9

Snow drifted through the air, fluttering against streetlights like tiny pieces of crystal. A glance into the brightly lit gallery window caused Ashley's stomach to tumble and toss. She squeezed her arms tight against her midsection, warding off a chill that had nothing to do with the winter’s night.

L’arte Della Vita was filling rapidly with people who mixed and mingled, talked as they strolled through the display area and took in the pieces she had created. An elegant but festive window display featured the soft glow of flickering candles, sparkling ornaments strung from the top most sill at varying heights. Swags of greenery framed it all. So welcoming. So perfect.

And so terrifyingly intimidating.

These people were here for her. This night was for her. For her art. Most of all, this moment came courtesy of Luca. That struck her heart deepest of all. 

“Make this so, Lord. If it’s Your will, then please, make it so.” Whispered prayer released, Ashley pushed through the doorway and entered the gallery.

She was greeted promptly by a hostess who took custody of her coat. Now she felt truly exposed. Clutching the shoulder strap of her evening bag, Ashley eyed the chicly-styled black-tie crowd and hoped her attire would pass muster. Knowing elegant formality was called for, she had chosen to wear a Grecian style one-shoulder gown of chiffon that hugged her torso then drifted outward from her waist in wave after wave of palest lemon yellow. She wore her hair down, unadorned but in a free tumble of curls that fell around her shoulders and down her back.

Did she look the part? She fought to keep her hands from performing a nervous fidget because, yet again, Florence proved itself not only as an art capital, but a fashion capital as well. Gorgeous, floor-length gowns of all colors and styles were the rule of the night. Sequins and jewels flashed like sparks beneath the lights. Satins and tulle swished as people moved into clusters, performed greetings. Luca was above average height, so it was easy to spot him. For a few moments she enjoyed the luxury of watching him unaware.

He wore a perfectly styled black tuxedo paired with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie. The jacket emphasized broad shoulders. Bearing a sense of confidence, a sense of command that Ashley envied, Luca worked slowly through the crowd. The thick fall of his hair had been styled into neat, dark waves; a squared, clean-shaven jaw, his wide, curved lips left her more than a little weak at the knees. There was a compelling ease with which he moved from person to person. Little things revealed his passion for his work, like the way he reached out to pin-point a certain aspect of a drawing, or gestured with emphasis, eyes intent and lively.

Butterflies of awareness came alive, leaving behind tingles of appreciation. Luca turned. When he spotted her, the smile that lit his features caused a paradoxical reaction of peace and sizzling energy. Their gazes met and held. The moment was quick, but the tender, knowing look he delivered slid straight into her heart.

He moved toward her, passing a liveried waitress on his way. From a serving tray he lifted two flutes of sparkling, golden champagne and continued to the spot where Ashley stood.

“For you,” he greeted, kissing her cheeks then offering her a glass. “You’re breathtaking.”

Oh, how she wished for the words, for a flirty, sly and sophisticated response to his open admiration. All she could do was smile into his eyes, tuck her hand through his offered arm, and murmur a tremulous, “Thank you, Luca.”

~*~

The instant Luca saw her, that nasty, steel core of grief and loneliness he had carried with him for years now melted into a form of surrender and inevitability.

“Before we start the mix and mingle, I want you to keep something in mind.” He bent close enough to whisper in her ear; an intriguing blend of rose and vanilla traveled through his system coming from the satiny hair that tumbled against her shoulders and from her slim, creamy neck. “You’re a skilled artist. You look like a living fairytale, and you’re going to charm every person in this room.” He paused for emphasis. “Have no doubts.”

She didn’t need to say a word—Luca felt her pleasure in the strength of her gaze—so he didn’t allow for response. Instead, he escorted her into the heart of the reception and began introductions.

People had formed into clusters, morphing into mini gossip and review teams.

Ashley networked with admirable ease, seeming to gain confidence from the building buzz of positive comments. Giselle Mansuto, a longtime customer of Luca’s gallery, glossed reverent, pink-tipped fingers across the wood frame edge of Ashley’s sketch of the interior of the Duomo.

“Miss Coratini, this is stunning. The use of charcoal is stark, but emotional in its simplicity. I love it.”

Fiftyish, with spiky silver hair, she used her free hand to finger the strands of milky white pearls that formed a cascade down the front of her pink satin gown. Luca knew Giselle wasn’t the type to be timid about purchasing art that appealed to her.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.” Ashley joined her in studying the piece. “It’s a favorite of mine as well.”

The doyenne peered at Ashley with keen interest. “And why is that, my dear?”

Keyed in on the interaction, Luca watched Ashley and could have sworn he saw her sink into the lines and shades of her creation.

“I suppose it’s because while I sketched, I spent hours in a simple pew beneath the edge of the dome. I was in awe. I feel like this sketch evolved from the time I spent in the company of God’s spirit, and grace. It was an incredible experience.”

An enthusiastic discussion ensued, during which Luca took in the activity of his gallery, and satisfaction crested. He had known all along the exhibit would be a success. When conversation turned to Ashley’s schooling, her experience, and the length of her intended stay in Florence, Luca realized a crossroads approached. Would she…could she...stay in Florence permanently? That bridge might need to be crossed sooner rather than later judging by how busy Katrina was at reception, already talking with guests and tapping notes into her iPad. Obviously, orders were coming in for the display works, perhaps even some requests for commissioned pieces.

The combination left him to wonder: what might Ashley do next?

~*~

“Serves me right for being vain.”

Ashley heard Katrina’s mumble as she neared the hors d’oeuvres table. Katrina discreetly wiggled the toes of her right foot which had been freed from the captivity of a gorgeous plumb stiletto.

Ashley could relate. Her nude colored strappy heels were wonderful at adding a few inches of height, but the sensation of squished toes was wearing thin…

“I feel the same way.”

Katrina gave a start and quickly stuffed her foot back into her shoe. “Fashion can be fatal, I suppose.”

She looked trendy and sleek in an asymmetrical gown of plumb silk. Long, dark hair had been swept to one side and trailed down her shoulder in a perfect wave.

“True enough, plus, that sounds like a great crime novel.”

Katrina smiled and resumed filling her plate. Ashley followed suit. Since a rare even keel seemed to be established with Katrina, Ashley decided to try to take things a step further.

“I want to thank you for all you’ve done to make this event so beautiful and so elegant. I’m very grateful.”

“You're welcome, of course, but I did this for Luca. For the gallery.”

As usual when it came to Katrina, Ashley wasn't sure how to interpret the comments, so she moved on despite the slight chill that danced across her skin, the inner sigh that built and begged for release. At least she had tried. Rather than dwell on negatives, Ashley paused to look around the room, to take in the view of her sketches framed and spotlighted on the walls. She allowed the truth to wash through her that this gallery was full of people, people who responded to what they were seeing.

And what they saw was her art. A piece of her soul. A piece of the gift God had given her through nothing but the goodness of His grace.

When nerves struck up all over again, when she sought the assurance of Luca’s presence, she found him standing within a clique just across the room. He seemed to conclude an intent conversation with a middle-aged couple just as he met her gaze and nodded toward the entryway. He arched a brow in an unspoken invitation to take a pause outside. The notion of snowflakes and chilled air didn’t bother Ashley in the least; she nodded and followed his lead.

Though revitalized by a respite in the cold, Ashley trembled as Luca removed his tux jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Captured body heat surrounded her at once. Ashley took in the subtle aroma of spice and wood scent that wrapped her in curls of warmth. From inside the gallery, “Variations on the Kanon” filled the air with a quiet undercurrent of piano music.

“I don't think I've ever felt so exposed.” Her fingertips drifted against the silk lapels near her throat. “This is nerve-racking.”

“Opening night, taking the stage always is. That doesn't mean you should avoid it. After all, look at the results.”

“I’m humbled. And amazed. I wish I could…I wish the words would somehow come to me—”

He interrupted her with a soft touch of his fingertips against her lips. “You don’t have to, Ashley. Your eyes say it for you.”

Tingles hit, then a deep, hot blush. Cold? What cold? “I can’t begin to explain the euphoria I feel right now. This opportunity, the gallery, the support, it’s everything I ever dreamed. I can’t quite believe it’s real.”

“I’m sure my accountant will offer an alternative perspective in the morning. This is quite real, and the results of tonight’s showing are going to be fantastic. I saw Katrina was kept very busy by our guests. This is beyond even my high expectations.”

She shivered, not at all from the cold. “Tonight has been better than I ever imagined, and I realized during the course of the reception that it isn’t often I have a chance to explain my work, and what inspires it. In general, I’m an introvert to begin with—”

“All evidence to the contrary.” Luca snickered.

Ashley laughed and then turned her face to the sky, closed her eyes, and breathed in the refreshing chill of this magical December night. “It can’t be this easy.”

“What’s that?” Luca caressed her arms.

Her focus returned to the moment they shared. “It isn’t possible that I’d vacate my life in the States, voyage to Florence, and stumble straight into everything I ever hoped for.”

“What you’ve stumbled upon is God’s plan. Your work offers a fresh perspective, new angles on the iconic, time-honored places people are so familiar with. I said from the start you have a gift. Tonight just proves it.”

“I’ve never given permanence here much thought.”

“Why not?”

“Because the idea never struck me as being realistic.”

“Look around you, Ashley. I think you’re being sent a different message.”

She did, for the briefest of instants, but then, she heard her mother’s voice, decrying such a dangerous move. “Luca, things like this just don’t happen to me—you know, that ready and easy flash of good fortune, that pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow. I fully intended to expand and explore while I was in Florence, and grow myself as an artist. From there, I’d go back home and deal with real life. The idea of sudden, life-altering changes? No. Not so much.”

She laughed it off, lightening the tone of her response, but a weight settled in, pressing against her spirit, because oh, how she wished…

Ashley had no time to prepare for the sudden way he bent and claimed her lips with a hunger, a surrender she understood without explanation. Luca’s kiss overtook her—explosive and undeniable and thoroughly welcome. He wasn’t greedy—he didn’t press or devour—rather, he took her in slowly but thoroughly, and without reservation. His flavor slid through her soul, melting resistance, melting doubts, melting fears.

As though sensing a point of no return, Luca backed slowly away while he combed his fingers through the curling tumble of her hair. He kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

“As we stand here now, what I most wonder is this: What if your career, your dream of being an artist that is, develops in such a way that you need to stay in Florence? Permanently? Would you be willing, or able to make that change?”

Quietly spoken, the questions hit her like a thunder clap. He didn’t look at her. He kept his focus trained on the sidewalk instead. But once his attention shifted, once their eyes connected, Ashley’s rational thought processes stalled. A revelation of the heart caused her world to teeter and spin, for she realized at once she had not only tumbled into some form of alternate universe where every wish of her professional heart was coming to life, she was also close to the fulfillment of a blooming, yearning heart that stretched toward a man who answered her every dream.

Yet confusion built. Not just in age but in outlook and experience, Luca was worlds wrong for her. Right?

Sensing her disquiet, Luca stroked her cheek. “I just want you to consider what might happen when the sun rises tomorrow. I want you to think about the future.”

Was it just her imagination, or did that statement ring with double meaning?

“We should get back inside.” Luca turned to open the door on Ashley’s behalf. The Kanon was replaced by the Ode to Joy, its lilting harmonies and swirls adding texture to an already overwhelming backdrop. Luca’s kiss, his words, his unquestioned belief, sang through her veins like the melody of that classic song, evoking a rise of goose bumps.

The world around her seemed to sparkle and shimmer as if sprinkled by God’s own glitter-dust.