then he drags in a long, slow breath and releases it. Finally, he gets out of the car.
He turns to offer his hand as I slide across the seat. I place my fingers on his palm and he helps me out onto the sidewalk. We don't pause for photographs, although several voices call Gabriele's name and, to my surprise, mine.
I guess the marriage of such a prominent member of Roman society wasn't going to stay secret for long.
As we walk into the venue, I smile. This place is stunning. A palazzo on the outskirts of the city, it's steeped in history and grandeur that predates anything St. Petersburg has to offer.
The entrance hall is magnificent. High ceilings are supported by stone columns. My heels clack on the stone floor as we make our way across it.
There are people milling about everywhere, dressed in their finery. The blue dress was the right choice for tonight. It clings to my body to show off my barely-there curves and plunges at the back so it's sexy but still appropriate for this crowd.
I see a lot of older ladies in black sequined dresses and that tells me all I need to know.
Gabriele and I cut through the crowd, people parting for us. Some whisper behind their hands as we pass. They'd better be admiring my ass and not commenting on Gabriele's scars.
I almost giggle as that thought crosses my mind but I hold myself together. Tonight is important to my husband, otherwise I doubt we'd have come.
As we walk into the dining hall, a lavishly decorated room with hundreds of floral bouquets, I glance up at the ceiling. My mouth falls open. It's covered with the most beautiful paintings. I'm not a fan of religious art but some of these allegorical pieces are glorious.
As a short, fat man with a bald head hurries toward us, Gabriele's grip on my hand tightens.
"Signore Volante, how good of you to come." He holds his hand out to Gabriele but my husband doesn't shake it.
"Alberto," he says gruffly.
The man's cheeks redden but as he pulls his hand away I reach out to grab it.
"So nice to meet you. I'm Ekaterina Volante."
"A pleasure. I'm the Chair of the St. Pietro Benevolent Fund. Your donation this year is much appreciated."
I release his hand and link my fingers with Gabriele's once more.
"We're always delighted to support such a good cause," I say, though I have no idea what exactly this evening is in support of.
"Allow me to show you to your table." He heads down to the front of the room, close to the stage where instruments are set up for a band to play later.
As we follow Alberto, Gabriele's grip on my hand becomes increasingly tight until it's almost painful. He stops dead, going unnaturally still. I glance at him and notice the pallor in his cheeks. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
"This is not our table," he says curtly.
"Well, no, Signore Volante," Alberto says. "The board felt that such a generous benefactor should be seated…."
"No." Gabriele cuts in firmly. His tone attracts curious glances from the people around us.
I touch his arm lightly and smile at Alberto.
"What my husband means to say, Alberto, is that this is my first outing in Rome and I'm a little shy. Would it be possible to relocate us?" I turn and scan the room, finding a table tucked away at the back, far from the doors and close to a fire exit. I point to it. "That one, perhaps?"
"Well, I…."
"Make it happen." Gabriele uses his best Mafia Don tone and Alberto shrinks.
"Yes, of course, Signore. Whatever I can do to make your wife more comfortable."
I flash Gabriele a look that I hope tells him whatever's going on with him, I'm here. He squeezes my hand, then relaxes his grasp. I wriggle my fingers, grateful he didn't break any of them.
As Alberto leads us to the table I requested, he chatters on about his wife, who's also on the board at St. Pietro's. I smile and nod as if I give a damn how many events she hosts in a year.
Feigning interest in self-absorbed people is something I learned at my father's table. He taught me the importance of listening more than talking at events like this. Observation is everything.
"Know your enemy, Katya," he urged me when I was just a child. I never imagined that one day that enemy would be him.
When we get to our table, Gabriele relaxes. I let go of his hand and walk around the table, taking note of the names on the place cards. I pick up the cards for Donatella and Antonio Di Santis. Lucky them, they're getting an upgraded seat tonight.
I hand the cards to Alberto and stand by my chair until Gabriele pulls it back for me.
As Alberto scurries off, Gabriele takes his seat. Knowing he'll want to keep me safe, I've positioned him between me and the door while I'm closest to the emergency exit.
"We're sitting with the Vicentes, the Kellers and the Marinos," I tell Gabriele as he accepts two glasses of champagne from the waiter. "Do you know any of them?"
Gabriele nods. "The Vicentes are an older couple, harmless but crashing bores. Do not get onto the topic of cruises. The Marinos are in cheese."
I laugh at his phrasing. "In cheese?"
He grins for the first time tonight. "Their company produces parmigiano."
"And the Kellers?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know them."
Tension creeps into his voice and I begin to understand. He doesn't like being around strangers. No doubt he dreads their reaction to his scars.
"Well, that's fine. They're all the way over there." I wave toward the other side of the table. "We don't need to get to know them."
I look up as the first couple joins us, Giorgia and Silvio Marino. They both greet Gabriele with polite reserve and me with undiluted interest. We're making small talk about Russia when the Vicentes arrive. I warm to them instantly.
Dario Vicente is a retired cardiologist and his wife, Carolina, is a former university professor. Both bestow genuine smiles on Gabriele and remark on how long it's been since they last saw him.
"I've been busy," he says apologetically, a sign he actually likes the couple. "But my wife is keen to meet new people so we may make more of an effort."
"Quite right," Dario says. "Such a lovely young creature should not be hidden away."
If Gabriele takes offense at that statement, he doesn't show it. He picks up his glass and sips his champagne. I do likewise, setting mine down when the final couple arrives.
The Kellers, it turns out, are a British couple. He works in finance, a topic guaranteed to send me to sleep. Tall, broad and entirely too sure of himself, he drops onto his seat and leaves his wife to pull out her own chair.
His wife is at least twenty years younger than him and wearing a green velvet dress with a slit up to the thigh and a generous amount of cleavage on display. I know now I made the right choice with my more demure gown.
As the first course is served, Carolina Vicente draws me into conversation about her grandchildren. I respond to her question about our plans for a family with a standard line about needing to settle into our marriage first.
It's not until the waiter comes to remove our plates that I realize Gabriele has eaten nothing.
When the fish course arrives, a delicious sea bass with Sicilian lemon, he doesn't touch it either. He just moves the food around his plate with his fork. The fillet of beef also goes uneaten. Then dessert arrives, a chocolate mousse. Gabriele picks up his spoon and eats every mouthful.
Tears well in my eyes as I realize it's because he doesn't have to chew it. I blink them back, not wanting to draw attention.
"Boy, I'm stuffed," I say as I push my dessert bowl toward Gabriele. "Would you eat this for me? I hate to let it go to waste."
If Gabriele understands why I'm sacrificing the delicious chocolate mousse, he doesn't acknowledge it. He simply accepts the bowl and finishes the dessert.
Coffee is served next and Dario Vicente uses the opportunity to tell us about the incredible Ecuadorian blend they were served on their last cruise. It doesn't take long to see Gabriele was right about avoiding the subject. Once they start, the Vicentes don't stop.
As I accept a refill of my coffee, I become aware of Signora Keller staring at Gabriele. She stares at his face, his eye patch, with a mix of morbid curiosity and blatant desire.
Obviously aware of her scrutiny, Gabriele stiffens. His shoulders grow taut. His fingers, on the tablecloth, begin a slow unconscious tap. It's a signal of discomfort. I wait a beat to see if Signora Keller will look away. She doesn't.
Plastering a smile on my face, I place my hand over Gabriele's and weave our fingers together.
"Signora Keller, forgive me." My tone is saccharine. "But if you continue to stare at my husband that way I'm going to assume you're trying to steal him from me." I pause to let that sink in. "And I should warn you, I am an extremely possessive woman."
The table goes still. Signora Keller's cheeks redden beneath the too-thick layer of foundation she's wearing. She throws down her napkin, gets to her feet and storms away, her clueless husband trailing behind her.
Carolina Vicente squeezes my arm and leans closer.
"Well done, dear."
We return to the conversation about their travels and I'm surprised to learn the Vicentes have been to some genuinely interesting places.
The evening passes quickly and the speeches reveal the money raised is for childhood leukemia research. Gabriele is lauded for donating five million euros but he doesn't stand to accept acknowledgment.
When we can finally leave without appearing rude, I say goodnight to the Vicentes and Marinos and we head back out to the car. I lean back and close my eyes. As we drive home I feel Gabriele's gaze on me. I turn to find him watching me with an unreadable expression.
"Did I disappoint you tonight?" I ask. "That thing with the Keller woman."
"No, you were perfect." He takes my hand and rests it on his lap. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
"No," I say with a grin. "Tell me now."