Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (53 page)

* * *
 

That night, cuddling up to each other in bed, they reminisce on their short
but turbulent time together.

    
"You know, Bianca, we should actually be grateful to Franco for
having brought us together. We might never have found each other
without him."

    
"I thought that we agreed to banish Franco from our bedroom," she
teases him. "Or do we make one final exception to this rule? But I agree
with you."

    
He touches the tip of her nose, smiling. "I love you," he murmurs.

    
"That’s what you promised to do forever, in case you’ve already
forgotten."

    
"I have not. Do you want me to prove it to you?"

    
"I know what that means, but loving me is more than just making
love."

    
"I actually had in mind to give you a full body massage, from the tip
of your nose down to your small toes, visiting the many delicious
treasures in-between."

    
She throws back the covers and cries: "Yes, I accept that kind of
proof."

   
"All right, turn over. I’ll do your back first."

* * *
 

To Bianca’s surprise, her father storms into the
pensione
Monday
morning while they’re sitting at breakfast. He does not greet them, but
launches immediately into a tirade shouting at her. She cannot help but
shrink into her chair.

    
"Is there no end to the humiliations you heap on me, you ungrateful
child? Do I have to hear on TV and read in the newspapers that my own
daughter got married without any of her family being present?"

    
"
Buon giorno
,
Signor
Pacelli," André cuts in. "With all due respect,
I told you the first time we met that Bianca and I were going to get
married. I even asked for your blessing. I do not make such announcements lightly."

    
For a moment, this takes the wind out of her father’s sails. Then his
tone turns into a hiss: "I will take care of you once I have taught my
daughter some manners, you insolent fellow."

    
"Insults won’t cut with me,
signore
, and your daughter has perfect
manners. She is now my wife and I don’t take it kindly if anybody shouts
at her, even if it is her father. So, please,
Signor
Pacelli, take a short walk
into Piazza de’Fiori, and when you have calmed down, we may be able
to talk in a constructive manner and hopefully resolve our differences. It
seems to me that you are currently not in an emotional state that allows
clear and logical reasoning."

    
Her father’s mouth opens wide. He gasps as if somebody has poured
a bucket of cold water over him. Nobody has ever dared talking to him
like this.

    
"Thank you, André," she murmurs.

    
Her father closes his mouth and turns his face to her. But he is still
speechless. Then suddenly, he slumps down on the nearest chair and
covers the face with his hands. She is deeply shocked when she sees his
shoulders shake convulsively.

    
André whispers: "Go to him."

    
She kneels next to her father and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Papà,
let’s make peace, please." Tears shoot into her eyes. "I still love you.
Please."

    
He slowly removes his hands, his eyes searching hers, and then draws
her close in a desperate embrace, his shoulders still shaking a few times.
Finally, he let’s go and murmurs: "Please, Bianca, forgive me. I love you
also. I feared I had lost you."

    
She responds with a half sob half chuckle and wipes her tears. "I also
feared I had lost you." She pulls him up and says: "Come, papà, join us.
Have a coffee."

    
André quickly pulls another chair to their table. Carlo, who during this
whole interchange remained standing in the door now comes over and
asks: "An espresso, or a latte,
Signor
Pacelli? What do you prefer?"

    
Her father looks up to Carlo, not yet fully recovered, nods and then
says: "An espresso."

    
"
Subito
,
signore
."

    
Nobody speaks. Her father’s eyes are still on her. She offers him a
timid smile. She has never seen this proud man in such a state of utter
discomposure, looking beaten and uncertain. Carlo brings the espresso.

    
"Here, papà," she says, sliding the cup closer to him.

    
He takes a sip, his eyes never wavering from her. "Will you forgive
me, Bianca," he begs again.

    
"Yes, papà, I do, I have. I’m so glad you came. Will you now also
make peace with André?"

    
He turns his face to him. It takes a moment before he speaks. "
Signor
Villier, I misjudged you. I was led to believe that you were the vilain.
Please, accept my apologies."

    
André offers his hand, saying: "Gladly, it has never been my intention
to alienate Bianca from her family. That is not a good foundation for a
marriage. But please, call me André and may I call you by your first
name?"

    
"Yes, please. I’m Giorgio."

    
They shake hands. Another awkward silence follows. Bianca suddenly
doesn’t know what to say anymore. A scene that started so ugly André’s
calm but firm reasoning resolved into a measure of harmony. Finally, she
chuckles, saying: "We are a funny lot. We suddenly have nothing to say
to each other anymore."

    
"Yes, my love, you are right," replies André, "but peace and harmony
require few words. It’s fighting that brings forth a gush of words we often
regret afterward."

    
Her father chuckles, embarrassed. "Well spoken. But now, André and
Bianca, it is my dearest wish that we celebrate your wedding with a
proper church ceremony, and then I also need to talk to André about your
dowry."

    
She cast a quick glance at André. The smile has vanished from his
face and she knows why. It is the word dowry. But before she can
intervene, he responds: "Giorgio, I married your daughter for what she
is, not for the money she may ultimately inherit. I already once decline
your offer of money, so please don’t offer me more. We are currently and
for the foreseeable future well off financially, and until Bianca finishes
her university degree we will not set up a permanent home. When we do
later on, we will be pleased to accept some gifts of nice things for our
apartment." He turns to her. "Or do you feel differently about this,
Bianca. We’ve never spoken about it. Naturally, if your father wishes to
give you money for you to manage, that is between him and you."

    
"No, André, I fully agree with you. So please, papà, no more talk of
money."

    
"You are two strange people. Everybody likes to get money. But we
can talk about this some other time."

    
"Giorgio, when I was in jail, a teenage boy who was arrested selling
drugs also said everybody likes money, and I told him that the only
money that smells sweet is the money you earn honestly with your own
hands or your own brain."

    
She burst out laughing. It feels like a release of tension. "Yes, I
remember. It was in your write-up of your first 48 hours … wasn’t it?"
As she speaks, she becomes aware that mention of his time in jail could
embarrass her father, and she stops herself short.

    
"Yes, I also told him that the money he gets selling drugs smells and
tastes acrid, but he didn’t believe me."

    
"But what about a proper church wedding?" her father interjects,
exasperated.

    
She looks at André. She knows that he is not religious. In fact, she
knows that he does not believe in God or his existence. So she is all the
more surprised when he nods.

    
"Yes, papà, that would be nice, but not one of mamma’s big parties
with hundreds of people, most of whom I don’t know or don’t really care
for."

    
"How about if Bianca and I find a small church or chapel somewhere
in the countryside around Rome," André interjects, "one that only seats
two or three dozen, and then after the ceremony we all share a nice meal
with a good drop of wine in a country taverna, maybe even do some
dancing. In fact, I know of this chapel near Tivoli that would just be
right, and there is even a restaurant nearby. I’m sure that my favorite
caterer,
Signor
Crivelli, will be happy to prepare a festive meal for us."

    
"Yes, I would like that," she exclaims. "Will you show it to me
tomorrow?" He nods. "And we only have our immediate family there and
a few old friends —"

    
"As well as one or two new ones, like Ernesto."

    
"Yes, definitely Ernesto." She sees her father’s consternation. Nothing
is going his way, it seems.

    
"But people will then think that we don’t approve of your marriage
and that this is the reason for such a modest celebration," her father
interjects.

    
"André, do we really care that much what other people think and
gossip about?"

    
"Hardly. Sooner or later another scandal will occupy their mouths."

    
"Oh, André, you have a way of putting things," she laughs, while her
father frowns.

    
"Your mother won’t like that," he tries once more.

    
"She’ll just have to get used to the fact that she cannot rule my life any
longer."

THE END

Other novels by Gian Bordin:

    
Historical fiction:

       
A Summer of Love

       
The Twins

       
A Threesome

       
Anna, the Reluctant Courtesan

       
Chiara’s Revenge

    
Thrillers:

       
Ultimate Dare

       
Frame-up

    
Science fiction:

       
Yuen-mong’s Revenge

       
Yuen-mong’s Challenge