The Secret of the Glass (37 page)

“It is…it is a pleasure to see you,” Sophia said, finding few words in the myriad of thoughts that rushed through her mind. “These are my sisters, Oriana and Lia. Girls, this is Teodoro Gradenigo and Alfredo Landucci.”

“Signori,” the younger girls said with polite bobs of their heads.

Oriana stared unabashedly at Alfredo’s comely face and Sophia rolled her eyes at her sister’s overt flirtation.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both, ladies.” Alfredo rose to the challenge with a rakish half-smile, taking a step forward, only to be yanked back by a swift and sure grasp of his friend’s hand. Sophia lowered her head with a small grin; Teodoro protected her sisters from his roguish friend as if they were his own and his gallantry pleased her greatly.

“What brings you to Murano?” Sophia asked, ignoring Oriana’s pout of disappointment. “I would have thought you gentlemen would be at
Il Rendentore?”

“Usually we are.” Teodoro nodded. “But we are staying with our friend Navagero at his villa for a few weeks and heard the celebration here was nearly as good, so here you find us.”

“Oh, it is,” Oriana piped up. “We have much to offer our visitors.”

“I’m sure you do,” Alfredo replied with a sigh, ill-disguised regret upon his fair features. “Ah, there is Navagero now; I think I will join him. Teo.” He offered his friend a meaningful nod. “Ladies.” He bowed to the girls and sauntered sprightly away.

Oriana’s longing followed him until his dashing figure was lost in the jubilant crowd.

“Do you have many friends with villas here, signore?” Sophia asked. “I don’t get to see them often, as I rarely travel to the area, but know they are quite beautiful.”

“A few acquaintances, though not many.
Sì
, the villas are quite magnificent. There is an abundance of beauty on Murano.” Teodoro’s penetrating eyes brushed her face; Sophia felt them like the touch of his fingers.

“They’ve lit the garden,” Teodoro motioned to the patch of greenery behind the church. “I hear it is splendid beneath the torchlight.”

The blush rose on her cheeks, her thoughts flashed to the memories of her last time in a garden with Teodoro, and hoped the dim light hid it from her sisters.

“Would you care for a stroll?”

Sophia wavered, spinning to the young women beside her and back to Teodoro. “I…uh…”

“She would love to,” Oriana answered for her.

“What?” Lia squeaked, grabbing Oriana’s arm with two hands. “But—”

“Sophia loves gardens,” Oriana said, squeezing Lia’s hands between her arm and her side. She turned Sophia’s shoulders toward the foliage and gave her a small nudge in the back. “Go on, go on. Lia and I will be right here when you’re done. Look, Lia, here’s some
pignoli
right here.”

Oriana grinned at Sophia; tempting Lia with a treat she could rarely resist was almost unfair. The young girl, easily diverted by the cookies, bobbed to her sister and her escort and capered off in the direction of the sweet dough. Teodoro offered Oriana a graceful, grateful bow, raising his arm to Sophia.

With a perplexed smile and confused glance over her shoulder at her retreating sisters, Sophia stepped beside Teodoro, following his lead into the garden.

Oriana stared at them long after they had disappeared among the foliage. Within seconds Lia returned, a small salver of pastries in her hands.

“Did you see the way he looked at her?” Oriana said with a wistful whisper full of wonder. “I’ve never seen the like.”

Lia munched on the almond-paste and pine-nut cookies. “But he’s not da Fuligna. She is betrothed. She can’t…she shouldn’t—”

“No, she can’t.” Oriana stared off into the clandestine garden, petals and leaves rustling with a strange cohesion, as if not only alive, but a single living entity engaged in a spirited dance. Her squinting eyes softened as did the smile that played around her lips. “She can’t…but perhaps she should.”

The curtain of foliage closed behind them and the dim light descended like a guardian of their privacy. Teodoro stopped. His navy blue eyes raked over her face. With one sure, dominating motion he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, cupping her face in his hands and lowering his lips to hers, capturing them in a delicious embrace.

Sophia gasped, for an instant overwhelmed by the sensual assault, at once surrendering to it, answering the caress of his mouth, lifting her hands up to clasp his hard and tense upper arms. Their lips met, their tongues teased, and their breath quickened and deepened.

With a low moan, Teodoro pulled away, though not far, keeping his face just inches from hers. His brows knit worriedly upon the smooth skin of his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I do not mean to…I do not presume…” he groped for the proper words but did not release his hold upon her. “It’s just that when I see you, when I am with you, I am undone.”

Sophia lowered her eyelids, not with guile but chagrin. If he was at fault then she was equally to blame, for she desired him with the same insistent, undeniable need. He was the specter that haunted her dreams, filled every thought; that he would have the same feelings for her only heightened the pleasure and the pain of it.

“I know there are no expectations, for neither of us can have them, can we?” She stared at him, painting his features on her mind’s canvas. She shrugged with an almost silly grin. “Will God punish us for these stolen moments? I hope not.”

Teodoro laughed softly. “If he will, then this is one sin I will gladly pay for throughout eternity.”

He released his hold upon her face with one lingering caress with the back of his hand, and took one of her hands in his. They strolled over the dirt trail, the torchlights like stars leading them along a heavenly corridor. Here and there they passed other couples meandering through the gardens, whispering privately, polite in their neglect.

“What did you pray for?” he asked.

“
Scusi?”
Sophia asked, puckering with perplexity.

“In the church, what were you praying for?” Teodoro explained, then recanted. “I’m sorry, is that too private a question?”

They arrived at an empty wooden bench and sat upon it as if it were their intended destination from the onset. Sophia left her hand entwined in his arm, but leaned her back against the rails.

“My father,” she answered, surprising herself with her own candor.

Teodoro turned with a penetrating gaze. “He is in need of prayers? Why?”

Sophia became acutely conscious of his unwavering attention. She set her jaw, trying to force herself to speak, but the words felt like pieces of half-masticated food stuck in her mouth. Logically, she knew she couldn’t say anything, shouldn’t say anything, but her aching, heavy heart and the tender empathy she saw in his eyes defeated any rationalization for subterfuge. Her abdomen quivered with a quelled sob and her need to unburden herself became greater than her fear of the truth.

“He is very ill.” She felt the hot tears spill down her cheeks.

Teodoro’s smooth forehead wrinkled with concern. “How ill?”

Sophia shook her head, her chin falling toward her chest. “He has the dementia and grows worse every day. He will…it may not be long now.”

“Oh my dear Sophia.” He took her into his arms, squeezing with restrained power, rocking her as he would a small child.

She closed her eyes, releasing herself to his care.

“Pasquale will send me to Padua,” Sophia said, her mouth against his shoulder, her voice muffled. “And my mother and sisters to convents.”

“Surely not,” Teodoro rebuked gently. “He is not that much of a monster.”

Sophia pulled her head up. “It’s true. He has told me himself.”

Teodoro stilled their rocking. Unfurling his arms, he straightened, pushing her lightly from him but keeping his hands upon her shoulders. He stared at her for the longest time, his silent examination giving no hint to his thoughts. She imagined her words had brought to mind his own sorrow for his sister and her unhappy life relegated to a convent.

“You must leave, Sophia,” he whispered urgently, scanning the garden and the indistinct trail winding away over his shoulder. “Pack everyone up and leave, now, before your father’s passing.”

Sophia’s lower lip dropped and she snorted a short laugh. The irony soon banished any amusement and the sobbing overcame her. She covered her face with her hands so he could not see the sadness ravage her face.

“It is not that easy,” she whimpered.

“Of course not,” he assured her. “I can’t imagine leaving my family’s legacy, leaving my home, but some things are worse than starting over. Just go, you can—”

“I know.” Sophia thrust her hands from her face; her voice cut the still air like the slash of a jagged piece of glass upon soft and tender flesh.

“Of course you do, but—”

Sophia shook her head violently, stray ends of pinned-up hair flying about her head. “I know the secret…” she leaned closer as she hissed “…the secret of the glass.”

Teodoro’s face froze as if he were indeed a finely carved sculpture; his mouth cleaved open, but no words issued forth.

“I know I shouldn’t tell you,” Sophia rushed on, grabbing his hands as they fell to his sides. “I know I ask too much just in the telling. You have a duty as a nobleman, as a council member, what I tell you is illegal and you must do your duty.”

His hands seized her with flashing speed; he wrested her toward him with one thrust. Sophia’s head jerked on her shoulders as her body lurched forward. For a fleeting instant, a strangling fear spurted within her, until she saw his eyes.

“My first duty, my honor, falls to you, Sophia,” Teodoro’s voice dropped, husky and feral, his deep blue eyes awash with adoration and fealty. “Never question it,” he shook her gently, insistent not injurious, as he would a willful child, “not for one moment.”

He threw his mouth upon hers, forcing her lips open with his prying tongue as if to possess her completely, forcing her head back upon her neck with the vigor of his passion. In the essence of love and lust there mingled compassion and devotion, and she drank them hungrily.

The approach of hushed voices separated them and they sat in tense silence as another young couple passed by their resting place. Her chest rose and fell with her breath. She berated herself for her selfishness; in the modicum of relief that came with sharing her revelation, she impelled Teodoro into her danger. What would happen if they found out he knew about her and did nothing; she couldn’t begin to imagine. She would not tell Teodoro of Pasquale’s inclinations; he would feel no remorse in leveling charges against the man who threatened her so. But there was no way to prove it, however, and few men would take her word over his, especially fellow noblemen, and a false accusation could be just as harmful as guilt of the act. She would have to keep the knowledge to herself for the time being.

The couple’s footsteps receded and their images faded into the dark. Teodoro leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will help you, Sophia, you and your family,” he whispered with poignant determination, his sweet breath brushing her face. “I don’t know how, but I will find a way, I swear it. You believe me, don’t you?”

Sophia dipped her head, too touched by his devotion to speak.

He stood and pulled her up, placing his lips gently to the tip of her nose.

“Come. I must return you to your sisters before they worry.”

Sophia followed him along the dirt lane leading out of the garden, as she would wherever this man may lead.

Thirty

“W
hich will it be, Sophia?” Viviana draped the fabrics across the settee, the silks shimmering upon the satins, the brocades reflecting the light like the sunlit waves upon the ocean. She darted about the parlor like a bee in a resplendent garden. This was her favorite room in the splendid old house, with its overstuffed, welcoming furniture and its bright colors of corn and lilac. “I think the sapphire will flatter your coloring the most, so would the peach, but the green will show off your figure to its best.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sophia sat in the corner chair of the cozy back
salotto
, her stare stretching far beyond the unshuttered back window. The day already pulsed with heat though the sun had broken the horizon only a short time ago. Against the azure sky, the pale wisps of Signore Cellini’s smoke winding out of the factory chimneys became thick and gray as the workers stoked the fires up to the higher, working temperatures.

“The rosemary will be grown by then, as will the ivy, they would be lovely with the green. But the tiger lilies may be in bloom. They would match the peach perfectly. Oh, I just had a thought, the anise will be up, perfect for the blue, and it smells so lovely, and so strong, always a benefit in the heat of the summer. Which do you think?”

“Yes, of course, as you say, Mamma.”

The vapors rose up to the air, thinning and dissipating as they climbed, as if freed from an invisible constraint. Sophia’s thoughts traveled with them, to gardens and kisses and the man who commanded her thoughts and owned her heart. She saw his face everywhere, even now in the curled tendrils of the fire’s vapors. At times such as these, she wondered if he were real or just an ephemeral specter set loose to wander the vastness of her imagination.

“Sophia Fiolario! You have not heard a word I’ve said.” Viviana set her balled fists firmly upon her ample hips.

The caustic tone brought Sophia up sharply.

“Yes, I have, Mamma.”

“Oh really?” Viviana folded her arms across her chest, tapping one foot on the polished wood floor. “What have I suggested for your bouquet?”

Sophia surreptitously scanned the pile of gowns, scavenging for clues among the colors and designs, trying her best to keep her face placid, to reveal nothing of her straining thoughts.

“L…lavender…of course, to go with the blue, or the white poppy for any of them.” Her voice rose, the answer sounding more like another question.

Viviana’s fingers drummed on her arm.

“I mentioned neither.” She expelled a harsh breath from between her pursed lips. “I know how you feel about this wedding, but it is
your
wedding. There will be many nobles in attendance. You have a duty to look your best, for your family if nothing else.”