The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(63)

“Rico,” I whisper and put a hand to my lips.

Beside him, a pretty redhead waits with her eyes closed, swaying to the music. Finally, she opens her mouth, and an angel’s voice rings out, gilding every note from Schubert’s opus.

Ave Maria.

Chills blanket me. The entire square seems to still. People draw near, silently making their way to the sound of magic. The woman’s voice reverberates on the tile flooring. A bird passes overhead, making its way into the night, its wings beating in time with the music. In the background, even the statues seem to listen, statues created hundreds of years ago by then little-known sculptors.

“Ave Maria,” she sings. “Gratia plena.”

My eyes well. Gabe pulls me to his chest, where I fit perfectly. He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head.

“Ave, Ave, Dominus.”

Her voice is heartbreaking and haunting. The song reaches a crescendo. Tears spill down my cheeks. She hits her last note. The music fades. For a moment, the entire square falls silent. Then, it erupts in applause.

“Brava!” I cry through a haze of tears. “Brava!”

I turn to Gabe. He’s cheering, too, his face wet with tears. He wraps me in his arms, but neither of us speak. We don’t need to. As my wise aunt once said, there are no words when one has witnessed magic.



* * *





It’s midnight. The bike’s engine quiets, giving rise to the din of night—a dog howling in the distance, the chirping of cicadas. Gabe leads me up the walk, his hand in mine. The house creaks its welcome when we step inside. An amber light shadows the kitchen. Without a word, we make our way toward the staircase.

My chest fills with a dozen clamoring hummingbirds. Together, we climb the stairs. Do I assume I’m going to his room? We’re almost to the landing. Or should I continue up the stairs to my room in the attic?

We reach the landing and Gabe stops. He turns to me. I can’t breathe. In the darkness, his eyes seem to question mine. He finds a stray lock of my hair and spirals a curl around his finger. My heart thunders. His hand slips behind my neck. He pulls me toward him, his breath grazing my cheek. His mouth inches toward mine. I’m in agony until, finally, our lips meet.

My head swims and my mouth fills with the sweet taste of port wine. A ripple goes through me. I step back.

“I’m a little out of practice,” I say, and give a little chortle.

“It is okay, Emilia.” He pulls me against him, but I put a hand on his chest.

“Seriously. It’s been, like, eleven years.”

“That is fine.”

“I’ve only been with one—”

He silences me with his finger. “We can discuss this later, sì?”



* * *





Finally I know what the fuss is about. All my life, I thought sex was overrated. My brief dalliance with Liam was nice—really nice. But being with Gabriele is magical. I pray one day Lucy finds this.

I lie in the crook of Gabe’s arm, the pad of his thumb absently grazing my arm. He kisses the top of my head. My throat squeezes shut. I never knew . . . I never let myself realize . . . how deeply I was missing the sound of a heartbeat next to mine.

“You are a woman of great passion, Emilia. I only wonder how you could survive eleven years without love in your life. Your heart is so full it is spilling over.”

I swallow hard. Later this morning, I will leave this beautiful Tuscan innkeeper. Poppy, Lucy, and I will be on the Amalfi Coast by nightfall. Gabe and I live on different continents. It’s likely I’ll never see him again. I knew this when I opened my heart. But already I am homesick for him.

“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper, smoothing the hair on his belly.

“I will miss you, too, my flame.” He pulls me closer. “You see, most people create a spark. Sparks are fine. But you, my love, are a flame.” He raises himself onto an elbow, so that he’s looking down at me. “You lit a fire in me, Emilia. And I shall never, ever forget you.”

I smile in the darkness. Aunt Poppy promised she’d break the curse. I never should have doubted her.

We make love again, this time more slowly, more thoughtfully. I allow myself to explore his body and welcome his touch, which rocks my entire soul. When we finish, Gabriele collapses against the pillow and closes his eyes. His breathing slows.

I wait. What am I supposed to do now? I’ve just had the best sex of my life and I’m wound tighter than a Timex. I feel like I’m at a sleepover, and I’m the only one who wants to party.

“Gabriele,” I whisper in the dark.

“Hmm.”

“Did you enjoy that?”

His hand falls limply on my arm. “Sì. Very much.”

A smile takes hold of my face and won’t let go. “Should I go back to my room now?” I whisper, half out of courtesy, half to hear him beg me to stay.

“Sì,” he says. “I will see you in the morning, carissima.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Seconds later, deep, contented inhalations come from his slack mouth, ebbing and flowing like ocean tides. Soon, the sun will appear. I pad barefoot across the wooden floor. Gabe is right. There are children here, after all.

His bedroom door creaks when I open it. Just before stepping out, I peer back into the dusky room that still smells of us.