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The week went by quickly as the winery was spruced up and made ready for the first tour. Nicolas was relieved that the debut tour was for an American couple. He was confident that Alex could handle it just fine. He smiled to himself when he thought about the irony of the situation. Two months ago, he learned that an American college student, with no knowledge of the wine industry, had inherited half of the vineyard, and now she was not only his partner, but living in his house, and giving a tour of their business. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Buongiorno,” he said into his cell, and his smile widened. “Mamma, how are you?”
Nicolas’ face fell when he heard his mother’s reply. A lump caught in his throat, and his eyes began to fill up with tears. He told her that he would be there right away and pressed the end button on the phone.
Nicolas stood among the grape arbors and closed his eyes. His emotions swelled up inside of him until a torrent of agonizing sobs ripped through his chest, and he fell to his knees in the dirt. Hearing his cries, Giovanni ran to him, and Luigi went to the winery. In minutes, Giovanni moved over, and Alex was by his side, wrapping her arms around him. In a reversal of roles, she held him while he sobbed in her arms over the loss of his father.
Alex had dreamt of Florence her entire life, but she never imagined that her introduction to the grand city would happen this way. She walked with Luigi down the aisle of the Basilica di Santa Maria Novella and slid into the pew with Marta and Nicolas. Maria, Pietro, Giovanni, Adrianna, and Marco sat behind them. Surprisingly, Eva was not in attendance. What kind of woman didn’t show up to her fiancé’s father’s funeral?
Alex was captivated by the stained glass windows, larger and more vibrant than any she had seen before, and by the magnificent frescos depicting the lives of the saints, most notably St. Phillip the Apostle. If Alex’s memory served right, this was one of the many architectural feats of Giorgio Vassari, one of Florence’s most famous architects, known primarily for the famed Vasari Corridor over the Ponte Vecchio.
As she tried to concentrate on the Italian Mass and Homily and not get lost in the art and architecture that surrounded her, Alex felt Nicolas’ hand slide into her lap and reach for her hand. Neither turned toward the other, but Alex knew that Nicolas was trying to hold himself together for his mother. His hand trembled, and Alex felt his body shaking with grief. Like her Nonna, Marta tried unsuccessfully to have more children, but the Lord must have had his reasons for not granting her wish. She had only Nicolas to comfort her now that her beloved husband had passed on. Alex knew that Nicolas would need to be his mother’s rock through this ordeal.
When the service was over, the family followed the casket out of the church and into the magnificent piazza. The heat instantly soaked through Alex’s black dress as if a warm bath had been poured over her as they walked into the daylight from the cool basilica. After the burial in the cemetery, Trespiano, the family gathered in Marta’s small studio apartment for a dinner provided by her neighbors. Unlike the American funerals that Alex had attended, only the family gathered for the meal, though many of Marta and Nicolas’ friends attended the funeral and paid their respects after the Mass. Over dinner, Alex heard stories about Nicolas’ father as well as about Nicolas, who spent most of his youth in Florence.
“Nicolas, where is your beautiful girlfriend?” Maria’s mother asked.
“She is away,” Nicolas said. “It was too difficult for her to get to Firenze. The roads are so crowded this time of year.”
Alex noticed the look that Marta gave Nicolas and the way he turned away, seemingly too embarrassed to face his mother’s questioning gaze.
Alex, Maria, Luigi, Giovanni, and the few other relatives who attended the service were returning home the next morning, but Nicolas was staying to help his mother finalize the funeral costs and to go over his father’s estate. Alex was packing her things when Nicolas knocked on her hotel door. At one time, the family owned a house in Florence, but houses in the city were expensive, and with Nicolas gone, his parents had moved to a small apartment. Nicolas was staying on his mother’s sofa, but Alex and the rest of the family had stayed the night in a hotel near his mother’s home. Alex opened the door to find Nicolas standing in the hallway. Her heart broke when she saw the pain in his eyes. She opened her arms, and Nicolas went into them like it was the most natural thing he had ever done. Alex held him tightly until he pulled away.
“I’m almost ready,” she said, “but I didn’t expect to see you. I thought I was riding back with Luigi, Maria, and Pietro.”
“That is why I am here,” he said. He looked into her eyes, and Alex saw the pain, but she saw something else, too. She looked at him questioningly. “Please stay,” he said.
Alex’s heart leaped, and she tried not to read too much into his request, just as she had tried not to read into his holding her hand at the funeral. He was in mourning, and he just needed to lean on her.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way. I’m sure you and your mother already have many things to handle.”
“Please,” he said, and Alex could hear the anguish in his voice. “I need you to stay.”
Alex’s eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away. She had spent the past several days reliving every minute of her brother and father’s funerals, and she knew just what Nicolas was going through. She longed to hear her mother call for her, ask for her help, ask her to stay, hug her, or simply reach for her hand the way Nicolas had done in the church the previous day. The least she could do was to do for Nicolas what her mother had never allowed her to do for her. Alex reached for his hand and squeezed it. Then a thought occurred to her.
“What about Eva? Surely she should be the one to comfort you.”
“She is not here. Please, for me.”
Alex was torn. On one hand, she was very uncomfortable standing in for Eva, especially when Eva already thought of her as “the other woman.” On the other hand, she and Nicolas were practically family. If he needed her, then she should be there for him. She nodded.
“Okay, then, I will stay. I will do whatever you need me to do. I can run errands, cook, whatever you or your mother needs...”
“Right now, you are all I need. Come with me,” Nicolas said and grabbed her hand.
“Wait,” she tugged at him to stop. “Let me grab my purse and my room key. And I’ll need to let the front desk know that I’m not checking out.”
“I already did,” Nicolas said, and with that, Alex let him lead her out of the room, down the stairs, and onto the streets of Florence.
Nicolas could not explain what had gotten into him. Yes, he was furious with Eva for refusing to leave the coast to attend the funeral, claiming that she hated funerals and would comfort him in ‘her own way’ when they both returned home. Even the thought of that seemed inappropriate to him under the circumstances. It proved once more just how selfish she was. But his desire to have Alex stay with him was more than a need to replace or even get back at Eva. He knew in his heart that she would make him feel better, make him forget the sadness for a short time and have fun. Several hours later, he had no regrets. In spite of the reason for their stay in Firenze, Nicolas almost felt lighthearted as he sat with Alex on the step in front of the Pitti Palace, home of the Medici family during the Renaissance and an art gallery and museum today.
“I had no idea gelato was so good,” Alex said as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “It’s better than ice cream.”
“It was one of the things I missed the most when I studied in America.” Nicolas licked the last spoonful of his ricotta stregata, “bewitched ricotta,” and smiled as he watched Alex finishing off her bacio, chocolate and hazelnut.
Nicolas was scheduled to meet his mother at her apartment for lunch around two, so he and Alex filled the morning with sightseeing. Nicolas took her to the famous Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, and its Baptistry. From there, they walked to the Piazza della Signora where Alex got her first glimpse of the Palazzo Vecchio where the replica of Michelangelo’s David stands at the entrance.
“Someday,” Nicolas promised, “I will take you to see the real one inside Il Galleria dell’Accademia. We will call Mamma’s friend, Antonella, who gives tours, and she will take us in without waiting in line.”
“I can’t imagine that the real one is any more spectacular than this,” Alex said in amazement.
“Come,” Nicolas said, “and I will show you the famous statues, along the Uffizi, of Firenze’s most celebrated citizens.”
They rounded the corner and stopped at each of the statues - Dante, Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, and at least a dozen more - that lined the most famous office building in all of Italy, once the office of the Medici family and now an art gallery. Nicolas explained to Alex that the wait to get inside could be as long as five hours. The line of tourists extended the entire length of the building, and Alex marveled at the number of people waiting in the excessive heat to get a glimpse of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and DaVinci’s Adoration of the Magi. In spite of the long wait and the agonizing temperatures, she felt a pang of jealousy and hoped to be able to come back to Florence soon to see the great works of art.
Continuing on, under the famed Vassari Corridor, they headed to the wall that stretched along the length of the city and looked down at the Arno River.
“There,” Nicolas pointed to the row of buildings lining a bridge crossing the river, “is the Ponte Vecchio.”
Alex couldn’t believe she was here. Even after all of these weeks in Italy, it hadn’t sunk in that she was in the city that gave birth to the Renaissance. She stared at the bridge and almost had to pinch herself to believe she was truly seeing the famed structure.
“No wonder,” she breathed.
“What?” Nicolas asked as he, too, gazed at the bridge.
“No wonder that German soldier didn’t have the heart to bomb it.”
“You know the story?” he asked.
“Of course. Every art student knows that when the Germans were told to destroy the bridges to stop the advance of the Allied armies, one man refused to detonate the charges under the Ponte Vecchio. And there,” she pointed to the windows above the bridge, “that’s the Vassari Corridor where Hitler and Mussolini met to discuss their war plans.”
“I am impressed,” said Nicolas. “You do not need me to be your tour guide at all.” He smiled at her, and her heart melted.
“There’s a huge difference between reading about these places and seeing them with someone who grew up here. Please, show me more.”
They walked down the sidewalk beside the Arno and up onto the Ponte Vecchio. Nicolas pointed out the Ponte Santa Trinita, a bridge considered by most to be even more beautiful than the Ponte Vecchio but not spared during the War. Rebuilt in 1958, the bridge is considered one of the highlights of Florence. It was here that they stopped to enjoy the gelato near the Pitti Palace. Afterward, they made their way across the Ponte Santa Trinita toward Marta’s apartment near Santa Maria Novella.
After lunch, Nicolas went to meet Marta to go over paperwork while Alex, using Nicolas’ directions, walked to the San Lorenzo marketplace. She ran her hands over the leather bags and purses and bargained with the vendors as she looked for the perfect purse for herself and even one to send home to her mother. Every now and then she sent a card or a small gift, hoping for a response. Perhaps this time...
Dinner at Quattro Leoni was an experience like no other Alex had ever had. In spite of the circumstances of their trip to Florence, Marta treated Alex and Nicolas to an evening of fine wine, scrumptious food, and delightful company. The three of them sat in the restaurant for hours talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. On the walk back to the hotel, Marta looped her arm through Alex’s.
“You make Nicolas very happy,” she said with a smile. “I wish his father could have met you. We always thought there would be time.” Marta wiped away a tear, and Alex leaned toward the woman who seemed much too young to be a widow. Alex didn’t respond because she wasn’t sure what Nicolas had told his mother nor exactly what her relationship with him was at the present time. She didn’t know herself, and once again, she felt guilty. How would Eva react when she heard about their day together? Certainly, Nicolas would tell her, and Alex was not looking forward to seeing Eva when she returned from the coast.
After bidding them both “arrivederci,” Alex watched Nicolas and his mother walk away. For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to going to bed and dreaming, but she was so exhausted and slept so deeply, that she remembered none of her dreams the next morning.