Bella Natale Page 2

  Ashley’s forward progress stuttered to a stall. A flutter of longing, an instant sense of artist-to-artist kinship, came to life. "You attained your masters from SACI? What an incredible experience that must have been. What’s your degree in?"

  "Studio art." Katrina rested her hand on the knob of a closed office door and nudged it gently open. "Here we are."

  Though kind and professional, there remained something vaguely aloof and intimidating about the woman. "Luc, Ashley Coratini is here to see you."

  "Ashley, welcome." Luca sat behind a glass-topped desk; his smile dawned warm as he took to his feet. "Thank you Katrina."

  A pregnant pause followed the dismissal. Before Ashley could wonder too much about it, Katrina smiled and nodded, leaving a subtle air of tension in her wake. The woman’s thin heels tapped against high-glossed wood floor as she walked away. A slim skirt fell just above the knee, topped by a crisp white shirt. Definitely intimidating, Ashley thought as she slid her fingers over the crepe fabric of her black slacks. She had chosen a hip-length blouse of royal blue lace because the ensemble had struck her as chic and artsy—until she met Katrina.

  Doubts and static faded once Luca took hold of her hand and kissed both of her cheeks in a light, European-style greeting that left the rest of Ashley’s world hazy around the edges. A delicious sensation, all in all, but she tempered that reaction with a businesslike attitude. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” He didn’t return promptly to his desk but instead gestured to a nearby chair. “Feel free to set aside your folio. I'd like to get you acquainted with the gallery first if that’s all right."

  "Absolutely. I'd like that very much."

  Actually, Ashley couldn’t wait to explore. Thanks to the Google machine, she had learned a few things about L’arte Della Vita and its owner. After just ten years in existence, in a very tight and competitive art market, Luca and his wife Madelyn had created a fast-growing gallery with an upscale clientele and strong reputation as a venue that catered to fresh artists who were local to Florence and its many art institutes.

  “I understand from my web search that you and your wife are the ones who established the gallery.” Ashley wandered slowly, entranced by strong brass sculptures, ethereal water colors, provocative and breathtaking sketches. “What a wonderful legacy you’re creating, to fill the world with beauty, and art.”

  “Well said. Spoken like an artist who truly understands the overall mission. Actually, that was Madelyn’s driving philosophy from the day we opened.”

  Was? Ashley turned to him in silent question…and surprise.

  “She passed away three years ago, very unexpectedly, but she was the visionary behind what you see. I’ve always been the talent scout while she was the key-holder of the gallery and the business side of things.”

  He was a widower. That stole her words for the moment. Luca struck her as being maybe in his mid-thirties, perhaps even a bit older judging by his outlook and polish, but he certainly didn’t look it. He was tall and lean, strong shouldered; his features were unlined, but now she noticed his thick brunette hair featured a smattering of silver.

  Luca gestured to their left. “Here’s the offshoot of the main gallery. I use these two compartmentalized spaces to spotlight the work of students. In the main area I host exhibitions for new and promising artists and acquisitions.”

  He moved away from the topic of his late wife and Ashley refused to press into uncomfortable territory. She studied him as he led the way, admiring his black silk suit, the flair of a ruby red tie, his smooth carriage.

  She forced herself to proper focus. “I have to ask. How did you come up with the name The Art of Life? I think it’s a wonderful choice.”

  “Thank you. Madelyn came up with it, and I agreed straight away. It’s fitting. Perfect, really. Art gives and reflects life—which, I know, sounds about as cliché and lofty as any art patron can be, right?”

  Ashley laughed, allowing herself to relax, and step into this delicious, often-dreamed of world of creation. Soft recessed lighting accentuated dreamy watercolors, stark modernistic canvases; colonnade-style pedestals featured brass renderings of abstracts, of people, and there was a breathtaking version of the Duomo that was so strongly crafted, so evocative, Ashley nearly reached out a hand to gloss fingertips along its ridges…

  “I lose myself every time I stroll through this place. The talent thrills and captures me every time.”

  “I suppose I’m pretty transparent.”

  His smile ended at the crinkled corners of his eyes; appreciation lit his demeanor. “Yes, but I consider that an admirable trait. Let’s take a look at your portfolio. I’m eager to see what else you’ve done.”

  Luca led them on a return to his office, but didn’t reclaim his seat. Rather, he stopped short and turned her way. “Rather than conducting a stilted business meeting, why don’t we take a walk? There’s a café nearby that serves wonderful cappuccino, and I want to review your work, and show you a rooftop view of Florence that I think you’ll love.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  ~*~

  Ashley stood behind Luca in a line that formed near the baked goods display case of the Cuppa Cappa Coffee shop. He ordered a pair of their signature Cappuccinos while she watched a skilled barista spray a layer of frothy white cream atop their beverages then sculpt thin, delicate streams of chocolate into the perfect shape of Florence’s time-honored and iconic emblem: the fiordaliso.

  They claimed a table to the rear of the café and Ashley settled, unwinding a pink wool scarf from around her neck. She took a careful but delighted sip of her beverage. “Thank you for the coffee. It’s almost too pretty to drink.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I meant to say, earlier, that I’m impressed by your command of the English language.”

  “I’m afraid that’s purely mercenary on my part. Some of the most prominent and passionate art collectors are from New York. I’ve also learned French and a bit of Chinese, but Chinese is a challenge.”

  “I took a year of Italian before coming here for a study abroad session almost two years ago, at the end of college. I’m afraid I know just enough of the language to be dangerous.”

  “Languages, like art, have always interested me for some reason. Language is creative—and I’ve always been drawn to anything creative.” He pushed back his chair slightly and nodded toward her folio. “Speaking of which, would you mind if I take a look?”

  “Not at all.” Oh, sure, she sounded confident, but on the inside, she quaked in the throes of uncertainty. Ashley handed him the satchel. “I hope you won’t be disappointed. I get the feeling you hold my work in high regard.”

  He took custody and opened the cover. At once, she could tell he lost himself. He turned the pages slowly, and an expressive grin lit his features. “You have good instincts. I think your work is remarkable.”

  He peeled back layer upon layer of her portfolio. He studied—really studied—each image in a manner that left her senses to sparkle and dance. She waited in silence until he looked up at last and refocused.

  “What’s your dream as an artist, Ashley? If you had carte blanche, what would you hope to achieve?”

  The questions caught her off guard, leaving her no choice but to respond on instinct and from her heart. “I suppose—like any artist, really—I want to reach people. I want touch hearts, and engage.”

  She shrugged shyly and noticed he returned to taking in her work—absorbing it all over again.

  “I think the highest honor an artist can achieve is for their work to find a place in people’s memories,” she said, “in their homes and their minds. I’ve always believed art speaks to people, and that belief moves me forward.”

  He looked up once more and regarded her with that same degree of gentle, thorough scrutiny that left her both warmed and energized. He didn’t speak, perhaps deliberately, so she continued—deciding to trust him with the ultimate v
ision she had for her time in Italy.

  “I come from a family of loving but concerned doubters. They’ve always worried about me pursuing a life in art. Most likely, I’ll return to the states and a job teaching. I actually have an offer from the Sandringham school district in New Jersey to begin teaching at the high school next fall. In the meantime, my goal for this trip, for this time in Italy, is to be free. To create charcoal sketches that I’ll self-publish into a display book and offer for sale on-line and at whatever brick-and-mortar stores might be willing to give me a chance.”

  Luca frowned. “No internal support, eh?”

  Ashley shrugged. “I’ve always been told a life spent sketching will amount to nothing more than frustration and a monumental struggle. My family and friends, they mean well; I know art is a difficult profession, but when it’s your calling, you need to follow, and at least try, right?”

  “Without question.” He closed the folio then returned it carefully to Ashley’s possession. “What I’ve seen here would translate beautifully into the type of book you’re imagining. Toward that end, I have an idea—some advice that might help.”

  “Which is?”

  “Allow yourself to reveal the city of Florence from a unique point of view, in ways people don’t generally have the opportunity to see. Your straight-on sketches of the city landmarks are beautiful, and you capture the beauty of the piazzas and the city with great power, but my favorite, by far, is the sketch you did from your perch on the bridge yesterday. You looked away from the Ponte Vecchio. You treated the bridge as an aspect of the drawing, but not the focal point. We catch a glimpse of the right edge of the bridge and the buildings that form its farthest arc, but beyond that you create a vision of Florence that’s both beautiful and unexpected. Going slightly off the beaten path could become your calling card—that rare angle that wins you notice both as an artist and within the pages of the type of book you describe.”

  “How would I go about doing that?” She leaned forward, eager to discover where this conversation might lead.

  “By simply being open to fresh perspectives. Are you finished?” He gestured toward her coffee mug, which she had emptied with pleasure.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s head to the Hotel Balcony.”

  In a tease, she arched her brow in mock affront at the idea of going to a hotel with a veritable unknown man.

  Luca caught on swiftly and offered a solid laugh in return. “There’s nothing unsavory about my request, I promise. There’s a view from the rooftop that will illustrate precisely what I mean. There’s also a restaurant next door that serves a fantastic salmon carpaccio if you might enjoy dinner afterwards.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Butterflies flew free, brushing her senses, heightening a sense of promise and joy. Artistic expression, Florence and a knowledgeable, respectful patron—what other dreams could possibly come true?

  3

  Luca initiated a stroll along the narrow, cobbled length of the Via dei Banchi. A pair of hotels, some restaurants, boutiques and apartments dotted the street. At the glassed entry of the Hotel Balcony, he pulled open the door for Ashley and allowed her to precede him.

  Luca greeted the concierge with a nod and a wave. “George, how are you? We’re going to pay a visit to the rooftop, is that OK?”

  “Certamente, goditi la vista!”

  Ashley accompanied Luca up a set of wide, marble stairs. A fleur de lis was sculpted within the metal lines of the hand rail. When he watched her trail her fingertips against its outline, a crazy, surprising dance crossed through his chest.

  She leaned a bit closer, murmuring, “I know la vista means ‘the view,’ but what does goditi mean?”

  “Enjoy. He hopes we enjoy the view.” Luca cast a smile, enjoying the wide-eyed way she soaked up the world and drank it in. “I think we’ll fulfill that wish. This spot is a gem.”

  On the third floor, a long hallway led past numbered rooms, ending with French-style doors which Luca opened on her behalf. “Look to your right.”

  Ashley’s delighted gasp affirmed his decision to bring her here. Crowning the line of ancient buildings and the cobbled streets below was the magnificent Duomo. The greenery of the hotel rooftop had been decorated with tiny, multi-colored lights and glass and metal café tables still stood in place, despite the cold season.

  “We’re not far from the Piazza del Duomo, obviously,” Luca explained, “but standing here, with the church cupola framed by residential buildings, by greenery and this slightly higher elevation is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “I want my sketch book so badly right now.”

  He laughed. “I’ll tell George to give you access. Come at early morning, or at this point in the day. The play of light and colors is incredible. Notice the way the setting sun hits the tiles and shimmers? If you’re ever tempted to add strokes of color to your sketches, I believe the end result would be tremendous. If you can stand the temperatures, in about fifteen minutes we’ll hear the bells chime the hour.”

  “Luca, you couldn’t drag me away.” With her gaze fixed on the view, Ashley walked to the far corner of the balcony, leaned against the railing.

  He joined her, envisioning the landscape through her eyes—through the perceptions of a vibrant young creator rather than the eyes of a widowed, emotionally drained man nearly fifteen years her senior. Soon enough, negativity evaporated and only the present remained, captivating him. Vespa’s skimmed by. People moved past, chatting or laughing. The aroma of simmering meats, seasonings and spices came to life as nearby restaurants prepared for the mealtime to come.

  Luca could tell Ashley savored it all. An enticing wave swept through him and took him under before he could guard himself or prepare for the onslaught. A more potent rush of attraction he hadn’t felt since his days with Madelyn…and on that realization, he froze for a moment, allowing that truth to sink in.

  For the first time in three years, he was pulled toward the idea of romance and a relationship.

  “You’re staring. Am I gawking too much?” Ashley’s shyness returned, adding to her allure.

  Luca cursed himself for being so blatant. “No, not at all. I’m the one who’s guilty of gawking. I’m enjoying your reaction. It seems you see this spot the same way I do.”

  She tilted her head and thick waves of brown hair slipped across her shoulder. “This is breathtaking.”

  “This is what you need to capture.” He resumed himself as a gallery owner, as an art critic and patron, but standing behind her, breathing the scent of rose perfume that drifted to him on a rippling breeze, the proposition was difficult. “I know you’ll bring it to life.”

  She looked over her shoulder, eyes sparkling. “You have inordinate faith in my abilities, sir.”

  He dove into a sparkling gaze of chocolate brown and laughed deep while he toyed with the fringed ends of her scarf, straightening them to perfect alignment. “Actually, I know whereof I speak. If you have some time over the next few days, there’s another place I’d like to show you called Piazzale Michelangelo.”

  She clutched his forearm. “I’ve been there. Luca, it’s stunning! I’d love to see it with you!”

  “We’d need to time the visit carefully because I want you to be standing there at just before noon.”

  “Noon? Why?”

  “Because that’s when church bells throughout the entire city sound the hour. The experience is incomparable.”

  “Well, I’m free whenever you are…” The sentence dangled; her lips quirked in open tease.

  Luca accepted her challenge by arching a brow. “I’ll set it up,” he murmured. “It’s something you definitely have to do.” The cashmere of her scarf slipped through his fingertips—enticing, satiny yet strong. “Are you hungry? Shall we go to dinner?”

  “I’d love to.”

  ~*~

  At Ristorante Alla Griglia, Luca kicked off their meal by ordering a serving of fresh-from-the-oven bruschetta topped b
y tomato and basil as an appetizer. He continued their conversation about the genesis of his gallery and love of art.

  “I’m able to find talent. I appreciate it, and I can bring it to public view. However, can I create it? Like you? No. I don’t possess that gift.”

  The baked bread and veggies crunched as she chewed and then melted into buttery, earthy spice against her tongue. Lurking beneath Luca’s statement Ashley sensed futility and disappointment. “I hope you don’t doubt that your gift is equally important. Art is a hand-in-hand process, mutual survival between creator and supporter.”

  “Thank you; and I know you’re right.” He met her steady regard with a smile. “Still, discovery isn’t nearly as fulfilling as creating something lasting, and beautiful, from nothing more than the seeds God delivers.” Luca leaned forward, intent and purposeful. “The other day, I watched you for quite a while before I introduced myself. You were engrossed. Carried away. Everything you saw…not just through your eyes, but through your heart…came alive in your sketch. I admire that ability.”

  “And I appreciate the encouragement, but admiration doesn’t pay college loans, or rent, or grocery bills. Admiration won’t win over the doubters in my life. That’s my frustration.” With each declaration, her enthusiasm dimmed.

  He regarded her in stillness for a moment. “Contend with that kind of negativity as you must, but Ashley, don’t ever let it have the last say. OK?”

  She absorbed the import of that message then nodded and smiled, grateful he not only understood her quandary, but grasped the fact that he possessed a channel through which art could not just be made, but be sustained, and therefore continue to exist.

  Meanwhile, Luca looked into her eyes. “Would you like to know what I first noticed about you?” Enticing heat formed a lacey undercurrent to his question.

  “Sure…” A tingle stretched outward from her chest, landing at the tips of her trembling fingers, fingers he tucked neat and firm into his hold.