Marco stepped back from the pillars and ran his fingers over the smooth, polished stone. He was almost done. It was late, but he’d been too restless to sleep, his thoughts churning over his time with Charlotte. Because he was so invigorated, he’d used the wild energy on his work. He’d sanded and shaped, chiseled and polished, even as he thought about her, her words, the shape of her breasts – every delicious detail. Letting his mind wander had awoken his muse and to his deep satisfaction, the faces had appeared under the tip of his chisel without the use of a single sketch.
Pietro came inside, yawning widely. “You’re still up! Did you see the basket of potato cakes from Cook?”
“I did. That was very kind of her. I’d ask you to relay my thanks, but I’m sure you already have.”
Pietro grinned. “I have indeed. I—” His gaze fell on the statues. “You’re almost finished.”
“I am.”
Pietro slowly walked around the statues, squinting at the graceful lines of a toga. “good. Very good. Once the Queen sees this, she will want you to make fifteen new fireplaces for her palaces.”
Marco traced his finger over a marble-smooth shoulder. “Sadly, that will not happen.”
The stonemason cocked a shaggy brow. “What?”
“Suppose there was no reference to the Queen. No commission. No anything.”
“Why would that happen? You’ve done a magnificent job with this work. There’s no reason why Mrs. Harrington wouldn’t recom—” The old man’s face froze. “You didn’t.”
Marco tried not to look guilty. And indeed, he didn’t feel guilty, but he wondered if he should. “I have decided to make my way without Mrs. Harrington’s recommendation.”
“It’s more than that. What will you do when she tells the world you’re not to be trusted with their daughters!” Pietro cursed heavily. “I knew this would happen. The way you two looked at each other, it was only a matter of time. You’re just like your father, always dreaming about tomorrow and not doing enough for today.”
“My father was happy when he was with my mother,” Marco said sharply. “It’s all he wanted. And I’ve realized that’s all I want, too.”
“And what of your family?”
“My brothers and sisters are no longer children. I keep thinking they are because I’ve been taking care of them for so long, but just look at them. They are already making their own way in the world, and could have been doing so much sooner had I let them. Besides, I know that they’ll want me to be happy, too. It’s what I would want for them.”
“It will make things harder for them and you and everyone,” the stonemason warned.
“I know.”
“You might never make a decent commission again.”
“Then I will deal with it.” No, he and Charlotte would deal with it, together.
Pietro threw up his hands. “You di Rossis, always spouting about true love. I will never understand it.”
Marco chuckled.
The stonemason rubbed his neck. After a long while, he sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing more to be said. It won’t be easy, but you’re right; it isn’t the end of the world, either.”
“Exactly. I can work in other countries, where I’m not yet known, and build my reputation there. Charlotte would enjoy traveling, and—”
Pietro threw up his hand. “I don’t need to know all of your thoughts on the subject!”
“I’m sorry. I’m just happy.”
“I suppose that’s good,” the old man said grudgingly. He looked at the statues for a long minute and then sighed. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you should do what you must. And wherever you go, I’ll be glad to join you.”
“Thank you,” Marco said, touched by the stonemason’s dedication.
Pietro, his face suspiciously red, jerked his head toward the statues. “Now finish those, will you? If we have to make a quick getaway, it would be better not to have to haul slabs of stone with us.”
“We should be able to install it tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll let Cook know I’m not long for her world. She will be truly sorry to see me go and will most likely ask me to spend the night. She has a nice bed, she does. And lots of pillows.” Pietro ambled toward the door. As he did so, he cast a final glance at the pillars, and then stopped.
A smile split his face, the like of which Marco had never seen. “Your figures have changed since you first designed them.”
Marco glanced absently at the pillars. “What’s changed?”
“Everything. You’ve made them more—” The old man held his hands in front of his chest. “—bigger.”
“You’re crazed. This is exactly how I sketched them.”
A noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort broke from the stonemason. He slapped a hand over his mouth and pretended to cough. As soon as he could speak, he blurted out, “Until later, then.” He ducked out the door and hurried away.
Marco could hear the man’s laughter all the way across the stable yard. What in the hell is that about? He examined the statues. Was Pietro right? Marco was sure he’d envisioned them this way from the beginning. He never veered once the muse arrived. That fool doesn’t remember what I sketched.
Scowling, Marco went to his workbench and found his folio. He found his original sketches and glanced through them. As he did so, his eyes widened. Good God. He’s right. The sketches showed two graceful poses of the same woman, as did his carving, but there the similarities ended. The goddess in his sketches was slender and winsome, fairylike in contour, while the goddess he’d carved was curvaceous, her hips and breasts full, her thighs more rounded, more like—
He lowered the sketches and turned back to the pillars, examining the face he’d carved just this evening. He dropped the papers onto his work table, unaware that half of them fell to the floor. I couldn’t have, not without knowing . . . But he had. He knew that curvaceous, seductive body because he’d touched it. Knew that neck because he’d kissed it. Without thinking, he’d carved each figure with one leg slightly bent, which hid the curve of her back. He knew every inch of this goddess from the delicate feet, to the bold nose, to the curls that clustered about her delicate neck.
He rubbed his eyes, and then looked again, wondering if he was imagining things.
But he wasn’t.
Suddenly, he was laughing as hard as Pietro. “Oh Charlotte, what have I done?”