Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(43)
“Hot priest calendars?” I both frowned and smiled.
His eyes slid to mine and he smirked. “Anyway, a lot of the stuff is made in Taiwan and China, not so much in Italy anymore. Makes sense, global economy and whatnot. But they still have the leather market, where most everything is made here by local crafts people. That’s why it smells like leather.”
He motioned to a row of stalls with canvas coverings lining both sides of a street. “That’s Via dell'Ariento. This’ll be busy in about two hours, packed with people.”
At a few of the stalls, men, women, and some children were moving about, taking goods out of wooden crates and pulling the canvas forward to create a kind of cloth roof in front of the stall.
“Beyond that is the San Lorenzo food market.”
“A food market? Sign me up.” My brother’s smirk became a small grin. “We like the Sant'Ambrogio market a little better, on the other side of town, but it’s a walk. Though, I don’t know if Jess likes Sant'Ambrogio better ’cause we take the long way, crossing the Ponte Vecchio and walking along the other side of the river. She says it’s quieter on that side, cooler in the summer.”
I nodded, deciding to ask Jess for some suggestions on places I could go on my own inside the city. I’d never traveled, wasn’t certain I would make it through a day without getting lost, but what the heck? I was in Italy. No time like the present to learn new skills.
A storefront display caught my notice, and then another, and another. An antiques store, a book shop, a stationery shop with colorful papers and note cards. I tried to make a mental map of where each shop was, the market, the stalls. Yeah, I’d come back one day next week. When I returned—because now I was determined to return—I’d check them out.
But by the time we made it to the Gallery, I’d lost count of the shops to visit, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the spots of interest. Too many to track. Our tour guide seemed to be expecting us and stepped forward from a small square gathering space as we arrived. Soon we were all handed earbuds and a device to wear around our neck for plugging them in. Our guide wore a little microphone that transmitted her voice to our device. We could listen to her through the earbuds, if we so chose, as we walked through the various rooms of interest.
Earbuds draped around my neck along with the listening device, I waited until Billy and Maya passed before following the crowd of Winstons into the Accademia Gallery. He was limping, just a little, but I noticed. Chasing a twinge of worry away—because it was not my job to worry over Billy Winston—I did my best to absorb the general splendor of my surroundings.
The general splendor was certainly splendid, and empty.
“Where is everyone?” I touched Shelly’s arm to get her attention. “I can’t believe we’re the only ones here.”
Eerily quiet, we passed several huge paintings. I mean, they were huge. The size of a whole wall. And then in front of us rose a giant statue of a man lifting a woman. Upon closer inspection, I realized he wasn’t lifting her up. She was struggling against his hold while he attempted to wrestle her into submission.
Though I could appreciate the craftsmanship and artistry, it was kinda disturbing.
“Sienna pulled some strings,” she explained. “This isn’t the usual tour; at the end we’ll get a chance to see some of Michelangelo’s lost sketches.”
I felt my forehead wrinkle, tearing my gaze from the statue. “This is part of the Groupon?”
Shelly pressed her lips together, her eyes smiling. “Claire. There’s no Groupon for seeing David. The tours are usually sold out months in advance, especially over the summer.”
“Oh.” I gave her a tight smile of mild embarrassment. “I guess I should’ve known Cletus was just being Cletus. Sorry.”
“It is okay. You are very cute sometimes. I forget that you’ve never left Tennessee before. That statue—” she lifted her chin toward the one in front of us, where everyone had paused “—is by Giambologna. It’s a plaster cast model for The Rape of the Sabines. The marble sculpture, carved from one solid piece, is in the Piazza della Signoria under the Loggia dei Lanzi.”
I stepped closer to her as I studied the sculpture again, looping our arms together, and wondering why anyone would want a piece of art depicting a rape.
You’d never know it by Shelly’s outwardly stoic demeanor, but Shelly was an extremely affectionate person. As soon as I touched her, she latched on to me and that was exactly what I needed at present. My stomach fluttered, and for once it didn’t have anything to do with Billy Winston.
“What is wrong?” she whispered, holding my hand tightly. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just silly.”
“What?”
“I guess I’m nervous.” I glanced at her and found her watching me intently as our footsteps echoed on the stone floor, moving away from the statue. “I’ve never traveled like this, been to a museum before, definitely nothing like this.”
“You’ve performed in front of thousands of people.”
“More like hundreds. A thousand people, tops.” I’d been given an open invitation to the Nashville Music Festival in a few weeks, and that would have thousands of people. I’d given them a tentative yes, but then I’d talked myself out of accepting several times. The festival was scheduled for the week I’d be in Rome, and though I could definitely make it work with my schedule, the idea of performing in front of that many people had me breaking out in cold sweats. “So far, I’ve only agreed to smaller events. I’ve never done one of the big stadium shows or festivals, but my label keeps threatening to send me on tour.”