Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“She has killed him?”

“Only for the moment,” Daniele said, grinning. “She has brought him to orgasm, the point of the whole business.”

He released Emilie and she fell back on her haunches, her lips covered with a white liquid.

“What is that? What is wrong with her?” Giana cried.

Daniele was appalled at her ignorance. “It is his seme, Giana, his man’s seed. Usually,” he added, “it is what a man plants in a woman’s body, but of course, a woman’s mouth is also a delightful receptacle, as you see.”

“Please, Uncle Daniele, can we not leave now?” She turned away from the sight of Señor Alfredo running his hand contentedly over his now limp flesh. “Please, it is so horrible, so—”

“No. It is life. The act you just witnessed is one that your Randall will expect of you, unless of course you faint at the suggestion. Then you can be certain he will take himself to a skilled vixen like our Emilie.”

“No,” she gasped. “He would not. He is not like that disgusting fat old man.”

“Well, he is certainly not old or fat, but for the rest—” Daniele shrugged. “He is a man.”

Giana watched Señor Alfredo casually embrace Emilie, his fat arms squeezing her slender ribs. She was momentarily fascinated by the soft whiteness of Emilie’s body. Her breasts were full and rounded, just as were her hips, and her long hair trailed down her narrow back. Emilie embraced Señor Alfredo and kissed him full on his mouth, her hands still fondling that limp shaft of flesh at his groin. Giana turned vague, empty eyes to Daniele, then jerked up from her chair, her hands clamped over her mouth. She could not stop the racking sobs that broke from her throat.

Daniele did not touch her. He stood quietly beside her until she was silent. He handed her a glass of wine. “Drink this, Giana. Perhaps you have learned enough for your first evening.”

“How delightful to see you again, Giana. I had hoped you could come to dine last evening, but Daniele told Teodoro that you were otherwise occupied. Do let Bela take your shawl.” Angela Cavour fluttered about as she spoke, and then drew Giana’s arm through hers. She led her into a small solarium that gave onto a flower-filled balcony. “This is my favorite room,” Angela said, waving her hand before her. “The hills are so green and lush during the early summer. Do sit down and tell me what you have been doing. Enjoying all of our marvelous sights, no doubt.”

Giana could not help but laugh. There was an irony in the sound that made Angela regard her with widened, worried eyes. “My dear Giana, are you all right? It has been terribly warm of late. Have you been too much in the sun?”

Giana took hold of herself, and stared at Angela Cavour. Fragile, gentle Angela. Did her husband do unspeakable things to her? Surely not, it was impossible.

“Thank you for inviting me, Angela,” she said at last, bringing her voice to calm.

“It is my pleasure, Giana. I do not have many friends my age. I thought we could have lunch here on the balcony. Perhaps later, you would like to see my little Maria. Unfortunately, I do not think Teodoro will be able to join us. He is so busy of late, so very involved in his business. Ah, here is Bela with our lunch. I try to eat very lightly during the day,” Angela confided. “Teodoro does not like me to be at all heavy.”

Giana pictured Teodoro Cavour, a smiling young man, but one whose stomach stretched his trousers. “But Signore Cavour is heavy,” she said.

Angela shrugged and smiled slightly. “ Nonetheless, I wish to please him.”

“You are so small, Angela,” Giana blurted out, “so light.”

“Now I am, but when I was carrying my baby, I looked so grotesque, as if I were hauling about a mountain. Teodoro did not like it at all, and I could not blame him.” Angela flushed and quickly said, “Do forgive me, Giana, I should not speak so bluntly. You are so young and as yet unwed.”

“Not much younger than you, Angela.”

“I am turned nineteen just last month, Giana. But an old married lady now. Do tell me about England. How I long to visit your country.”

Giana tasted a bit of the mixed fruit salad before she replied. “It is much cooler than Italy. The closest thing we have to the Piazza San Pietro is Trafalgar Square, not nearly so impressive, I assure you. Euston Station is new, only ten years old, and imposing with its Doric colonnade. But surely, Angela, you can visit England, perhaps when the exhibition opens.”

“Oh, that is not possible,” Angela said slowly. “You are a most unusual young lady to be able to travel without a chaperon or your mother to such a faraway place.”

“My mother,” said Giana, “does not want me to be ignorant of things.”

“Perhaps Signora Van Cleve is right,” Angela said in her soft voice. “I have never traveled abroad. Teodoro is even worried that I will get lost when I leave the house. He wants always to be with me when I go out.”

“You are not stupid, Angela.”

Angela merely smiled and played about with the tiny fresh shrimp on her plate. “I think Luciana would much like to visit England. She has already confided in me that she wants to accompany Carlo on his next business trip. Whether he will allow her to, I don’t know.”

Giana chewed on a succulent slice of orange, suddenly angry. “Have her threaten her husband with a lover,” she said, “if he does not take her.”

“Giana, you mustn’t talk like that.” Then, to Giana’s surprise, she giggled. “She would, if she had the idea, I suppose. Luciana is most strong-willed, you know. Her daughters are all terrified of her.” She frowned and pushed her half-filled plate away. “No, it is impossible. If she were to do such a thing, Carlo could lock her away in a convent and take away her childr