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The next morning, Lana was at her desk early. She’d worked on her novel for so long, but now that she was finished, she was filled with both excitement and dread. The cursor blinked at the end of the last sentence, just where she’d finished it the day before. It was strange, having this work of hers at last complete. It had occupied so much of her time and attention ... and now that it was done, her emotions seemed everywhere at once. For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
On one hand, completing the book was an accomplishment in itself. No matter what anyone thought of it, she’d done it. And she was proud of herself for that, exceptionally proud.
On one hand, she could take the quiet route, she thought. She could, if she wanted, simply put the manuscript away forever, knowing that she had completed this one shining, heroic thing.
And yet, that wasn’t what she wanted, she thought. No ... not at all. She wanted people to read her work. People around the world. People across the world ... even there in Capri. But in truth, if even just a handful of people took one meaningful thing from the book, just one small insight, one beautiful feeling, it would be enough for her. She would be satisfied.
Most creative work was like that, she thought. It was supposed to be shown, exhibited, enjoyed. Suddenly, she thought of Ricardo Marino, his big round voice, his kind eyes. He, too, wanted his cars to be seen, enjoyed, loved. She thought of him fondly, working away for years at his passion. He’d knocked down obstacle after obstacle to realize his dream and show it to the world. Of course, he could have remained the mad inventor, filling his garage with designs and beautiful machines that were for his eyes only. But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t the point at all. The point was to show your passion to the world, to have others experience even just some of the same fever, the same thrill ...
Lana took a deep breath and ran her hands back through her hair. To get a book published, you first needed an agent, she knew. They were the ones who worked with the publishers, represented your work, and helped you get the best deal possible. Many of the large publishers wouldn’t even consider an unagented author. But the trouble was this: hooking an agent was almost as difficult as hooking a publisher. Literally thousands of people submitted their manuscripts to agents every day. Only a rare, rare few were ever offered representation.
Of course, if you had publishing industry connections, or the right creative writing degree from the right university, it was far easier to find an agent. Someone would know someone who’d know someone who might take a look, a real look, at your work. But Lana had no connections in publishing. And none in academia, either. All she had was her book. That and the story of why she had wanted, needed to write it.
Would it be enough? She took a deep breath, drawing her shoulders back. Well, it would have to be.
With that, she started writing the covering letter for her agent submissions. She needed to introduce herself and her book. Make them both sound tantalizing ...
Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. Not wanting to break the spell, she rose from her desk and walked over to open it. Her mind was filled with the images and words of the other world, her own world. It took her a moment to fully register the two people who stood on the threshold.
On the right was Signora Emilia, the BnB’s eldery owner. Beside her stood Giuseppe. In his arms was a massive bouquet of beautiful, exotic flowers. Many of the flowers, she’d never seen before. She wondered if they grew on the island. The scent was heady, sweet, alluring. She stood in the doorway, her eyes wide.
“Signorina!” exclaimed Giuseppe, snapping her out of it. “Buon giorno! Good morning!”
“Uh, Giuseppe? Good morning. What are you doing here ...?”
He grinned. “It seems we keep running into each other,” he said, with a grin. “But Capri is a small island. So maybe, it is not so strange.” He gave a small, ironic bow.
“I, uh ... what is all this?” she asked.
“I bring you a small gift from Signore Alex,” he said. “Beautiful flowers, no?”
“They’re ... exquisite.”
Lana looked around. Her heart was fluttering. The flowers were truly beautiful. Their aroma filled her senses.
“Please,” he said, holding them out towards her with a smile.
Lana turned and looked back into the room behind her. Her mind was tumbling, whirling. “I ... I don’t have a vase,” she stammered.
“Ah!” said Giuseppe. “Yes, this is a problem.” He turned to Signorina Emilia and asked her something in Italian, explaining, pointing to the flowers.
As he spoke, she nodded, smiled, nodded again. “Si.” She gave Lana a warm smile and turned back downstairs. Then she remembered something. She returned, nipped the bouquet out of Giuseppe’s hands and took that downstairs with her as well.
Giuseppe grinned. “In the meantime, I am glad to see that the signorina is well?”
“Yes. I am,” she said. “Thank you. I hear you were the one who helped Alex find me?”
Giuseppe chuckled. “Ah, Signorina. You know how it is. Standing outside the restaurant, I see all kinds of things, hear all kinds of things, meet all kinds of people. Sometimes, I share a little, just a little, of what I know.” He gave another small, ironic bow.
“It was good to see Alex,” she said. “So ... thank you.”
Giuseppe smiled and nodded, a wise glow coming to his eyes. “There is no need for thanks,” he said, kindly. “For me, it is beautiful to see a happy story unfolding between two people. And to play just a small, small part. One day, when you start a family together, you will think back to Giuseppe.”
Lana laughed and yet she felt a glow come into her heart. So Giuseppe thought hers and Alex’s was a happy tale? She thought they were headed for marriage? She marveled at the way the Italians thought of life, love, romance. For them, it was all a dance. Give and take. Approach and retreat. Light and shade. All culminating in family, togetherness, bliss.
“You have a family, Giuseppe?” Lana asked.
Giuseppe smiled. “Oh, si, si,” he said enthusiastically. “I have a beautiful wife, Gabriella. We met when we were still, how do you say ... ah, teenagers.” A light came to his eyes, speaking about her. “And together we have two beautiful children, Teresa and Gino.” He nodded, thinking. “Of course, then, there is also my mama and papa, Gabriella’s mama and papa, my brothers ...”
“A big family,” said Lana.
“Yes, yes, very big. Wonderful. Many people. Many generations.”
With a start, Lana suddenly realized how badly she wanted to be part of a big, loving family. How badly she wanted to be in a big, warm house filled with laughing voices of every age. How much she wanted to behold the kind, knowing eyes of grandparents. The bright, innocent eyes of children.
The thought suddenly made the knot in her heart a little tighter. Children ... she thought. Children. And lots of them.
“Signorina would like to have a family of her own, too, one day?” asked Giuseppe.
Lana nodded. “Yes, very much,” she replied a little shly.
Giuseppe smiled. “I think it is one of the best things in life,” he said. “Family. And the joy they bring us. I hope Signorina will have her wish fulfilled. And not too long from now.”
Signora Emilia returned with the flowers, which she’d placed in a beautiful vase. It was tall, white and simple, perfect for the exotic blooms. She said something to Giuseppe in Italian and he smiled and nodded.
“The signora says she has put some magic potions in the flowers’ water,” Giuseppe said, with a smile. “She has said it is known to bring lovers together. Without fail.”
Lana felt her cheeks glowing. She looked at the kind old lady, who was smiling up at her, and holding out the flowers. “Grazie mille,” Lana said, taking the massive bouquet, a smile in her heart and on her face. She thanked them both again. “Grazie mille.”
By late morning, Lana’s agent letter was complete. She read it, re-read it, then looked over the opening chapters of her book, which she would be sending at the same time.
She knew exactly who the first person she would submit her work to would be.
Heidi Smith was a veteran of the publishing world. A giant. A great. Over the course of decades, Heidi had amassed a list of some of the most respected English-language authors in the publishing world. Authors whose work not only had commercial appeal, but whose words truly touched people’s emotions and lingered with them, long after they’d put the books aside. Heidi worked at one of New York’s top literary agencies. She was known to take on only a handful of new authors each year. And yet, Heidi was the person Lana knew she had to show her work to first. Even if it was a long, long shot that she’d ever end up with an offer of representation.
Without delay, Lana found Heidi’s email address, pasted the draft of her cover letter in the body of the email, attached the first three chapters of her novel and hit send. Then she closed the lid of the laptop, grabbed her keys and purse, and headed out.
Was it as simple as that? Lana wondered. Unlikely, but at least she had gotten the ball rolling.
Taking in the beautiful morning, Lana felt a deep sense of excitement, then revved up the scooter’s little engine. Every day, so much seemed to happen. So much seemed to change. And she was changing along with it.
Back at the villa, Alex Marino was pacing in his studio, talking on the phone to Giuseppe.
“Did she like the flowers?”
“Oh, yes, very much, I think.”
“Did she seem alright? Happy?”
“Yes. She did.”
“Did she say anything else? What did you talk about?”
Giuseppe smiled as the questions continued. It was quite something to see Signore Alex beating himself up over this woman. Quite amazing to see his nerves so frayed. But then again, the lady in question... well, she was beautiful, Giuseppe admitted. And there was something more to her too. Something kind. Warm. Real. And yet, mysterious. If he was honest, he could perhaps understand just a little of why Signore Alex was behaving as he was.
“Did she mention me?”
“We did not speak about you specifically ... no.”
“Did she say what her plans were ... today, tomorrow?”
Giuseppe laughed. “I think her plans are just to enjoy her time left on the island, signore. She did not say what she would be doing.”
Alex nodded. He realized that he was being unreasonable, asking questions of Giuseppe he could not hope to answer. “Thank you, Giuseppe,” he said. “There may be more ... deliveries I’ll need you to make. But I will let you know when and what.”
“At your service,” said Giuseppe.
Alex rang off.
Around him, Alex’s studio was filled with designs. They were pinned to the walls, they cluttered his desk, they lay strewn on the floor. Since he’d seen Lana the night before, the images had been pouring out of him, flowing from his hand. All were revisions of his initial concept. But now, they were even leaner than before, even more focused, even more visionary.
He stood back, admired his work and smiled, rubbing his chin.
As if by magic, there it was. No, he corrected himself. There she was: a gorgeous, gull-wing coupe. A creature with bold headlights and an ethereal flowing form. With a statement-making chrome grill and flowing, curved rear. Something iconic, yet new, modern, different. It was the lines that did it. The unusual curves, the cutouts, the gills ... She was an instant classic and yet ... totally unexpected. She carried an air of mystery. Alex had never drawn anything quite like it. Like her.
He grinned again, knowing he was looking down at some of the best work he had ever created. He rifled through the pages and found his sketches of the car’s interior. He beamed. Retro without feeling stuffy. Ultra luxurious, and, again, totally unique. Exotic hardwood trims mingled with touches of carbon fiber. Only the softest, hand-stitched leather seats would do. The most classic dials ...
Of course, the engineering on a machine like this would have to be perfect too. The car would have to feel as good to drive as it did to look at. There were questions of suspension, torque, gearing, steering, roll ... It would need to hug the road, ease into the bends, then transform into a rocket on the straights. There was still time to work out some of the details, but he knew one thing: for this car, he wanted an engine unlike Marino Automotive had ever built. Such a beautiful machine demanded an engine that was truly epic. Yes, epic. Alex had his sights set on a 6 liter V8, developing close to 600 horsepower. If it ever went into production, it would be the most powerful engine the company had ever created. Something that rumbled. No, roared. Something utterly fearless.
There were still a few days before he needed to submit the design to his father. Ordinarily, Alex would have used all the time he had, tweaking, thinking, honing until the last moment. But not this time. His mind was elsewhere. Occupied with, he admitted, more important problems.
All he needed to do now was transfer the sketches into the design software Marino Automotive used for all its cars. One that was done, he’d look over his growth plan for the company for a last time, and then submit everything to his father. He was excited. He’d be putting forth some of his best work. And yet, as he worked into the evening, none of it seemed to matter nearly as much as he’d thought it would. As it had, just days ago.
No, for Alex Marino only one real quest remained. Her.
Lana returned to her room only late that evening. She’d had a magnificent day. From exploring the natural beauty of the Via del Pizzolongo and the Grotta di Matermania to the high-street shops along the Via Camarelle, it had all been so delightful, so perfect. She’d bought a vanilla-lemon swirl at the island’s famous Buonocore Gelateria to eat while she wandered around and even treated herself to a small shopping spree. While most of the clothing was far, far out of her price range, one of the island’s most renowned high street stores had, miraculously, been running a one-day-only clearance sale. When she’d spotted the gorgeous cocktail dress from across the shop floor, the last of its kind, she’d been almost certain it wouldn’t be her size. But after trying it on, she found it fit like a glove. Even the store assistant remarked on it. “Che bella!” she’s exclaimed. How beautiful.
The dress was midnight blue, with thin spaghetti straps and a scoop neckline, and a hemline that fell just above the knee. It clung to her body perfectly, bringing out all her best features. More important was how it made her feel: powerful, sexy, daring. The right dress for the right time in her life.
She’d eaten dinner on the Piazza Umberto I, enjoying a delicious meal of rich parmigiana di melanzane and pinot grigio. At the waiter’s suggestion, she’d topped the meal off with a classic Neapolitan dessert, babà, a small cake soaked in rum syrup and filled with whipped cream. It had been utterly delicious. The perfect end to a perfect day.
Back in her room, Lana prepared for bed. Briefly, she checked her emails on her laptop before tucking in. A few regular items, bank statements, copywriting project updates and others she all flicked past. Then, one mail stopped her in tracks.
The email was from Heidi Smith’s assistant, Allison Charles. The subject line read: “Urgent: Full manuscript request.”
Her heart suddenly beating wildly, Lana opened the mail and began to read. It took a while before she understood what she was reading, before her brain could begin to make sense of what was happening. In the mail, Allison explained that Heidi had received her submission earlier on that day. It was very unusual for her to reply or even open a submission so quickly, she said, but something about the book’s title and cover letter had held her. Heidi had enjoyed the first three chapters immensely. Now, she wanted to read more. All of it. Could Lana send them the full manuscript of the book as soon as possible?
Lana closed her eyes as waves of exhilaration, nervousness, fear and delight crashed over her. She’d sent her manuscript to Heidi Smith and ... she’d liked it. More than liked it. Wanted to read it all. Almost right away. This kind of thing didn’t ... happen, she knew. Usually, new authors waited weeks, months for an agent to reply to their submissions. Many never received replies at all. And yet here was she, Lana Davis, being asked to send through her work to one of New York’s top agents, less than twelve hours after she’d first reached out. It was amazing. It was unbelievable. It was incredible.
Then and there she began composing a reply. As she typed, she could hardly believe what she was doing. Could hardly control her enthusiasm. Her fingers even trembled slightly as they moved over the keys. She was so excited, Lana wrote, thanking Allison. Of course the agency could read the rest.
When she was done, she attached the full copy of A Love Like None Other, and hit send.