CHAPTER EIGHT
“YEARS ago I saw the design for a sports car in my dreams. Amalfi has never made a sports car. Except for my wives, Donata and Maria, no one else knew about it. Once it was perfected, I shared it with the engineers and a prototype was made.”
His father’s eyes found Lucca’s. “I’ve called it the Amalfi MB-Viper after the fighter jet Lucca has been flying in combat. I want my decorated son to know how deeply proud I am of him for serving his country so well and nobly. It is a great honor to be your father, Lucca. If your mother could be here tonight …”
The room broke into clapping. Everyone stood up and cheered. It went on and on. Lucca sat there in disbelief, absolutely stunned by his father’s tribute.
“Grazie, Papa. I’m overwhelmed,” he said in a husky voice.
“Welcome home, figlio mio.”
Lucca stood up and approached him. Deep inside of him he felt gratitude that he could walk up to him on both legs. After kissing his father on both cheeks, he put his arm around his shoulders and faced the audience. “Every son should have a father like Guilio Cavezzali.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone shouted.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mama can see what you’ve achieved, Papa, but she couldn’t be more proud of you than this son. I’m thankful you’re my father, and I’m thrilled to be home with you and Maria.” He gave his father’s shoulders a squeeze before going back to his seat.
After a few minutes of thunderous clapping, the din finally subsided and people sat down. Guilio had to clear his throat several times.
“Tonight you’re going to see the Viper’s unveiling through a slide show. These photographs will go into calendars you will receive in August when the cars go out on the market. Every client who buys one will be given a calendar. Believe me, the calendar will do the word-of-mouth advertising for you.
“The launch will take place in Milan with total media coverage. Those of you dealers here tonight are getting a sneak preview. I’ll send posters back with you. They’re made up from the cover of the calendar. Basilio? If you will turn off the lights and start the show please.”
Lucca had to blink back the moisture glazing his eyes several times while he tried to focus on the theater-sized screen. Suddenly there was a larger-than-life photograph in living color of a fabulous, gleaming white sports car convertible parked in front of an actual fighter jet. The lines were fantastic. His father had created a true masterpiece.
But dominating everything for Lucca was the jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman draped across the pearly-looking upholster
y, twisting her delectable body just enough as if waiting for the pilot to come and join her.
Annabelle!
The blood pounded in his ears.
He could tell the picture had been taken at twilight at the air base outside Rome. His thoughts flew back to that first night in the hallway of the farmhouse when he’d vetted her rather cruelly and she’d said she’d just come from there.
Her skin gave off that magical glow. She was wearing a deep purple cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a diamond necklace around her throat. A matching diamond bracelet was wrapped around her wrist. Her semicurly hair gleamed a silvery-gold over one shoulder. Her eyes shone pure violet.
She was so bewitching, he was dumbstruck. So was everyone else. A hush had fallen over the room. At first there was total quiet. After a moment he heard cries of “bravo” followed by heavy clapping and more cheers. Everyone got to their feet in tribute. They went crazy, as much for Annabelle as for the car.
In his gut he knew a poster of this photograph would be sold by the hundreds of thousands throughout the world. His father had known what he was doing. It filled Lucca with a deep sense of pride at Guilio’s colossal achievement. The knowledge that he’d named the sports car to honor Lucca’s choice of career was so humbling, he couldn’t find the words.
Several of the dealers called out to Guilio in excitement. Soon the questions were flying at him. They wanted to know where he’d been hiding this breathtaking model. Who was she? Would she be visiting the different dealerships? Would she pose for pictures with them to put on their own websites?
The agreement was unanimous. Sales would skyrocket and they all wanted to meet the woman who’d made the launch of this magnificent car a transcendent moment. Guilio simply answered with a mysterious smile.
While Lucca was still trying to recover from the emotions bombarding him, another photo appeared on the screen. There she was, exactly like she’d been that first morning on the terrace, wearing that broad-rimmed hat and white eyelet sun top. The shot had been taken at Positano.
She sat in the black sports car with its black leather upholstery while she gauged the steepness of the terrain. Her appeal reached out to the audience like a living entity. A completely spontaneous, ear-splitting ovation broke from the crowd.
While Lucca was clapping with them, a third photo filled the screen. It showed her reaching for a cluster of grapes growing in a vineyard at the side of the road in Furore, Italy’s own version of the hanging gardens of Babylon.
She was more luscious than the purple fruit that matched her eyes. She wore a cream-colored outfit and leaned against a light jade version of the sports car. Lucca sensed every male in the room wanted to catch hold of her jade scarf and pull her out of the screen into his lap.
He studied the photograph, marveling at the amalgamation of his father’s creative engineering genius and nature’s flawless design of womanhood in all her springtime glory. Everyone sat there mesmerized. A man could be forgiven for buying the car in order to own the photograph that came with it. Lucca could guarantee the calendar would become a collector’s item.
As the next picture lit up the screen, all the oxygen seemed to be sucked out of his lungs. At the side of the gleaming yellow sports car, Annabelle held a basket of sunflowers picked from a whole field of them reflected behind her. They’d shot this in Sorrento. In the three-piece white suit with yellow trim, she looked good enough to eat.
It reminded him of the morning she’d picked the daisies pushing through the grillwork of the terrace. Like his mother, she responded to his world of growing things. He felt his whole body and soul respond to this woman who in a very short time had become a living part of him. The idea of not being able to wake up to her every morning for the rest of his life was unthinkable.