Champagne Deception (4 page)

“The sun is strong!” She shouted over the whipping wind.

“Yeah, isn’t it beautiful?!” He shouted back with a smile in his voice.  “People always say April in Paris is the best, but I think it’s April in Milan!”

Her fears of riding on the
motor scooter dissipated as Lorenzo demonstrated his prowess, sliding over the city roads like butter.  She was keenly aware of their body contact as she held onto his abdomen and felt nothing but hard layers of muscle underneath her hands.  His legs, clothed inside a pair of American blue jeans, were equally muscular, making her wonder what he did to stay so fit.

As they arrived at an
al fresco
café on a main boulevard, she decided it couldn’t be the Italian cuisine that was making him so muscular. Her sweet semester in Italy came back to her in a flash as she read the menu: bread, bread, and more bread. 
But there are no bagels on the menu
, she noted happily.

Lorenzo set their helmets
down on a chair and sat across from her.  Warmly, he gazed at her, removing his sunglasses to see her more clearly.  Self-consciously, Coretta tried to tame her hair that had become matted in the wind.  From the protective screen of her menu, she returned his gaze, smiling slightly.

“I can’t believe we’re sitting here after all these years,” Lorenzo commented intimately.

“I know.  It’s hard to believe,” she mused before gluing her eyes to the menu again.

“Should I order some cappuccinos for us?” He asked in a more formal tone, the admiring expression suddenly faded from those alluring jade eyes.

“Yes, I would love a cappuccino.  And what should I order for breakfast?  Maybe some bread?” She asked humorously as he chuckled.

“I hope you like bread and pasta,” he laughed.

“Boy, do I!  My favorite foods,” she laughed with him.

“
Bene
.  We have plenty of starch for you to enjoy in Italy!  If I didn’t do so much rock climbing, I know I would be wearing all the food I eat.”

“Rock climbing?” She asked curiously.  So
that
was how his muscles were as sculpted as those of a marble statue.

“Yes, rock climbing, hiking, and lugging all my
big sculptures qualifies as weight lifting, I think,” he said casually, motioning to a busy waitress that they were ready to order.

As the pretty Italian girl wrote their order down on a pad, Lorenzo and Coretta stared at each other in mutual appreciation.  She
loved how he got his exercise in natural ways rather than being a gym rat.  The few times in recent years that Jonathan had seen the inside of a gym, he had bragged ceaselessly about his twenty-minute workouts and flexed his biceps childishly for her.  Lorenzo was ten times more handsome and fit than her ex-boyfriend, yet he was also unassuming and didn’t exhibit a trace of arrogance.

“I can’t wait to show you my studio, Coretta.  And I already have a
location in mind for a potential gallery.”

“Tell me more about what you have
in mind regarding this artistic partnership,” she probed, excited to hear the details and see if what he was proposing was not just a pipe dream.

Lorenzo hesitated for a breath, licking the foam off the top of his cappuccino glass.  She followed suit, marveling
at how sweet the cream and cinnamon were.  He stared for a few beats at her mouth, and she hastily reached for a napkin in an effort to wipe away any milk moustache that might have formed.  She looked at him expectantly, suddenly uncomfortable with the taut silence at the table.

Finally, Lorenzo spoke.  “
It’s really good to see you, Coretta.  But I don’t want to reveal too much right now.  You should know that this is a very serious enterprise I am hoping to undertake, and I need an artistic partner with a home base in Italy.  How long are you going to be in Milan?”

Coretta put down her glass and raised her eyebrows at Lorenzo’s line of questioning.  She had just traveled thousands of miles to meet this man and discuss the prospect of a partnership.  But, for some reason, he didn’t seem to take her seriously.  The thought of turning back now was intolerable, so she drew in a deep breath and tried her best to convince him.

“I don’t have a return flight scheduled to New York.  I bought an open ticket so that I wouldn’t have to hurry back.  And the truth is that I don’t really have anything pressing waiting for me there.” She bit her lip and paused, thinking how she hadn’t even officially quit her job or moved out of her apartment.  Coretta was banking everything on the hope that she and Lorenzo would join forces.  Then, she could resign from her job by email and ask her father and brother in Connecticut to put her belongings into storage.

“You don’t have anything waiting for you there?” Lorenzo sounded skeptical.

Coretta shook her head fervently.  “No, I don’t.  I am very serious about sharing your studio and opening a gallery with you.” Again, she hesitated, taking a long sip of cappuccino to gather the strength to reveal the next morsel of unappealing information.  “But, to be honest, I don’t have much money to invest in an art gallery.  I’ve been living very modestly in New York, not making much money.  And, it kills me to admit this, but I’ve never sold a single one of my paintings.”

Lorenzo tilted his head to one side, overcome with empathy for
the striking young woman whose face burned like a lobster.  “I’ve seen your paintings, Coretta.  And I don’t just mean the ones you sent to me by email.  I remember the works you created in college.  You were the most talented artist at the university.”

“You really think so
?” She asked doubtfully.  Lorenzo had sounded so sincere, and she should believe him.  But it was just such a sharp 180 degree turn from the demeaning jokes Jonathan used to make about her art.

“Yes,
veramente
.  The point I’m trying to make is that I’m not looking for a heavy hitting investor.  I’m looking for a great artist.  And I’ve found one right here.” The sunny smile returned to his face, highlighting a deep pair of boyish dimples.

“So, you’re basically just looking for another artist to collaborate with?” Coretta said slowly, trying to understand his intentions.  “
Someone with paintings to complement your sculptures?”

“Exactly.  There is no shortage of art galleries in Milan, but most of them just sell paintings.  Or they just sell sculptures.  Joining the two media together would be the perfect blend.”

“Wow.  It sounds like you have it all figured out.  But why haven’t you found a local artist here in Milan?”

“Because most artists today don’t create beautiful work anymore.  They create sym
bolic pieces that are brilliant but not pleasing to the eye,” Lorenzo said thoughtfully, stirring his remaining cappuccino with a sugar spoon and licking the edge.

Making a concerted effort not to stare at his enticing mouth, Coretta recalled the macabre painting by Toy in Stella Bishop’s
musty gallery.  It was validating to know that someone else in the world shared her classic perspective on art.  She peered at him quizzically, wondering if his traditional views on art mirrored those of his personal life.  He didn’t wear a wedding band, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married.  After all, he had been eyeing her appreciatively all morning, but he hadn’t flirted or asked her anything about her personal life. 
Yes, he must be married
, she decided.

He stared back at her as he drank the last drop of cappuccino. 
“Let’s finish up this breakfast and head over to my studio so I can show you where I do all my work,” Lorenzo said brightly, grabbing for the keys to his Vespa.

*****

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a large building on the outskirts of Milan.  “It’s a converted farmhouse,” Lorenzo explained, perceiving Coretta’s look of surprise at the rustic structure of the building.

“I can see that.  It looks like a barn.”

“It does look like a barn, but no farm animals here, I promise!” Lorenzo said laughingly, leading the way to the entrance.  Unlocking the door, he swept his arms in a proud gesture, inviting her into his space.  “Please go ahead.”

She walked in front of him, her eyes widening at the scene before her.  The studio was incredibly cluttered with
misshapen clay, stencils, and paper towels everywhere.  In the corner of the studio sat a large kiln and potter’s wheel.  It was inconceivable that this man actually wanted to share this space with another artist who worked on large canvases.  There was barely enough room to move, let alone fit a painter’s supply of easels, colors, and brushes.

“I know it’s a little crowded, but don’t worry.  This is just my space.  Your studio would be in the annex overlooking the
woods,” Lorenzo assured as Coretta’s eyes widened like a deer’s.

Her
studio?  Without the promise of rent or a down payment?  What was the catch?  Suddenly, she felt very apprehensive and eager to know the financial particulars of the deal.

“Lorenzo, this is quite an impressive space.  And I can hardly believe that I would be painting in a separate studio.  How exactly would all of this work, um, financially?” She asked nervously, not comfortable with the topic of money.

“I already own this studio, and I have the money to buy a gallery as well.  I would just like to share profits for your paintings at a split rate of 50-50.  Right down the middle.  That’s fair, yes?”

“Yes!  It certainly is!  But you must think I’m going to be selling an awful lot of paintings to make it worth your while!” She exclaimed, astonished by how highly he thought of her work.

“I have been sculpting in Milan since I got my bachelor’s degree.  And I’ve built a good amount of success from it.  But I truly believe your success is going to eclipse mine, Coretta.  You don’t realize how talented you are.  I’ve been looking for a painter for the past year.  You have no idea how many potential partners I’ve turned away.”

“And you want to pick me just based on a few pictures I sent you through email?” She asked incredulously.

“Not just that.  I told you what I thought of your work in college.” He crossed the room in broad strides, coming to stand next to her where she delicately leaned on the potter’s wheel.  “But I never got to say what I thought of
you
.” He finished on a husky intonation, staring down at her through hypnotizing emerald eyes framed by luxurious black lashes.

Her lips trembled lightly as his eyes devoured that vulnerable, sensitized area of her face.  Coretta readily matched the intensity of his gaze, unable to contemplate at the moment whether there really was another woman in his life.  In the midst of the chemistry that was sizzling between them in his sculpture studio, all thoughts seemed
trifling.

Tenderly, he caressed her soft cheek, his strong fingers mere inches from her instinctively parted lips.  She tilted her head backwards, eager to receive the kiss that he seemed destined to bestow upon her.  The velvet black lashes
hooded his eyes as he slowly bent his head, holding her face between his hands as he touched his lips to hers.  The touch was experimental, searching, unsure.  But as she twined her arms around his neck and urged him closer, the kiss naturally deepened
and blossomed into a red passion beyond either of their control.  His lips tasted of cappuccino and sweet bread while the scent of his skin was rich and fresh.  Quickly intoxicated, Coretta leaned more heavily on the potter’s wheel, not noticing when wet clay spread across her back.

Chapter Four

Lorenzo plundered her mouth fiercely while ever so tenderly clasping her face between his hands.  Instinctively, she murmured as she became more carried away in the
brewing storm.  He held her tighter for an instant before releasing her, apparently mistaking her moan of pleasure for one of protest.

Startled, Coretta stood up straight and looked into Lorenzo’s glazed eyes.  He clearly had not wanted to stop kissing her and looked ready to resume the scrumptious embrace at any second.  Instead, he took several steps backwards, hanging his head for a few moments as though in shame.

Coretta was the first to speak.  “Why did you stop?” The question escaped her unwillingly as she already knew the answer to that question: he stopped because he felt guilty about kissing her when he already had someone.

“I shouldn’t have done that.  I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head
and confirming her fears.

“No, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have kissed you back.  I’ve never kissed another woman’s husband before.”

“What? Husband?” He grunted in confusion.

“Oh, you’re not married?  Well, someone else’s boyfriend then,” she corrected, thinking how cruel it was that this man always had someone in his life when she was available.  At 22, in her carefree pre-Jonathan days
…and now at 32 in the wake of her glorious post-Jonathan days when she desired so much to start anew.

“I don’t have a girlfriend or a wife,” Lorenzo said, frowning.

“You don’t?  Then why do you feel guilty about kissing me?” She asked in genuine bewilderment.  He had spoken the words she longed to hear, causing her heart to launch into a concerto of uneven beats.  She gazed at him hopefully before puckering her lips sadly as his tight expression reflected a closed heart.