I picked up a petal and smelled it. Roses were my favorite. “This is so sweet. Where do they lead?”
No response. Carson took off again. Looney bird. No. Lovesick looney bird. I quickened my pace as we followed the trail and made a left at the end. The sign on the door read Rooftop Access.
What does he have planned? Is he proposing? I kept my questions to myself.
The door opened, and we walked up a small set of stairs. There were more flowers and lighted luminaries along the path.
It w
as brilliantly beautiful.
The sweet smell of roses and begonias filled the air. Twinkle lights hung from the pergola as the last rays of the sun cast oranges, reds and purples across the encroaching night sky. It was as if the stars were falling from heaven. I never wanted to leave.
In the middle of a table sat a covered dish and a bottle of Cristal.
Up here was most breathtaking view of the Duomo. Before we left, I was going to come up here and draw.
“Are you proposing?” I had to ask. By all means, I was happy for him—just surprised if he said yes, considering no one had met her yet.
Carson turned white as a ghost, and I suppressed my laugh. I had my answer. “No. Fuck no. I mean, not now. It’s too soon. I just wanted to do something special for her.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Calm down. She’s going to love it. And if she doesn’t, then she must be crazy.” Carson still looked nervous. “Relax.”
“Look at this one last thing. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. I figured we’d have dinner over there and then maybe…”
The doors opened to what was probably some sort of entertaining room but had been turned into a bedroom. For the second time tonight I gasped loudly, getting what the maybe implied. “Carson… wow.”
I walked to the four-poster canopy bed in the middle of the room. Candles burned, giving it a faint aroma I wasn’t able to place, and added to the ambience with the flowers. The sheer drapes of the canopy were soft as silk as I ran my fingers over the fabric.
“This is truly amazing. If she doesn’t like it, tell me. I want to sleep up here. It’s like a fairytale.”
Finally, my best friend released some of the tension in his shoulders. “Good. You don’t think it’s presumptuous?”
I turned my hands up. “I mean, it says you plan on some festivities happening. But, I assume you guys have already… umm… had a few festivals.” Carson laughed, and I was glad to see him loosening up. Placing my hand on his arm, I advised, “I would have dinner first and see how it progresses. But if it progresses, yeah, this is perfect.”
“Good. I want her to have a perfect night. She’s had a rough few weeks.”
My heart melted.
A slight breeze blew from the windows up along the top of the wall.
“It is perfect.”
He checked the time. “Okay. Fifteen minutes.”
Giving him a kiss on the cheek, I wished him luck before I hurried back to my balcony. On the plane ride over, Carson had showed me a picture of Francesca. She was breathtaking. It was a candid shot of her, which showed off her simplistic beauty and chocolate-brown eyes so full of life. Her kind smile reached all the way to her eyes.
I felt like a stalker watching the entrance, but I couldn’t help it. A white car pulled up, and she got out. She laughed with the bellmen as she handed him her keys before disappearing into the building.
Francesca seemed kind and loving. I was beyond happy for Carson. He deserved to find love.
Not hearing from Carson all night probably meant the festivities had indeed occurred. That was about as in depth as I wanted to think about my friend. Any more than that became a no-go area for me. This evening we were eating at a restaurant on the Ponte Vecchio. There was a café there I loved. Dad and I had eaten there with Carson many times. Visiting would be bittersweet as I knew memories of Dad might become overwhelming, but I wanted to embrace those times and not shun them like I had.
Baby steps.
I checked the time. It was midmorning. Soon it would be time to head to the Uffizi around noon to see my father’s painting, La Primavera by Botticelli. The museum had been more than accommodating. The painting would be relocated to a private viewing area.
As the time moved closer, a lump formed in my throat. Anticipation filled me at the thought of seeing it for the first time since Dad’s death and knowing it was never coming home again. Dad knew I would never go against his wishes and remove the painting.
This would be tough. Taking a sip of my hot tea, I watched the birds fly around the Duomo, finding solace in the beauty. The caretaker of our villa here had reached out to me this morning after hearing I was in town. He wanted to know if I planned to come home. Home. The word had struck me hard in his message. It was too soon, the memories too raw. Maybe toward the end of summer I’d return and take that step.
If only I had one more trip here with Dad. If only a lot of things were different.
My phone chimed with a text from Carson.
Carson: Are you in your room? Can we swing by?
We? I set my tea down as I quickly typed out a reply. Maybe, I wasn’t going to have to wait until this evening to meet Francesca.
Me: We? Sure. I have to leave in about an hour to head to the Uffizi.
Carson: Francesca is with me. I’m glad you’re going. If you need me to come, I’ll be there.
Me: I know. But, I need to do this on my own.
Oh, la la. I was going to meet Francesca.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Geez, they must have been outside my door already. Quickly, I jogged from my balcony to the door. Carson beamed as Francesca stood beside him. There was a glow about her. Love. No doubt about it. Dad always said someone’s soul shined brighter when they found their true match. It was truly a magnificent thing.
I greeted her in Italian. “You must be Francesca. Wonderful to meet you.”
She stepped forward. “So nice to meet you, Willow. I’ve heard so much about you. Carson is truly blessed to have a friend like you. I’m sorry about your late husband.”
Pity clouded her eyes. I knew Carson hadn’t told her everything. It was my story to tell, and the fewer who knew the better at this point. “Thank you.” Gesturing to the room, I said, “Come in. Please.”
Carson put his hand on Francesca’s waist, and she responded by leaning into him slightly. I loved the involuntary reactions love brought out of a person. “Francesca has to get back to the vineyard, and I have a meeting across town. We can’t stay, but she wanted to meet you.”
“I’m glad you stopped by. I can’t wait for dinner tonight.”
Leaning in, we did the European two-cheek-kiss thing as we said good-bye. Francesca responded, “Neither can I.”
She gazed at Carson as they walked down the hall. She spoke English flawlessly. My friend’s life was about to change forever as he fully gave his heart to someone. I loved being able to be part of this. Bennett and Marie were going to be thrilled when Carson told them.
Ten minutes after they left, I grabbed my purse and slung it over my head so it draped across my chest. The anxiousness of going to the museum had returned tenfold. I needed some fresh air to soothe my nerves.
The sun greeted me as I left the hotel. Scooters zoomed by. The streets were alive with people. I loved feeling the cobblestones underneath my feet as I wandered the city in aimless circles. On a whim, I got some gelato, knowing it would help. Like Mom said, ice cream could solve any problem. I always ordered the stracciatella. It was similar to chocolate chip ice cream… but better.
From time to time, it felt like someone was watching me, but I never noticed anyone out of place. It was probably my imagination.
As I finished the last spoonful in my cup, I arrived at the Uffizi. I remembered the first time I came to this museum with Dad. He spent hours telling me about the amazing works by Anna Maria Luisa the Medici family had preserved and later donated for the world to enjoy.
At one time, the Uffizi had been a palace belonging to the Medici family. The first time I saw the Birth of Venus by Botticelli, I’d been mesmerized by the masterpiece. It nearly encompassed an entire wall. The colors. The attention to detail. The symbolism. All of it captured my heart, forever sealing my fate as an artist.
Dad had been beyond thrilled we were able to share that love. Mom had always said we spoke our own language.
I took a deep breath as my foot landed on the first concrete step. I st
ared at the building, knowing it was time to see the painting. The wind blew, and I felt a sense of peace. Dad. It was as if his presence wanted me to know everything was going to be okay.
My lips tightened as I regained control of my emotions. I wasn’t through the door yet, and I felt the tears building.
A middle-aged man, whom I recognized as the curator, met me in the lobby, and we conversed in Italian. “Signorina Russo, it’s so wonderful to have you here. We have everything set up. Do you need anything?”
“I’m good, Signor Penzo. Thank you for being so accommodating on such short notice. I wasn’t sure if I’d be ready to see the painting so soon after Dad’s death.”
He shook his head. “Your father was one of a kind. He loved this city. We are honored he chose to loan his artwork to the Uffizi indefinitely. It is truly a masterpiece meant for the world to see.” That was what Dad had said in his will. He wanted to the world to benefit from the beauty of the painting. I understood, but it was hard letting something so close to my heart remain halfway around the world. Signor Penzo gestured to the right. “This way, Signorina.”
The wood floors creaked beneath our feet as we left the main tourist area and headed to a secluded part of the gallery. As I passed the last entrance way, I looked to the left. Goosebumps covered my skin, and I paused.
“Signorina Russo, right this way. We have the Botticelli in a secluded area.” I gave him a slight nod and followed. We came to a door, and the man stopped. “You won’t be disturbed. Philipe will be standing at the door if you need anything. Take as long as you like.”
“Thank you.” I gave the man in the officer’s uniform a smile and received a nod in return.
Signor Penzo left, and I stared at the doorknob. This was it. I can do this. With a fortifying breath, I opened the door.
At the end of the room, the painting hung in all its magnificence with the correct amount of light shining on it to display it perfectly.