Amelia stood in front of her closet and selected tan cigarette pants and a beige cashmere sweater. She fastened her hair with a gold clip and put on Whit’s diamond teardrop earrings. She slipped on suede loafers and grabbed a light wool jacket.
Sophie was meeting her in the lobby and they were going to the concert at Hadrian’s Villa. The concierge had warned her it got chilly at night when the fog rolled in from the Sabine Hills. Amelia was excited to get out of the city, to breathe fresh clean air and see fields of white and purple daisies.
Her phone rang and she picked it up.
“There’s been an accident and we’re stuck in Casperia,” Sophie’s voice came over the line. “The road is closed in both directions.”
“I didn’t know you went to the orphanage.” Amelia glanced at her watch. Hadrian’s Villa was forty minutes away and the concert started in an hour.
“Theo had to deliver some aspirin and he asked me to come,” Sophie explained. “I thought it would only take a minute and I could stop and get a picnic.”
“If you can’t make it, we can do it another time.” Amelia felt her shoulders deflate.
“I’ll have Theo drop me off at the concert,” Sophie replied. “I already bought sausages and feta cheese and green olives. We’re going to have a feast.”
Amelia hung up and took the elevator to the lobby. She crossed the marble floor and walked through the revolving glass doors. She glanced at the sky and saw thick clouds hanging over the rooftops.
“I need a taxi to Tivoli please,” she said to the valet.
“Miss Tate looks very beautiful tonight, are you meeting some lucky man?”
“Thank you, Marco.” Amelia blushed, glancing at his name tag. “I’m going to a concert with a friend.”
“I will ask it not to rain.” Marco grinned, flagging a yellow taxi. “We can’t have our favorite movie star getting wet.”
Amelia sat in the back of the taxi and watched the lights of Rome disappear. It was almost sunset and the fields were gray and pink and purple. She saw green hills and clusters of clay-colored villages. She opened the window and breathed cut grass and peonies and geraniums.
The taxi pulled down a long gravel drive and Amelia sucked in her breath. Hadrian’s Villa was a patchwork of fields scattered with crumbling ruins. Amelia saw stone arches and marble statues and a lake surrounded by olive trees. She saw marble fountains and the remains of ancient buildings.
“The Emperor Hadrian built the villa in A.D. 133; he borrowed the architecture style from the Greeks and Egyptians. It had a theater and libraries and banquet halls.” The taxi driver pulled up on the side of the road. “He invited friends from all over the Roman Empire and they played games and had feasts and went swimming.”
“How do you know so much history?” Amelia asked.
“Romans are proud of their ancestors, plus the tourists tip well.” The taxi driver grinned. “If you like, I can give you a tour of the ruins.”
“That’s very kind but I’m meeting a friend.” Amelia leaned forward and handed him a wad of euros.
“Thank you, signorita.” The taxi driver jumped out and opened her door. “Have a wonderful evening.”
Amelia stepped out of the taxi and saw a stage draped with gold velvet curtains. It was strung with silver and gold lights and filled with glittering instruments. She saw musicians in black tuxedos and heard the sounds of violins and cellos.
“Wait, signorita,” the taxi driver called. “Do you have an umbrella?”
Amelia turned around and smiled. “I don’t need one. It couldn’t possibly rain, the night is too perfect.”
Amelia watched couples spread out wool blankets and unpack baskets of fresh fruit and sliced cheeses. She pictured Sophie’s picnic of sausage and green olives and crusty baguettes and realized she was starving.
She glanced at her watch and hoped Sophie would arrive quickly. Soon the lights would dim and it would be impossible for Sophie to find her. She turned around and saw a man standing beneath an arch. He wore navy slacks and a white button-up shirt and carried a wicker picnic basket.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he walked toward her.
“I was supposed to write an article about a winery in Tuscany but it got canceled because of the rain.” Philip spread out a checkered blanket. “I had a sudden urge to hear classical music, so I bought a ticket.”
“I’m meeting a friend.” Amelia explained. “She got stuck in traffic; there was an accident in Casperia and the road is closed in both directions.”
“She won’t get here until midnight.” Philip frowned. “The Italian police don’t work during dinnertime, they’re home eating gnocchi and lime spumoni.”
“I should go.” Amelia gathered her purse.
“Don’t be silly,” Philip insisted. He unpacked containers of thick sandwiches and sliced pickles and cut peaches. He took out a bottle of Chianti and two plastic glasses. “I made BLTs with heirloom tomatoes and extra bacon. There are fresh raspberries and a chocolate torte, I can’t eat it all myself.”
Amelia smelled bacon and avocado and her shoulders tightened. She didn’t want to go back to her hotel suite and stare at the twinkling lights of the city. She didn’t want to spend another night nibbling room service pesto ravioli and wondering if she made the right decision. She suddenly pictured Whit sipping a glass of Chianti at Il Gabriello and felt like she couldn’t breathe.
“I suppose I should stay.” Amelia hesitated. “Sophie could arrive any minute.”
“While you wait you can pour two glasses of wine.” Philip handed her the bottle. “And try the peaches, they’re from Signora Griselda’s garden.”
They listened to Puccini and Vivaldi and ate pancetta and figs wrapped in prosciutto. The BLTs were delicious, with crisp lettuce leaves and sweet tomatoes and olive oil and sea salt. During intermission they talked about Rome’s torrential rain and crowded streets and expensive restaurants.
“Living in Rome is like falling in love with the wrong woman.” Philip sipped his wine. “You think it’s all priceless art and delicious pastas and then you discover the streets are dirty and the fountains overflow and it costs ten euros for a packet of potato chips.”
“Why don’t you go back to America?” Amelia asked.
“Because when you let yourself be seduced by Michelangelo’s paintings and Puccini’s operas and Bellini’s architecture there’s no place like it,” Philip mused. “That’s the thing about love, it rarely makes you happy.”
Amelia ate a sliver of chocolate torte and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She glanced up and saw Philip staring at her.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Those earrings,” Philip said. “They’re spectacular.”
“My boyfriend gave them to me before I left for Rome,” Amelia replied slowly. “We broke up, he didn’t like being apart or my choice in careers.”
“My girlfriend got an MBA and joined a merchant bank.” Philip ate a bite of chocolate torte. “Suddenly she could only buy her coffee at Zabar’s and her underwear at Saks. She spent so much time on the Upper West Side she decided to get an apartment.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia murmured.
“I still had the neighborhood cats for company.” Philip shrugged. “I left a bowl of cat food on my fire escape and they visited every night.”
Amelia wanted to tell him when she was on the set she felt like Dorothy in the Emerald City. She loved slipping on Princess Ann’s pink satin ball gown and white silk gloves. She loved skipping through the streets of Rome with the cameras trailing behind her. But she realized Philip still thought she was a maid at the Hassler.
She glanced up at the sky and felt a large raindrop fall on her forehead. She saw people open umbrellas and slip on brightly colored raincoats. She watched Philip close their picnic basket and hastily gather their blanket.
They ran across the soaking grass and stood under a stone arch. Amelia watched the musicians scurry off the stage, carrying their instruments. She watched the rain come down in sheets, crushing the beds of daisies. She hugged her arms around her chest, feeling cold and wet and miserable.
“I should have known if I was with you I’d get wet.” Philip shook the rain out of his hair. “You’re like a lightning rod for water.”
“It can’t rain.” Amelia sighed, gazing at the muddy field. “It was such a beautiful evening.”
Suddenly the feeling of elation from the beautiful music and delicious sandwich and fruity wine was replaced by an aching loneliness.
“I was wrong when I said you were prettier when your hair wasn’t wet and your lips weren’t blue.” Philip pulled her toward him. He kissed her softly on the mouth, cupping her chin with his hand. “You’re beautiful when you’re soaked, like a painting by Botticelli.”
Amelia pulled away and felt her legs trembling. She pictured Whit’s dark curly hair and blue eyes and her heart pounded in her chest.
“I should go, I’m going to catch a taxi.”
“Don’t be silly, we’ll wait until it stops raining and catch a taxi together.”
“It’s almost stopped.” Amelia turned to Philip and extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, thank you for inviting me.”
“Ann, wait!” Philip called after her. “You’re going to catch pneumonia.”
Amelia strode through the field, covering her hair with her hands. She ran faster, her shoes sinking into the mud. She reached the gravel driveway and saw a yellow taxi idling at the side of the road.
“Good evening, Miss Tate.” The driver grinned, opening the door. “The concierge told me to wait, they didn’t want their favorite movie star to get wet.”
Amelia climbed into the taxi and leaned against the cushions. She gazed out the window and saw the ancient ruins and marble statues and stone arches. She remembered the warmth of Philip’s mouth on her lips and shivered.