Chapter Sixteen
‘Man, do I have a meat hangover today.’ Al clutched his stomach as he moved over so Carly could take her seat beside him on the bus. She still hadn’t been able to switch with anyone despite her constant pestering—which said a lot about Al.
He studied her face. ‘So what happened to Mr. Romeo?’
‘You mean Michelangelo?’ It was hard to say his name without wincing.
‘Yeah, our “dreamy” tour guide.’ He said the word dreamy in a high-pitched voice like a teenage girl.
She shrugged as Edda pulled the bus away from the hotel. ‘I’m guessing he had some emergency.’
An older violinist turned around in her seat. ‘I heard from Ms. Maxhammer he’d gone to Milan early to make preparations for our tour of the Galleria tomorrow and our next concert on Tuesday. She said he’d join us there.’
Interesting. If he’d planned to go anyway, why did he run out of the banquet in such a rush? Had something gone wrong with the planning and he was trying to smooth it out before they got there? Or was it something worse? A bigger secret he was hiding from them all.
‘Was there a problem with our reservation?’ Carly tried to keep her suspicion from her tone.
The older woman shrugged. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘See, what you need is a guy like me, someone who stays in the same seat with you on the bus.’ Al grinned.
Carly gave him a nasty look. She couldn’t have him thinking she was interested in Michelangelo, and she also couldn’t have him believing she was available. ‘I thought you were into Alaina, and before that, the girl at the front desk at our first hotel.’
He winked. ‘Today I’m into you.’
‘Oh shove it up your trombone.’
His face paled. ‘Geez, I was only kidding.’
She pulled out her phone and responded to e-mails as they drove to Milan. Women Reeds were doing surprisingly well without her. They had a few concerts with just flutes and clarinets, and the second-in-command was handling all of the press and program printing. Carly’s students all had their own vacations and summer music camps, and no e-mails from Dino. She did have an e-mail from Mario, however, asking her if she’d be available to play future gigs with the Italian chamber orchestra in Rome.
As Carly considered his offer, and how in the hell to get to Rome from Boston, they reached the sprawling city of Milan. Looking much more modern than Rome and Florence, Milan had glassy skyscrapers and other office buildings scattered through the ancient streets. They pulled up to the Galleria and Michelangelo stood waving on the curb.
A mix of distrust, excitement, and wistful longing erupted inside her, and she could barely keep herself sitting still in her seat as the doors opened and he walked up the steps to the intercom.
‘Greetings, my dear orchestra friends. Welcome to Milan, the second-largest city in Italy. This city was founded by the Insubres, a Celtic people, and later conquered by the Romans. Milan is the main industrial, financial, and commercial city of Italy, and is also the home of the Italian stock exchange, the Borsa Italiana.’
He glanced down at his hand as he had done before, and Carly wanted to jump out of her seat and turn his palm over to see what was there. Didn’t anyone else notice, or were they all so taken by his charm they didn’t care?
Michelangelo’s eyes fell on her, and he quickly looked away. ‘The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II is the oldest shopping mall in Italy. It is named after the first king of the Kingdom of Italy and originally designed in 1861 and built by Giuseppe Mengoni between 1865 and 1877.’
Carly glanced over to Reena to see if she had any violent reaction to his dates, but the cellist sat calmly with her hands folded in her lap.
Guess he got those facts correct.
Michelangelo gestured toward the door. ‘Follow me and you’ll have the shopping experience of your lives.’
Because Al had chosen the window seat, he followed Carly down the aisle. There would be no time to confront Michelangelo about his disappearance the previous night. Any allusion to their meeting would certainly draw attention.
As they filed off the bus, Michelangelo locked eyes with hers. As hard as she looked, she couldn’t understand the complexity of his gaze. It was something like guilt mixed with hope. But something else as well, something he was hiding.
As she walked past him, he slipped his hand into hers and left a small piece of paper. ‘Hope you enjoy the tour.’
Carly nodded, unable to react to his note in front of Al. Apprehension bubbling inside her, she stepped off the bus and walked toward the Galleria. As she unfolded the note, she turned her back to the other orchestra members toward the grand arched entrance to the shopping mall. The crowd of people entering and leaving was more than enough to hide her hands and discreetly read the note.
His handwriting was gorgeous, with strong, sure strokes. My apologies for last night, there was a last-minute emergency that had to be taken care of. No worries. All is well.
She turned the note over, but nothing else was written on it. No further explanation or request to meet. Had he changed his mind about her?
Disappointment trickled through her even as she told herself it was all for the best. He was probably some playboy tour guide womanizer more interested in the ladies than the actual history and dates. If she was at all sane, she’d stay away from him.
They entered the Galleria, and Carly stared up at the arched glass ceilings. The midday sun shone through, illuminating the four-story building façades and mosaic-tiled floor. The luxurious storefronts of Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Swarovski lined the walkways. It was nothing she needed or could afford, but pretty to look at nonetheless and a great way to get her mind off Michelangelo and the looming concert, which was her and Alaina’s last chance to prove themselves on that ridiculous aria.
Michelangelo began reciting historical facts about the Galleria, taking them on a full tour before going into the shops. They stopped at the mosaic tile in the center, where it was custom to spin your heel on the bull.
While the orchestra members took turns spinning their heels, Michelangelo snapped pictures. Carly wandered off to window shop, trying her best not to entangle herself further into Michelangelo’s schemes. Even if she was thankful for him teaching her Italian and driving her to her gig, her gratitude had to stop there. Sure, she had a pull toward him that she’d never had with any man before, but her playing and her career was more important.
She walked up to a jewelry store with giant diamonds and rubies shaped like hearts in the front window. The retailer inside wore a finely tailored suit. He glanced up at her as she browsed, with interest in his eyes.
Nope, not going in there.
She walked over to the next shop, which was selling leather purses.
Even if she and Michelangelo had gotten together, it would lead to more heartbreak in the end when she returned home. All this was definitely for the best.
She glanced over to the center of the Galleria. The orchestra had moved on, and Michelangelo stood beside a café, explaining how the founder in 1867 was the pastry chef to the monarch.
She gravitated toward the edge of the group, listening in. Michelangelo had a waitress come out of the café with a tray of white pastries with cherry glaze in the center. As the orchestra each sampled one, he stepped aside. Alaina pushed to the tray like a vulture after roadkill. She’d be occupied for the next five minutes at least.
Carly’s heart sped. Stay where you are, young lady! No, go ask him about the emergency. Really, it would be rude not to. As much as his strange behavior made her question him, she couldn’t help feeling indebted, annoyed, and just a little intrigued. Besides, she had to look out for the orchestra, and if there was something he wasn’t telling them, he could be conning Ms. Maxhammer out of a lot of their tour fund money.
Now was her chance.
She wiggled her way over to the tables outside the café. Michelangelo took a seat at one, checking something on his phone. He glanced up at her, and his face hardened as if she was a matter he wasn’t prepared to deal with. He shut off the screen to his phone and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Ms. Davis.’
She took the seat next to him, wondering every second why she was doing it. ‘I trust everything went okay last night?’
‘Yes, yes. Just a small inconvenience.’ His fingers drummed along the table. ‘My apologies again.’
An awkward silence fell between them. Now what, Einstein? Carly had gone over there for answers, and answers were what she’d get.
She steeled her nerves. ‘Why did you tell Reena that the Brotherhood of the Manifesto built St. Peter’s?’
A small smile curved in his lips. ‘She mentioned it, eh?’
Carly contained her own smile. It was funny, even if it wasn’t true. ‘She looked it up, and she’s not too happy about the results.’
He traced a circle with his finger on the table. ‘Well, maybe she didn’t use the right source.’
Fair enough, but she wasn’t going to let him get away without other answers. She grabbed his hand and turned over his palm. The skin on the other side was clean, with nothing written on it.
He raised an eyebrow in a look that said you really want to do this here?
She dropped his hand again before anyone saw. ‘What do you keep looking at in your hand when we’re on our trips?’
Michelangelo shifted in his chair and breathed in slowly. ‘That is not your concern.’
‘What about keeping your appointments?’
He put both arms on the table and rubbed his temples. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about asking you to meet me and then not being there. And I’m sorry I led you on. I really do like you…a lot.’ Intensity flared in his eyes. ‘Too much. But we both know this isn’t the time for romance, whether we want it or not.’
Carly blushed. Her words stuck in her mouth. Romance? He likes me a lot? She couldn’t believe this Casanova was the one pulling away, calling it quits before the fun had even started. Heck, he’d almost had her, and now this? None of it made sense.
‘B-but—’
The waitress came over with the empty tray. ‘E finite, signore.’
He slipped her a fifty-dollar bill. ‘Grazie.’
Already the members of the orchestra were looking to him for guidance. He stood, murmuring, ‘I have to go.’
Carly sat at the table with shockwaves rattling her composure. Here she was trying to avoid his advances, and he’d already locked her out. A small ache swelled inside her, along with the feeling she’d missed something just short of paradise.
‘Would you like something, signorina?’ The waitress stood before her with a pad and pencil in hand.
Carly shook her head. The only thing she needed now was a level head to play that aria the way it was meant to be played. Michelangelo had distracted her enough.
* * *
Carly spent Tuesday in a never-ending slew of rehearsals for their last concert at the Arch of Peace. Michelangelo made no move to speak with her, which was fine with her, because the aria had never sounded better. This time she’d get it right.
The audience at the Arch of Peace was absurdly large, covering the entire rounded square of the Piazza Sempione and spilling into the main city park. People brought lawn chairs and blankets, and some even sat on the grass, reminding Carly of the fourth of July fireworks show at the Hatch Memorial Shell along the Charles River in Boston.
Behind them the Arch rose in a colossal stone structure of solidarity and truth. Its origins dated back to the Roman walls of Milan. For Carly, it brought no peace.
Her heart sped as she stood on the makeshift stage Michelangelo had constructed solely for this event. Alaina stretched beside her, closing her eyes to envision her character in the aria. Wolf stood on his podium, his baton raised. Behind him sat the entire orchestra with their instruments ready and waiting to play. This was the moment of truth, their last chance to prove themselves.
She brought her reed to her lips. The song began like all the others, with her chirpy sixteenth notes. Her fingers shook, making the notes feel rushed and edgy when they should have danced with joy. She scanned the audience, which a performer should never do while playing. Michelangelo sat in the front row. Instead of watching her, he gazed down at his feet. His disinterest, or more like feigned ambivalence, sent a shockwave through her gut.
She lost her support, and the reed felt like a closed-off tube in her mouth. Her oboe squawked, and the ugly noise reverberated across the square like a dying duck.
Alaina’s eyes widened as she took a breath and came in, stumbling on her words. She reached for a high note, and her voice faltered before she picked up the melody again.
Face burning with embarrassment, Carly kept playing, feeling as if she had been roasted in front of everyone like a pig on a spit. The aria dragged on with Alaina’s shaky words and her own disjointed notes until every nerve on her body shook. She ended the final cadence with a sour note that just went flatter at the end.
Silence fell as the audience decided how to react. Carly brought her reed down from her lips as Alaina walked prematurely off stage, leaving her standing there alone. Then, a single person clapped. She glanced down to see Michelangelo rising in a standing ovation. He looked like a fool, but he didn’t care. He only had eyes for her. Around him, light applause began as they followed his example.
Carly narrowed her gaze and looked away. It was too little too late. She’d allowed him to get too close to her emotions, and in doing so, he’d ruined their aria and her last chance to prove herself on the tour. In that moment, she vowed never to let a man distract her again.