Love & Gelato(61)

We raced out of the room. About a dozen people were making their way into the foyer, but we quickly skirted around them, and I reached for the doorknob.

“You two. Wait there!”

Ren and I froze. Oh, no. Part of me wanted to walk right out onto the street, but another even bigger part wanted to turn around. So I did. Slowly.

A middle-aged man stood at the top of the staircase. He wore an expensive-looking shirt and slacks, and was shorter than I’d thought, with a carefully groomed beard and mustache. His dark eyes were fixed on me.

“Come on, Lina, let’s go,” Ren said.

“Carolina? Please come up to my office.”

“We don’t have to go,” Ren said quietly. “We can just walk out of here. Right now.”

My heart was pounding in my ears. Not only had he called me “Carolina,” but he’d pronounced it right. I grabbed Ren’s hand. “Please come with me.”

He nodded. Then we slowly made our way toward the staircase.





Chapter 20




“PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT.” MATTEO’S voice was polished, with only a hint of an accent. He walked behind a half-moon desk and gestured to two chairs that looked exactly like hard-boiled eggs. Actually, come to think of it, everything in his office looked like something else. A large clock shaped like a cog ticked noisily in the corner, and the rug looked like it was supposed to be a map of the human genome or something. The whole room had this overly colorful modern vibe that didn’t seem to mesh with the man standing in front of us.

I lowered myself uneasily into one of the hard-boiled eggs.

“What can I do for you?”

Okay. Just tell him? How do I start?

“I—” I made the mistake of glancing at Ren, and suddenly my throat sealed up like a Ziploc bag. He gave me a worried look.

Matteo cocked his head. “You two speak English, correct? Benjamin told me you wanted to meet me. I’m assuming you have questions about my programs?”

Ren cast a glance at my frozen expression, then jumped in. “Uh . . . yes. Questions about your programs. Um, do you have any classes for beginners?”

“Of course. I teach several entry-level courses throughout the year. The next one begins in September, but I believe it is already full. All of that information is available on my website.” He leaned back. “Would you like to be put on the waiting list?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“All right. Benjamin can help you with that.”

Matteo slid his eyes at me, and suddenly I could feel every nerve ending. Was he pretending not to know, or did he not see it? I felt like I was standing in front of a mirror. An older, male mirror, but a mirror just the same. His eyes lingered on my hair for a moment.

“Can you recommend a good camera for a beginner?” Ren asked.

“Yes. I prefer Nikons. There are several good camera shops in Rome, and I’d be happy to give you the owners’ contact information.”

“Nice.”

Matteo nodded and there was a long silence.

Ren cleared his throat. “So . . . those must be pretty pricey.”

“There’s a range of prices.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the cog clock. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Do you collect a lot of photographs from other photographers?” I blurted out. Both of them looked at me.

“Not many. But I travel a lot, and I make it a point to visit studios and galleries everywhere I go. If I find something especially moving, I buy it and display it in my gallery, along with mine and my students’ work.”

“What about the Hadley Emerson photograph? Where did you buy that?”

“That one was a gift.”

“From who?”

“Hadley.” He looked straight into my eyes. Like a challenge.

All of the air whooshed out of me.

He pushed back from his desk. “Lorenzo, why don’t we go to the reception area and ask Benjamin about placing you on the waiting list. Carolina, before you leave I’d be happy to show you the other Emerson photograph I have in my possession.”

I rose clumsily from my chair and Ren grabbed my arm. “Why isn’t he recognizing you?” he whispered.

“He is. He knew my real name and he’s saying it right.” No one ever said my name right. Unless they’d heard it before.

We followed him down the stairs, my heart pounding in my throat, and Matteo stopped at the desk. “Benjamin, will you please assist Lorenzo in being added to the wait list for the next beginners’ course?”

“Of course.”

“Carolina, the photograph is in the next room. Lorenzo, we’ll meet you back here.”

We looked at each other. Okay? he mouthed.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

“Right this way.” Matteo walked briskly into the next room and I followed after him, my mind scrambling like a bad TV connection. What was happening? Did he just want to talk in private?

He walked up to the far wall, then pointed to a photograph of a young woman, her face half in shadow. Definitely my mom’s.

“You see?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath, keeping my eyes focused on the photograph for courage. “Matteo, I’m here because I’m—”