Champagne Deception (22 page)

“Please, Coretta, say something.  Your silence is making me worried,” Lorenzo pleaded, searching her terrified eyes.

“Just get me out of here,” she whispered as he led her to the motor scooter and grabbed for his cell phone to notify the police of the accidental death that had just occurred.

*****

Hours later, they were back at the villa, surrounded by an overwhelming
throng of police officers, reporters, and Lorenzo’s family.  In separate rooms, the couple explained the story of how Jonathan had fallen to his death.  The officers listened closely and recorded every word.  Another team of investigators was at the studio to assess the scene and collect the body.  It didn’t take long for the police to rule the death an accident.

As the last journalist and cop departed the villa, Coretta sat huddled on the sofa, wanting nothing more than to sleep.  Lorenzo’s family filtered out quickly
, leaving the traumatized couple to unwind in peace.  He took a seat next to her and just held her hand.  She accepted the gesture gratefully and interlaced their fingers.  Wearily, they fell asleep fully clothed on the couch and did not awaken until 9 o’clock the next morning.

Coretta awoke
first with a pounding headache and stiff back.  She shifted in Lorenzo’s arms as he drifted awake.  Softly, she implored, “Take me away from here.”

“Hmmm? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be in the city right now.  Take me someplace tranquil where no one will bother us.  Are there any quiet beaches in Italy where tourists don’t go?”

“
Yes, but we don’t have to stay in Italy.  I think we could both use a vacation far away from here,” Lorenzo said.

“W
e
should
get out of Italy for a while.  A long while.  Hopefully when we come back, we’ll both have a fresh perspective,” she said optimistically, although she was doubtful.  Every place she visited now was tainted with the hideous memory of Jonathan: the guest suite in the villa, the cellar of the art gallery, even random street corners.

“We’ll go for as long as we need to.  Let
me see about renting a car.  Then, I’ll see where we can go.  I’ll surprise you, okay?”

“Yes.  I trust you. Wherever you want to take me, I want to go,” she said softly, floating back to sleep in his embrace.

*****

Two Weeks Later

A Chalet Near Geneva, Switzerland

As a room service breakfast was being cleared away, Coretta gazed in wonder at the sparkling alpine vistas and pristine blue sky.  The change of scenery was therapeutic, and she couldn’t imagine anywhere in the world feeling as refreshing as Switzerland did.  As soon as they arrived from Italy, Lorenzo had rented a large, rustic room within a Swiss chalet.  Each morning, they awoke to magnificent views of the Alps and the cleanest air either had ever breathed.

“What should we do today?” She asked dreamily.

Each day held a fresh adventure and a freedom that had not been attainable during the terrifying months in Italy.  Her nefarious ex-boyfriend was dead, and he could not come back to harm them.  Haunting memories were slowly fading, and Coretta felt more secure than she had since childhood.  She tried not to worry about the business loss they were suffering on their gallery in Milan.  The gallery had been open for a pitiful 24 hours before shutting its doors to the public as its owners coped with the ramifications of an unsolved crime. 
At least Declan Wainwright is celebrating
, she thought bitterly.  Immediately, she banished the negative thought from her mind and watched admiringly as Lorenzo got dressed.

Fastening a leather belt, Lorenzo replied, “We can go hiking today.  Maybe pack a picnic lunch and come back at sunset fo
r dinner.  How does that sound?

Zipping up her jeans, Coretta replied, “Sounds wonderful!  I can’t get enough of the mountain air and all the beautiful scenery here.”

“You really love Switzerland, don’t you?” Lorenzo asked with a grave undertone.

“Yes, I do.  It’s the perfect antidote to all the stress we’ve been under,” she sighed.

Opening the refrigerator, Coretta selected an assortment of cold snacks to bring on their picnic lunch.  She laced up her sneakers and tossed a pair of binoculars into her knapsack.  Eventually, they would have to go back to Italy and deal with the whole gallery mess.  But for now, they were two lovers on holiday in one of the most tranquil locations on earth.  Reality could wait.

Chapter Twenty

A rich scarlet sunset was crackling through the sky when Lorenzo and Coretta returned to the chalet.  The hike had left them both invigorated and depleted.  Snacks of raw veggies and fruit had barely tided them over until
now.  Dumping their hiking gear in the chalet room, they took one look at each other and knew what the other was thinking.

“Dinner?” Lorenzo prompted.

“Now,” Coretta concurred.

“I’m too tired to even change my clothes.  But I wanted to take you to a fancy dinner
tonight,” he said with an uncontrollable yawn.

“I don’t think we need another fancy dinner.  We need to talk about when our Swiss fairy tale is going to end,” she said reluctantly.

Lorenzo gazed at her intensely and said, “Let’s talk over a bottle of champagne.  I’ll order one from room service.”

Too tired to protest, Coretta lay down on the bed and shut her eyes while Lorenzo placed the room service order.  They had been living in their own little bubble the past two weeks, and she knew it had to end.  But let them enjoy a champagne toast tonight.  Tomorrow they could worry about technicalities
like work, finances, and living arrangements.

Minutes later, a dapper waiter wheeled the tray into their room.  Lorenzo
generously tipped the worker and dove into the bucket of ice for the champagne.  A small plate of long stem strawberries accompanied the bubbly.

“Come, let’s drink this on the balcony,” Lorenzo said.

In their casual clothes, they made their way onto the balcony where a stunning view of the Matterhorn awaited.  Coretta stared at the mountain, wishing she could fly to the peak and live in nature’s uncomplicated world instead of returning to civilization.

Lorenzo
uncorked the bottle, which exploded and bathed them in chilly gold bubbles.  Laughing, he poured two flutes full and placed the champagne back in the bucket of ice.

“
Remember what I told you once about authentic champagne?” Lorenzo asked, tilting his glass towards hers.

“Of course I do.  And this is the real thing, right?”
She touched her glass to his for a wordless toast.

“It certainly is.  And i
t’s a symbol of my feelings for you, Coretta, because I want to give you what’s real, whether we’re talking about my heart or a glass of champagne.” Lorenzo’s eyes and voice were intense with emotion.

“
Io ti amo
,” she expressed her love for him in Italian.

“
Io ti amo
,” he whispered back.  His expression lightened to humorous as he teased, “You know how some people read tea leaves? Well I can read champagne bubbles.  And do you want to know what they say?”

“
Yes,” she humored him.  “What are the champagne bubbles telling you about the future?”

“Well, let’s see here.” He feigned deep concentr
ation on the effervescent champagne.  “Ah, I’m getting a message.  Several messages, actually.  The first one says that Coretta is going to be Lorenzo’s wife.  Is that true, Coretta?  Will you marry me?”

Stunned by his
unexpected proposal, she wordlessly showered him with her acceptance. A mountain breeze swayed around them as they embraced.

“Does that hug mean ‘yes,’
carissima
?” He asked huskily, holding her at just enough distance so he could search her eyes for an answer.

Her voice mildly trembled as she affirmed, “Yes.  Absolutely yes!”

They shared a lingering kiss to celebrate the engagement before Lorenzo mischievously pulled back and announced, “That’s not all.  The champagne bubbles have other messages for us.”

She rolled her eyes in amused impatience and prodded, “And what do these other magical champagne bubbles have to say to us, Signor Clairvoyant?”

He smiled broadly, one of his shimmering white, dimpled grins that had made her fall in love with him.  “The bubbles are saying that we don’t have to leave Switzerland if we don’t want to.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked doubtfully.

“Coretta, I did a lot of thinking today when we were on our hike.  Every time I looked over at you, I could see how peaceful and content you are here.  You’re a different person than you were in Milan.  I’ve never seen you this relaxed, not even in our carefree college days.  I want us to open a gallery here.  The mountains are such a perfect inspiration for two artists.  I think we’ll be more prolific here than we would in any city.  Imagine waking up every morning and taking your paints outdoors…”

She finished his thought.  “And p
ainting against the backdrop of the Alps and breathing the sweet air.  Yes, I have imagined it.  Every day since we got here,” she sighed.

“Well, we can do it.  It doesn’t have to be just a dream.  Let’s live in Switzerland and build our
goals together.  As business partners.  And as husband and wife.” He clasped both her hands in his as he urged her to throw caution to the wind.

“But it’s all happening so quickly. I mean, are you really sure it’s not too soon to get married?” She tossed the question to him, hoping he would take it and throw it into left field
where it would never bother them again.

“Too soon?  Ten years after we first met?  I would say we’re a little late,” Lorenzo chuckled as Coretta smiled in relief.  “Remember what you told me in Italy about love and risk?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember my exact words.” She gazed at him expectantly.

“Well I do.  You said that taking a risk is the only way in love.  All other roads lead to nowhere.  The same truth applies to life.  Either we take a risk, o
r we don’t live at all,” he declared passionately.

As she stood in the evening breeze feeling Lorenzo’s energy and
love all around her, she had no arguments left.  No doubts.  No obstacles.  He had absorbed a morsel of her wisdom and made it his own.  And he had given that wisdom back to her as a precious gift, far more valuable than any high fashion cocktail dress or work of art.  The answer was simple, and she wouldn’t wait a moment longer.

“Yes, Lorenzo, yes, let’s take a
nother risk.  Let’s live!”

*****

Epilogue

December in Milan

Western Europe was in the grip of a bitter cold spell.  From northern Italy to England, the winds whipped brutally and clouds covered the sky gloomily.  Coretta rubbed her bare hands together and exhaled a plume of breath into the chilly air.  Just two more blocks and she would be cozy inside the villa.

Today, the Fiatti famil
y was celebrating a milestone.  Their matriarch, Big Mamma, was turning 60 years old.  Keys jingled in Coretta’s pocket as she approached the palatial home that no longer plagued her with fear.  The villa was a happy place that would soon be filled with family. Everyone would toast to Signora Fiatti’s health and longevity.  The villa was also the place where Coretta and Lorenzo had made love for the first time.  Little by little, all the sweet memories were overshadowing the bitter ones.  Twisting the doorknob open, she called to her fiancé, “I’m back!  I’ve got all the candles for the cake!”  She deposited the packet of birthday cake candles on the counter and headed over to the sofa to curl up with a book.

Lorenzo strolled over to the sofa and greeted her with a kiss.  Ultimately, they had decided on splitting their time between Italy and Switzerland.  Today, despite the harsh temperature, Coretta was happy to be back in Milan.  Wedding daydreams floated into her mind as she flipped through her book.

The wedding would take place in the spring, May 1
st
to be exact, the very same day that LoCo Art Gallery held its fateful grand opening.  Coretta’s selection of wedding date was purposeful, and she wouldn’t allow Lorenzo to dissuade her.  Initially, he had protested that the day would bring back too many repugnant memories and reopen scars that were still raw.  But Coretta insisted that getting married on that day would take all the power away from the foul memories.  May 1
st
would no longer symbolize fear and betrayal, but courage and joy.

Slowly,
snail-pace slowly, Mamma Fiatti was coming around to the idea that Coretta Nicholas would be her daughter-in-law.  During a recent visit to Switzerland, the older woman had looked Coretta up and down with soft eyes before proclaiming, “You have good hips.  Very good.  Baby-making hips.”  The comment was the closest thing to a compliment Big Mamma had ever said to Coretta.  Their relationship would probably always be strained, Coretta realized, but every step of progress helped.