CHAPTER TEN
The treelined path to Villa Caro Hotel soothed my nerves; its quiet was a balm after my slipup at the impromptu interview with Italy Live.
Nothing ever remained in one location, and I could just imagine baby watch starting with strangers monitoring my stomach like I’ve seen online.
But there isn’t a baby…so why did I say there might be one?
I glimpsed at Rocco. His silence since the reporter incident spoke volumes, making it clear he didn’t think I’d erred. Even Isla, who’d become my supporter, was lost in her phone. The hush between us grew heavy until I finally edged closer to Rocco and whispered, “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Please stop worrying. The press love to report gossip, but we gave an answer they’ll print.
Let’s forget about it and enjoy ourselves.
” His voice was easy, his posture loose, and I had no choice but to take him at his word.
Soon, the car rolled to a stop. He reached for my hand and pressed two gentle kisses to my palm, sending a flutter through me. “Ready, Mrs. Marini?”
I smiled at hearing the endearing inflection in his tone. “I am. Thank you.”
We stepped from the car, slipping seamlessly into the familiar routine.
Isla fussed with my dress as we posed, all practiced smiles, before climbing the tiered steps to the grand colonnade of pietra serena stone.
I’d admired it online, but nothing compared to standing beneath its brilliance.
The exterior dazzled, but the interior was pure magic: trompe-l’oeil frescoes that seemed to breathe, marble statues, draped cornices.
Strings swelled from somewhere within, the melody of “Mattinata Fiorentina” drifting closer.
Rocco hummed beside me, and the moment felt almost enchanted.
I turned to him, grinning, and he surprised me by catching my waist and spinning me in a playful circle right there in the foyer, among guests holding drinks from black-tied hosts balancing them on serving trays.
Our eyes locked, and I melted under his gaze.
He tilted my chin as his lips found mine in a kiss that set me alight.
Applause broke out as if we were on stage, but they couldn’t know the Rocco who danced with me when no one watched and who kissed me until dawn.
“There you are,” a male voice called out behind us.
We turned toward a handsome man with a head full of thick, dark waves that reminded me of all the Marini men I’d met.
He wore a tuxedo with sneakers that I thought were playful, along with a wicked grin on his handsome face.
He had a beautiful blonde on his arm in a stunning red velvet and satin gown.
“Bianca.” Rocco let me go and crossed over to the woman, giving her cheek kisses and a warm hug. “Do you ever age?”
“No. Just like you, I get better. You know, I wish I had known you were coming. I’d have made you sing with me.” She poked his chest.
Rocco chuckled and tutted. “To be upstaged by the Diva Soprano of Italy? No, thanks.”
She let out a throaty laugh.
The man stepped in front of them and gazed at me with a wide grin. “Of course Rocco would find a rare molto bella.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to the back. “Lovely to meet you, Adelina. I’m Lorenzo.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said with an excited lift to my tone.
He squinted and stared with his finger against his lips. “I knew your great-grandmother…Tessa Belfiore?”
I nodded, grinning. “Yes, that’s her name.” It always marveled me that people knew more about my family than I did.
He nodded, and sighed. “Yes. Tessa Belfiore. She lived down the hill from my uncle, who also passed.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lorenzo waved his hand dismissively. “It’s life. But Tessa left a mark. She was never without a book in her hand, and she made homemade castagnaccio for my uncle every Christmas.”
I felt my chest expand. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I was named after her. Adelina Tessa Belfiore.”
Mama had called her occasionally and thanked her for sending money. She’d tell me and Jacob that it was a secret.
He smiled. “You’re welcome, and to be honest, when I saw you walk in, it was like seeing her ghost. My uncle had a photo of her when they went on a family holiday to Rome. That’s where we live. You’re welcome to visit anytime.”
I glanced at Rocco, and he winked at me. “Thank you. I’d love to.”
“Great.” He tilted his head and pressed his index finger to his lip. “Hmm. You know, I did invite you both to our Shakespeare’s Summer Nights party.”
I puzzled. Summer Nights? Oh? Ohh. My face warmed, and I glanced away, remembering Rocco had called it an orgy.
Lorenzo chortled. “She’s heard of it.”
I gave him a nod. “I have. I hope you both had a, uh…pleasant time.”
“Why, thank you, we did,” Lorenzo mocked, grinning and crossing arms. “She’s polite. Reserved. An Astraea.” I knew the myth and that she was the goddess of justice, innocence, and purity.
I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, it is, Adelina. Your beauty would undoubtedly charm me, but I’d want more. Would you let me fall in love with you, molto bella?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, stop.”
“She said please.” Lorenzo burst with laughter.
Rocco groaned. “Leave my wife alone.”
“You already know he won’t, and now it’s my turn,” Bianca said in a light tone as she sauntered up to me.
“Let me have a good look at you, darling.” She clasped my arms, holding me at length.
“You’re bursting with such a strong, sensual vitality.
It would be tragic to cage, Rocco. You should have brought her. ”
“Indeed, my lover,” Lorenzo said. “She needs to be untamed.”
“She needs you to stop telling her what she needs,” Rocco said, and I loved him more.
How do I answer her? “Thank you for the compliment, Bianca. Very nice to meet you.”
She let me go, smiling. “Likewise, my dear.”
A woman and a man approached our group. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Bianca, Lorenzo, we are waiting for you to start.”
Bianca huffed. “Of course; just when things are turning interesting.”
“Too bad,” Rocco quipped. “They have you working, too?”
Lorenzo shrugged and trailed his fingers in the air.
“When in Florence. I’m conducting, for my passion.
” He came over and tugged Bianca into a kiss with lots of tongue.
Oh, my. Rocco nudged me, and I stopped gaping.
Then, the Rossis linked arms and walked ahead, stopping in front of Isla.
“You’ll play me in my biopic,” Bianca mused. “So lovely.”
Isla giggled.
“One day, Rocco will let us steal you away,” Lorenzo told her and gave her a peck on the cheek, and Isla blushed! Bianca seemed unfazed by Lorenzo’s flirtations. They kissed each other again and walked off ahead of us.
Rocco came to my side and placed his hand low on my back, and we followed them at a slower pace. On the way, I stopped a roaming hostess with a plate of fried dough.
“We’ll have dinner after the event.”
“I have room for both,” I half-joked, quickly eating two.
“Hmm. All right…you’re in for a treat. Bianca and Lorenzo love to poke fun, but they are harmless.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Watch them blow you away.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” The anticipation of hearing Bianca sing, after all of Isla’s glowing praise, made me giddy. I’d resisted the urge to search for her online, wanting to savor the surprise.
We navigated past cascading crystal chandeliers and antique furnishings to the grand ballroom and its continued elaborate rococo stylings.
Before us, the intimate setting featured a chamber orchestra and a piano, with rows of cushioned seats, which we took in front, and we waited for Bianca to take her place at the microphone stand.
Lorenzo stepped up to the podium to loud applause.
He bowed, then held his hand out toward the seated musicians, who continued to clap for him.
Then came Bianca, and cheers erupted behind us as we continued to applaud.
She stood with such a commanding presence that I couldn’t look away from her if I tried.
Lorenzo tapped his small podium, and all the musicians were poised and ready.
He glanced over at Bianca and extended his hand, and we all applauded again.
Then we all went quiet as the orchestra started the beginning notes of Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro.” Bianca didn’t just sing; her whole body moved, her expression full of emotion, as she pleaded with her father to let her marry the man she loved.
Her voice flawlessly rose to the high notes of the aria, and it was so intense that it vibrated through my body.
I rubbed the chills on my arms, and we applauded for a full minute until Lorenzo tapped on his podium.
“You must stop, or we won’t get through the next songs. ”
We all laughed and did as he asked.
Bianca started to sing Puccini’s “Vissi d’arte” from Tosca.
This particular opera was always a hard one for me to watch.
Tosca, tortured and overwhelmed, was forced to give in to the advances of a man who wanted her in order to save her true love.
Bianca’s countenance matched Tosca’s sorrow perfectly, her voice rich with despair.
She became Tosca’s anguish, her pleas for understanding.
A pin could be heard in the room when she finished. Everyone was so moved they didn’t want to break the spell. Then someone started to clap, and the whole ballroom erupted into loud applause.
Rocco squeezed my shoulder. “You okay?”
I nodded. “I am. She’s a goddess.”
Once we quieted down, Bianca spoke into the microphone.
“The next song is for Prime Minister Riccardo. Happy birthday.” She blew a kiss.
He stood, and we all clapped for him, and then she started to sing, “Quando m’en vo.
” It was more Puccini, his “Musetta’s Waltz,” an enticing, sensual song that I’d seen performed before but not like Bianca.
She transformed before our eyes into Musetta, trying to recapture the attention of her lover.
She swayed her hips as she sang over to Lorenzo, running her hand across his arm, and he turned his head away from her.
Her agony at his rejection, her longing gaze, the strain in her expression, her passion as blatant as the naked David we had seen earlier.
I perched at the edge of my seat, utterly spellbound, unwilling to miss a single note as Bianca poured her soul into the music.
Her sorrow seeped into every phrase. I reached for Rocco’s hand, pressing my other palm to my racing heart, tears pricking my eyes as I felt every ache and the longing she unleashed.
When Rocco squeezed my thigh at the cadenza, I knew he felt it, too.
This was a performance people would remember for years.
Bianca’s’ eyes poured with tears; her despair had shattered her, and she dropped to her knees.
We all jumped to our feet, cheering, clapping, and chanting, “La Voce,” The Voice. Baskets of roses came around, and the crowd collected some and left their seats to throw them at Bianca’s feet. She laughed, blowing kisses.
“I’m in love with her now,” I told Rocco, grabbing a handful of roses.
He chuckled. “We all are…La Voce.”
I grinned. “I swear, if I had a voice like that, I’d never shut up.”
Rocco laughed and threw more roses until our basket was empty.
Bianca stepped down from the platform and headed straight over to where we stood and gave me a big hug.
“You were sensational,” I gushed.
She touched my chin. “Thank you for your tears.”
Lorenzo kissed me on my cheeks. “How was that?”
I touched his arm. “You know you killed it.”
“Yes,” he said. “May I have a kiss? I can’t live without knowing how those beautiful lips feel.”
I lowered my brows and looked at Rocco. What should I do?
He nodded. Let him if you want.
I shyly turned back, and Lorenzo’s mouth was on mine.
My jaw dropped when we parted, and I stepped back.
“Now I can die knowing how they feel. Heavenly,” he said and winked. He didn’t miss a beat, hugging and kissing Rocco’s cheeks.
Rocco kissed Bianca. Then we stood back and let everyone else come and have their moments with them.
“Can we stay in Florence forever?” I asked him.
Rocco spun me a circle. “You said that about Mustique.”
“Yes, I had, but I never knew a life could be this beautiful.”
“Bella,” Rocco whispered, then kissed me deeply.
Nothing could be more perfect.